1. MUR.
Let it come down.
[They assault Banquo.]
BAN.
O, treachery! Fly, good Fleance, fly, fly, fly!
Thou mayst revenge. O slave!
[Dies. Fleance escapes.]
3. MUR.
Who did strike out the light?
1. MUR.
Was't not the way?
3. MUR.
There's but one down; the son is fled.
2. MUR.
We have lost
Best half of our affair.
1. MUR.
Well, let's away, and say how much is done.
Exeunt.
Scene IV
Banquet prepar'd. Enter Macbeth, Lady [Macbeth], Rosse, Lennox, Lords, and Attendants.
MACB.
You know your own degrees, sit down. At first
And last, the hearty welcome.
LORDS.
Thanks to your Majesty.
MACB.
Ourself will mingle with society,
And play the humble host.
Our hostess keeps her state, but in best time
We will require her welcome.
LADY M.
Pronounce it for me, sir, to all our friends,
For my heart speaks they are welcome.
Enter First Murtherer [to the door].
MACB.
See, they encounter thee with their hearts' thanks.
Both sides are even; here I'll sit i' th' midst.
Be large in mirth; anon we'll drink a measure
The table round. –
[Goes to the door.]
There's blood upon thy face.
MUR.
'Tis Banquo's then.
MACB.
'Tis better thee without than he within.
Is he dispatch'd?
MUR.
My lord, his throat is cut;
That I did for him.
MACB.
Thou art the best o' th' cut-throats,
Yet he's good that did the like for Fleance.
If thou didst it, thou art the nonpareil.
MUR.
Most royal sir, Fleance is scap'd.
MACB.
Then comes my fit again. I had else been perfect,
Whole as the marble, founded as the rock,
As broad and general as the casing air;
But now I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confin'd, bound in
To saucy doubts and fears. But Banquo's safe?
MUR.
Ay, my good lord; safe in a ditch he bides,
With twenty trenched gashes on his head,
The least a death to nature.
MACB.
Thanks for that:
There the grown serpent lies; the worm that's fled
Hath nature that in time will venom breed,
No teeth for th' present. Get thee gone; to-morrow
We'll hear ourselves again.
Exit Murderer.
LADY M.
My royal lord,
You do not give the cheer. The feast is sold
That is not often vouch'd, while 'tis a-making,
'Tis given with welcome. To feed were best at home;
From thence, the sauce to meat is ceremony,
Meeting were bare without it.
Enter the Ghost of Banquo and sits in Macbeth's place.
MACB.
Sweet remembrancer!
Now good digestion wait on appetite,
And health on both!
LEN.
May't please your Highness sit.
MACB.
Here had we now our country's honor roof'd,
Were the grac'd person of our Banquo present,
Who may I rather challenge for unkindness
Than pity for mischance.
ROSSE.
His absence, sir,
Lays blame upon his promise. Please't your Highness
To grace us with your royal company?
MACB.
The table's full.
LEN.
Here is a place reserv'd, sir.
MACB.
Where?
LEN.
Here, my good lord. What is't that moves your Highness?
MACB.
Which of you have done this?
LORDS.
What, my good lord?
MACB.
Thou canst not say I did it; never shake
Thy gory locks at me.
ROSSE.
Gentlemen, rise, his Highness is not well.
LADY M.
Sit, worthy friends; my lord is often thus,
And hath been from his youth. Pray you keep seat.
The fit is momentary, upon a thought
He will again be well. If much you note him,
You shall offend him and extend his passion.
Feed, and regard him not.
1 comment