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pass’d in probation with you

       How you were borne in hand, how cross’d, the instruments,

       Who wrought with them, and all things else that might

       To half a soul and to a notion craz’d

       Say, “Thus did Banquo.”

       FIRST MURDERER.

       You made it known to us.

       MACBETH.

       I did so; and went further, which is now

       Our point of second meeting. Do you find

       Your patience so predominant in your nature,

       That you can let this go? Are you so gospell’d,

       To pray for this good man and for his issue,

       Whose heavy hand hath bow’d you to the grave,

       And beggar’d yours forever?

       FIRST MURDERER.

       We are men, my liege.

       MACBETH.

       Ay, in the catalogue ye go for men;

       As hounds, and greyhounds, mongrels, spaniels, curs,

       Shoughs, water-rugs, and demi-wolves are clept

       All by the name of dogs: the valu’d file

       Distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle,

       The housekeeper, the hunter, every one

       According to the gift which bounteous nature

       Hath in him clos’d; whereby he does receive

       Particular addition, from the bill

       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.

       SECOND MURDERER.

       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.

       FIRST MURDERER.

       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.

       MACBETH.

       Both of you

       Know Banquo was your enemy.

       BOTH MURDERERS.

       True, my lord.

       MACBETH.

       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 barefac’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

       Who 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.

       SECOND MURDERER.

       We shall, my lord,

       Perform what you command us.

       FIRST MURDERER.

       Though our lives—

       MACBETH.

       Your spirits shine through you. Within this hour at most,

       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 tonight

       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.

       BOTH MURDERERS.

       We are resolv’d, my lord.

       MACBETH.

       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 tonight.

       [Exit.]

       SCENE II. The same. Another Room in the Palace.

       [Enter Lady Macbeth and a Servant.]

       LADY MACBETH.

       Is Banquo gone from court?

       SERVANT.

       Ay, madam, but returns again tonight.

       LADY MACBETH.

       Say to the king, I would attend his leisure

       For a few words.

       SERVANT.

       Madam, I will.

       [Exit.]

       LADY MACBETH.

       Naught’s had, all’s spent,

       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 remedy

       Should be without regard: what’s done is done.

       MACBETH.

       We have scotch’d the snake, 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,

       Can touch him further.

      

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