Till thou applaud the deed. Come, feeling 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 the rooky wood:

Good things of day begin to droop and drowze;
Whiles night's black agents to their prey do rouse.
Thou marvell'st at my words: but hold thee ftill;
Things, bad begun, make strong themselves by ill :
So, pr'ythee, go with me.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. The fame. A Park or lawn, with a gate leading to the Palace.

Enter three MURDERERS.

1 MUR. But 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 just.

I MUR. Then ftand with us.

The weft yet glimmers with fome ftreaks 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.

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

2 MUR. Then it is he; the reft

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

I MUR. His horfes go about.

3

MUR. Almost a mile: but he does usually,

So all men do, from hence to the palace gate,

Make it their walk.

Enter BANQUO, and FLEANCE; a Servant with a torch preceding them.

2 MUR. A light, a light!

3

MUR. 'Tis he.

I MUR. Stand to't.

BAN. It will be rain to-night.

I MUR. Let it come down.

[Affaults BANQUO.

BAN. O, treachery! Fly, good Fleance, fly, fly, fly ; Thou may'ft revenge.-O flave!

[Dies. FLEANCE and Servant efcape.

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 have loft best half of our affair.

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

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV. A. Room of ftate in the Palace. A banquet prepared. Enter MACBETH, Lady MACBETH, ROSSE, LENOX, LORDS, and Attendants.

MACB. You know your own degrees, fit down: at first, And last, the hearty welcome.

LORDS. Thanks to your majesty.

MAGB. Ourself will mingle with society,

And play the humble host.

Our hoftefs keeps her state; but, in best time,

We will require her welcome.

LADY M. Pronounce it for me, fir, to all our friends;

For

my

heart speaks, they are welcome.

Enter firft MURDERER, to the door.

MACB. See, they encounter thee with their hearts' thanks:

Both fides are even: Here I'll fit i'the midst :

Be large in mirth; anon, we'll drink a measure
The table round. There's blood upon thy face.

MUR. 'Tis Banco's then.

MACB. 'Tis better thee without, than he within.

Is he despatch'd?

MUR. My lord, his throat is cut; that I did for him. MACB. Thou art the best o'the cut-throats: Yet he's

good,

That did the like for Fleance: if thou didst it,

Thou art the nonpareil.

MUR. Most royal fir,

Fleance is 'fcap'd.

MACB. Then comes my fit again: I had elfe been perfect;

Whole as the marble, founded as the rock;

As broad, and general, 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 the present.-Get thee gone; to-morrow

We'll hear, ourselves again.

LADY M. My royal lord,

[Exit MURDERer.

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

That is not often vouch'd, while 'tis a making,

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

Meeting were bare without it.

MACB. Sweet remembrancer!

Now, good digeftion wait on appetite,

And health on both!

LEN. May it please your highness fit?

[The Ghoft of BANQUO rifes, and fits in MACBETH'S place. MACB. Here had we now our country's honour roof'd, Were the grac'd person of our Banquo present;

Who may
Than pity for mischance!

I rather challenge for unkindness,

ROSSE. His absence, fir,

Lays blame upon his promise. Please it

To grace us with your royal company?
MACB. The table's full.

your highness

LEN. Here's a place referv'd, fir.

MACB. Where?

[nefs?

LEN. Here, my lord. What is't that moves your highMACB. Which of you have done this?

LORDS. What, my good lord?

MACB. Thou can'ft not fay, I did it never shake

Thy gory locks at me.

ROSSE. Gentlemen, rise; his highness is not well. LADY M. Sit, worthy friends:-My lord is often thus, And hath been from his youth: pray you, keep seat ; The fit is momentary; upon a thought

He will again be well: If much you note him,
You fhall offend him, and extend his paffion;
Feed, and regard him not.-Are you a man?

MACB. Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that
Which might appal the devil.

LADY M. O proper stuff!

This is the very painting of your fear:

This is the air-drawn dagger, which, you faid,
Led
you to Duncan. O, these flaws, and starts,

(Impoftors to true fear,) would well become
A woman's ftory, at a winter's fire,

Authoris'd by her grandam. Shame itself!
Why do

you make fuch faces? When all's done, You look but on a stool.

MACB. Pr'ythee, fee there! behold! look! lo! how say you?

Why, what care I? If thou canst nod, fpeak too.—
If charnel-houses, and our graves, muft fend
Those that we bury, back, our monuments
Shall be the maws of kites.

LADY M. What! quite unmann'd in folly?
MACB. If I ftand here, I saw him.

LADY M. Fie, for shame!

MACB. Blood hath been shed ere now, i'the olden time, Ere human statute purg'd the gentle weal;

Ay, and fince too, murders have been perform'd
Too terrible for the ear: the times have been,

That, when the brains were out, the man would die,
And there an end: but now, they rife again,
With twenty mortal murders on their crowns,
And push us from our ftools: This is more ftrange
Than fuch a murder is.

LADY M. My worthy lord,

Your noble friends do lack you.

MACB. I do forget :

Do not mufe 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 fit down:-Give me fome wine, fill full :

I drink to the general joy of the whole table,

Ghoft rifes.

And to our dear friend Banquo, whom we mifs