back to filk list
by Jengod

Lady Macbeth = Faith
Doctor = Watcher, undercover as a Prison Guard
Gentlewoman = Staff Psychologist
Enter Faith in handcuffs.

STAFF PYSCHOLOGIST: Lo you, here she comes! This is her very guise, and, upon my life, fast asleep. Observe her; stand close.

WATCHER: How came she to be here?

STAFF PSYCHOLOGIST: Why, Angel stood by her. She has chains on her continually; 'tis her command.

WATCHER: You see, her fists are open.

STAFF PSYCHOLOGIST: Ay, but their fight is shut.

WATCHER: What is it she does now? Look how she rubs her hands.

STAFF PSYCHOLOGIST: It is an accustomed action with her, to seem thus washing her hands. I have known her continue in this a quarter of an hour.

FAITH: Yet here's a spot.

WATCHER: Hark, she speaks! I will set down what comes from her, to satisfy my remembrance the more strongly, and to better report her to the Council.

FAITH: Out, damned spot! Out, I say! One – two – why then 'tis time to do't. Hell is murky. Fie, my sister, fie! A Slayer, and afeard? What need we fear who knows it, when none can call our power to account? Yet who would have thought the Assistant Mayor to have had so much blood in him?

WATCHER: Do you mark that?

FAITH: The fair Slayer had a dark sister; where is she now? What, will these hands neer be clean? No more o' that, guard, no more o' that. You mar all with this starting.

WATCHER: Go to, go to; you have known what you should not.

STAFF PSYCHOLOGIST: She has spoke what she should not, I am sure of that. Heaven knows what she has known.

FAITH: Here's the smell of the blood still. All the perfumes of Chanel will not sweeten this little hand. Oh, oh, oh!

WATCHER: What a sigh is there! The heart is so changed.

STAFF PSYCHOLOGIST: I would not have such a heart in my bosom for a taste of the whole delectable body.

WATCHER: This disease is beyond our practice. Yet I have known Slayers who have walked in their sleep who have died honorably in their duty.

FAITH: Wash your hands, take up your stake, look not so pale. I tell you yet again, the Assistant Mayor is buried; he cannot come out his grave.

WATCHER: Even so?

FAITH: To bed, to bed; there's knocking at the gate. Come, come, come, come, give me your hand.What's done cannot be undone. To bed, to bed, to bed.

| back to top |

back to filk list