Acquaint you with the perfect spy o'th' time,
The moment on't; (for't must be done to night,
And fomething from the Palace: always thought,
That I require a Clearnefs:) and with him,
(To leave no rubs nor botches in the Work)
Fleance his fon, that keeps him company,
(Whose absence is no less material to me,
Than is his father's) must embrace the fate
Of that dark hour. Refolve yourselves a-part,
I'll come to you anon.

Mur. We are refolv'd, my lord.

Mach. I'll call upon you straight; abide within. [Exeunt murderers. It is concluded;--Banquo, thy Soul's flight, If it find heav'n, muft find it out to-night.

Another Apartment in the Palace.

Enter Lady Macbeth, and a Servant.

S Banquo gone from Court?

[Exit,

Lady. Ir. Ay Madam, but returns again to night.

Lady. Say to the King, I would attend his leifure For a few words.

Serv. Madam, I will.

Lady. Nought's had, all's spent,

Where our defire is got without content:
'Tis fafer to be That which we destroy,
Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy.

Enter Macbeth.

[Exit.

How now, my lord, why do you keep alone?
Of forrieft fancies your companions making,
Ufing thofe thoughts, which fhould, indeed, have dy'd
With them they think on? things without all remedy
Should be without regard; what's done, is done.
Mach. We have fcotch'd the fnake, not kill'd it-

She'll

She'll clofe, and be herfelf; whilft our poor malice
Remains in danger of her former tooth.

But let both worlds disjoint, and all things fuffer,
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 reftlefs ecftasy-Duncan is in his Grave;
After life's fitful fever, he fleeps well;

Treafon has done his worft; nor fteel, nor poifon,
Malice domeftic, foreign levy, nothing
Can touch him further!

Lady. Come on;

Gentle my lord, fleek o'er your rugged looks;
Be bright and jovial, 'mong your guests to night.
Macb. So fhall I, Love; and fo, I pray, be you;
Let your remembrance ftill apply to Banquo.
Prefent him Eminence, both with eye and tongue:
Unsafe the while, that we muft lave our honours
In these so flatt'ring ftreams, and make our faces
Vizors t'our hearts, difguifing what they are!
Lady. You must leave this.

Macb. O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife!
Thou know'ft, that Banquo, and his Fleance, lives.
Lady. But in them Nature's copy's not eternal.
Macb. There's comfort yet, they are affailable;
Then, be thou jocund. Ére the Bat hath flown
His cloyfter'd flight; ere to black Hecat's fummons
*The hard-born beetle with his drowsy hums
Hath rung night's yawning peal, there fhall be done
A deed of dreadful note.

Lady. What's to be done?

Macb. Be innocent of the knowledge, deareft chuck, 'Till thou applaud the Deed: t come, feeling Night,

The fhard-born beetle] i. e. The Beetle hatch'd in Clifts of Wood. + Come, fealing Night,] Thus the common Editions had it; but the old one, feeling, i. e. blinding; which is right. It is a term in Falconry.

Skarf

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'ft at my words; but hold thee ftill; Things, bad begun, make strong themselves by Ill: So, pr'ythee, go with me. Exeunt.

1 Mur.

Changes to a Park; the Caftle at a diftance.

B

Enter three Murderers.

UT who did bid thee join with us?
3 Mur. Macbeth.

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

To the direction juft.

1 Mur. Then ftand with us.

The weft yet glimmers with some streaks of day:
Now fpurs the lated traveller apace,

To gain the timely inn; and near approaches
The fubject of our watch.

3 Mur. Hark, I hear horfes.

[Banquo within.] Give us light there, ho!
2 Mur. Then it is he: the reft

That are within the note of expectation,
Already are i' th' Court.

I Mur. His horses go about.

3 Mur. Almoft a mile: but he does ufually, (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. Ban. Oh, treachery! Fly, Fleance, fly, fly, fly,

[They affault Banquo.

Thou may'ft revenge. Oh flave!

[Dies. Fleance escapes.

3 Mur. Who did ftrike out the light? I Mur. Was't not the way?

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

2 Mur. We've loft beft half of our affair.

1 Mur. Well, let's away, and fay how much is

done.

Exeunt.

Changes to a Room of State in the Cafle.

A Banquet prepar'd. Enter Macbeth, Lady Roffe, Lenox, Lords, and Attendants.

Macb.

YOU

OU know your own degrees, fit down:
At first and last, the hearty welcome.

Lords. Thanks to your Majefly.

Macb. Ourself will mingle with fociety,

And play the humble Hoft:

Our Hoftess keeps her State, but in best time

We will require her welcome.

[They fit.

Lady. Pronounce it for me, Sir, to all our friends,

For my heart fpeaks, they're welcome.

Enter firft Murderer.

Macb. See, they encounter thee with their hearts' thanks.

Both fides are even: here I'll fit i' th' midft;

Be large in mirth, anon we'll drink a measure The table round- There's blood upon thy face. [To the Murderer, afide, at the door.

Mur.

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

Fleance is 'fcap'd.

[perfect;

Mac. Then comes my Fit again I had elfe been Whole as the marble, founded as the rock;

As broad, and gen'ral, as the casing air:

But now I'm cabin'd, cribb'd, confin'd, bound in
To faucy Doubts and Fears. But Banquo's fafe?— ·
Mur. Ay, my good lord: fafe in a ditch he bides,
With twenty trenched gashes on his head;
The leaft a death to Nature.

Macb. Thanks for that;

There the grown ferpent lies: the worm, that's fled, Hath Nature that in time will venom breed,

No teeth for th' present.

Get thee gone, to-morrow

[Exit Murderer.

We'll hear't ourselves again.

Lady. My royal lord,

You do not give the cheer; the feaft is fold,

That is not often vouched, while 'tis making

'Tis given with welcome. To feed, were best at home; From thence, the fauce to meat is ceremony;

Meeting were bare without it.

[The Ghost of Banquo rifes, and fits in Macbeth's place. Macb. Sweet remembrancer!

Now good digestion wait on appetite,

And health on both!

Len. May't pleafe your Highness fit?

[roof'd,

Mach. Here had we now our Country's Honour

Were the grac'd perfon of our Banquo prefent,
(Whom may I rather challenge for unkindness,
Than pity for mischance !)

Roffe. His abfence, Sir,

VOL. VII.

P

Lay's