I do to spite the world.

First Mur.

Macb.

And I another

So weary with disasters, tugg'd with fortune,
That I would set my life on any chance,

To mend it or be rid on 't.

Both of you

Know Banquo was your enemy.

Both Mur.

True, my lord. Macb. So is he mine, and in such bloody distance

That every minute of his being thrusts

Against my near'st of life: and though I could
With barefaced power sweep him from my sight
And bid my will avouch it, yet I must not,
For certain friends that are both his and mine,
Whose loves I may not drop, but wail his fall
Who I myself struck down: and thence it is
That I to your assistance do make love,
Masking the business from the common eye
For sundry weighty reasons.

Sec. Mur.

We shall, my lord,

Perform what you command us.

First Mur.

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Though our lives

Macb. 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, 130
The moment on 't; for 't must be done to-night,
And something from the palace; always thought
That I require a clearness and with him-

:

To leave no rubs nor botches in the work—
Fleance his son, that keeps him company,
Whose absence is no less material to me

Than is his father's, must embrace the fate
Of that dark hour. Resolve yourselves apart:
I'll come to you anon.

We are resolved, my lord

140

Both Mur.
Macb. I'll call upon you straight: abide within.

[Exeunt Murderers.

It is concluded: Banquo thy soul's flight,

If it find heaven, must find it out to-night. [Exit.

Scene II.

The palace.

Enter Lady Macbeth and a Servant.

Lady M. Is Banquo gone from court?

Serv. Ay, madam, but returns again to-night.

Lady M. Say to the king, I would attend his leisure
For a few words.

Serv.

Madam, I will.

[Exit.

Lady M.

Nought 's had, all's spent,

Where our desire is got without content:
'Tis safer to be that which we destroy
Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy.

Enter Macbeth.

9

How now, my lord! why do you keep alone,
Of sorriest fancies your companions making;
Using those thoughts which should indeed have died.
With them they think on? Things without all remedy
Should be without regard: what's done is done.
Macb. We have scotch'd the snake, not kill'd it:

She'll close and be herself, whilst our poor malice
Remains in danger of her former tooth.

But let the frame of things disjoint, both the worlds
suffer,

Ere we will eat our meal in fear, and sleep

In the affliction of these terrible dreams

That shake us nightly: better be with the dead,
Whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace,
Than on the torture of the mind to lie
In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his
After life's fitful fever he sleeps well;
Treason has done his worst: nor steel, nor poison,
Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing,

grave;

21

Can touch him further.

Lady M.

Come on;

Gentle my lord, sleek o'er your rugged looks; Be bright and jovial among your guests to-night. Macb. So shall I, love; and so, I pray,

be you:

Let your remembrance apply to Banquo;

Present him eminence, both with eye and tongue:
Unsafe the while, that we

Must lave our honours in these flattering streams,
And make our faces visards to our hearts,

Disguising what they are.

Lady M.
You must leave this.
Macb. O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife!

Thou know'st that Banquo, and his Fleance, lives. Lady M. But in them nature's copy 's not eterne. Macb. There's comfort yet; they are assailable;

30

40

Then be thou jocund: ere the bat hath flown
His cloister'd flight; ere to black Hecate's summons
The shard-borne beetle with his drowsy hums
Hath rung night's yawning peal, there shall be done
A deed of dreadful note.

Lady M.

What's to be done?

Macb. Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck, Till thou applaud the deed. Come, seeling night, Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day,

And with thy bloody and invisible hand

Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond

Which keeps ine pale! Light thickens, and the

crow

Makes wing to the rooky wood:

50

do rouse.

Good things of day begin to droop and drowse,
Whiles night's black agents to their preys
Thou marvell'st at my words: but hold thee still;
Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill:
So, prithee, go with me.

[Exeunt.

Scene III.

A park near the palace.

Enter three Murderers.

First Mur. But who did bid thee join with us?

Third Mur.

Macbeth.

Sec. Mur. He needs not our mistrust; since he delivers

Our offices, and what we have to do,

To the direction just.

First Mur.

Then stand with us.

The west yet glimmers with some streaks of day:
Now spurs the lated traveller apace

To gain the timely inn, and near approaches