Ban.
Thou hast it now, King, Cawdor, Glamis, all,
As 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 my self should be the Root, and Father
Of many Kings. If there come truth from them,
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's
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 and prosperous,
In this Day's Council; but we'll take to Morrow.
Is't 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 bestow'd
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 you to Horse:
Adieu, 'till you return at Night.
Goes Fleance with you?

Ban
Ay, my good Lord; our time does call upon's.

Macb.
I wish your Horses swift, and sure of Foot:
And so I do commend you to their Backs.
Farewel. [Exit Banquo.
Let every Man be master of his Time,
'Till seven at Night, to make Society
The sweeter welcome: We will keep our self
'Till Supper time alone: While then, God be with you. [Exeunt Lady Macbeth, and Lords.
Sirrah, a word with you: Attend those Men [To a Servant.
Our pleasure?

Ser.
They are, my Lord, without the Palace Gate.

Macb.
Bring them before us. [Exit Servant.
To be thus, is nothing,
But to be safely thus: Our fears in Banquo
Stick deep, and in his Royalty of Nature
Reigns that which would be fear'd. 'Tis much he dares,
And to that dauntless temper of his Mind,
He hath a Wisdom that doth guide his Valour,
To act in safety. There is none but he,
Whose Being I do fear: And under him,
My Genius is rebuk'd; as it is said
Mark Anthony's was by Cæsar; he chid the Sisters,
When first they put the Name of King upon me,
And bad them speak to him; then Prophet like,
They hail'd him Father to a line of Kings.
Upon my Head, they plac'd a fruitless Crown,
And put a barren Scepter in my Gripe,
Thence to be wrench'd with an unlineal Hand,
No Son of mine succeeding: If't be so,
For Banquo's Issue have I fil'd my Mind,
For them, the gracious Duncan have I murther'd,
Put Rancors in the Vessel of my Peace
Only for them, and mine Eternal Jewel
Given to the common Enemy of Man,

To make them Kings, the Seeds of Banquo Kings:
Rather than so, come Fate into the Last,
And Champion me to th' utterance—
Who's there? Enter Servant, and two Murtherers.
Now go to the Door, and stay there 'till we call. [Exit Servant.
Was it not Yesterday we spoke together?

Mur.
It was, so please your Highness.

Macb.
Well then,
Now you have consider'd of my Speeches? know
That it was he, in the times past, which held you
So under Fortune, which you thought had been
Our innocent self, this I made good to you,
In our last Conference, past in probation with you:
How you were born in Hand, how crost, the Instruments,
Who wrought with them: And all things else that might
To half a Soul, and to a Notion craz'd,
Say, thus did Banquo.

1 Mur.
You made it known to us.

Macb.
I did so; and went further, which is now
Our point of second meeting. Do you find
Your patience so predominant in your Nature,
That you can let this go? Are you so Gospell'd
To pray for this good Man, and for his Issue,
Whose heavy Hand hath bow'd you to the Grave,
And beggar'd yours for ever?

1 Mur.
We are Men, my Liege.

Macb.
Ay, in the Catalogue ye go for Men,
As Hounds, and Greyhounds, Mungrels, Spaniels, Curs.
Showghes, Water-Rugs, and Demy-Wolves are clipt
All by the Name of Dogs; the valued file
Distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle,
The House-Keeper, the Hunter, every one
According to the Gift, which bounteous Nature
Hath in him clos'd? whereby he does receive
Particular addition, from the Bill,

That writes them all alike: and so of Men.
Now, if you have a station in the file,
And not in the worst rank of Manhood, say it;
And I will put the business in your Bosoms,
Whose Execution takes your Enemy off;
Grapples you to the Heart, and love of us,
Who wear our Health but sickly in his Life,
Which in his Death were perfect.

2 Mur.
I am one, my Liege,
Whom the vile Blows and Buffets of the World
Have so incens'd that I am reckless what
I do, to spite the World.

1 Mur.
And I another,
So weary with Disasters, tugg'd with Fortune,
That I would set my Life on any Chance,
To mend it, or be rid on't.

Macb.
Both of you
Know Banquo was your Enemy.

Mur.
True, my Lord.

