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Samuel Johnson [1765], The plays of William Shakespeare, in eight volumes, with the corrections and illustrations of Various Commentators; To which are added notes by Sam. Johnson (Printed for J. and R. Tonson [and] C. Corbet [etc.], London) [word count] [S11001].
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SCENE I. An Apartment in the Palace. Enter Banquo.


Thou hast it now. King, Cawdor, Glamis, all
The weyward women promis'd; and, I fear,
Thou plaid'st most foully for't. Yet it was said,
It should not stand in thy Posterity;
But that myself should be the root, and father
Of many Kings. If there come truth from them,
1 note

As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine,
Why, by the verities on thee made good,
May they not be my Oracles as well,
And set me up in hope. But, hush. No more. Trumpets sound. Enter Macbeth as King, Lady Macbeth, Lenox, Rosse, Lords and Attendants.

Macb.
Here's our chief guest.

Lady.
If he had been forgotten,
It had been as a gap in our great feast,
And all things unbecoming.

Macb.
To night we hold a solemn supper, Sir,
And I'll request your presence.

Ban.
Lay your Highness'
Command upon me; to the which, my Duties
Are with a most indissoluble tye
For ever knit.

Macb.
Ride you this afternoon?

Ban.
Ay, my good lord.

Macb.
We should have else desir'd
Your good advice, which still hath been both grave

-- 423 --


And prosperous, in this day's council; but
We'll take to morrow. Is it far you ride?

Ban.
As far, my lord, as will fill up the time
'Twixt this and supper. Go not my horse the better,
I must become a borrower of the night
For a dark hour or twain.

Macb.
Fail not our feast.

Ban.
My lord, I will not.

Macb.
We hear, our bloody Cousins are bestowed
In England, and in Ireland; not confessing
Their cruel Parricide, filling their hearers
With strange invention; but of That to morrow,
When therewithal we shall have cause of State,
Craving us jointly. Hie to horse. Adieu,
Till you return at night. Goes Fleance with you?

Ban.
Ay, my good lord. Our time does call upon us.

Macb.
I wish your horses swift, and sure of foot;
And so I do commend you to their backs.
Farewel. [Exit Banquo.
Let ev'ry man be master of his time
'Till seven at night; to make society
The sweeter welcome, we will keep ourself
'Till supper-time alone; till then, God be with you.
[Exeunt Lady Macbeth, and Lords.

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Samuel Johnson [1765], The plays of William Shakespeare, in eight volumes, with the corrections and illustrations of Various Commentators; To which are added notes by Sam. Johnson (Printed for J. and R. Tonson [and] C. Corbet [etc.], London) [word count] [S11001].
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