Macbeth William Shakespeare (ereader with android .txt) 📖

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. Lady Macbeth

Come on;
Gentle my lord, sleek o’er your rugged looks;
Be bright and jovial among your guests to-night.

Macbeth

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 Macbeth You must leave this. Macbeth

O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife!
Thou know’st that Banquo, and his Fleance, lives.

Lady Macbeth But in them nature’s copy’s not eterne. Macbeth

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

Lady Macbeth What’s to be done? Macbeth

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, prithee, go with me. Exeunt.

Scene III

A park near the palace.

Enter three Murderers. First Murderer But who did bid thee join with us? Third Murderer Macbeth. Second Murderer

He needs not our mistrust, since he delivers
Our offices and what we have to do
To the direction just.

First Murderer

Then stand with us.
The west yet glimmers with some streaks of day:
Now spurs the lated traveller apace
To gain the timely inn; and near approaches
The subject of our watch.

Third Murderer Hark! I hear horses. Banquo Within. Give us a light there, ho! Second Murderer

Then ’tis he: the rest
That are within the note of expectation
Already are i’ the court.

First Murderer His horses go about. Third Murderer

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

Second Murderer A light, a light! Enter Banquo, and Fleance with a torch. Third Murderer ’Tis he. First Murderer Stand to’t. Banquo It will be rain to-night. First Murderer Let it come down. They set upon Banquo. Banquo

O, treachery! Fly, good Fleance, fly, fly, fly!
Thou mayst revenge. O slave! Dies. Fleance escapes.

Third Murderer Who did strike out the light? First Murderer Was’t not the way? Third Murderer There’s but one down; the son is fled. Second Murderer

We have lost
Best half of our affair.

First Murderer Well, let’s away, and say how much is done. Exeunt. Scene IV

The same. Hall in the palace.

A banquet prepared. Enter Macbeth, Lady Macbeth, Ross, Lennox, Lords, and Attendants. Macbeth

You know your own degrees; sit down: at first
And last the hearty welcome.

Lords Thanks to your majesty. Macbeth

Ourself will mingle with society,
And play the humble host.
Our hostess keeps her state, but in best time
We will require her welcome.

Lady Macbeth

Pronounce it for me, sir, to all our friends;
For my heart speaks they are welcome.

First Murderer appears at the door. Macbeth

See, they encounter thee with their hearts’ thanks.
Both sides are even: here I’ll sit i’ the midst:
Be large in mirth; anon we’ll drink a measure
The table round. Approaching the door. There’s blood on thy face.

First Murderer ’Tis Banquo’s then. Macbeth

’Tis better thee without than he within.
Is he dispatch’d?

First Murderer My lord, his throat is cut; that I did for him. Macbeth

Thou art the best o’ the cut-throats: yet he’s good
That did the like for Fleance: if thou didst it,
Thou art the nonpareil.

First Murderer

Most royal sir,
Fleance is ’scaped.

Macbeth

Then comes my fit again: I had else been perfect,
Whole as the marble, founded as the rock,
As broad and general as the casing air:
But now I am cabin’d, cribb’d, confined, bound in
To saucy doubts and fears. But Banquo’s safe?

First Murderer

Ay, my good lord: safe in a ditch he bides,
With twenty trenched gashes on his head;
The least a death to nature.

Macbeth

Thanks for that:
There the grown serpent lies; the worm that’s fled
Hath nature that in time will venom breed,
No teeth for the present. Get thee gone: to-morrow
We’ll hear, ourselves, again. Exit Murderer.

Lady Macbeth

My royal lord,
You do not give the cheer: the feast is sold
That is not often vouch’d, while ’tis a-making,
’Tis given with welcome: to feed were best at home;
From thence the sauce to meat is ceremony;
Meeting were bare without it.

Macbeth

Sweet remembrancer!
Now, good digestion wait on appetite,
And health on both!

Lennox May’t please your highness sit. The Ghost of Banquo enters, and sits in Macbeth’s place. Macbeth

Here had we now our country’s honour roof’d,
Were the graced person of our Banquo present;
Who may I rather challenge for unkindness
Than pity for mischance!

Ross

His absence, sir,
Lays blame upon his promise. Please’t your highness
To grace us with your royal company.

Macbeth The table’s full. Lennox Here is a place reserved, sir. Macbeth Where? Lennox Here, my good lord. What is’t that moves your highness? Macbeth Which of you have done this? Lords What, my good lord? Macbeth

Thou canst not say I did it: never shake
Thy gory locks at me.

Ross Gentlemen, rise: his highness is not well. Lady Macbeth

Sit, worthy friends: my lord is often thus,
And hath been from his youth: pray you, keep seat;
The fit is momentary; upon a thought
He will again be well: if much you note him,
You shall offend him and extend his passion:
Feed, and regard him not. Are you a man?

Macbeth