But Treasons Capital, confefs'd, and prov'd,

Have overthrown him.

Mach. Glamis, and Thane of Cawdor!

[Afide.

The greatest is behind. Thanks for your pains. [To Angus.

Do you not hope your Children shall be Kings? [To Banquo.

When those that gave the Thane of Cawdor to me,

Promis'd no less to them?

Ban. That trusted home,

Might yet enkindle you into 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.

Coufins, a word, I pray you.

Macb. Two Truths are told,

[To Roffe and Angus.

As happy Prologues to the swelling A&

[Afide.

Of the imperial Theam. I thank you, Gentlemen

This supernatural folliciting

Cannot be ill; cannot be good

If ill?

Why hath it given me earnest of Succefs,
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 feated Heart knock at my Ribs,
Against the use of Nature? Present fears
Are less than horrible imaginings:

My thought, whose murther yet is but fantastical,

Shakes so my fingle State of Man,
That Function is smother'd in furmise,

And nothing is, but what is not.

Ban. Look how our Partner's rapt.

Mach. If Chance will haye me King, why chance may

crown me

Without my stir.

Ban. New Honours come upon him,

[Afide.

Like our strange Garments, cleave not to their mould,

But with the aid of use.

Macb. Come what come may,

Time and the Hour runs thro' the roughest Day.

Ban

Ban. Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure.
Mach. Give me your Favour :

My dull Brain was wrought with things forgotten.
Kind Gentlemen, your Pains are registred,
Where every Day I turn the Leaf to read them.

Let us toward the King; think upon
What hath chanc'd, and at more time,

The interim having weigh'd it, let us speak

Our free Hearts each to other.

Ban. Very gladly.

Macb. Till then enough :

Come, Friends.

SCENE IV. A Palace.

[To Banquo.

[Excum.

Flourish. Enter King, Malcolme, Donalbain, Lenox, and

Attendants.

King. Is Execution done on Cawdor ? Are not those in Commission yet return'd?

Mal. 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

Confefs'd his Treasons, implor'd your Highness pardon,
And fet forth a deep Repentance.
Nothing in his Life became him,

Like the leaving it. He dy'd,

As one that had been studied in his Death,

To throw away the dearest thing he ow'd,
As 'twere a careless trifle.

King. 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 Mackbeth, Banquo, Rosse, and Angus.

O worthieft Cousin!

The Sin of my Ingratitude even now
Was heavy on me. Thou art fo far before,
That swiftest Wind of Recompence is flow,

To overtake thee. Would thou hadst less deserv'd,

That

That the Proportion both of Thanks and Payment,
Might have been mine: Only I have left to say,
More is thy due, than more than all can pay.

Mach. The Service and the Loyalty I owe,

In doing it, pays it felf.
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 thing safe toward your Love
And Honour.

King. Welcome hither :

I have begun to plant thee, and will labour
To make thee full of growing. Noble Banquo,
That haft no less deserv'd, and must be known,
No less to have done fo: Let me enfold thee,
And hold thee to my Heart.

Ban. There if I grow,
The Harvest is your own.

King. My plenteous Joys,
Wanton in fulness, seek to hide themselves
In drops of Sorrow. Sons, Kinsman, Thanes,
And you, whose Places are the nearest, know,
We will establish our Estate upon

Our eldest, Malcolm, whom we name hereafter,
The Prince of Cumberland: Which Honour muft
Not unaccompanied, invest him only.

But signs of Nobleness, like Stars shall shine
On all Defervers. From hence to Envernes,
And bind us further to you.

Mach. The rest is labour, which is not us'd for you;
I'll be my self the Harbinger, and make joyful
The hearing of my Wife with your approach,
So humbly take my leave.

King. My worthy Cawdor!

Mach. The Prince of Cumberland!
On which I must fall down, or else o'er-leap,
For in my way it lies. Stars hide your Fires,
Let not Light see my black and deep defires;
The Eye wink at the Hand; yet let that be,

that is a step,

[Afide

Which the Eye fears, when it is done, to fee.

[Exit, King. True, worthy Banquo; he is full so valiant,

And in his Commendations I am fed;
It is a Banquet to me, let's after him,
Whose care is gone before, to bid us welcome:
It is a peerless Kinfman.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V. An Apartment in Mackbeth's

Caftle.

Enter Lady Mackbeth alone with a Letter: Lady. They met me in the Day of Success; and I have learn'd by the perfect'st Report, they have more in them, than mortal Knowledge. When I burnt in defire to question them further, they made themselves Air, into which they vanishd. Whiles I stood rapt in the wonder of it, came Missives from the King, awho all, hail'd me Thane of Cawdor, by which Title before, these wayward Sisters faluted me, and referr'd me to the coming on of time, with hail King that shalt be. This have I thought good to deliver thee (my dearest partner of Greatness) that thou might'st not lose the dues of rejoycing by being ignorant of what Greatness is promis'd thee. Lay it to thy Heart, and farewel.

Glamis thou art, and Cawdor and shalt be
What thou art promis'd. Yet I do fear thy Nature,
It is too full o'th' Milk of human Kindness,
To catch the nearest way. Thou wouldst be great,
Art not without Ambition, but without
The Illness should attend it. What thou wouldst highly,
That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false,
And yet wouldst wrongly win.
Thou'dst have, great Glamis, that which cries,
Thus thou must do if thou have it;
And that which rather thou dost fear to do,
Than wishest should be undone. Hie thee hither,
That I may pour my Spirits in thine Ear,
And chastise with the Valour of my Tongue
All that thee hinders from the Golden Round,
Which Fate and Metaphysical aid doth seem
To have thee crown'd withal.

A

Mes.

:

Mes. The King comes here to Night,

Lady. Thou'rt mad to say it.

Is not thy Master with him? who, wer't so,

Would have inform'd for Preparation.

Mes. So please you, it is true: Our Thane is coming,

One of my Fellows had the speed of him;

Who almost dead for Breath, had scarcely more

Than would make up his Message.

Lady. Give him tending,

He brings great News. The Raven himself is hoarse,

[Exit Melfengers

That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan
Under my Battlements. Come you Spirits,
That tend on mortal Thoughts, unfex me here,
And fill me from the Crown to the Toe, top-full
Of direst Cruelty; make thick my Blood,
Stop up the access and passage to Remorse,
That no compunctious visitings of Nature
Shake my fell Purpose, nor keep Peace between
Th'effect, and it. Come to my Woman's Breasts,
And take my Milk for Gall, you murth'ring Ministers,
Where-ever in your sightless Substances,

You wait on Nature's Mischief. Come, thick Night,
And pall thee in the dunnest Smoak of Hell,
That my keen Knife see not the wound it makes,
Nor Heav'n peep through the Blanket of the dark,
To cry, hold, hold.

Enter Macbeth.

[Embracing him.

Great Glamis! worthy Cawdor!
Greater than both, 'by the all hail hereafter,
Thy Letters have transported me beyond
This ignorant Present, and I feel now

The future in the instant.

Mach. My dearest Love,

Duncan comes here to Night.

Lady. And when goes hence ?

Mach. To Morrow, as he purposes.

Lady. O never,

Shall Sun that Morrow fee.

Your Face, my Thane, is as a Book, where Men
May read strange Matters to beguile the time.

Look