Enter Macbeth, Banquo, Roffe, and Angus.

O worthieft Coufin!

The fin of my ingratitude e'en now

Was heavy on me.

Thou'rt fo far before,

That fwifteft wing of recompence is flow,

To overtake thee. 'Would, thou'dft lefs deferv'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 fervice and the loyalty I owe,
I doing it, pays itself. Your Highness' part

Is to receive our duties; and our duties

Are to your Throne, and State, children and fervants; Which do but what they fhould, by doing every thing. *Fref'd tow'rd your Life and honour.

King. Welcome hither:

I have begun to plant thee, and will labour
To make thee full of growing.

Noble Banquo,
Thou haft no lefs deferv'd, and must be known.
No lefs to have done fo: 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, feek to hide themselves
In drops of forrow. Sons, kinfmen, Thanes,
And you whofe Places are the nearest, know,
We will eftablish our eftate upon

Our eldest Malcolm, whom we name hereafter
The Prince of Cumberland: which honour must,
Not accompanied, inveft him only;

But figns of Noblenefs, like ftars, fhall fhine

On all defervers. Hence to Inverness,

And bind us further to you.

[you;

Macb. The Reft is Labour, which is not us'd for

Safe toward your love and honour.] Shoul be read thus,

Fief'd tow'rd your life and honour. i. e. their Duties being Fiefd, or ingaged to the fupport of, as feudal Tenants to their Lord.

I'll be myself 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 elfe o'er-leap, [Afide. For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires! Let not Night fee my black and deep defires; The Eye wink at the hand! yet let that be, Which the eye fears, when it is done, to fee. [Exit. King. True, worthy Banquo; he is full fo valiant; And in his commendations I am fed;

It is a banquet to me.

Let us after him,

Whofe care is gone before to bid us welcome:

It is a peerless Kinsman.

SCENE

[Flourish. Exeunt.

VII.

Changes to an Apartment in Macbeth's Castle, at

Inverness.

Enter Lady Macbeth alone, with a letter.

Lady. THEY

HEY met me in the day of fuccefs; and I have learn'd by the perfected report, they have more in them than mortal knowledge. When I burnt in defire to queftion them further, they made themfelves air, into which they vanifh'd. While I food rapt in the wonder of it, came Miffives from the King, who all-hail'd me, Thane of Cawdor; by which title, before, thefe weyward fifters faluted me, and referr'd me to the coming on of time, with hail, King that fhalt be! This have I thought good to deliver thee (my dearest Partner of Greatness) that thou might ft not lose the dues of rejoicing, by being ignorant of what Greatnefs is promis'd thee. Lay it to thy heart, and farewel.

-and fhalt be

Glamis thou art, and Cawdor-
What thou art promis'd. Yet do I fear thy nature;

It

It is too full o' th' milk of human kindness,
To catch the nearest way. Thou would't be great;
Art not without ambition; but without

The illness fhould attend it. What thou would'ft highly,

That wouldst thou holily; wouldft not play false,
And yet wouldft wrongly win. Thou'dft have, great
Glamis,

That which cries, thus thou must do, if thou have it;
And That which rather thou doft fear to do,
Than wishes fhould be undone. Hie thee hither,
That I may pour my spirits in thine ear,
And chaftife with the valour of my tongue
All that impedes thee from the golden Round,
Which fate, and metaphyfic aid, doth seem
To have crown'd thee withal.

Enter Meffenger.'

What is your tidings?

Mef. The King comes here to night.
Lady. Thou'rt mad to fay it.

Is not thy mafter with him? who, were't fo,
Would have inform'd for preparation.

Mef. So please you, it is true: our Thane is coming. One of my fellows had the speed of him;

Who, almoft dead for breath, had fcarcely more

Than would make up his meffage.

Lady. Give him tending;

He brings great news. The raven himself's not

hoarfe,

[Exit Mef.

That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan
Under my battlements. Come, all you Spirits
That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here;
And fill me, from the crown to th' toe, top-full
Of direct cruelty; make thick my blood,
Stop up th' accefs and paffage to Remorse,
That no compunctious vifitings of nature
Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between

Th'

Th' effect, and it.

Come to my woman's breafts,

And take my milk for gall, you murd'ring mi

nifters !

Where-ever in your fightlefs fubftances

You wait on nature's mifchief-Come, thick night! +And pall thee in the dunneft fmoke of hell,

That my

keen knife fee not the wound it makes; Nor heav'n peep through the blanket of the dark, To cry, hold, hold!

Enter Macbeth.

Great Glamis! worthy Cawdor!

[Embracing him.

Greater than both, by the all-hail hereafter!
Thy letters have tranfported me beyond
This ign'rant prefent time, and I feel now
The future in the inftant.

Macb. Deareft love,

Duncan comes here to night.

Lady. And when goes hence?
Macb. To-morrow, as he purposes.
Lady. Oh, never

Shall Sun that morrow fee!—

Your face, my Thane, is as a book, where men
May read ftrange matters. To beguile the time,
Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye,
Your hand, your tongue; look like the innocent
flower,

But be the ferpent under't. He, that's coming,
Muft be provided for; and you fhall put
This night's great bufinefs into my dispatch,
Which thall to all our nights and days to come
Give folely fovereign fway and mafterdom.
Macb. We will speak further.

Lady. Only look up clear:

To alter favour, ever, is to fear.
Leave all the reft to me.

You wait on nature's mifchief-] Nature, for Human.
And pall thee] i. e. wrap thyself in a Pall.

[Exeunt.

SCENE

SCENE VIII.

Before Macbeth's Caftle-Gate.

Hautboys and Torches.

Enter King, Malcolm,

Donalbain, Banquo, Lenox, Macduff, Roffe,
Angus, and Attendants.

King. HIS Caftle hath a pleafant feat; the air
TH
Nimbly and fweetly recommends itfelf

Unto our general fenfe.

Ban. This gueft of fummer,

The temple-haunting martlet, does approve
By his lov'd Manfionry that heaven's breath
Smells wooingly here. No jutting frieze,
Buttrice, nor coigne of vantage, but this bird
Hath made his pendant bed, and procreant cradle:
Where they moft breed and haunt, I have obferv'd,
The air is delicate.

Enter Lady.

King. See, fee! our honour'd Hoftefs!

The love that follows us, fometimes is our trouble, Which ftill we thank as love. Herein I teach you, * How you should bid god-yeld us for your pains, And thank us for your trouble.

Lady. All our fervice

(In every point twice done, and then done double,) Were poor and fingle business to contend

Against thofe honours deep and broad, wherewith Your Majefty loads our Houfe. For thofe of old, And the late dignities heap'd up to them,

We reft your Hermits.

King.

Where's the Thane of Cawdor?

We court him at the heels, and had a purpose
To be his purveyor: but he rides well,

And his great love, (fharp as his fpur,) hath holp him

How you should bid god-yeld us-] To bid any one god-yeld him,

i. c. god-yield him, was the fame as God reward him.

To's