SCENES II. AND III.

Doubtful it stood;

As two spent swimmers, that do cling together, And choke their art. The merciless Macdonwald (Worthy to be a rebel; for to that

The multiplying villanies of nature
Do swarm upon him) from the western isles
Of kernes and gallowglasses is supplied;
And Fortune, on his damnéd quarrel smiling,
Shewed like a rebel's whore. But all 's too weak;
For brave Macbeth (well he deserves that name),
Disdaining fortune, with his brandished steel,
Which smoked with bloody execution,
Like valour's minion, carved out his passage,
Till he faced the slave;

And ne'er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him,
Till he unseamed him from the nave to the chaps,
And fixed his head upon our battlements.

Dun. O, valiant cousin! worthy gentleman! Sold. As whence the sun 'gins his reflection Shipwrecking storms and direful thunders break; So from that spring, whence comfort seemed to

come,

Discomfort swells. Mark, King of Scotland, mark:

No sooner justice had, with valour armed,

Compelled these skipping kernes to trust their

heels;

But the Norweyan lord, surveying vantage, With furbished arms and new supplies of men,

Began a fresh assault.

Dun.

Dismayed not this

Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo?

Sold.

Yes;

As sparrows, eagles; or the hare, the lion.
If I say sooth, I must report they were

As cannons overcharged with double cracks;
So they

Doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe;
Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds,

Or memorise another Golgotha,

I cannot tell.

But I am faint, my gashes cry for help.

Dun. So well thy words become thee as thy

That seems to speak things strange.
Rosse. God save the King!

Dun. Whence cam'st thou, worthy thane?
Rosse.

From Fife, great king,
Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky,
And fan our people cold.
Norway himself, with terrible numbers,
Assisted by that most disloyal traitor

The thane of Cawdor, 'gan a dismal conflict;
Till that Bellona's bridegroom, lapped in proof,
Confronted him with self-comparisons,

Point against point rebellious, arm 'gainst arm, Curbing his lavish spirit: and, to conclude, The victory fell on us.

Dun.

Great happiness!

Rosse. That now

Might yet enkindle you unto the crown,

Besides the thane of Cawdor. But 't is strange:

And oftentimes, to win us to our harm,

The instruments of darkness tell us truths;

Win us with honest trifles, to betray us

In deepest consequence.

Cousins, a word, I pray you.

Macb.

Two truths are told,

As happy prologues to the swelling act

Of the imperial theme. -I thank you, gentlemen.

This supernatural soliciting

Cannot be ill: cannot be good. If ill, Why hath it given me earnest of success, Commencing in a truth? I am thane of Cawdor: If good, why do I yield to that suggestion Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair, And make my seated heart knock at my ribs, Against the use of nature? Present fears Are less than horrible imaginings : My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, Shakes so my single state of man, that function Is smothered in surmise; and nothing is, But what is not.

Ban.

Look how our partner's rapt.

Macb. If chance will have me king, why chance may crown me,

Without my stir.

Ban. New honours come upon him Like our strange garments; cleave not to their

mould

Flourish. Enter DUNCAN, MALCOLM, DONALBAIN, Lenox, and Attendants.

Dun. Is execution done on Cawdor? Are not Those in commission yet returned ?

Mal.

My liege,

They are not yet come back. But I have spoke With one that saw him die: who did report That very frankly he confessed his treasons; Implored your highness' pardon; and set forth A deep repentance. Nothing in his life Became him like the leaving it: he died

As one that had been studied in his death,

To throw away the dearest thing he owed,

As 't were a careless trifle.

Dun.

There's no art

To find the mind's construction in the face :

He was a gentleman on whom I built
An absolute trust. - O worthiest cousin!

Enter MACBETH, BANQUO, ROSSE, and ANGUS.

The sin of my ingratitude even now
Was heavy on me: Thou art so far before,
That swiftest wing of recompense is slow
To overtake thee. Would thou hadst less deserved;
Might have been mine! only I have left to say,
That the proportion both of thanks and payment
More is thy due than more than all can pay.

Macb. The service and the loyalty I owe,
In doing it, pays itself. Your highness' part
Is to receive our duties: and our duties

Are, to your throne and state, children and

servants;

Which do but what they should, by doing every

thing

Safe toward your love and honour. Dun.

Welcome hither:

Ban.

SCENE V.

My worthy Cawdor!

Mach. The Prince of Cumberland! That is a step

On which I must fall down, or else o'erleap, [Aside.

For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires! Let not light see my black and deep desires: The eye wink at the hand! yet let that be Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see.

[Exit.

Dun. True, worthy Banquo; he is full so valiant, And in his commendations I am fed; It is a banquet to me. Let us after him, Whose care is gone before to bid us welcome : It is a peerless kinsman. [Flourish. Exeunt.

SCENE V.-Inverness. A Room in MACBETH'S Castle.

Enter LADY MACBETH, reading a letter.

"They met me in the day of success; and I have learned, by the perfectest report, they have more in them than mortal knowledge. When I burned in desire to question them further, they made themselves-air, into which they vanished. Whiles I stood rapt in the wonder of it, came missives from the king, who all-hailed me Thane of Cawdor;' by which title, before, these weird sisters saluted me, and referred me to the coming on of time, with, 'Hail, king that shalt be!'-This have I thought good to deliver thee, my dearest partner of greatness; that thou mightest not lose the dues of rejoicing, by being ignorant of what greatness is promised thee. Lay it to thy heart, and farewell."

Glamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be What thou art promised. Yet do I fear thy

nature;

It is too full o' the milk of human kindness,
To catch the nearest way. Thou wouldst be great;

Give him tending;

He brings great news. The raven himself is hoarse [Exit Attendant.

That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan
Under my battlements. Come, you spirits
That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here;
And fill me, from the crown to the toe, topfull
Of direst cruelty! make thick my blood,
Stop up the access and passage to remorse;
That no compunctious visitings of nature
Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between
The effect and it! Come to my woman's breasts,
And take my milk for gall, you murdering mi-
nisters,

Wherever in your sightless substances
You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick night,
And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell!
That my keen knife see not the wound it makes;
Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark,
To cry, "Hold, hold!"-Great Glamis! worthy

Cawdor!