1 Mur.
But who did bid thee join with us?

3 Mur.
Macbeth.

2 Mur.
He needs not our Mistrust, since he delivers
Our offices, and what we have to do,

To the direction just.

1 Mur.
Then stand with us.
The west yet glimmers with some streaks of day:
Now spurs the lated traveller apace,
To gain the timely in; and near approaches
The subject of our watch.

3 Mur.
Hark, I hear horses.

[Banquo within.]
Give us light there, ho!

2 Mur.
Then it is he: the rest
That are within the note of expectation,
Already are i' th' Court.

1 Mur.
His horses go about.

3 Mur.
Almost a mile: but he does usually,
(So all men do,) from hence to th' Palace-gate
Make it their Walk. Enter Banquo and Fleance, with a Torch.

2 Mur.
A light, a light.

3 Mur.
'Tis he.

1 Mur.
Stand to't.

Ban.
It will be rain to night.

1 Mur.
Let it come down. [They assault Banquo.

Ban.
Oh, treachery!
Fly, Fleance, fly, fly, fly,
Thou may'st revenge. Oh slave! [Dies. Fleance escapes.

3 Mur.
Who did strike out the light?

1 Mur.
Was't not the way?

3 Mur.
There's but One down; the son
Is fled.

2 Mur.
We've lost best half of our affair.

1 Mur.
Well, let's away, and say how much is done. [Exeunt.

SCENE V. Changes to a Room of State in the Castle. A Banquet prepar'd. Enter Macbeth, Lady, Rosse, Lenox, Lords, and Attendants.

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 best time
We will require her welcome. [They sit.

Lady.
Pronounce it for me, Sir, to all our friends,
For my heart speaks, they're welcome. Enter first Murtherer.

Macb.
See, they encounter thee with their hearts' thanks.
Both sides are even: here I'll sit i' th' midst;
Be large in mirth, anon we'll drink a measure
The table round—There's blood upon thy face. [To the Murtherer, aside, at the door.

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 of cut-throats; yet he's good,
That did the like for Fleance: if thou didst it,
Thou art the non-pareil

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

&wlquo;Macb.
&wlquo;Then comes my Fit again: I had else been perfect;

&wlquo;Whole as the marble, founded as the rock;
&wlquo;As broad, and gen'ral, as the casing air:
&wlquo;But now I'm cabin'd, cribb'd, confin'd, bound in
&wlquo;To sawcy Doubts and Fears. But Banquo's safe?—&wrquo;

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;
&wlquo;There the grown serpent lies: the worm, that's fled,
&wlquo;Hath Nature that in time will venom breed,
&wlquo;No teeth for th' present.&wrquo; Get thee gone, to morrow
We'll hear't ourselves again. [Exit Murtherer.

Lady.
My royal lord,
You do not give the cheer; the feast is sold,
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,—
(Whom 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's a place reserv'd, Sir.

Macb.
Where?

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

&wlquo;Macb.
&wlquo;Which of you have done this?&wrquo;

Lords.
What, my good lord?

&wlquo;Macb.
&wlquo;Thou can'st not say, I did it: never shake
&wlquo;Thy goary locks at me.&wrquo;

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, on 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 aside.

Macb.
Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on That,
Which might appal the Devil.

Lady.
O proper stuff!
&wlquo;This is the very Painting of your fear; [Aside.
&wlquo;This is the air-drawn-dagger, which, you said,
&wlquo;Led you to Duncan. ^{6 note}
Oh, these flaws and starts
&wlquo;(Impostors to true fear,) would well become
&wlquo;A woman's story at a winter's fire,
&wlquo;Authoriz'd by her grandam.&wrquo; Shame it self!—
Why do you make such faces? when all's done,
You look but on a stool.

Macb.
Pr'ythee, see there!
Behold! look! lo! how say you? [Pointing to the Ghost.
&wlquo;Why, what care I? if thou can'st nod, speak too.—&wrquo;
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!

&wlquo;Macb.
&wlquo;Blood hath been shed ere now, i' th' olden time,
&wlquo;^{7 note}

Ere human Statute purg'd the gen'ral weal;
&wlquo;Ay, and since too, Murthers have been perform'd
&wlquo;Too terrible for th' ear: the times have been,&wrquo;
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—
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,
^{8 note}And all to all.

Lords.
Our Duties, and the Pledge. [The Ghost rises again.

