[Enter three Murderers.]
FIRST MURDERER.
But who did bid thee join with us?
THIRD MURDERER.
Macbeth.
SECOND MURDERER.
He needs not our mistrust; since he delivers
Our offices and what we have to do
To the direction just.
FIRST MURDERER.
Then stand with us.
The west yet glimmers with some streaks of day:
Now spurs the lated traveller apace,
To gain the timely inn; and near approaches
The subject of our watch.
THIRD MURDERER.
Hark! I hear horses.
BANQUO.
[Within.] Give us a light there, ho!
SECOND MURDERER.
Then ‘tis he; the rest
That are within the note of expectation
Already are i’ the court.
FIRST MURDERER.
His horses go about.
THIRD MURDERER.
Almost a mile; but he does usually,
So all men do, from hence to the palace gate
Make it their walk.
SECOND MURDERER.
A light, a light!
THIRD MURDERER.
‘Tis he.
FIRST MURDERER.
Stand to’t.
[Enter Banquo, and Fleance with a torch.]
BANQUO.
It will be rain tonight.
FIRST MURDERER.
Let it come down.
[Assaults Banquo.]
BANQUO.
O, treachery! Fly, good Fleance, fly, fly, fly!
Thou mayst revenge.—O slave!
[Dies. Fleance escapes.]
THIRD MURDERER.
Who did strike out the light?
FIRST MURDERER.
Was’t not the way?
THIRD MURDERER.
There’s but one down: the son is fled.
SECOND MURDERER.
We have lost best half of our affair.
FIRST MURDERER.
Well, let’s away, and say how much is done.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE IV. The same. A Room of state in the Palace. A banquet prepared.
[Enter Macbeth, Lady Macbeth, Ross, Lennox, Lords, and
Attendants.]
MACBETH.
You know your own degrees: sit down. At first
And last the hearty welcome.
LORDS.
Thanks to your majesty.
MACBETH.
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 MACBETH.
Pronounce it for me, sir, to all our friends;
For my heart speaks they are welcome.
MACBETH.
See, they encounter thee with their hearts’ thanks.—
Both sides are even: here I’ll sit i’ the midst:
[Enter first Murderer to the door.]
Be large in mirth; anon we’ll drink a measure
The table round.—There’s blood upon thy face.
MURDERER.
‘Tis Banquo’s then.
MACBETH.
‘Tis better thee without than he within.
Is he despatch’d?
MURDERER.
My lord, his throat is cut; that I did for him.
MACBETH.
Thou art the best o’ the cutthroats; yet he’s good
That did the like for Fleance: if thou didst it,
Thou art the nonpareil.
MURDERER.
Most royal sir,
Fleance is ‘scap’d.
MACBETH.
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?
MURDERER.
Ay, my good lord: safe in a ditch he bides,
With twenty trenched gashes on his head;
The least a death to nature.
MACBETH.
Thanks for that:
