 | Macbeth |  |
SCENE IV.
The Palace at Fores.Flourish. Enter King, Malcolm, Donalbain, Rosse, 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 confess'd his treasons;
Implor'd your highness' pardon; and set forth
A deep repentance: nothing in his life
Became him, like the leaving it; he dy'd
As one that hath 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.—O worthiest cousin!
Enter Macbeth, Banquo, Macduff, and Lenox.
The sin of my ingratitude even now
Was heavy on me: thou art so far before,
That swiftest wing of recompence is slow
To overtake thee. Would thou hast less deserv'd;
That the proportion both of thanks and payment
14
More is thy due than more than all can pay.
Mac.
The service and the loyalty I owe,
In doing it, pays itself. 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 towards 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 hast no less deserv'd, nor must be known
No less to have done so, 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, kinsmen, 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 must
Not, unaccompanied, invest him only.
But signs of nobleness, like stars, shall shine
On all deservers.—From hence to Inverness,
And bind us farther to you.
Mac.
The rest is labour, which is not us'd for you:
I'll be myself the harbinger, and make joyful
The hearing of my wife with your approach;
So, humbly take my leave.
King.
My worthy Cawdor!
Mac.
The prince of Cumberland!—That is a step,
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 desires:
The eye wink at the hand! yet let that be,
Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see.
Exit.
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True, worthy Banquo; he is full so valiant;
And in his commendations I am fed;
It is a banquet to me. Let us after him,
Whose care is gone before to bid us welcome:
It is a peerless kinsman.
Flourish. Exeunt.
| Macbeth | |