Is this a dagger which I see before me,
The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee. I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible
To feeling as to sight? Or art thou but
A dagger of the mind, a false creation,
Proceeding from the heat-oppressèd brain?
I see thee yet, in form as palpable
As this which now I draw.
Thou marshall’st me the way that I was going, And such an instrument I was to use.
Mine eyes are made the fools o' th' other senses, Or else worth all the rest. I see thee still, And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood, Which was not so before. There’s no such thing. It is the bloody business which informs thus to mine eyes.
Is there a dagger hanging there, the handle facing him ready for him to grab. He tries to grab it, but his hand went right through it: it was there and yet he couldn't touch it. Is he imaging it or is it tricks played by his sick mind?
As he takes out his own, dagger: the floating dagger is now pointing to Duncan's room. He knew he was seeing things but it seemed so real. There was now blood on it, which wasn’t there before. This was crazy. It couldn’t be real. He knew it was the violence from his mind that was showing up in the form of the bloody dagger. As he stood there his mind was filled with murder and other horrible images and it scared him.
Will all great Neptune’s ocean wash this blood Clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather The multitudinous seas incarnadine, Making the green one red.
If I wash my hands in the ocean will there be enough water to wash it away? No, the blood on my hands would color the oceans, turning the waters red.
My hands are of your color, but I shame
To wear a heart so white.
My hands have as much blood on them as yours, but I would be ashamed if I was as weak as you.
What will you do? Let’s not consort with them. To show an unfelt sorrow is an office
Which the false man does easy. I’ll to England
What are you going...