Acquaint you with the perfect spy o'th' time, 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: Enter Macbeth. [Exit. How now, my lord, why do you keep alone? She'll She'll clofe, and be herfelf; whilft our poor malice But let both worlds disjoint, and all things fuffer, 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; Treafon has done his worft; nor fteel, nor poifon, Lady. Come on; Gentle my lord, fleek o'er your rugged looks; Macb. O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife! 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 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? 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: To gain the timely inn; and near approaches 3 Mur. Hark, I hear horfes. [Banquo within.] Give us light there, ho! That are within the note of expectation, 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: 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 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, Roffe. His abfence, Sir, VOL. VII. P Lay's |