Here’s a knocking indeed! If a man were porter of hell gate, he should
have old turning the key. [_Knocking._] Knock, knock, knock. Who’s
there, i’ th’ name of Belzebub? Here’s a farmer that hanged himself on
the expectation of plenty: come in time; have napkins enow about you;
here you’ll sweat for’t. [_Knocking._] Knock, knock! Who’s there, i’
th’ other devil’s name? Faith, here’s an equivocator, that could swear
in both the scales against either scale, who committed treason enough
for God’s sake, yet could not equivocate to heaven: O, come in,
equivocator. [_Knocking._] Knock, knock, knock! Who’s there? Faith,
here’s an English tailor come hither, for stealing out of a French
hose: come in, tailor; here you may roast your goose. [_Knocking._]
Knock, knock. Never at quiet! What are you?—But this place is too cold
for hell. I’ll devil-porter it no further: I had thought to have let in
some of all professions, that go the primrose way to th’ everlasting
bonfire. [_Knocking._] Anon, anon! I pray you, remember the porter.
This knocking never stops! If I were the porter of hell's gate, I'd be constantly turning a key. (Knocking continues.) Knock, knock, knock. Who's there, in Beelzebub's name? Here's a farmer who hanged himself expecting a good harvest—come in, he'll need napkins because he'll sweat down here. (More knocking.) Knock, knock! Who else, in the devil's name? Here's an equivocator who could swear on both sides of a scale at once, who committed enough treason for God's sake but couldn't lie his way into heaven. Come in, equivocator. (More knocking.) Knock, knock, knock! Who's there? Here's an English tailor who stole cloth from a French design—come in, tailor, you can roast your goose here. (Knocking.) Knock, knock. Never a moment's peace! What are you?—But this place is too cold for hell. I'm done playing devil-porter. I meant to let in all professions who take the pleasant path to the everlasting fire. (Knocking.) All right, all right! Remember to tip the porter.
All this knocking—if I were running hell's front gate, I'd never stop turning the key. (Knocking.) Knock, knock, knock. Who's there? In the devil's name? Some farmer who hanged himself betting on a bumper crop—come on in, bring tissues, you're gonna sweat. (More knocking.) Knock, knock! Who else? Some guy who could swear to anything and its opposite, committed treason left and right, but still couldn't talk his way into heaven. Come in, liar. (Knocking.) Knock, knock, knock! Who now? A tailor who got caught stealing from the French designs—come in, you can roast your goose here. (Knocking.) Knock, knock. I never get peace! What do you want?—Actually, this place is too cold to be hell. I'm done. I was gonna let in everybody—the whole rotten crowd heading for the eternal bonfire. (Knocking.) Yeah, yeah, I'm coming! Hey, remember to pay the porter.
knock knock knock who's in the devil's name farmer, equivocator, tailor all the sinners it's too cold for hell i'm done playing this part
His first significant scene — he's the one who finds Duncan, and his response (horror, the inability to describe it, the insistence on waking everyone) is genuine and immediate. Watch for how he's the one who asks 'Wherefore did you so?' about the killing of the guards — a question nobody else raises. His suspicion is instinctive and correct. In Acts 1-2 he's a supporting witness; later he'll be the instrument of justice.
Was it so late, friend, ere you went to bed,
That you do lie so late?
Was it so late before you went to bed that you're waking up so late now?
Rough night? You came to bed pretty late.
did you come to bed late or are you just waking up now
Faith, sir, we were carousing till the second cock; and drink, sir, is
a great provoker of three things.
Honestly, we were drinking until after midnight, and alcohol, friend, is a strong proviker of three things.
Yeah, we were out drinking till way late, and you know, booze really gets you going with three different things.
we were drinking till after midnight alcohol provokes three things
What three things does drink especially provoke?
What three things does alcohol specifically provoke?
What three things?
what three things
Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and urine. Lechery, sir, it provokes
and unprovokes; it provokes the desire, but it takes away the
performance. Therefore much drink may be said to be an equivocator with
lechery: it makes him, and it mars him; it sets him on, and it takes
him off; it persuades him, and disheartens him; makes him stand to, and
not stand to; in conclusion, equivocates him in a sleep, and giving him
the lie, leaves him.
