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

Have overthrown him.

Macb. Glamis, and Thane of Cawdor!

[Afide.

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

Do you not hope your Children fhall be Kings? [To Banquo. When thofe that gave the Thane of Cawdor to me,

Promis'd no lefs to them?

Ban. That trusted home,

Might yet enkindle you into the Crown,
Befides the Thane of Cawdor. But 'tis ftrange:
And oftentimes, to win us to our harm,
The Inftruments of darknefs tell us Truths,
Win us with honeft Trifles, to betray's
In deepest Confequence.

Coufins, a word, I pray you.

Mach. Two Truths are told,

[To Roffe and Angus.

[Afide.

As happy Prologues to the fwelling Act

Of the imperial Theam. I thank you, Gentlemen

This fupernatural folliciting

Cannot be ill; cannot be good

-If ill?

Why hath it given me earneft of Succefs,

Commencing in a Truth? I am Thane of Cawdor.
If good? Why do I yield to that Suggestion,
Whofe horrid Image doth unfix my Hair,
And make my feated Heart knock at my Ribs,
Against the ufe of Nature? Prefent fears
Are less than horrible imaginings:

My thought, whofe murther yet is but fantastical,
Shakes fo my fingle State of Man,

That Fun&ion is fmother'd in furmife,

And nothing is, but what is not.

Ban. Look how our Partner's rapt.

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

Crown me

Without my ftir.

Ban. New Honours come upon him,

[Afide.

Like our ftrange Garments, cleave not to their mould,

But with the aid of ufe.

Macb. Come what come may,

Time and the Hour runs thro' the roughest Day.

Ban.

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

My dull Brain was wrought with things forgotten.
Kind Gentlemen, your Pains are registred,

[To Banquo.

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.

[Exeunt

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

King. Is Execution done on Cawdor?
Are not thofe in Commiffion yet return'd?
Mal. My Liege, they are not yet come back.
But I have spoke with one that faw him die :
Who did report, that very frankly he

Confefs'd his Treafons, implor'd your Highnefs 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 ftudied in his Death,
To throw away the deareft 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 abfolute trust.

Enter Mackbeth, Banquo, Roffe, and Angus.

O worthieft Coufin!

The Sin of my Ingratitude even now

Was heavy on me. Thou art fo far before,
That fwifteft Wind of Recompence is flow,

To overtake thee. Would thou hadft less deferv'd,

That

That the Proportion both of Thanks and Payment,
Might have been mine: Only I have left to fay,
More is thy due, than more than all can pay.
Macb. The Service and the Loyalty I owe,
In doing it, pays it self.

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 fhould,
By doing every thing fafe 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 lefs deferv'd, and must be known,
No lefs 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,

anton in fulness, feek to hide themselves
In drops of Sorrow. Sons, Kinfman, Thanes,
And you, whofe Places are the neareft, know,
We will establish our Eftate upon

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

But figns of Noblenefs, like Stars fhall shine
On all Defervers. From hence to Envernes,
And bind us further to you.

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

King. My worthy Cawdor!

Macb. The Prince of Cumberland!

-that is a step,

On which I muft fall down, or elfe o'er-leap,
For in my way it lies. Stars hide your Fires,
Let not Light fee my black and deep defires;
The Eye wink at the Hand; yet let that be,
Which the Eye fears, when it is done, to fee.

[Afide

[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,

Whofe 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 Succefs; and I have learn'd by the perfect ft 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 vanish'd. Whiles I Stood rapt in the wonder of it, came Miffives from the King, who all, bail'd me Thane of Cawdor, by which Title before, thefe wayward Sifters faluted me, and referr'd me to the coming en of time, with hail King that shalt be. This have I thought good to deliver thee (my dearest partner of Greatness) that thou might'ft not lofe 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 fhalt be
What thou art promis'd. Yet I do fear thy Nature,
It is too full o'th' Milk of human Kindnefs,

To catch the nearest way. Thou wouldst be great,
Art not without Ambition, but without

The Illness fhould attend it. What thou wouldst highly,
That wouldst thou holily; wouldft not play false,
And yet wouldft wrongly win.

Thou'dft have, great Glamis, that which cries,
Thus thou must do if thou have it;

And that which rather thou doft fear to do,
Than wifheft fhould be undone. Hie thee hither,
That I may pour my Spirits in thine Ear,
And chaftife with the Valour of my Tongue
All that thee hinders from the Golden Round,
Which Fate and Metaphyfical aid doth feem
To have thee crown'd withal.

What is your Tidings?

Enter Messenger.

Mef.

Mef. The King comes here to Night,

Lady. Thou'rt mad to fay it.

Is not thy Mafter with him? who, wer't fo,

Would have inform'd for Preparation.

Mef. So please you, it is true: Our Thane is coming, One of my Fellows had the fpeed of him;

Who almoft dead for Breath, had scarcely more

Than would make up his Meffage.

Lady. Give him tending,

He brings great News. The Raven himself is hoarfe,

[Exit Mellengers

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 direft Cruelty; make thick my Blood,
Stop up the accefs and paffage to Remorse,
That no compunctious vifitings of Nature
Shake my fell Purpose, nor keep Peace between
Th' effect, and it. Come to my Woman's Breafts,
And take my Milk for Gall, you murth'ring Minifters,
Where-ever in your fightlefs Subftances,

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

Enter Macbeth.

Great Glamis! worthy Cawdor!

[Embracing him.

Greater than both, 'by the all hail hereafter,

Thy Letters have tranfported me beyond

This ignorant Prefent, and I feel now
The future in the inftant.

Macb. My dearest Love,

Duncan comes here to Night.

Lady. And when goes hence?
Macb. 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 ftrange Matters to beguile the time.

Look