King. Where's the Thane of Cawdor?
We coursed him at the heels, and had a purpose
To be his purveyor; but he rides well;
And his great love, sharp as his spur, hath holp him
To his home before us. Fair and noble hostess,
We are your guest to-night.

Lady M. Your servants ever

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 host; we love him highly,
And shall continue our graces towards him.
By your leave, hostess.

[Flourish of Trumpets and Drums —Exeunt through
the Castle Gates.

Scene VII.—Macbeth's Castle at Inverness.
Enter Macbeth, R.

Mach. If it 'were done, when 'tis done, then 'twere

well,

It were done quickly. If the assassination
Could trammel, up the consequence, and catch
With his surcease,‡ success !—That but this blow
Might be the be-all, and the end-all, here^
But here, upon this bank and shoal of time,
We'd jump the life to come.—But, in these cases,
We still have judgment here, that we but teach
Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return
To plague the inventor: This even-handed justice
Commends the ingredients of our poisoned chalice
To our own lips.—He's here in double trust:
First, as I am his kinsman and his subject,—
Strong both against the deed; then, as his host,
Who should against his murderer shut the door,
Not bear the knife myself.—Besides, this Duncan
Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been
So clear in his great office, that his virtues
Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against
The deep damnation of his taking-off:

I have no spur

To prick the sides of my intent, but only

Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself,

And falls on the other side—How now! what news?

Enter Lady Macbeth, R.

Lady M. He has almost supped: why have you left the chamber ?

Macb. Hath he asked for me ?

Lady M. Know you not, he has?

Macb. We will proceed no further in this business:
He hath honoured me of late; and I have bought
Golden opinions from all sorts of people,
Which should be worn now in their newest gloss,
Not cast aside so soon.

Lady M. Was the hope drunk
Wherein you dressed yourself? hath it slept since,
And wakes it now, to look so green and pale
At what it did so freely? From this time,
Such I account thy love.—Art thou afeard
To be the same in thine own act and valour,
As thou art in desire ? Would'st thou have that
Which thou esteem'st 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 ? [Crossing, L.

Macb. 'Pr'ythee, peace:
I dare do all that may become a man—
Who dares do more, is none.

Lady M. What beast was it, then,
That made you break the enterprise to me?
When you durst do it, then you were a man;
And, to be more than what you were, you would
Be so much more than man. Nor time, nor place,
Did then adhere, and yet you would make both:
They have made themselves, and that their fitness now
Does unmake you. I have given suck, and know
How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me:
I would, while it was smiling in my face,
Have plucked my nipple from his boneless gums,
And dashed the brains out, had I so sworn . >•

As you have done to this!

Macb. If we should fail—

Lady M. We fail l.--

But screw your courage to the sticking place,
And we'll not fail. When Duncan is asleep,
(Whereto the rather shall his day's hard journey
Soundly invite him), his two chamberlains
Will I with wine and wassail so convince,
That memory, the warder of the brain,
Shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason
A limbeck* only: when in swinish sleep
Their drenched natures lie, as in a death,
What cannot you and I perform upon
The unguarded Duncan? what not put upon
His spongy officers, who shall bear the guilt
Of our great quell If

Macb. Bring forth men-children only!
For thy undaunted mettle should compose
Nothing but males. Will it not be received,
When we have marked with blood those sleepy two
Of his own chamber, and used their very daggers,
That they have done't?

Lady M. Who dares receive it other,
As we shall make our griefs and clamour roar
Upon his death?

Macb. I am settled; and bend up
Each corporal agent to this terrible feat.—
Away, and mock the time with fairest show:
False face must hide what the false heart doth know.

[Exeunt, R.

END OF ACT I.

ACT II.

Scene I.—Macbeth's Castle at Inverness.—The Gallery Enter Banquo and Fleance, with a Torch, R.

Ban. How goes the night, boy?

Fle. The moon is down; I have not heard the clock

Ban. And she goes down at twelve.

Fle. I take't, 'tis later, sir.

/•'.,',-,', There's husbandry in Heaven—-
Their candles are all out.—
A heavy summons lies like lead upon me,
And yet I would not sleep. Merciful powers,
Restrain in me the cursed thoughts, that nature
Gives way to in repose!

Enter Seyton, with a Torch, and Macbeth, L.

Who's there?

Mad. A friend.

Ban. What, sir, not yet at rest 1 The King's abed: He hath been in unusual pleasure, and Sent forth great largess* to your officers: This diamond he greets your wife withal, By the name of most kind hostess; and shut up f

In measureless content.

Macb. Being unprepared,
Our will became the servant to defect;
Which else should free have wrought.

Ban. All's well.—

I dreamed last night of the three weird sisters:
To you they have shewed some truth.

Macb. I think not of them:
Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve,
Would spend it in some words upon that business,
If you would grant the time.

Ban. At your kind'st leisure.

Macb. If you shall cleave to my consent, when 'tis,
It shall make honour for you.

Ban. So I lose none,
In seeking to augment it, but still keep
My bosom franchised, and allegiance clear,
I shall be counselled.

Macb. Good repose, the while!

Ban. Thanks, sir: the like to you!

[Exeunt Fleance and Banquo, up stairs, L.

Macb. Go, bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready, She strike upon the bell.—Get thee to bed.

[Exit Seyton, L. Is this a dagger which I see before me,

« * Large sse, (French) gift, present.

The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee!

I have thee not: and yet I see thee still!

Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible

To feeling, as to sight1? or art thou but

A dagger of the mind, a false creation

Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?

I see thee yet, in form as palpable

As this which now I draw.

Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going;

And such an instrument I was to use.

Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses,

Or else worth all the rest.—I see thee still!

And on thy blade, and dudgeon, gouts of blood,

Which was not so before.—There's no such thing!

It is the bloody business, which informs I

Thus to mine eyes.—Now o'er the one half world,

Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse

The curtained sleep; now witchcraft celebrates

Pale Hecate's offerings; and withered murder,

Alarumed by his sentinel, the wolf,

Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace,

Towards his design

Moves like a ghost.—Thou sure and firm-set earth

Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear

Thy very stones prate of my whereabout,

And take the present horror from the time

Which now suits with it. [ Clock strikes Two.

I go, and it is done; the bell invites me.

Hear it not, Duncan! for it is a knell

That summons thee to Heaven, or to hell!

[Exit, L.—Thunder and Lightning.

Enter Lady Macbeth, L. Lady M. That which hath made them drunk, hath made

me bold; What hath quenched them, hath given me fire :—Hark'.

—Peace!

It was the owl that shrieked, the fatal bellman, Which gives the stern'st good-night—[Crossing, R.]—He

is ab mt it;

The doors are open, and the surfeited grooms
Do mock their charge with snores: I have drugged their

possets,