| ACT III. | |
| 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 to-night. |
| 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. |
| LADY MACBETH. | |
| Come on; |
| Gently my lord, sleek o'er your rugged looks; |
| Be bright and jovial 'mong 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 honors 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, pr'ythee, go with me. |
| [Exeunt.] |