What is your tidings? Mess. The King comes here to Night
Lady. Thou'rt mad to say it. Is not thy Master with him? who, wer't so, Would haue inform'd for preparation
Mess. So please you, it is true: our Thane is comming: One of my fellowes had the speed of him; Who almost dead for breath, had scarcely more Then would make vp his Message
Lady. Giue him tending, He brings great newes,
Exit Messenger.
The Rauen himselfe is hoarse, That croakes the fatall entrance of Duncan Vnder my Battlements. Come you Spirits, That tend on mortall thoughts, vnsex me here, And fill me from the Crowne to the Toe, top-full Of direst Crueltie: make thick my blood, Stop vp th' accesse, and passage to Remorse, That no compunctious visitings of Nature Shake my fell purpose, nor keepe peace betweene Th' effect, and hit. Come to my Womans Brests, And take my Milke for Gall, you murth'ring Ministers, Where-euer, in your sightlesse substances, You wait on Natures Mischiefe. Come thick Night, And pall thee in the dunnest smoake of Hell, That my keene Knife see not the Wound it makes, Nor Heauen peepe through the Blanket of the darke, To cry, hold, hold. Enter Macbeth.
Great Glamys, worthy Cawdor, Greater then both, by the all-haile hereafter, Thy Letters haue transported me beyond This ignorant present, and I feele now The future in the instant
Macb. My dearest Loue, Duncan comes here to Night
Lady. And when goes hence? Macb. To morrow, as he purposes
Lady. O neuer, Shall Sunne that Morrow see. Your Face, my Thane, is as a Booke, where men May reade strange matters, to beguile the time. Looke like the time, beare welcome in your Eye, Your Hand, your Tongue: looke like th' innocent flower, But be the Serpent vnder't. He that's comming, Must be prouided for: and you shall put This Nights great Businesse into my dispatch, Which shall to all our Nights, and Dayes to come, Giue solely soueraigne sway, and Masterdome
Macb. We will speake further, Lady. Onely looke vp cleare: To alter fauor, euer is to feare: Leaue all the rest to me.
Exeunt.
Scena Sexta.
Hoboyes, and Torches. Enter King, Malcolme, Donalbaine, Banquo, Lenox, Macduff, Rosse, Angus, and Attendants.
King. This Castle hath a pleasant seat, The ayre nimbly and sweetly recommends it selfe Vnto our gentle sences
Banq. This Guest of Summer, The Temple-haunting Barlet does approue, By his loued Mansonry, that the Heauens breath Smells wooingly here: no Iutty frieze, Buttrice, nor Coigne of Vantage, but this Bird Hath made his pendant Bed, and procreant Cradle, Where they must breed, and haunt: I haue obseru'd The ayre is delicate. Enter Lady.
King. See, see our honor'd Hostesse: The Loue that followes vs, sometime is our trouble, Which still we thanke as Loue. Herein I teach you, How you shall bid God-eyld vs for your paines, And thanke vs for your trouble
Lady. All our seruice, In euery point twice done, and then done double, Were poore, and single Businesse, to contend Against those Honors deepe, and broad, Wherewith your Maiestie loades our House: For those of old, and the late Dignities, Heap'd vp to them, we rest your Ermites
King. Where's the Thane of Cawdor? We courst him at the heeles, and had a purpose To be his Purueyor: But he rides well, And his great Loue (sharpe as his Spurre) hath holp him To his home before vs: Faire and Noble Hostesse We are your guest to night