The same.
That which hath made them drunk hath made me bold; What hath quench’d them hath given me fire. Hark! Peace! It was the owl that shriek’d, the fatal bellman, Which gives the stern’st good-night. He is about it: The doors are open; and the surfeited grooms Do mock their charge with snores: I have drugg’d their possets, That death and nature do contend about them, Whether they live or die.
Alack, I am afraid they have awaked, And ’tis not done. The attempt and not the deed Confounds us. Hark! I laid their daggers ready; He could not miss ’em. Had he not resembled My father as he slept, I had done’t.
I heard the owl scream and the crickets cry. Did not you speak?
Hark! Who lies i’ the second chamber?