Well, friend: red nose, sleep, and pissing. Lechery, now—alcohol provokes it and it unprovokes it. It makes you want sex, but it stops you from being able to perform. So alcohol and lechery are equivocators together: it brings you on and it knocks you off; it persuades you and then disheartens you; it makes you stand up, then it makes you not stand up; in the end, it puts you to sleep equivocating, lying next to you the whole time, then abandons you.
Sir, nose-painting, sleep, and urine. Lust, now—alcohol gets you interested and then kills your ability. It's like they're working together to lie: alcohol brings desire but stops performance. Makes you want it, then makes you not want it. Makes you stand, then not stand. Finally gets you so drunk you pass out while it whispers lies in your ear and leaves you there.
red nose sleep pissing lechery and alcohol they work together one says yes one says no equivocators both
I believe drink gave thee the lie last night.
I believe alcohol left you lying on your back last night.
Yeah, booze got you knocked down last night.
booze knocked you down took you to the ground
That it did, sir, i’ the very throat on me; but I requited him for his
lie; and (I think) being too strong for him, though he took up my legs
sometime, yet I made a shift to cast him.
It did, right in the throat too, but I fought back—I was too strong for it, even though it knocked my legs out from under me. I managed to throw it off.
Yeah, it got me good in the gut, but I came back at it. I was too tough for it to handle, even though it took out my legs. I threw it off.
it got me in the throat but i was stronger even though it took my legs
Is thy master stirring?
Is your master awake?
Is Macbeth up?
is your master awake
Good morrow, noble sir!
Good morning, noble sir.
Morning, sir.
good morning
Good morrow, both!
Good morning to both of you.
Morning, you two.
morning both of you
Is the King stirring, worthy thane?
Is the king awake, my lord?
Is the king up yet?
is the king awake
Not yet.
Not yet.
Not yet.
not yet
He did command me to call timely on him.
I have almost slipp’d the hour.
He ordered me to wake him early. I've almost missed the hour.
He told me to call him early. I'm running late.
he wanted me to call early i'm almost late
I’ll bring you to him.
I'll take you to him.
Come on, I'll take you there.
i'll take you to him
I know this is a joyful trouble to you;
But yet ’tis one.
I know this is a pleasant task for you, but it's still a task.
I know you're happy to do it, but it's still work.
happy to do it but still a task
The labour we delight in physics pain.
This is the door.
The labor we enjoy cures pain. This is the door.
Work you like doing is actually medicine. Here's the door.
work you like cures pain this is the door
I’ll make so bold to call.
For ’tis my limited service.
I'll take the liberty of calling on him. It's my duty.
I'll go ahead and call for him. That's my job.
i'll call for him that's my limited service
Goes the King hence today?
Does the king travel today?
Is the king leaving today?
is the king going today
He does. He did appoint so.
He does. He appointed it so.
Yeah, that's what he planned.
yeah he's leaving that's what he decided
The night has been unruly: where we lay,
Our chimneys were blown down and, as they say,
Lamentings heard i’ th’ air, strange screams of death,
And prophesying, with accents terrible,
Of dire combustion and confus’d events,
New hatch’d to the woeful time. The obscure bird
Clamour’d the live-long night. Some say the earth
Was feverous, and did shake.
The night was violent. Where we slept, our chimneys were blown down, and, as they say, we heard mourning in the air, strange screams of death, and prophecies with terrible voices of dire violence and confused destruction, newly created for this woeful time. The dark bird cried the entire night. Some say the earth itself was feverous and shook.
It was a crazy night. Houses got their chimneys blown off, and people heard mourning in the air, death screams, prophecies with terrible voices predicting violence and chaos. The dark bird never stopped screaming. People are saying the earth was shaking like it had fever.
night was violent chimneys blown down screams of death voices prophesying the earth shook
’Twas a rough night.
It was a rough night.
Yeah, rough night.
rough night
My young remembrance cannot parallel
A fellow to it.
I've never seen anything like it in my memory.
I've never seen anything like it before.
never seen anything like it
The Porter scene draws on a theatrical tradition that Shakespeare's audience would have recognized immediately: the Harrowing of Hell plays. These were mystery plays — performed at church festivals in the medieval period — depicting Christ's descent into hell after the crucifixion to free the souls of the righteous patriarchs. A standard comic element in these plays was a porter or devil at hell's gate: a bumbling, often drunk figure who answered the door, admitted sinners, and provided comic relief alongside the theological drama.