Macb.
So is he mine: and in such bloody distance,
That every Minute of his being, thrusts
Against my near'st of Life; and though I could
With bare-fac'd Power sweep him from my sight,
And bid my will avouch it; yet I must not,
For certain Friends that are both his, and mine,
Whose loves I may not drop, but wail his fall,
Who I my self struck down: and thence it is,
That I to your assistance do make love,
Masking the business from the common Eye,
For sundry weighty Reasons.

2 Mur.
We shall, my Lord,
Perform what you command us.

1 Mur.
Though our Lives—

Macb.
Your Spirits shine through you.
Within this Hour, at most,
I will advise you where to plant your selves,
Acquaint you with the perfect Spy o'th' time,
The moment on't, for't must be done to Night,
And something from the Palace: always thought,
That I require a clearness; and with him,
To leave no Rubs nor Botches in the Work;

Fleance, his Son, that keeps him company,
Whose absence is no less material to me,
Than is his Father's, must embrace the fate
Of that dark Hour. Resolve your selves a-part,
I'll come to you anon.

Mur.
We are resolv'd, my Lord.

Macb.
I'll call upon you straight; abide within,
It is concluded: Banquo, thy Soul's flight,
If it find Heav'n, must find it out to Night. [Exeunt. Enter Lady Macbeth, and a Servant.

Lady.
Is Banquo gone from Court?

Serv.
Ay, Madam, but returns again to Night.

Lady.
Say to the King, I would attend his leisure,
For a few words.

Serv.
Madam, I will. [Exit.

Lady.
Nought's had, all's spent,
Where our desire is got without content:
'Tis safer, to be that which we destroy,
Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy. Enter Macbeth.
How now, my Lord, why do you keep alone?
Of sorriest Fancies your Companions making,
Using those Thoughts, which should indeed have dy'd
With them they think on; things without all remedy
Should be without regard; what's done, is done.

Macb.
We have scorch'd the Snake, not kill'd it:
She'll close, and be her self, whilst our poor Malice
Remains in danger of her former Tooth.
But let the frame of things disjoint,
Both the Worlds suffer,
E'er we will eat our Meal in fear, and sleep
In the affliction of these terrible Dreams,
That shake us Nightly: Better be with the dead,
Whom we, to gain our place, have sent to peace,
Than on the torture of the Mind to lie
In restless ecstasie. Duncan is in his Grave;
After Life's fitful Fever, he sleeps well,
Treason has done his worst; nor Steel nor Poison,
Malice Domestick, Foreign Levy, nothing
Can touch him further.

Lady.
Come on;

Gentle, my Lord, sleek o'er your rugged Looks,
Be bright and jovial 'mong your Guests to Night.

Macb.
So shall I, Love, and so I pray be you;
Let your remembrance still apply to Banquo,
Present him Eminence, both with Eye and Tongue:
Unsafe the while, that we must lave our Honours
In these so flattering streams,
And make our Faces Vizards to our Hearts,
Disguising what they are.

Lady.
You must leave this.

Macb.
O, full of Scorpions is my Mind, dear Wife!
Thou know'st, that Banquo and his Fleance lives.

Lady.
But in them, Nature's Copy's not eterne.

Macb.
There's comfort yet, they are assailable,
Then be thou jocund: e'er the Bat hath flown
His Cloyster'd flight, e'er to black Hecat's Summons
The shard-born Beetle, with his drowsie hums,
Hath rung Night's yawning Peal, there shall be done
A deed of dreadful note.

Lady.
What's to be done?

Macb.
Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest Chuck,
'Till thou applaud the deed: Come, sealing Night,
Skarf up the tender Eye of pitiful Day,
And with thy bloody and invisible Hand
Cancel and tear to pieces that great Bond,
Which keeps me pale. Light thickens, and the Crow
Makes Wing to th' Rooky Wood:
Good things of Day begin to droop, and drowze,
Whiles Night's black Agents to their Preys do rowze.
Thou marvell'st at my words; but hold thee still;
Things bad begun, make strong themselves by ill:
So prithee go with me. [Exeunt. SCENE II. SCENE A Park, the Castle at a Distance. Enter three Murtherers.

1 Mur.
But who did bid thee join with us?

3 Mur.
Macbeth.

2 Mur.
He needs not our mistrust, since he delivers
Our Offices, and what we have to do,
To the direction just.

1 Mur.
Then stand with us.
The West yet glimmers with some streaks of Day.
Now spurs the latest Traveller apace,
To gain the timely Inn, and near approaches
The subject of our Watch.