Macb.
Avaunt, and quit my sight! Let the earth hide thee!
&wlquo;Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold;
&wlquo;Thou hast no speculation in those eyes,

&wlquo;Which thou dost glare with.&wrquo;

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 Hyrcanian tyger,
&wlquo;Take any shape but That, and my firm nerves
&wlquo;Shall never tremble: Or, be alive again,
&wlquo;And dare me to the Desert with thy sword;
&wlquo;^{9 note}If trembling I inhibit, then protest me
&wlquo;The baby of a girl. Hence, terrible shadow!
&wlquo;Unreal mock'ry, hence!&wrquo; Why, so,—being 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. ^{1 note}

Macb.
^{2 note}
You make me strange
&plquo;Ev'n to the disposition that I owe,&prquo;

&wlquo;When now I think, you can behold such sights;
&wlquo;And keep the natural Ruby of your Cheeks,
&wlquo;When mine is blanch'd with fear.&wrquo;

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.
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;
^{3 note}Augurs, that understand ^note relations, have
By mag-pies, and by coughs, 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 (a) ^note Thane of them, but in his house
I keep a servant fee'd. I will to morrow

(Betimes I will) unto the weyward sisters:
More shall they speak; for now I'm 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:
Strange things I have in head, that will to hand;
Which must be acted, ere they may be scann'd.

Lady.
You lack the Season of all Natures, Sleep.

Macb.
Come, we'll too sleep; my strange and self-abuse
^{4 note}Is the initiate fear; that wants hard use:
We're yet but young in Deed. [Exeunt. SCENE VI. Changes to the Heath. Thunder. Enter the three Witches, meeting Hecate.

1 Witch.
Why, how now, Hecat', you look angerly.

Hec.
Have I not reason, Beldams, as you are?
Saucy, and over-bold! how did you dare
To trade and traffick with Macbeth,
In riddles; ^{5 note}and affairs of death?
And I, the mistress of your Charms,
The close contriver of all harms,
Was never call'd to bear my part,
Or shew the glory of our Art?
And, which is worse, all you have done
Hath been but for a weyward son;

Spightful and wrathful, who, as others do,
Loves for his own ends, not for you.
But make amends now; get you gone,
And at the pit of Acheron
Meet me i' th' morning: thither he
Will come, to know his destiny;
Your vessels and your spells provide,
Your Charms and every thing beside.
I am for th' Air: this night I'll spend
Unto a dismal fatal end.
Great business must be wrought ere noon:
Upon the corner of the Moon
There hangs a vap'rous drop, profound;
I'll catch it ere it come to ground;
And that distill'd by magick slights,
Shall raise such artificial sprights,
As, by the strength of their illusion,
Shall draw him on to his confusion.
He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear
His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace, and fear:
And you all know, Security
Is mortal's chiefest enemy. [Musick and a Song.
Hark, I am call'd; my little spirit, see,
Sits in the foggy cloud, and stays for me. [Sing within. Come away, come away, &c.

1 Witch.
Come, let's make haste, she'll soon be back again. [Exeunt. SCENE VII. Changes to a Chamber. Enter Lenox, and another Lord.

Len.
My former speeches have but hit your thoughts,
Which can interpret farther: only, I say,
Things have been strangely borne. The gracious Duncan

Was pitied of Macbeth—marry, he was dead:—
And the right-valiant Banquo walk'd too late.
Whom, you may say, if't please you, Fleance kill'd,
For Fleance fled: men must not walk too late.
Who cannot want the thought, how monstrous too
It was for Malcolm, and for Donalbain
To kill their gracious father? damned fact!
How did it grieve Macbeth? did he not straight
In pious rage the two delinquents tear,
That were the slaves of drink, and thralls of sleep?
Was not that nobly done? ay, wisely too;
For 'twould have anger'd any heart alive
To hear the men deny't. So that, I say,
He has borne all things well; and I do think,
That had he Duncan's sons under his key,
(As, an't please heav'n, he shall not;) they should find
What 'twere to kill a father: so should Fleance.
But peace! for from broad words, and 'cause he fail'd
His presence at the tyrant's feast, I hear,
Macduff lives in disgrace. Sir, can you tell
Where he bestows himself?

Lord.
The Son of Duncan,
From whom this tyrant holds the due of Birth,
Lives in the English Court; and is receiv'd
Of the most pious Edward with such grace,
That the malevolence of fortune nothing
Takes from his high respect. Thither Macduff
Is gone to pray the King upon his aid
To wake Northumberland, and warlike Siward;
That by the help of these, (with Him above
To ratifie the work,) we may again
Give to our tables meat, sleep to our nights;
Free from our feasts and banquets bloody knives;
Do faithful homage, ^{3 note}and receive free honours,
All which we pine for now. And this report

Hath so exasp'rated their King, that he
Prepares for some attempt of War.

Len.
Sent he to Macduff?

Lord.
He did; and with an absolute, Sir, not I,
The cloudy messenger turns me his back,
And hums; as who should say, you'll rue the time,
That clogs me with this answer.

Len.
And that well might
Advise him to a care to hold what distance
His wisdom can provide. Some holy Angel
Fly to the Court of England, and unfold
His message ere he come; that a swift Blessing
May soon return to this our suffering Country,
Under a hand accurs'd!

Lord.
I'll send my pray'rs with him. [Exeunt.

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