Hold, Hold

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Black Crabbe

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The King comes here tonight.
Thou'rt mad to say it!
Is not thy master with him, who, were 't so,
Would have informed for preparation?
So please you, it is true. Our thane is coming.
One of my fellows had the speed of him, Who, almost
Dead for breath, had scarcely more; Than would make up his message.
Give him tending;
He brings great news
The raven himself is hoarse
That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan
Under my battlements
Come, you spirits; That tend on mortal thoughts,
Unsex me here; And fill me from the crown to the
Toe top-full; Of direst cruelty!
Make thick my blood; Stop up th' access
And passage to remorse
That no compunctious visitings of nature
Shake my fell purpose
That I may pour my spirits in thine ear
Hold, hold Hold, hold
And chastise with the valor of my tongue
All that impedes thee from the golden round; Which fate and metaphysical
Aid doth seem to have thee crowned withal
Nor keep peace between; Th' effect and it!
Come to my woman's breasts; And take my milk for
gall, you murdering ministers, Wherever in your sightless
substances You wait on nature's mischief!
Come, thick night
And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell
That my keen knife see not the wound it makes
Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark
To cry "Hold, hold!"

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