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Nothing afеard of what thyself didst make,
Strange images of death. As thick as hail


every one did bear
Thy praises in his kingdom's great defence,

And pour’d them down before him.

We are sent 100
To give thee, from our royal master, thanks ;
Only to herald thee into his sight,

Ross. And for an earnest of a greater honour,

He bade me, from him, call thee thane of Cawdor :
In which addition, hail, most worthy thane !

For it is thine.

What, can the devil speak true ? Macb. The thane of Cawdor lives : why do you dress me

In borrow'd robes ?

Who was the thane lives yet,
But under heavy judgement bears that life
Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was com-

With those of Norway, or did line the rebel
With hidden help and vantage, or that with both
He labour'd in his country's wreck, I know not ;
But treasons capital, confess'd and proved,
Have overthrown him.



[Aside] Glamis, and thane of Cawdor : The greatest is behind.—Thanks for your pains.Do you not hope your children shall be kings, , When those that gave the thane of Cawdor to me

Promised no less to them? Ban.

That, trusted home, 120
Might yet

enkindle you unto the crown,
Besides the thane of Cawdor. But 'tis strange :
And oftentimes, to win us to our harm,
The instruments of darkness tell us truths,
Win us with honest trifles, to betray's
In deepest consequence.

Cousins, a word, I pray you.

[ Aside) Two truths are told,
As happy prologues to the swelling act
Of the imperial theme.--I thank you, gentlemen.-
[ Aside] This supernatural soliciting

Cannot be ill; cannot be good : if ill,
Why hath it given me earnest of success,
Commencing in a truth? I am thane of Cawdor:
If good, why do I yield to that suggestion
Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair
And make my seated heart knock at my ribs,
Against the use of nature ? Present fears
Are less than horrible imaginings :

My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical,
Shakes to my single state of man that function 140
Is smother'd in surmise, and nothing is

But what is not.

Look, how our partner's rapt. Macb. [Aside] If chance will have me king, why, chance

may crown me, Without


stir. Ban.

New honours come upon him,
Like our strange garments, cleave not to their mould

But with the aid of use.

[Aside] Come what come may, Time and the hour runs through the roughest day. Ban. Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure. Macb. Give me your favour : my dull brain was wrought With things forgotten. Kind gentlemen, your pains

Are register'd where every day I turn
The leaf to read them. Let us toward the king.
Think upon what hath chanced, and at

The interim having weigh'd it, let us speak

Our free hearts each to other.

Very gladly. Macb. Till then, enough. Come, friends. [Exeunt.


Scene IV.

Forres. The palace. Flourish. Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain, Lennox,

and Attendants. Dun. Is execution done on Cawdor? Are not

Those in commission yet return’d?

My liege,
They are not yet come back. But I have spoke
With one that saw him die, who did report
That very frankly he confess'd his treasons,
Implored your highness' pardon and set forth
A deep repentance: nothing in his life
Became him like the leaving it; he died
As one that had been studied in his death,
To throw away the dearest thing he owed

As 'twere a careless trifle.

There's no art
To find the mind's construction in the face :
He was a gentleman on whom I built
An absolute trust.
Enter Macbeth, Banquo, Ross, and Angus.

O worthiest cousin !
The sin of my ingratitude even now

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Was heavy on me: thou art so far before,
That swiftest wing of recompense is slow
To overtake thee. Would thou hadst less

That the proportion both of thanks and payment
Might have been mine ! only I have left to say, 20

More is thy due than more than all can pay.
Macb. The service and the loyalty I owe,

In doing it, pays itself. Your highness' part
Is to receive our duties : and our duties
Are to your throne and state children and servants ;
Which do but what they should, by doing every

Safe toward your love and honour.

Welcome hither :
I have be

to plant thee, and will labour
To make thee full of growing. Noble Banquo,
That hast no less deserved, nor must be known 30
No less to have done so: let me infold thee

And hold thee to my heart.

The harvest is your own.

My plenteous joys,
Wanton in fulness, seek to hide themselves
In drops of sorrow. Sons, kinsmen, thanes,

There if I grow,

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