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.
Come on;
Gentle my lord, sleek o'er your rugged looks;
Be bright and jovial among your guests to-night.
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 vizards to our hearts,
Disguising what they are.
You must leave this.
O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife!
Thou know'st that Banquo, and his Fleance, lives.
But in them nature's copy's not eterne.
There's comfort yet; they are assailable;
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.
What's to be done?
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 me pale! Light thickens; and the crow
Makes wing to the rooky wood:
Good things of day begin to droop and drowse;
While night's black agents to their preys do rouse.
Thou marvell'st at my words: but hold thee still;
Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill.
So, prithee, go with me.
But who did bid thee join with us?
Macbeth.
He needs not our mistrust, since he delivers
Our offices and what we have to do
To the direction just.
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
The subject of our watch.
Hark! I hear horses.
Give us a light there, ho!
Then 'tis he: the rest
That are within the note of expectation
Already are i' the court.
His horses go about.
Almost a mile: but he does usually,
So all men do, from hence to the palace gate
Make it their walk.
A light, a light!
'Tis he.
Stand to't.
It will be rain to-night.
Let it come down.
O, treachery! Fly, good Fleance, fly, fly, fly!
Thou mayst revenge. O slave!
Who did strike out the light?
Wast not the way?
There's but