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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.

Mac. 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 mockery, 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. Mac.

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.

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,
But go at once.



Good night, and better health Attend his majesty! Lady M.

A kind good night to all!

[Exeunt Lords, and Attendants. Mac. 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. Mac. How say’st thou, that Macduff denies his

At our great bidding?


send to him, sir?
Mac. 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 fee’d. 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,


Lady M.

Mac. Come, we'll to sleep: My strange and

self-abuse Is the initiate fear, that wants hard use :We are yet but young in deed.




you look

Thunder. Enter Hecate, meeting the three IVitches. 1 Witch. Why, how now, Hecate?

angerly Hec. Have I not reason, beldams, as you are, Saucy, and overbold? How did you dare To trade and traffick 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, distillid by magick 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:

all know, security Is mortals' chiefest enemy.

Song. [within.] Come away, Come away, &c. Hark, I am call’d; my little spirit, see, Sits in a foggy cloud, and stays for me. [Exit. 1 Witch. Come, let's make haste; she'll soon be back again.





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

Duncan 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

His presence at the tyrant's feast, I hear,
Macduff lives in disgrace: Sir, can you tell
Where he bestows himself?

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;

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