By having his Porter play this role — 'if a man were porter of hell gate' — Shakespeare is explicitly flagging Inverness as hell. This isn't metaphor; it's genre signal. The Porter is not outside the tragedy doing comedy; he is inside the tragedy naming its location. He has just let Macduff into hell, and Macduff is about to discover the consequence of what hell's gatekeepers have been up to.
The equivocator in the Porter's monologue is the most specific: in 1606, the execution of Jesuit priest Henry Garnet for equivocating at the Gunpowder Plot trial was recent news. Garnet had been accused of using 'equivocation' — technically true but misleading speech — to avoid implicating himself under oath. The Porter sends this equivocator to hell. And the audience has just watched the Witches do exactly this to Macbeth — telling truths that led to catastrophe.
The Porter scene is therefore not comic relief. It is the darkest theological joke in the play: a drunk man, playing the gatekeeper of hell, naming the sins that belong there, in the castle where those sins have just been committed.
O horror, horror, horror!
Tongue nor heart cannot conceive nor name thee!
Oh horror, horror, horror! Neither tongue nor heart can conceive or name you!
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God! There's no words, there's no thinking about this!
horror horror horror tongue nor heart can name this
What’s the matter?
What's the matter?
What is it?
what's wrong
Confusion now hath made his masterpiece!
Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope
The Lord’s anointed temple, and stole thence
The life o’ th’ building.
Chaos has made its masterpiece! A murder most wicked against God has broken open the Lord's anointed temple and stolen the life from the building itself.
Confusion's done its worst work! Sacrilege—a sacred murder—has smashed open the Lord's temple and killed the building's heartbeat.
chaos made a masterpiece most sacrilegious murder stole the life from the building
What is’t you say? the life?
What do you say? The life?
Wait—what? The life?
the life what life
Mean you his majesty?
Do you mean his majesty?
You mean the king?
you mean the king
Approach the chamber, and destroy your sight
With a new Gorgon. Do not bid me speak.
See, and then speak yourselves.
Go to his chamber and let a new Gorgon destroy your vision. Don't ask me to explain. Go see it, and then speak for yourselves.
Go look at his chamber yourself. It's so horrible it'll turn your eyes to stone. Don't make me describe it. You have to see it.
go to the chamber see it yourself don't ask me to explain
What’s the business,
That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley
The sleepers of the house? Speak, speak!
What's happening that such a terrible trumpet calls the sleepers of this house to an assembly? Speak, speak!
What's going on that the alarm's calling everybody? What happened?
what's the business what trumpet calls the sleepers
O gentle lady,
’Tis not for you to hear what I can speak:
The repetition, in a woman’s ear,
Would murder as it fell.
Oh gentle lady, this is not for your ears to hear. What I would speak would murder you just by being said—the repetition itself, in a woman's ear, would be death.
Oh my lady, you can't hear this. What I have to say would kill you just by saying it. A woman shouldn't hear this.
not for you to hear what i can speak would murder as it fell
Woe, alas!
What, in our house?
Woe, oh no! What, in our own house?
Oh God, no! In our own house?
woe alas in our house
Too cruel anywhere.—
Dear Duff, I pr’ythee, contradict thyself,
And say it is not so.
Too cruel anywhere. Dear Macduff, I beg you, contradict yourself and say it's not so.
It's terrible anywhere, but Macduff, please—say you're wrong.
too cruel please say it's not so
Had I but died an hour before this chance,
I had liv’d a blessed time; for, from this instant
There’s nothing serious in mortality.
All is but toys: renown and grace is dead;
The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees
Is left this vault to brag of.
If only I had died an hour before this event, I would have lived a blessed life, because from this moment forward, nothing in existence is serious. All is mere toys: reputation and grace are dead, the wine of life is drawn, and only the dregs remain in this vault to boast about.
I wish I'd died an hour ago. Then I would've lived a good life. Because everything's pointless now. It's all garbage—fame, grace, all gone. Life was wine, and now it's just sludge sitting in an empty barrel.
if i'd died an hour before i'd have lived blessed now there's nothing serious all toys the wine of life is drawn
What is amiss?
