King.
Is Execution done on Cawdor yet?
Are not those in commission yet return'd?

Mal.
My liege,
They are not yet come back. But I have spoke
With one that saw him die, who did report
That very frankly he confess'd his treasons,
Implor'd your highness' pardon, and set forth
A deep repentance; nothing in his life
Became him like the leaving it. He dy'd,
As one that had been studied in his death,
To throw away the dearest thing he ow'd,
As 'twere a careless trifle.

King.
There's no art,
To find the mind's construction in the face:

He was a gentleman on whom I built
An absolute trust. Enter Macbeth, Banquo, Rosse, and Angus.
O worthiest cousin!
The sin of my ingratitude ev'n now
Was heavy on me. Thou'rt so far before,
That swiftest wind of recompence is slow,
To overtake thee. Would thou'dst less deserv'd,
That the proportion both of thanks and payment
Might have been mine! only I've left to say,
More is thy due, than more than all can pay.

Macb.
The service and the loyalty I owe,
In doing it, pays it self. Your highness' part
Is to receive our duties; and our duties
Are to your throne and state, children and servants;
Which do but what they should, by doing every thing
Safe tow'rd your love and honour.

King.
Welcome hither:
I have begun to plant thee, and will labour
To make thee full of growing. Noble Banquo,
Thou hast no less deserv'd, and must be known
No less to have done so: let me enfold thee,
And hold thee to my heart.

Ban.
There if I grow,
The harvest is your own.

King.
My plenteous joys
Wanton in fulness, seek to hide themselves
In drops of sorrow. Sons, kinsmen, Thanes,
And you whose places are the nearest, know,
We will establish our estate upon
Our eldest Malcolm, whom we name hereafter
The prince of Cumberland: which honour must
Not unaccompained, invest him only,

But signs of nobleness like stars shall shine
On all deservers.—Hence to Inverness,
And bind us further to you.

Macb.
The rest is labour, which is not us'd for you;
I'll be my self the harbinger, and make joyful
The hearing of my wife with your approach,
So humbly take my leave.

King.
My worthy Cawdor!

Macb.
The prince of Cumberland!—that is a step,
On which I must fall down, or else o'er-leap, [Aside.
For in my way it lyes. Stars hide your fires,
Let not light see my black and deep desires;
The eye wink at the hand; yet let that be,
Which the eye fears when it is done, to see. [Exit.

King.
True, worthy Banquo; he is full so valiant,
And in his commendations I am fed;
It is a banquet to me, let us after him
Whose care is gone before to bid us welcome:
It is a peerless kinsman. [Exeunt.

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