Shakespeare's First Folio Part 562

Lenox. May't please your Highnesse sit

Macb. Here had we now our Countries Honor, roof'd, Were the grac'd person of our Banquo present: Who, may I rather challenge for vnkindnesse, Then pitty for Mischance

Rosse. His absence (Sir) Layes blame vpon his promise. Pleas't your Highnesse To grace vs with your Royall Company?

Macb. The Table's full

Lenox. Heere is a place reseru'd Sir

Macb. Where?

Lenox. Heere my good Lord.

What is't that moues your Highnesse?

Macb. Which of you haue done this?

Lords. What, my good Lord?

Macb. Thou canst not say I did it: neuer shake Thy goary lockes at me

Rosse. Gentlemen rise, his Highnesse is not well

Lady. Sit worthy Friends: my Lord is often thus, And hath beene from his youth. Pray you keepe Seat, The fit is momentary, vpon a thought He will againe be well. If much you note him You shall offend him, and extend his Pa.s.sion, Feed, and regard him not. Are you a man?

Macb. I, and a bold one, that dare looke on that Which might appall the Diuell

La. O proper stuffe: This is the very painting of your feare: This is the Ayre-drawne-Dagger which you said Led you to Duncan. O, these flawes and starts (Impostors to true feare) would well become A womans story, at a Winters fire Authoriz'd by her Grandam: shame it selfe, Why do you make such faces? When all's done You looke but on a stoole

Macb. Prythee see there: Behold, looke, loe, how say you: Why what care I, if thou canst nod, speake too.

If Charnell houses, and our Graues must send Those that we bury, backe; our Monuments Shall be the Mawes of Kytes

La. What? quite vnmann'd in folly

Macb. If I stand heere, I saw him

La. Fie for shame

Macb. Blood hath bene shed ere now, i'th' olden time Ere humane Statute purg'd the gentle Weale: I, and since too, Murthers haue bene perform'd Too terrible for the eare. The times has bene, That when the Braines were out, the man would dye, And there an end: But now they rise againe With twenty mortall murthers on their crownes, And push vs from our stooles. This is more strange Then such a murther is

La. My worthy Lord Your n.o.ble Friends do lacke you

Macb. I do forget: Do not muse at me my most worthy Friends, I haue a strange infirmity, which is nothing To those that know me. Come, loue and health to all, Then Ile sit downe: Giue me some Wine, fill full: Enter Ghost.

I drinke to th' generall ioy o'th' whole Table, And to our deere Friend Banquo, whom we misse: Would he were heere: to all, and him we thirst, And all to all

Lords. Our duties, and the pledge

Mac. Auant, & quit my sight, let the earth hide thee: Thy bones are marrowlesse, thy blood is cold: Thou hast no speculation in those eyes Which thou dost glare with

La. Thinke of this good Peeres But as a thing of Custome: 'Tis no other, Onely it spoyles the pleasure of the time

Macb. What man dare, I dare: Approach thou like the rugged Russian Beare, The arm'd Rhinoceros, or th' Hircan Tiger, Take any shape but that, and my firme Nerues Shall neuer tremble. Or be aliue againe, And dare me to the Desart with thy Sword: If trembling I inhabit then, protest mee The Baby of a Girle. Hence horrible shadow, Vnreall mock'ry hence. Why so, being gone I am a man againe: pray you sit still

La. You haue displac'd the mirth, Broke the good meeting, with most admir'd disorder

Macb. Can such things be, And ouercome vs like a Summers Clowd, Without our speciall wonder? You make me strange Euen to the disposition that I owe, When now I thinke you can behold such sights, And keepe the naturall Rubie of your Cheekes, When mine is blanch'd with feare

Rosse. What sights, my Lord?

La. I pray you speake not: he growes worse & worse Question enrages him: at once, goodnight.

Stand not vpon the order of your going, But go at once

Len. Good night, and better health Attend his Maiesty

La. A kinde goodnight to all.

Exit Lords.

Macb. It will haue blood they say: Blood will haue Blood: Stones haue beene knowne to moue, & Trees to speake: Augures, and vnderstood Relations, haue By Maggot Pyes, & Choughes, & Rookes brought forth The secret'st man of Blood. What is the night?

La. Almost at oddes with morning, which is which

Macb. How say'st thou that Macduff denies his person At our great bidding

La. Did you send to him Sir?

Macb. I heare it by the way: But I will send: There's not a one of them but in his house I keepe a Seruant Feed. I will to morrow (And betimes I will) to the weyard Sisters.

More shall they speake: for now I am bent to know By the worst meanes, the worst, for mine owne good, All causes shall giue way. I am in blood Stept in so farre, that should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go ore: Strange things I haue in head, that will to hand, Which must be acted, ere they may be scand

La. You lacke the season of all Natures, sleepe

Macb. Come, wee'l to sleepe: My strange & self-abuse Is the initiate feare, that wants hard vse: We are yet but yong indeed.

Exeunt.

Scena Quinta.

Thunder. Enter the three Witches, meeting Hecat.

1. Why how now Hecat, you looke angerly?

Hec. Haue I not reason (Beldams) as you are?

Sawcy, and ouer-bold, how did you dare To Trade, and Trafficke with Macbeth, In Riddles, and Affaires of death; And I the Mistris of your Charmes, The close contriuer of all harmes, Was neuer call'd to beare my part, Or shew the glory of our Art?

And which is worse, all you haue done Hath bene but for a wayward Sonne, Spightfull, and wrathfull, who (as others do) Loues for his owne ends, not for you.

But make amends now: Get you gon, And at the pit of Acheron Meete me i'th' Morning: thither he Will come, to know his Destinie.

Your Vessels, and your Spels prouide, Your Charmes, and euery thing beside; I am for th' Ayre: This night Ile spend Vnto a dismall, and a Fatall end.

Great businesse must be wrought ere Noone.

Vpon the Corner of the Moone There hangs a vap'rous drop, profound, Ile catch it ere it come to ground; And that distill'd by Magicke slights, Shall raise such Artificiall Sprights, As by the strength of their illusion, Shall draw him on to his Confusion.

He shall spurne Fate, scorne Death, and beare His hopes 'boue Wisedome, Grace, and Feare: And you all know, Security Is Mortals cheefest Enemie.

Musicke, and a Song.

Hearke, I am call'd: my little Spirit see Sits in Foggy cloud, and stayes for me.

Sing within. Come away, come away, &c.

1 Come, let's make hast, shee'l soone be Backe againe.