Don. To Ireland, I; our separated fortune Shall keep us both the safer where we are, There's daggers in men's smiles: the near in blood. The nearer bloody. SCENE IV. Outside Macbeth's castle. Is't night's predominance, or the day's shame, That darkness does the face of earth entomb, When living light should kiss it? Old M. 'Tis unnatural, 10 Even like the deed that's done. On Tuesday last, A falcon, towering in her pride of place, Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at and kill'd. Ross. And Duncan's horses-a thing most strange and certain Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race, Turn'd wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out, Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would make Macd. No, cousin, I'll to Fife. there adieu! Lest our old robes sit easier than our new! Old M. God's benison go with you; and with those 40 That would make good of bad, and friends of foes! [Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE I. Forres. The palace. Enter BANQUO. Ban. Thou hast it now: king, Cawdor, Glamis, all, As the weird women promised, and, I fear, Thou play'dst most foully for't yet it was said And set me up in hope? But hush! no more. Macb. Here's our chief guest. If he had been forgotten, It had been as a gap in our great feast, Macb. To-night we hold a solemn supper, sir, And I'll request your presence. Ban. Let your highness Command upon me; to the which my duties Are with a most indissoluble tie For ever knit. 100 All by the name of dogs: the valued file Sec. Mur. To mend it, or be rid on't. Macb. Both of you Both Mur. distance, Auch We shall my lord, Perform what you command us First Mur. Though our livesMacb. Your spirits shine through you. Within this hour at most I will advise you where to plant yourselves; Acquaint you with the perfect spy o' the time, The moment on't; for't must be done tonight, 131 And something from the palace; always thought That I require a clearness: and with him Let your remembrance apply to Banquo; 30 Present him eminence, both with eye and Then be thou jocund: ere the bat hath flown His cloister'd flight, ere to black Hecate's 41 summons The shard-borne beetle with his drowsy hums Till thou applaud the deed. Come, seeling night, Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day; the crow 50 Makes wing to the rooky wood: rouse. Thon marvell'st at my words: but hold thee still: [ill. Things bad begun make strong themselves by So, prithee, go with me. [Exeunt. |