Macbeth.
You know your own degrees, sit down; at first
And last, the hearty welcome.

Lords.
Thanks to your majesty.

Macbeth.
Ourself will mingle with society.
Our hostess keeps her state;^{1 note}

Lady M.
Pronounce it for me, sir, to all our friends;
For my heart speaks, they are welcome. Enter 1st Murderer, L. 1 E.

Macbeth.
See, they encounter thee with their hearts' thanks;—
Be large in mirth; anon, we'll drink a measure
The table round. There's blood upon thy face.

Mur.
'Tis Banquo's, then.

Macbeth.
Is he despatch'd?

Mur.
My lord, his throat is cut; that I did for him.

Macbeth.
Thou are the best o' the cut-throats. Yet he's good,
That did the like for Fleance.

Mur.
Most royal sir,
Fleance is 'scap'd.

Macbeth.
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, cribb'd, confin'd, bound in
To saucy 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.

Macbeth.
Thanks for that:—
There the grown serpent lies; the worm, that's fled,
Hath nature that in time will venom breed
No teeth for the present.—Get thee gone; to-morrow
We'll hear ourselves again. [Exit Murderer, L. 1 E.

Lady M.
My royal lord,
You do not give the cheer: the feast is sold,^{2 note}
That is not often vouch'd, while 'tis a making,
'Tis given with welcome; To feed were best at home;
From thence, the sauce to meat is ceremony;
Meeting were bare without it.

Macbeth.
Sweet remembrancer!—
Now good digestion wait on appetite,
And health on both!

Len.
May it please your highness sit? [The Ghost of Banquo rises, C.

Macbeth.
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!

Ros.
His absence, sir,

Lays blame upon his promise. Please your highness
To grace us with your royal company?

Macbeth.
The table's full.

Len.
Here's a place reserv'd, sir.

Macbeth.
Where?

Len.
Here, my lord. What is't that moves your highness?

Macbeth.
Which of you have done this?

Lords.
What, my good lord?

Macbeth.
Thou canst not say I did it: never shake
Thy gory locks at me.

Ros.
Gentlemen, rise; his highness is not well.

Lady M.
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;^{3 note}
Feed, and regard him not. (Coming to Macbeth, R.)
Are you a man?

Macbeth.
Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that
Which might appal the devil.

Lady M.
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^{4 note} and starts,
(Impostors to true fear), would well become
A woman's story, at a winter's fire,
Authoriz'd by her grandam. Shame itself!
When all's done,
You look but on a stool.

Macbeth.
Pr'ythee, see there! behold! look! lo! how say you?
Why, what care I? If thou can'st nod, speak too.—
If charnel-houses, and our graves, must send
Those that we bury, back, our monuments
Shall be the maws of kites.^{5 note} [Ghost sinks.

Lady M.
What! quite unmann'd in folly?

Macbeth.
If I stand here, I saw him.

Lady M.
Fie, for shame! (returning to her seat.)

Macbeth.
Blood hath been shed ere now, i'the olden time,
Ere human statute purg'd the gentle weal;^{6 note}
Ay, and since too, murders 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 murders on their crowns,
And push us from our stools: This is more strange
Than such a murder is.

Lady M.
My worthy lord,
Your noble friends do lack you.

Macbeth.
I do forget:—
Do not muse^{7 note} 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—
I drink to the 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.^{8 note} Ghost appears, R.

Macbeth.
Avaunt! and quit my sight! Let the earth hide thee!
Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold;
Thou hast no speculation in those eyes^{9 note}
Which thou dost glare with!

Lady M.
Think of this, good peers,
But as a thing of custom: 'tis no other;
Only it spoils the pleasure of the time.

Macbeth.
What man dare, I dare:
Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear,
The arm'd rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger,^{10 note}
Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves
Shall never tremble: Or, be alive again,
And dare me to the desert with thy sword;
If trembling I inhibit,^{11 note} then protest me
The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow! [Ghost disappears.
Unreal mockery, hence!—Why, so;—being gone,
I am a man again

Lady M.
You have displac'd the mirth, broke the good meeting,
With most admir'd disorder.

Macbeth.
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 are blanch'd with fear.

Ros.
What sights, my lord?

Lady M.
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.
A kind good night to all! [Exeunt Lords and Attendants, R. and L.

Macbeth.
It will have blood; they say, blood will have blood:
Stones have been known to move, and trees to speak;
Augurs, and understood relations, have
By maggot-pies, and choughs, and rooks brought forth
The secret'st man of blood.—What is the night?

Lady M.
Almost at odds with morning, which is which.

Macbeth.
How say'st thou that
Macduff denies his person at our great bidding?

Lady M.
Did you send to him, sir?

Macbeth.
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,
(Betimes I will) unto the weird 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
Stept in so far, that, should I wade no more,
Returning were as tedious as go o'er.

Lady M.
You lack the season of all natures, sleep.

Macbeth.
Come, we'll to sleep: My strange and self-abuse
Is the initiate fear,^{12 note} that wants hard use:—
We are yet but young in deed. [Exeunt, L

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