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, 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. My thought, whofe murther yet is but fantastical, 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. My dull Brain was wrought with things forgotten. [To Banquo. Where every Day I turn the Leaf to read them. 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 King. Is Execution done on Cawdor? Confefs'd his Treafons, implor'd your Highnefs pardon, Nothing in his Life became him, Like the leaving it. He dy'd, As one that had been ftudied in his Death, 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, To overtake thee. Would thou hadft less deferv'd, That That the Proportion both of Thanks and Payment, Your Highness part is to receive our Duties; King. Welcome hither: I have begun to plant thee, and will labour Noble Banquo, Ban. There if I grow, The Harvest is your own. King. My plenteous Joys, anton in fulness, feek to hide themselves Our eldeft, Malcolm, whom we name hereafter, But figns of Noblenefs, like Stars fhall shine Macb. The reft is labour, which is not us'd for you; King. My worthy Cawdor! Macb. The Prince of Cumberland! -that is a step, On which I muft fall down, or elfe o'er-leap, [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: [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 To catch the nearest way. Thou wouldst be great, The Illness fhould attend it. What thou wouldst highly, Thou'dft have, great Glamis, that which cries, And that which rather thou doft fear to do, 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 You wait on Nature's Mifchief. Come, thick Night, 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 Macb. My dearest Love, Duncan comes here to Night. Lady. And when goes hence? Lady. O never, Shall Sun that Morrow fee. Your Face, my Thane, is as a Book, where Men Look |