3 Mur.
Hark, I hear Horses.

Banquo within.
Give us a Light there, ho.

2 Mur.
Then 'tis he:
The rest, that are within the note of expectation,
Already are i'th' Court.

1 Mur.
His Horses go about.

3 Mur.
Almost a Mile: but he does usually,
So all Men do, from hence to th' Palace Gate,
Make it their walk. Enter Banquo and Fleance, with a Torch.

2 Mur.
A Light, a Light.

3 Mur.
'Tis he.

1 Mur.
Stand to't.

Ban.
It will be rain to Night. [They fall upon Banquo and kill him; in the scuffle Fleance escapes.

1 Mur.
Let it come down.

Ban.
O, Treachery!
Fly, good Fleance, fly, fly, fly,
Thou may'st revenge. O Slave! [Dies.

3 Mur.
Who did strike out the Light?

1 Mur.
Was't not the way?

3 Mur.
There's but one down; the Son is fled.

2 Mur.
We have lost
Best half of our Affair.

1 Mur.
Well, let's away, and say how much is done. [Exeunt. SCENE III. A Room of State. A Banquet prepar'd. Enter Macbeth, Lady, Rosse, Lenox, Lords, and Attendants.

Macb.
You know your own Degrees, sit down:
At first and last, the hearty welcome.

Lords.
Thanks to your Majesty.

Macb.
Our self will mingle with Society,

And play the humble Host:
Our Hostess keeps her State, but in the best time
We will require her welcome. [They sit.

Lady.
Pronounce it for me, Sir, to all our Friends.
For my Heart speaks, they are welcome. Enter first Murtherer.

Macb.
See they encounter thee with their Hearts thanks,
Both sides are even: here I'll sit i'th' mid'st,
Be large in Mirth, anon we'll drink a Measure
The Table round. There's Blood upon thy Face. [To the Mur.

Mur.
'Tis Banquo's then.

Macb.
'Tis better thee without, than he within.
Is he dispatch'd?

Mur.
My Lord, his Throat is cut, that I did for him.

Macb.
Thou art the best o'th' Cut-throats; yet he's good,
That did the like for Fleance: if thou did'st it,
Thou art the Non-pareil.

Mur.
Most Royal Sir,
Fleance is 'scap'd.

Macb.
Then comes my Fit again:
I had else been perfect;
Whole as the Marble, founded as the Rock,
As broad, and general, as the casing Air:
But now I am cabin'd, crib'd, confin'd, bound in
To sawcy doubts and fears. But Banquo's safe?—

Mur.
Ay, my good Lord: safe in a Ditch he bides,
With twenty trenched gashes on his Head;
The least a Death to Nature.

Macb.
Thanks for that
There the grown Serpent lyes, the Worm that's fled
Hath Nature, that in time will Venom breed,
No Teeth for th'present. Get thee gone, to morrow
We'll hear our selves again. [Exit Murtherer.

Lady.
My Royal Lord,
You do not give the Cheer; the Feast is Cold
That is not often vouched, while 'tis making:
'Tis given with welcome; to feed were best at home;
From thence, the Sawce to Meat is Ceremony,
Meeting were bare without it. The Ghost of Banquo rises, and sits in Macbeth's place.

Macb.
Sweet Remembrancer!
Now good Digestion wait on Appetite,

And Health on both.

Len.
May't please your Highness, sit.

Macb.
Here had we now our Country's Honour, roof'd,
Were the grac'd Person of our Banquo present;
Who may I rather challenge for Unkindness,
Than pity for Mischance.

Rosse.
His absence, Sir,
Lays blame upon his promise. Pleas't your Highness
To grace us with your Royal Company?

Macb.
The Table's full. [Starting.

Len.
Here is a place reserv'd, Sir.

Macb.
Where?

Len.
Here, my good Lord.
What is't that moves your Highness?

Macb.
Which of you have done this?

Lords.
What, my good Lord?

Macb.
Thou canst not say I did it: never shake
Thy goary Locks at me.

Rosse.
Gentlemen rise, his Highness is not well.

