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.

Ser.
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 both worlds disjoint, and all things suffer,

Ere 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 flatt'ring streams, and make our faces
Vizards t'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 eternal.

Macb.
There's comfort yet, they are assailable;
Then be thou jocund. Ere the bat hath flown
His cloyster'd flight, ere 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 prey do rowze.
Thou marvell'st at my words; but hold thee still;
Things bad begun, make strong themselves by ill:
So pr'ythee go with me. [Exeunt.

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