Authoriz'd by her grandam. Shame itself!

Why do you make such faces? When all's done,
You look but on a stool.

Macb. Pr'ythee, see there! behold! look! lo! how say you?

Why, what care I? If thou canst nod, speak too.-
If charnel-houses, and our graves, must send
Those that we bury, back, our monuments
Shall be the maws of kites.
Lady M. What! quite unmann'd in folly?
Macb. If I stand here, I saw him.

Lady M.

[Ghost disappears.

Fie, for shame!

Macb. Blood hath been shed ere now, i' the olden time,

Ere human statute purg'd the gentle weal;

Ay, and since too, murders have been perform'd
Too terrible for the ear: the times have been,
That, when the brains were out, the man would die
And there an end: but now, they rise again,
With twenty mortal murders on their crowns,
And push us from our stools: This is more strange

Do not muse at me, my most worthy friends;

I have a strange infirmity, which is nothing

To those that know me. Come, love and health to all s
Then I'll sit down:-Give me some wine, fill full:-
I drink to the general joy of the whole table,

Ghost rises.

And to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss :
Would he were here! to all, and him, we thirst,
And all to all.

Lords.

Our duties, and the pledge.

Mach. Avaunt! and quit my sight! Let the earth. hide thee!

Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold;
Thou hast no speculation in those eyes

Which thou dost glare with!

Lady M.

Think of this, good peers,

But as a thing of custom: 'tis no other;
Only it spoils the pleasure of the time.
Macb. What man dare, I dare:

Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear,
The arm'd rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger,
Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves
Shall never tremble: Or, be alive again,
And dare me to the desert with thy sword:
If trembling I inhibit thee, protest me
The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow !

[Ghost disappears. Unreal rockery, hence !-Why, so ;-being gone,

I am a man again.-Pray you, sit still.

Lady M. You have displac'd the mirth, broke the good meeting,

With most admir'd disorder.

Mach.

Can such things be,

And overcome us like a summer's cloud,

Without our special wonder? You make me strange

Even to the disposition that I owe,

When now I think you can behold such sights,

And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks,

When mine are blanch'd with fear.

Rosse. 1

What sights, my lord?

Lady M. I pray you, speak not; he grows worse

and worse;

Question enrages him: at once, good-night :

Stand not upon the order of your going,

Macb. It will have blood; they say, blood will have

blood:

Stones have been known to move, and trees to speak; Augurs and understood relations, have

By magot-pies, and choughs, and rooks, brought forth The secret'st man of blood.What is the night? Lady M. Almost at odds with morning, which is which.

Macb. How say'st thou, that Macduff denies his per

son,

At our great bidding?

Lady M.

Did you send to him, sir?

Mach. I hear it by the way; but I will send :
There's not a one of them, but in his house
I keep a servant feed. I will to-morrow,
(Betimes I will,) unto the weird sisters:

More shall they speak; for now I am bent to know,
By the worst means, the worst: for mine own good,
All causes shall give way; I am in blood
Stept in so far, that, should I wade no more,
Returning were as tedious as go o'er:

Strange things I have in head, that will to hand;
Which must be acted, ere they may be scann'd.

Lady M. You lack the season of all natures, sleep. Mach. Come, we'll to sleep: My strange and selfabuse

Is the initiate fear, that wants hard use:

We are yet but young in deed.

SCENE V.-The Heath.

[Exeunt,

Thunder. Enter Hecate

meeting the three Witches.

1 Witch. Why, how now, Hecate? you look angerly, Hec. Have I not reason, beldams, as you are,

Saucy, and overbold? How did you dare

To trade and traffic with Macbeth,

In riddles and affairs of death;

And I, the mistress of your charms,

The close contriver of all harms,

Was never call'd to bear my part,
Or show the glory of our art?

And, which is worse, all you have done,
Hath been but for a wayward son,
Spiteful, and wrathful; who, as others do
Loves for his own ends, not for you.
But make amends now: Get you gone,
And at the pit of Acheron

Meet me i' the morning; thither he
Will come to know his destiny.
Your vessels, and your spells, provide,
Your charms, and every thing beside:
I am for the air; this night I'll spend
Unto a dismal-fatal end.

Great business must be wrought ere noon.
Upon the corner of the moon

There hangs a vaporous drop profound;
I'll catch it ere it come to ground:
And that, distill'd by magic slights,
Shall raise such artificial sprights,
As, by the strength of their illusion,
Shall draw him on to his confusion:
He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear
His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace, and fear:
And you all know, security

Is mortals' chiefest enemy.

Song. [Within.]

Come away, come away, &c,

Hark, I am call'd; my little spirit, see,

$its in a foggy cloud, and stays for me.

[Exit.

1 Witch. Come, let's make haste; she'll soon be back

again.

[Exeunt.

SCENE VI.-Fores. A room in the Palace. Enter

Lenox and another Lord.

Len. My former speeches have but hit your thoughts, Which can interpret further: only, I say,

Things have been strangely borne: The gracious Dur

can

Was pitied of Macbeth :-marry, he was dead:
And the right-valiant Banquo walk'd too late;
Whom, you may say, if it please you, Fleance kill'd,
For Fleance fled. Men must not walk too late.
Who cannot want the thought, how monstrous
It was for Malcolm, and for Donalbain,
To kill their gracious father? damned fact!
How it did grieve Macbeth! did he not straight,
In pious rage, the two delinquents tear,

That were the slaves of drink, and thralls of sleep?
Was not that nobly done? Ay, and wisely too;"
For 'twould have anger'd any heart alive,
To hear the men deny it. So that, I say,

He has borne all things well: and I do think,
That, had he Duncan's sons under his key,

(As, an't please heaven, he shall not,) they should find
What 'twere to kill a father; so should Fleance.
But, peace!-for from broad words, and 'cause he fail'd
His presence at the tyrant's feast, I hear,

Macduff lives in disgrace: Sir, can you tell
Where he bestows himself?

Lord.

The son of Duncan,
From whom this tyrant holds the due of birth,
Lives in the English court; and is receiv'd
Of the most pious Edward with such grace,
That the malevolence of fortune nothing

Takes from his high respect: Thither Macduff is gone,
To pray the holy king, on his aid

To wake Northumberland, and warlike Siward:
That, by the help of these, (with Him above

To ratify the work,) we may again

Give to our tables meat, sleep to our nights;
Free from our feasts and banquets bloody knives;
Do faithful homage, and receive free honours,