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That writes them all alike; and so of men.
Now, if you have a station in the file
Not i' the worst rank of manhood, say it,
And I will put that business in your bosoms,
Whose execution takes your enemy off,
Grapples you to the heart and love of us,
Who wear our health but sickly in his life,
Which in his death were perfect.

2 Mur. I am one, my liege, Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world

Have so incens'd, that I am reckless what

I do to spite the world.

1 Mur.

And I another,

So weary with disasters, tugg'd with fortune,

That I would set my life on any chance,

To mend it, or be rid on't.

Macb.

Know Banquo was your enemy.

2 Mur.

Both of you

True, my lord.

Mach. So is he mine; and in such bloody distance,

That every minute of his being thrusts

Against my near'st of life: and though I could
With bare-fac'd power sweep him from my sight,
And bid my will avouch it, yet I must not,
For certain friends that are both his and mine,
Whose loves I may not drop, but wail his fall
Whom I myself struck down: and thence it is,
That I to your assistance do make love,
Masking the business from the common eye
For sundry weighty reasons.

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I will advise you where to plant yourselves,

Acquaint you with the perfect spy o' the time,

The moment on't; for't must be done to-night,
And something from the palace; always thought,
That I require a clearness: and with him,
(To leave no rubs, nor botches, in the work)
Fleance his son, that keeps him company,
Whose absence is no less material to me
Than is his father's, must embrace the fate
Of that dark hour. Resolve yourselves apart:
I'll come to you anon.

2 Mur.
We are resolv'd, my lord.
Macb. I'll call upon you straight: abide within.

[Exeunt Murderers.

It is concluded: Banquo, thy soul's flight,
If it find heaven, must find it out to-night.

SCENE II.

The Same. Another Room.

Enter Lady MACBETH and a Servant.

Lady M. Is Banquo gone from court ?

Serv. Ay, madam, but returns again to-night.

[Eait.

Lady M. Say to the king, I would attend his leisure

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Where our desire is got without content:

"Tis safer to be that which we destroy,

Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy.

Enter MACBETH.

How now, my lord! why do you keep alone,

Of sorriest fancies your companions making,

Using those thoughts, which should indeed have died

With them they think on? Things without all re

medy,

Should be without regard : what's done, is done.

Mach. We have scotch'd the snakes, not kill'd it:
She'll close, and be herself, whilst our poor malice

Remains in danger of her former tooth.
But let the frame of things disjoint,
Both the worlds suffer,

Ere we will eat our meal in fear, and sleep
In the affliction of these terrible dreams,

That shake us nightly. Better be with the dead,
Whom we to gain our peace have sent to peace',
Than on the torture of the mind to lie

In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave;
After life's fitful fever, he sleeps well;

Treason has done his worst: nor steel, nor poison,
Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing

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Gentle my lord, sleek o'er your rugged looks;
Be bright and jovial among your guests to-night.
Macb. So shall I, love; and so, I pray, be you.
Let your remembrance apply to Banquo:

Present him eminence, both with eye and tongue :
Unsafe the while, that we must lave our honours
In these flattering streams, and make our faces
Vizards to our hearts, disguising what they are.
Lady M. You must leave this.

Macb. O full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife.
Thou know'st that Banquo and his Fleance live.
Lady M. But in them nature's copy's not eterne.
Macb. There's comfort yet; they are assailable:
Then, be thou jocund. Ere the bat hath flown
His cloister'd flight; ere to black Hecate's summons
The shard-borne beetle', with his drowsy hums,

8 We have SCOTCH'D the snake,] i. e. Wounded it. This word is best illus trated by a passage in "Coriolanus," Vol. vi. p. 235,

"He scotched him and notched him like a carbonado."

9 Whom we to gain our PEACE have sent to peace,] The second folio poorly substitutes place for "peace" in the first instance, perhaps by a misprint.

1 The SHARD-borne beetle,] "Shard" is synonymous with scale; and the

Hath rung night's yawning peal, there shall be done A deed of dreadful note.

Lady M.

What's to be done?

Mach. Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck, Till thou applaud the deed. Come, seeling night', Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day,

And with thy bloody and invisible hand,

Cancel, and tear to pieces, that great bond

Which keeps me pale!-Light thickens; and the crow
Makes wing to the rooky wood:

Good things of day begin to droop and drowse,
Whiles night's black agents to their preys do rouse.
Thou marvell'st at my words; but hold thee still:
Things, bad begun, make strong themselves by ill.
So, pr'ythee, go with me.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

The Same. A Park, with a road leading to the Palace.

Enter Three Murderers.

1 Mur. But who did bid thee join with us?

3 Mur.

Macbeth.

2 Mur. He needs not our mistrust; since he delivers Our offices, and what we have to do,

To the direction just.

1 Mur.

Then stand with us.

The west yet glimmers with some streaks of day:

allusion, probably, is to the scaly wings of the beetle, which bear him through the air. Such is the construction of Steevens, who supports it by the following lines from Gower's Confessio Amantis :—

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On the other hand, Tollet argues that "shard-borne " ought to be printed “ shard-born,” and that the epithet had reference to the dung or shard in which the beetle was born. Malone was as usual opposed to the construction of Steevens. Ben Jonson, in his "Sad Shepherd," speaks of "scaly beetles with their habergeons."

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2 Come, SEELING night,] i. e. Blinding. Seeling" is a term in falconry.

Now spurs the lated traveller apace,

To gain the timely inn; and near approaches
The subject of our watch.

3 Mur.

Hark! I hear horses.

Ban. [Within.] Give us a light there, ho! 2 Mur.

Then, 'tis he: the rest

That are within the note of expectation
Already are i' the court.

1 Mur.

His horses go about.

3 Mur. Almost a mile; but he does usually, So all men do, from hence to the palace gate Make it their walk.

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Ban. O, treachery! Fly, good Fleance, fly, fly, fly!

Thou may'st 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.

3 Enter Banquo and Fleance, with a torch.] Here again Fleance carries the torch to light his father; and in the old stage-direction nothing is said about a servant, who would obviously be in the way, when his master was to be murdered. The servant is a merely modern interpolation.

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