 | Macbeth |  |
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SCENE II.
A Room in the Palace at Fores.Enter Banquo, and Fleance.
Thou hast it now: King, Cawdor, Glamis, all,
As the weird woman promis'd; and, I fear,
Thou playd'st most foully for't: yet it was said,
It should not stand in thy posterity;
But that myself should be the root, and father
Of many kings: if there come truth from them,
(As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine)
Why, by the verities on thee made good,
May they not be my oracles as well,
And set me up in hope? But, hush; no more.
Flourish. Enter Macbeth, as King: Lenox, Rosse Seyton, Lords and Attendants.
Mac.
Here's our chief guest; if he had been forgotten,
It had been as a gap in our great feast,
And all things unbecoming.
To-night we hold a solemn supper, Sir,
And I'll request your presence.
Ban.
Let your highness
Command upon me; to the which, my duties
Are with a most indissoluble tye
For ever knit.
Mac.
Ride you this afternoon?
Ban.
Ay, my good lord.
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We should have else desir'd your good advice
(Which still hath been both grave and prosperous)
In this day's council; but we'll take to-morrow.
Is't far you ride?
Ban.
As far, my lord, as will fill up the time
'Twixt this and supper: go not my horse the better,
I must become a borrower of the night,
For a dark hour, or twain.
Mac.
Fail not our feast.
Ban.
My lord, I will not.
Mac.
We hear, our bloody cousins are bestow'd
In England, and in Ireland; not confessing
Their cruel parricide, filling their hearers
With strange inventions: but of that to-morrow;
When, therewithal, we shall have cause of state,
Craving us jointly. Hie you to horse: Adieu,
Till you return at night. Goes Fleance with you?
Ban.
Ay, my good lord: our time does call upon us.
Mac.
I wish your horses swift and sure of foot;
And so I do commend you to their backs.
Farewell.—
Exeunt Banquo and Fleance.
Let every man be master of his time
'Till seven at night; to make society
The sweeter welcome, we will keep ourself
'Till supper-time alone: while then, heaven be with you.
Exeunt Lenox, Rosse, Lords, and Attendants.
Sirrah, a word: attend those men our pleasure?
Sey.
They are, my lord, without the palace-gate.
Mac.
Bring them before us.
Exit Seyton.
To be thus is nothing;
But to be safely thus—Our fears in Banquo
Stick deep; and in his royalty of nature
Reigns that, which would be fear'd: 'tis much he dares;
And, to that dauntless temper of his mind,
He hath a wisdom, that doth guide his valour
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Whose being I do fear: and, under him,
My genius is rebuk'd; as, it is said,
Mark Antony's was by Cæsar. He chid the sisters,
When first they put the name of king upon me,
And bade them speak to him: then, prophet-like,
They hail'd him father to a line of kings:
Upon my head they plac'd a fruitless crown,
And put a barren sceptre in my gripe,
Thence to be wrench'd with an unlineal hand,
No son of mine succeeding. If it be so,
For Banquo's issue have I 'fil'd my mind:
For them the gracious Duncan have I murder'd,
And mine eternal jewel
Given to the common enemy of man,
To make them kings—the seed of Banquo kings!—
Rather than so, come, fate, into the list,
And champion me to the utterance!—Who's there?
Re-enter Seyton with two Murderers.
Was it not yesterday we spoke together?
Mur.
It was, so please your highness.
Mac.
Well then, now
Exit Seyton.
Have you consider'd of my speeches?
Do you find
Your patience so predominant in your nature,
That you can let this go? Are you so gospel'd,
To pray for this good man, and for his issue,
Whose heavy hand hath bow'd you to the grave,
And beggar'd yours for ever?
2 Mur.
I am one,
Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world
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I do, to spite the world.
1 Mur.
And I, another,
So weary with disasters, tugg'd with fortune,
That I would set my life on any chance,
To mend it, or be rid on't.
Mac.
Both of you
Know, Banquo was your enemy.
1 Mur.
True, my lord.
Mac.
So he is mine: and in such bloody distance,
That every minute of his being thursts
Against my near'st of life: and though I could
With bare-fac'd power sweep him from my sight,
And bid my will avouch it; yet I must not,
For sundry weighty reasons.
2 Mur.
We shall, my lord,
Perform what you command us;—
1 Mur.
Though our lives—
Mac.
Your spirits shine through you. Within this hour, at most,
I will advise you where to plant yourselves:
Acquaint you with the perfect spy o' the time,
The moment on't; for't must be done to-night,
And something from the palace; always thought,
That I require a clearness: and with him,
(To leave no rubs, nor botches, in the work)
Fleance, his son, that keeps him company,
Whose absence is no less material to me
Than is his father's, must embrace the fate
Of that dark hour. Resolve yourselves apart;
I'll come to you anon.
1 Mur.
We are resolv'd, my lord.
Mac.
I'll call upon you strait; abide within.
Exeunt Murderers.
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If it find heaven, must find it out to-night.
Exit.
Enter Lady Macbeth, as Queen, and Seyton.
Lady.
Is Banquo gone from court?
Sey.
Ay, madam; but returns again to-night.
Lady.
Say to the king, I would attend his leisure
For a few words.
Sey.
Madam, I will.
Exit Seyton.
Lady.
Nought's had, all's spent,
Where our desire is got without content:
'Tis safer to be that which we destroy,
Than, by destruction, dwell in doubtful joy.
Enter Macbeth.
How now, my lord? why do you keep alone,
Of sorriest fancies your companions making?
Using those thoughts, which should indeed have dy'd
With them they think on? Things without all remedy
Should be without regard: what's done, is done.
Mac.
We have scotch'd the snake, not kill'd it;
She'll close, and be herself; whilst our poor malice
Remains in danger of her former tooth.
But let
The frame of things disjoint, both the worlds suffer,
Ere we will eat our meal in fear, and sleep
In the affliction of these terrible dreams,
That shake us nightly: better be with the dead,
Whom we, to gain our place, have sent to peace,
Than on the torture of the mind to lie
In restless ecstacy.—Duncan is 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!
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Come on;
Gentle my lord, sleek o'er your rugged looks;
Be bright and jovial 'mong your guests to-night.
Mac.
O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife!
Thou know'st, that Banquo, and his Fleance, lives.
Lady.
But in them nature's copy's not eterne.
Mac.
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.
Lady.
What's to be done?
Mac.
Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck,
'Till thou applaud the deed. Come, feeling night,
Skarf 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 drowze;
Whiles night's black agents to their prey do rouze.
Thou marvell'st at my words: but hold thee still;
Things, bad begun, make strong themselves by ill.
Exeunt.
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