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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 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.

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With them they think on? Things without all
remedy,
Should be without regard: what 's done, is done.
Macb. We have scotched the snake, not killed
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 place, have sent to peace,
Than on the torture of the mind to lie

In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave;
After life's fitful fever, he sleeps well;
Treason has done his worst: nor steel, nor poison,
Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing,
Can touch him further.

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

МАСВЕТΗ.

SCENE IV.

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Lady M.

O proper stuff!

This is the very painting of your fear:

This is the air-drawn dagger which, you said,
Led you to Duncan. O, these flaws and starts
(Impostors to true fear) would well become
A woman's story, at a winter's fire,
Authorised by her grandam. Shame itself!
Why do you make such faces? When all's done,
You look but on a stool.

Macb. Pr'y thee, see there! behold! look! lo! how say you?—

Why, what care I? If thou canst nod, speak too. – If charnel-houses and our graves must send Those that we bury back, our monuments

Shall be the maws of kites. [Ghost disappears.

Lady M.

What! quite unmanned in folly?

Macb. If I stand here, I saw him.
Lady M.
Fy, for shame!

Macb. Blood hath been shed ere now, i' the

olden time,

Ere human statute purged the gentle weal;
Ay, and since too, murders have been performed
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 rise again, With twenty mortal murders on their crowns, And push us from our stools: this is more strange Than such a murder is.

Lady M.

My worthy lord, Your noble friends do lack you. Macb.

I do forget :

Do not muse 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 sit down:-Give me some wine; fill full:

I drink to the general joy of the whole table,
Ghost rises.

And to our dear friend, Banquo, whom we miss;
Would he were here! to all, and him, we thirst,
And all to all.
Lords.

Our duties, and the pledge.

Macb. Avaunt, and quit my sight! Let the
earth hide thee!

Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold;
Thou hast no speculation in those eyes
Which thou dost glare with!
Lady M.

Think of this, good peers,

But as a thing of custom: 'tis no other;
Only it spoils the pleasure of the time.
Macb. What man dare, I dare:
Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear,
The armed rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger;
Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves
Shall never tremble: or, be alive again,
And dare me to the desert with thy sword;
If trembling I inhibit, then protest me

The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow!
[Ghost disappears.

Unreal mockery, hence! - Why, so: being gone, I am a man again.-Pray you, sit still.

Lady M. You have displaced the mirth, broke

the good meeting,

With most admired disorder.
Macb.

Can such things be,

And overcome us like a summer's cloud,

Without our special wonder? You make me

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SCENE V. The Heath. Thunder.

Enter HECATE, meeting the three Witches.

1st Witch. Why, how now, Hecate? you look angerly.

Hec. Have I not reason, beldams as you are, Saucy and overbold? How did you dare

To trade and traffic with Macbeth,

In riddles and affairs of death;

And I, the mistress of your charms,
The close contriver of all harms,
Was never called to bear my part,
Or shew the glory of our art?
And, which is worse, all you have done
Hath been but for a wayward son,
Spiteful, and wrathful; who, as others do,
Loves for his own ends, not for you.

But make amends now.

And at the pit of Acheron

Get you gone,

Meet me i' the morning; thither he

Will come to know his destiny.

Your vessels and your spells provide,

Your charms, and everything beside :

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SCENE VI. Fores. A Room in the Palace.

Enter LENOX and another Lord.

Len. My former speeches have but hit your thoughts,

Which can interpret further: only, I say, Things have been strangely borne. The gracious

Duncan

Was pitied of Macbeth :-marry, he was dead :
And the right-valiant Banquo walked too late;
Whom, you may say, if it please you, Fleance
killed,

For Fleance fled. Men must not walk too late.
Who cannot want the thought, how monstrous
It was for Malcolm and for Donalbain
To kill their gracious father? damnéd fact!
How it did grieve Macbeth! did he not straight,
In pious rage, the two delinquents tear,

That were the slaves of drink, and thralls of sleep?

Was not that nobly done? Ay, and wisely too;
For 't would have angered any heart alive,
To hear the men deny it. So that, I say,
He has borne all things well: and I do think,
That, had he Duncan's sons under his key

(As, an't please heaven, he shall not), they

should find

What 't were to kill a father: so should Fleance. But peace!-for from broad words, and 'cause he failed

His presence at the tyrant's feast, I hear
Macduff lives in disgrace: sir, can you tell
Where he bestows himself?

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I 'll send my prayers with him! [Exeunt.

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Lord.

arria Smith S

Light thickens; and the crow makes wing to the rooky wood.

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