Outside Macbeth’s castle.
Threescore and ten I can remember well: Within the volume of which time I have seen Hours dreadful and things strange; but this sore night Hath trifled former knowings.
Ah, good father, Thou seest, the heavens, as troubled with man’s act, Threaten his bloody stage: by the clock, ’tis day, And yet dark night strangles the travelling lamp: Is’t night’s predominance, or the day’s shame, That darkness does the face of earth entomb, When living light should kiss it?
’Tis unnatural, Even like the deed that’s done. On Tuesday last, A falcon, towering in her pride of place, Was by a mousing owl hawk’d at and kill’d.