He has done the deed, and returns tottering, haggard, like a drunken man. He is horrified at his bloody hands, "these hangman's hands." Nothing now can cleanse them. The whole ocean might sweep over them, but they would keep the hue of murder. "What hands are here? ha, they pluck out mine eyes!" He is disturbed by a word which the sleeping chamberlains uttered:
"One cried, 'God bless us!' and 'Amen' the other;
As they had seen me with these hangman's hands.
Listening their fear, I could not say 'Amen,'
When they did say, 'God bless us!'...
But wherefore could not I pronounce 'Amen!'
I had most need of blessing, and 'Amen'
Stuck in my throat."[698]
Then comes a strange dream; a frightful vision of the punishment that awaits him descends upon him.
Above the beating of his heart, the tingling of the blood which seethes in his brain, he had heard them cry:
"'Sleep no more!
Macbeth does murder sleep,' the innocent sleep,
Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleave of care,
The death of each day's life, sore labor's bath,
Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course,
Chief nourisher in life's feast."[699]
And the voice, like an angel's trumpet, calls him by all his titles:
"'Glamis hath murder'd sleep, and therefore Cawdor
Shall sleep no more; Macbeth shall sleep no more!'"[700]
This idea, incessantly repeated, beats in his brain, with monotonous and quick strokes, like the tongue of a bell. Insanity begins; all the force of his mind is occupied by keeping before him, in spite of himself, the image of the man whom he has murdered in his sleep:
"To know my deed, 'twere best not know myself. (Knock.)
Wake Duncan with thy knocking! I would thou couldst!"[701]
Thenceforth, in the rare intervals in which the fever of his mind is assuaged, he is like a man worn out by a long malady. It is the sad prostration of maniacs worn out by their fits of rage: