3. 'Tis hee
1. Stand too't
Ban. It will be Rayne to Night
1. Let it come downe
Ban. O, Trecherie! Flye good Fleans, flye, flye, flye, Thou may'st reuenge. O Slaue! 3. Who did strike out the Light? 1. Was't not the way? 3. There's but one downe: the Sonne is fled
2. We haue lost Best halfe of our Affaire
1. Well, let's away, and say how much is done.
Banquet prepar'd. Enter Macbeth, Lady, Rosse, Lenox, Lords, and Attendants.
Macb. You know your owne degrees, sit downe: At first and last, the hearty welcome
Lords. Thankes to your Maiesty
Macb. Our selfe will mingle with Society, And play the humble Host: Our Hostesse keepes her State, but in best time We will require her welcome
La. Pronounce it for me Sir, to all our Friends, For my heart speakes, they are welcome. Enter first Murtherer.
Macb. See they encounter thee with their harts thanks Both sides are euen: heere Ile sit i'th' mid'st, Be large in mirth, anon wee'l drinke a Measure The Table round. There's blood vpon thy face
Mur. 'Tis Banquo's then
Macb. 'Tis better thee without, then he within. Is he dispatch'd? Mur. My Lord his throat is cut, that I did for him
Mac. Thou art the best o'th' Cut-throats, Yet hee's good that did the like for Fleans: If thou did'st it, thou art the Non-pareill
Mur. Most Royall Sir Fleans is scap'd
Macb. Then comes my Fit againe: I had else beene perfect; Whole as the Marble, founded as the Rocke, As broad, and generall, as the casing Ayre: But now I am cabin'd, crib'd, confin'd, bound in To sawcy doubts, and feares. But Banquo's safe? Mur. I, my good Lord: safe in a ditch he bides, With twenty trenched gashes on his head; The least a Death to Nature
Macb. Thankes for that: There the growne Serpent lyes, the worme that's fled Hath Nature that in time will Venom breed, No teeth for th' present. Get thee gone, to morrow Wee'l heare our selues againe.
Lady. My Royall Lord, You do not giue the Cheere, the Feast is sold That is not often vouch'd, while 'tis a making: 'Tis giuen, with welcome: to feede were best at home: From thence, the sawce to meate is Ceremony, Meeting were bare without it. Enter the Ghost of Banquo, and sits in Macbeths place.
Macb. Sweet Remembrancer: Now good digestion waite on Appetite, And health on both
Lenox. May't please your Highnesse sit
Macb. Here had we now our Countries Honor, roof'd, Were the grac'd person of our Banquo present: Who, may I rather challenge for vnkindnesse, Then pitty for Mischance
Rosse. His absence (Sir) Layes blame vpon his promise. Pleas't your Highnesse To grace vs with your Royall Company? Macb. The Table's full
Lenox. Heere is a place reseru'd Sir
Macb. Where? Lenox. Heere my good Lord. What is't that moues your Highnesse? Macb. Which of you haue done this? Lords. What, my good Lord? Macb. Thou canst not say I did it: neuer shake Thy goary lockes at me
Rosse. Gentlemen rise, his Highnesse is not well
Lady. Sit worthy Friends: my Lord is often thus, And hath beene from his youth. Pray you keepe Seat, The fit is momentary, vpon a thought He will againe be well. If much you note him You shall offend him, and extend his Passion, Feed, and regard him not. Are you a man? Macb. I, and a bold one, that dare looke on that Which might appall the Diuell