Dun.
This castle hath a pleasant seat; the air
Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself
Unto our gentle senses.

Ban.
This guest of summer,
The temple-haunting martlet, does approve,
By his lov'd mansionry, that the heaven's breath
Smells wooingly here; no jutty frieze, buttress,
Nor coigne of vantage,^{1 note} but this bird hath made
His pendent bed, and procreant cradle: Where they
Most breed and haunt, I have observ'd the air
Is delicate.

Enter Lady Macbeth, Seyton, and Ladies, from R. U. E.

Dun.
See, see! our honour'd hostess!
The love that follows us sometime is our trouble,
Which still we thank as love. Herein I teach you
How you shall bid Heaven yield us for your pains,
And thank us for your trouble.

Lady M.
All our service
In every point twice done, and then done double,
Were poor and single business, to contend,
Against those honours deep and broad, wherewitl
Your majesty loads our house: for those of old,
And the late dignities heap'd up to them,
We rest your hermits.^{2 note}

Dun.
Where's the Thane of Cawdor?
We cours'd him at the heels, and had a purpose
To be his purveyor:^{3 note} but he rides well;
And his great love, sharp as his spur, hath holp him
To his home before us. Fair and noble hostess,
We are you guest to-night.

Lady M.
Your servants ever
Have theirs, themselves, and what is theirs, in compt,
To make their audit at your highness' pleasure,
Still to return your own.

Dun.
Give me your hand:
Conduct me to mine host: we love him highly,
And shall continue our graces towards him.
By your leave, hostess. [March heard. Exeunt, R. U. E.

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