Your Majefty loads our house. For those of old,
And the late dignities heap'd up to them,
We reft your hermits.
King. Where's the Thane of Cawdor?
We cours'd him at the heels, and had a purpose
To be his purveyor: but he rides well,
And his great love, sharp as his fpur, hath holp him
To's home before us: fair and noble hostess,
We are your guest to-night.
Have theirs, themselves, and what is theirs, in compt,
To make their audit at your Highness' pleasure,
Still to return your own.
King. Give me your hand;
Conduct me to mine hoft, we love him highly,
And shall continue our graces towards him.
By your leave, hostess.
SCENE
An Apartment in the Caftle.
Hautboys, Torches. Enter divers Servants with dishes and Service over the Stage. Then Macbeth.
Macb. [F it were done, when 'tis done; then 'twere well
It were done quickly: if th' affaffination
Could tramell up the confequence, and catch
With its furceafe, fuccefs; that but this blow
Might be the Be-all and the End-all here,
Here only, on this bank and 7'fhoal of time;
We'd jump the life to come. But in these cases
We ftill have judgment bere; that we but teach
Bloody inftructions, which being taught return
To plague th' inventor: even-handed Juftice
Returns th' ingredients of our poifon'd chalice
To our own lips. He's here in double truft:
Hh 2
Firft, as I am his kinfman and his fubject,
Strong both against the deed: then, as his hoft,
Who should against his murth'rer fhut the door,
Not bear the knife my felf. Befides, this Duncan
Hath born his faculties fo meek, hath been
So clear in his great office, that his virtues
Will plead like angels trumpet-tongu'd against
The deep damnation of his taking off:
And Pity, like a naked new-born babe
Striding the blaft, or heav'n's cherubin hors'd
Upon the fightlefs /courfers of the air,
Shall blow the horrid deed in ev'ry eye,
That tears fhall drown the wind.
To prick the fides of my intent, but only
Vaulting Ambition, which o'er-leaps it self,
And falls on 'th' other fide.`
Lady. He hath`almost fupp'd; why have you left the
Macb. Hath he ask'd for me?
Lady. Know you not he has?
Mach. We will proceed no further in this business. He hath honour'd me of late; and I have bought
Golden opinions from all forts of people,
Which fhould be worn now in their neweft glofs,
Not caft afide fo foon.
Lady. Was the hope drunk,
dreft your felf? hath it flept fince?
And wakes it now, to look fo green and pale
At what it did fo freely? from this time,
Such I account thy love. Art thou afraid
To be the fame in thine own act and valour,
As thou art in defire? wouldft thou have that
8 couriers ... old edit, Warb. emend. 9 th' other.
Which thou efteem'ft the ornament of life,
And live a coward in thine own esteem?
Letting I dare not wait upon I would,
Like the poor cat i' th' adage, a
Mach. Pr'ythee, peace:
I dare do all that may become a man;
Who dares do more, is none.
Lady. What beast was't then,
That made you break this enterprize to me?
When you durft do it, then you were a man;
And to be more than what you were you would
Be fo much more than` man. Nor time, nor place
Did then co-here, and yet you would make both:
They've made themfelves, and that their fitness now
Do's unmake you. I have giv'n fuck, and know
How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me,
I would, while it was fmiling in my face,
Have pluckt my nipple from his boneless gums,
And dafht the brains out, had I but fo fworn.
As you have done to this.
Macb. If we fhould fail?
Lady. We fail!
But fcrew your courage to the fticking place,
And we'll not fail. When Duncan is alleep,
(Whereto the rather fhall this day's hard journey
Soundly invite him) his two chamberlains
Will I with wine and waffel fo convince,
That memory (the warder of the brain)
Shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason
A limbeck only: when in fwinifh fleep
Their drenched natures lye as in a death,
What cannot you and I perform upon
Th' unguarded Duncan? what not put upon
His fpungy officers, who fhall bear the guilt
Of our great quell?
(a) The proverb bere meant is this, The cat loves fifh but dares not
Mach. Bring forth men-children only!
For thy undaunted metal fhould compofe
Nothing but males. Will it not be receiv'd,
When we have mark'd with blood thofe fleepy two
Of his own chamber, and us'd their very daggers,
That they have done't?
Lady. Who dares receive it other,
As we fhall make our griefs and clamour roar,
Upon his death?
Mach. I'm fettled, and bend up
Each corp'ral agent to this terrible feat.
Away, and mock the time with faireft show:
Falfe face muft hide what the falfe heart doth know.
A Hall in Macbeth's Caftle.
Enter Banquo, and Fleance with a torch before bim.
Fle. The moon is down: I have not heard the
Ban. And fhe goes down at twelve.
Fle. I take't, 'tis later, Sir.
Ban. Hold, take my fword. There's husbandry in Their candles are all out.
A heavy fummons lyes like lead upon me,
And yet I would not fleep: Merciful pow'rs!
Restrain in me the curfed thoughts that nature
Gives way to in repose.
Enter Macbeth, and a Servant with a torch.
Give me my fword:
Who's there?
Ban. What, Sir, not yet at reft? the King's a-bed,
He hath to-night been in unufual pleasure,
And fent great largefs to your officers;
This diamond he greets your wife withal,
By th' name of mott kind hoftefs, 'and's fhut up
In measureless content.
Mach. Being unprepar'd,
Our will became the fervant to defect,
Which else should free have wrought.
Ban. All's very well.`
I dreamt last night of the three weird fifters:
To you they've fhew'd fome truth.
Mach. I think not of them;
Yet when we can intreat an hour to serve,
Would spend it in fome words upon that business,
If you would grant the time.
Ban. At your kind leisure.
Mach. If you fhall cleave to my confent, when 'tis, It fhall make honour for you.
In feeking to augment it, but ftill keep
My bofom franchis'd and allegiance clear,
I fhall be counsell'd.
Mach. Good repose the while!
Ban. Thanks, Sir; the like to you.
[Exeunt Banquo and Fleance.
CEN E II.
Mach. Go, bid thy miftrefs, when my drink is ready, She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed. [Exit Servant. Is this a dagger which I fee before me,
The handle tow'rd my hand? come let me clutch thee-
I have thee not, and yet I fee thee still.
Art thou not, fatal vision, fenfible
To feeling, as to fight? or art thou but
A dagger of the mind, a falfe creation
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