Lady.
Sit, worthy Friends, my Lord is often thus,
And hath been from his youth. Pray you keep seat,
The fit is momentary, upon a Thought
He will again be well. If much you note him
You shall offend him, and extend his Passion,
Feed, and regard him not. Are you a Man? [To Macbeth.

Macb.
Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that
Which might appall the Devil.

Lady.
O, proper stuff!
This is the very painting of your fear;
This is the Air-drawn-Dagger which you said
Led you to Duncan. O, these flaws and starts,
Impostors to true fear, would well become
A Woman's story at a Winter's Fire
Authoriz'd by her Grandam: shame it self!—
Why do you make such Faces? when all's done
You look but on a stool.

Macb.
Prithee see there:
Behold! look! loe! how say you! [Pointing to the Ghost.
Why, what care I, if thou canst nod, speak too.
If Charnel-Houses, and our Graves must send
Those that we bury, back; our Monuments

Shall be the Maws of Kites. [The Ghost vanishes.

Lady.
What? quite unmann'd in Folly?

Macb.
If I stand here, I saw him.

Lady.
Fie for shame.

Macb.
Blood hath been shed e'er now, i'th' olde time
E'er humane Statue purg'd the gentle Weal;
Ay, and since too, Murthers have been perform'd
Too terrible for the Ear: the times have been,
That when the Brains were out, the Man would die,
And there an end; But now they rise again
With twenty mortal Murthers on their Crowns,
And push us from our Stools; this is more strange
Than such a Murther is.

Lady.
My worthy Lord,
Your Noble Friends do lack you.

Macb.
I do forget—
Do not muse at me, my most worthy Friends,
I have a strange Infirmity, which is nothing
To those that know me. Come, Love and Health to all,
Then I'll sit down: Give me some Wine, fill full— [As he is drinking, the Ghost rises again just before him.
I drink to th' general joy of the whole Table,
And to our dear Friend Banquo, whom we miss,
Would he were here; to all, and him, we thirst,
And all to all.

Lords.
Our duties, and the pledge.

Macb.
Avant, and quit my sight, let the Earth hide thee;
Thy Bones are marrowless; thy Blood is cold;
Thou hast no speculation in those Eyes,
Which thou dost glare with.

Lady.
Think of this, good Peers,
But as a thing of Custom; 'tis no other,
Only it spoils the pleasure of the time.

Macb.
What Man dare, I dare:
Approach thou like the rugged Russian Bear,
The arm'd Rhinoceros, or th' Hyrcan Tyger,
Take any shape but that, and my firm Nerves
Shall never tremble. Or be alive again,
And dare me to the Desart with thy Sword;
If trembling I inhabit, then protest me
The Baby of a Girl. Hence horrible Shadow,

Unreal Mock'ry hence. Why so,—be gone— [The Ghost vanishes.
I am a Man again: pray you sit still. [The Lords rise.

Lady.
You have displac'd the Mirth, broke the good Meeting,
With most admir'd disorder.

Macb.
Can such things be,
And overcome us like a Summer's Cloud
Without our special wonder? You make me strange,
Even to the disposition that I owe,
When now I think you can behold such sights,
And keep the natural Ruby of your Cheeks,
When mine is blanch'd with fear.

Rosse.
What sights, my Lord?

Lady.
I pray you speak not; he grows worse and worse,
Question enrages him: at once, Good-night.
Stand not upon the order of your going,
But go at once.

Len.
Good-night, and better Health
Attend his Majesty.

Lady.
A kind Good-night to all. [Exeunt Lords.

Macb.
It will have Blood they say; Blood will have Blood:
Stones have been known to move, and Trees to speak;
Augures, that understood Relations, have
By Maggot-Pyes, and Choughs, and Rooks brought forth
The secret'st Man of Blood. What is the Night?

Lady.
Almost at odds with Morning, which is which.

Macb.
How say'st thou, that Macduff denies his Person,
At our great bidding?

Lady.
Did you send to him, Sir?

Macb.
I hear it by the way; but I will send:
There's not a one of them, but in his House
I keep a Servant Fee'd. I will to Morrow
(And betimes I will) to the wizard Sisters.
More shall they speak; for now I am bent to know
By the worst means, the worst, for mine own good;
All Causes shall give way, I am in Blood
Spent in so far, that should I wade no more,
Returning were as tedious as go o'er:
Strange things I have in Head, that will to Hand,
Which must be acted, e'er they may be scann'd

Lady.
You lack the Season of all Natures, Sleep.