What's wrong?
What's happened?
what's wrong
You are, and do not know’t:
The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood
Is stopp’d; the very source of it is stopp’d.
You are the issue, and you don't know it. The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood is stopped; the very source of it is cut off.
You're in danger and don't even know it. Your source—your father—is dead. Your bloodline is cut.
you don't know it the spring the head the fountain of your blood is stopped
When Macbeth announces that he killed the guards in a fury of grief, Macduff asks a single question: 'Wherefore did you so?' It's a short question. Nobody in the room pursues it. Macbeth answers with an extended explanation about the impossibility of being simultaneously wise and furious. The moment passes.
But Macduff asked. And in a play where most people either don't see what's happening or see it and don't speak, Macduff's question is the most important four words in the scene.
Killing the guards was the operational error in the plan. They were the framing device — blood on their hands, daggers on their pillows. They should have been interrogated, convicted, and executed after trial. By killing them immediately, Macbeth has eliminated the only people who could confirm the frame but also the only people who might have denied it under torture. Their death forecloses all possibility of investigation.
Macduff notices this. His question is not rhetorical — it's an accusation he can't quite bring himself to complete. He is the character in the play most aware that something is wrong. He will not attend Macbeth's coronation. He will flee to England. He will lose his family to Macbeth's vengeance. And he will ultimately be the instrument of justice — the man 'not born of woman' who kills the man who murdered sleep.
All of that begins here, with four words in a crowded room: 'Wherefore did you so?'
Your royal father’s murder’d.
Your royal father has been murdered.
The king—your father—he's been killed.
your father the king murdered
O, by whom?
By whom?
Who did it?
who did it
Those of his chamber, as it seem’d, had done’t:
Their hands and faces were all badg’d with blood;
So were their daggers, which, unwip’d, we found
Upon their pillows. They star’d, and were distracted;
No man’s life was to be trusted with them.
Those who sleep in his chamber, apparently, did it. Their hands and faces were all covered with blood, and their daggers too, unwashed, we found lying on their pillows. They stared wildly and seemed out of their minds. No one in their right mind would trust their judgment.
The guards in his room, looks like. Their hands and faces were all bloody. Their daggers too—blood on them, just lying on the pillows. They looked crazy and frantic. Nobody would trust them to think straight.
those in his chamber hands and faces covered with blood daggers unwashed on their pillows they stared distracted
O, yet I do repent me of my fury,
That I did kill them.
Oh, I repent my fury now—that I killed them.
I'm sorry—I was so angry, I killed them.
i repent i killed them in my fury
Wherefore did you so?
Why did you do that?
Why'd you do that?
why did you kill them
Who can be wise, amaz’d, temperate, and furious,
Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man:
Th’ expedition of my violent love
Outrun the pauser, reason. Here lay Duncan,
His silver skin lac’d with his golden blood;
And his gash’d stabs look’d like a breach in nature
For ruin’s wasteful entrance: there, the murderers,
Steep’d in the colours of their trade, their daggers
Unmannerly breech’d with gore. Who could refrain,
That had a heart to love, and in that heart
Courage to make’s love known?
Who can be wise, amazed, reasonable, and angry all at once? No man. My rush of violent love outran reason's pause. Here lay Duncan—his silver skin streaked with his golden blood, and his gaping wounds looked like a breach in nature for ruin to pour through. The murderers lay there, steeped in the colors of their trade, their daggers grotesquely dressed in gore. Who could hold back when they had a heart to love and the courage to show that love?
How can someone be calm, shocked, patient, and furious at the same time? Nobody can. Love overwhelmed reason. Duncan lay there—skin pale as silver, blood gold-colored, and his wounds like a crack in the world. The murderers covered in blood, their daggers filthy with it. Who could stand there and do nothing if you had love in your heart?
who can be wise and furious at the same moment my violent love outran reason here lay duncan silver skin laced with gold gaping stabs who could refrain
Help me hence, ho!
Help me, someone!
Somebody help me!
help me someone help
Look to the lady.
Look to the lady.
Someone help the lady.
help the lady
Why do we hold our tongues,
That most may claim this argument for ours?
Why do we keep silent, we who have the most claim to speak about this?
