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.

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