BANQUO

How far is't called to Soris? What are these, So withered, and so wild in their attire, That look not Like the Inhabitants of the Earth, And yet are on't? Live you, or are you aught That man may question? you seem to understand me, By each at once her choppy finger laying Upon her skinny Lips: you should be Women, And yet your Beards forbid me to interpret That you are so. Good Sir, why do you start, and seem to fear Things that do found so fair? in the name of truth Are you fantastical, or that indeed Which outwardly you show? My Noble Partner You greet with present Grace, and great prediction Of Noble having, and of Royal hope, That he seems wrapped withal: to me you speak not. If you can look into the Seeds of Time, And say, which Grain will grow, and which will not, Speak then to me, who neither beg, nor fear Your favors, nor your hate. The Earth hath bubbles, as the Water ha, And these are of them: whither are they vanished? Were such things here, as we do speak about? Or have we eaten on the insane Root, That takes the Reason Prisoner? You shall be King. Toth' selfsame tune and words: who's here? What, can the Devil speak true? That trusted home, Might yet enkindle you unto the Crown, Beside the Thane of Cawdor. But it's strange: And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, The Instruments of Darkness tell us Truths, Win us with honest Trifles, to betray's In deepest consequence. Cousin's, a word, I pray you. Look how our Partner's rapt. Now Honours come upon him Like our strange Garments, cleave not to their mould, But with the aid of use. Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your lay sure. Very gladly. There if I grow, The Harvest is your own. This Guest of Summer, The Temple-haunting Barlet does approve, By his loved Mansonry, that the Heavens breath Smells wooingly here: no Jutty frieze Buttrice, nor Coign of Vantage, but this Bird Hath made his pendant Bed, and procreant Cradle, Where they must breed, and haunt: I have observed The air is delicate. How goes the Night, Boy? And she goes down at Twelve. Hold, take my Sword: There's Husbandry in Heaven, Their Candles are all out: take thee that too. A heavy Summons lies Like Led upon me, And yet I would not sleep: Merciful Powers, restrain in me the cursed thoughts That Nature gives way to in repose. Give me my Sword: who's there? What Sir, not yet at rest? the King's a bed. He hath been in unusual Pleasure, And sent forth great Largess to your Offices. This Diamond he greets your Wife withal, By the name of most kind Hostess, And shut up in measureless content. All's well. I dreamed last Night of the three weyward Sisters: To you they have showed some truth. At your kindest leisure. So I loose none, In seeking to augment it, but still keep My Bosom franchised, and Allegiance clear, I shall be counsail'd. Thanks Sir: the Like to you. Look to the Lady: And when we have our naked Frailties hid, That suffer in exposure; let us meet, And question this most bloody piece of work, To know it further. Fears and scruples shake us: In the great Hand of God I stand, and thence, Against the undivulged pretence, I fight Of Treasonous Malice. Thou hast it now, King, Cawdor, Glamis, all, As the weyard Women promised, and I fear Thou playdest most foully for't: yet it was said It should not stand in thy Posterity, But that my self should be the Root, and Father Of many Kings. If there come truth from them, As upon thee Macbeth, their Speeches shine, Why by the verities on thee made good, May they not be my Oracles as well, And set me up in hope. But hush, no more. Let your Highness Command upon me, to the which my duties Are with a most indissoluble tie For ever knit. Too cruel, any where. Dear Duff, I prithee contradict thy self, And say, it is not so. I, my good Lord. As far, my Lord, as will fill up the time betwixt this, and Supper. Go not my Horse the better, I must become a borrower of the Night, For a dark hour, or twain. My Lord, I will not. I, my good Lord: our time does call upon's. It will be Rain to Night. Oh, Treachery! Fly good Fleans, fly, fly, fly, Thou mayest revenge. Oh Slave! Give us a Light there, hoa.