Why aren't we saying anything? We're the ones who should be talking.
why are we silent when we should speak most claim this
What should be spoken here, where our fate,
Hid in an auger hole, may rush, and seize us?
Let’s away. Our tears are not yet brew’d.
What should be said here, where our fate, hidden in an unseen hole, may suddenly rush out and grab us? Let's go. Our grief hasn't even started yet.
What do we say? Our killer could be listening from anywhere. Let's get out of here. We're not even crying yet.
our fate hid in an auger hole may rush and seize us let's away our tears not yet brew'd
Nor our strong sorrow
Upon the foot of motion.
And our deep grief hasn't even begun to show.
And our sorrow hasn't even started yet.
our strong sorrow not yet foot of motion
Look to the lady:—
Look to the lady.
Someone help the lady.
look to the lady
And so do I.
And so do I.
Same here.
and so do i
So all.
We all do.
All of us.
so all
Let’s briefly put on manly readiness,
And meet i’ th’ hall together.
Let's quickly dress ourselves in readiness and meet in the hall together.
Let's get ready and meet up in the hall.
put on manly readiness meet in the hall together
Well contented.
We agree.
Okay.
well contented
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 will you do? Let's not join them. To show grief we don't feel is a task the false man performs easily. I'm going to England.
What's our move? We shouldn't stay with them. Pretending to grieve is easy for liars. I'm leaving for England.
what will you do let's not consort to show unfelt sorrow is easy for the false man i'll go to england
To Ireland, I. Our separated fortune
Shall keep us both the safer. Where we are,
There’s daggers in men’s smiles: the near in blood,
The nearer bloody.
To Ireland, then. Our separated fortune will keep us both safer. Wherever we are, there are daggers hidden in men's smiles. The closer in blood, the closer to the knife.
I'll go to Ireland. Splitting up keeps us both alive. There's danger in smiles. Family's more dangerous than strangers.
to ireland i separated fortune keeps us safer daggers in men's smiles the near in blood the nearer bloody
This murderous shaft that’s shot
Hath not yet lighted; and our safest way
Is to avoid the aim. Therefore to horse;
And let us not be dainty of leave-taking,
But shift away. There’s warrant in that theft
Which steals itself, when there’s no mercy left.
This arrow of murder hasn't landed yet, and our safest path is to dodge out of its way. So let's ride. Let's not be careful about taking formal leave, but let's slip away. There's justification in that theft—when you steal yourself away when there's no mercy left, it makes sense.
The murder isn't over—we could be next. We need to get out of the way. So let's ride fast and not bother with goodbyes. Just go. It makes sense when you run because staying means death.
murderous shaft shot but not lighted avoid the aim to horse no dainty of leave-taking shift away
The Reckoning
The knocking that ended 2-2 continues through 2-3, and Shakespeare answers it with one of the most surprising structural choices in the tragedies: a drunken porter doing low comedy while a king's body cools upstairs. The Porter's monologue is not an accident or a concession to popular taste. It is a formal theological joke — the Porter pretends he's the gatekeeper of hell, admitting various sinners — that reframes the entire castle as hell's anteroom. Which, as of five minutes ago, it is. When Macduff discovers Duncan, the scene becomes the play's most performative. Macbeth, Lady Macbeth, Malcolm, Donalbain, Banquo, Lennox, Ross — everyone is now in the same room managing the same catastrophe with different information. Macbeth has to display grief he doesn't feel. Lady Macbeth faints, possibly genuine (the stress), possibly staged (to redirect attention). Malcolm and Donalbain speak only to each other, whispering that whoever did this may be after them next. Macbeth kills the guards before anyone can interrogate them — supposedly in grief-driven fury. It's the second murder, committed in plain sight, covered by a display of loyalty so extreme it's almost an accusation. Macduff notices: 'Wherefore did you so?' Nobody presses the question. Malcolm and Donalbain flee — Malcolm to England, Donalbain to Ireland — which is the tactical move that will be used to frame them for the murder.
If this happened today…
You're in the office when someone discovers the body. Everyone's in the same building, everyone's processing the same shock, but you know what happened. Your partner comes in and dramatically collapses. The police arrive. You've already killed the only witnesses who could contradict your story. The victim's kids look at each other and quietly leave through a back door. Someone will blame them later.