Macb.
Come, we'll to Sleep; My strange and self-abuse
Is the initiate Fear, that wants hard use:
We are yet but young indeed. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. The Heath. Thunder. Enter the three Witches, meeting Hecate.

1. Wit.
Why how now, Hecate, you look angerly?

Hec.
Have I not reason, Beldams, as you are?
Sawcy, and over-bold, how did you dare
To trade and traffick with Macbeth,
In Riddles, and Affairs of Death;
And I the Mistress of your Charms,
The close contriver of all harms,
Was never call'd to bear my part,
Or shew the glory of our Art?
And which is worse, all you have done
Hath been but for a wayward Son,
Spightful, and wrathful, who, as others do,
Loves for his own ends, not for you.
But make amends now; Get you gon,
And at the Pit of Acheron
Meet me i'th' Morning: thither he
Will come, to know his Destiny;
Your Vessels, and your Spells provide,
Your Charms, and every thing beside;
I am for th' Air: this Night I'll spend
Unto a dismal, and a fatal End.
Great business must be wrought e'er Noon,
Upon the Corner of the Moon
There hangs a vap'rous drop, profound,
I'll catch it e'er it come to ground;
And that distill'd by Magick slights,
Shall raise such Artificial Sprights,
As by the strength of their Illusion,
Shall draw him on to his Confusion.
He shall spurn Fate, scorn Death, and bear
His hopes 'bove Wisdom, Grace, and Fear:
And you all know, Security
Is Mortal's chiefest Enemy. [Musick, and a Song.

Hark, I am call'd; my little Spirit see
Sits in a foggy Cloud, and stays for me. [Sing within. Come away, come away, &c.

1 Wit.
Come, let's make haste, she'll soon be
Back again. [Exeunt. SCENE V. Enter Lenox, and another Lord.

Len.
My former Speeches have but hit your Thoughts,
Which can interpret farther: Only I say
Things have been strangely born. The gracious Duncan
Was pitied of Macbeth—marry he was dead:
And the right valiant Banquo walk'd too late.
Whom you may say, if't please you, Fleance kill'd,
For Fleance fled; Men must not walk too late.
Who cannot want the thought, how monstrous
It was for Malcolm, and for Donalbane
To kill their gracious Father? Damned Fact!
How it did grieve Macbeth? Did he not straight
In pious Rage, the two Delinquents tear,
That were the Slaves of Drink, and Thralls of Sleep?
Was that not nobly done? ay, and wisely too;
For 'twould have anger'd any Heart alive
To hear the Men deny't. So that I say,
He has born all things well, and I do think,
That had he Duncan's Sons under the Key,
(As, and't please Heav'n he shall not,) they shall find
What 'twere to kill a Father: So should Fleance.
But Peace; for from broad words, and cause he fail'd
His presence at the Tyrant's Feast, I hear
Macduff lives in disgrace. Sir, can you tell
Where he bestows himself?

Lord.
The Sons of Duncan,
From whom this Tyrant holds the due of Birth,
Live in the English Court, and are receiv'd
Of the most Pious Edward, with such grace,
That the Malevolence of Fortune, nothing
Takes from his high respect. Thither Macduff
Is gone, to pray the Holy King, upon his aid
To wake Northumberland, and warlike Seyward,

That by the help of these, with him above
To ratifie the Work, we may again
Give to our Tables Meat, Sleep to our Nights;
Free from our Feasts, and Banquets bloody Knives;
Do faithful Homage, and receive free Honours,
All which we pine for now. And this report
Hath so exasperate their King, that he
Prepares for some attempt of War.

Len.
Sent he to Macduff?

Lord.
He did; and with an absolute, Sir, not I,
The cloudy Messenger turns me his Back,
And hums; as who should say, you'll rue the time
That clogs me with this Answer.

Len.
And that well might,
Advise him to a caution, t'hold what distance
His Wisdom can provide. Some Holy Angel
Fly to the Court of England, and unfold
His Message e'er he come, that a swift Blessing
May soon return to this our suffering Country,
Under a Hand accurs'd.

Lord.
I'll send my Prayers with him. [Exeunt.

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