Enter BANQUO, and FLEANCE, bearing a torch before them.
BANQUO |
How goes the night, boy? |
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FLEANCE |
The moon is down; I have not heard the clock. |
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BANQUO |
And she goes down at twelve. |
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FLEANCE |
I take't, 'tis later, sir. |
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BANQUO |
Hold, take my sword. There's husbandry in heaven; |
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Their candles are all out. Take thee that too. |
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A heavy summons lies like lead upon me, |
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And yet I would not sleep: merciful powers, |
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Restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature |
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Gives way to in repose! |
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Enter MACBETH, and a Servant with a torch. |
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Give me my sword. |
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Who's there? |
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MACBETH |
A friend. |
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BANQUO |
What, sir, not yet at rest? The king's a–bed: |
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He hath been in unusual pleasure, and |
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Sent forth great largess to your offices. |
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This diamond he greets your wife withal, |
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By the name of most kind hostess; and shut up |
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In measureless content. |
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MACBETH |
Being unprepared |
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Our will became the servant to defect |
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Which else should free have wrought. |
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BANQUO |
All's well. |
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I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters: |
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To you they have show'd some truth. |
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MACBETH |
I think not of them: |
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Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve, |
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We would spend it in some words upon that business, |
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If you would grant the time. |
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BANQUO |
At your kind'st leisure. |
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MACBETH |
If you shall cleave to my consent, when 'tis, |
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It shall make honour for you. |
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BANQUO |
So I lose none |
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In seeking to augment it, but still keep |
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My bosom franchised and allegiance clear, |
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I shall be counsell'd. |
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MACBETH |
Good repose the while! |
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BANQUO |
Thanks, sir: the like to you! |
30 |
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Exeunt BANQUO and FLEANCE. |
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MACBETH |
Go bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready, |
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She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed. |
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Exit Servant. |
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Is this a dagger which I see before me, |
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The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee. |
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I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. |
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Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible |
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To feeling as to sight? or art thou but |
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A dagger of the mind, a false creation, |
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Proceeding from the heat–oppressed brain? |
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I see thee yet, in form as palpable |
40 |
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As this which now I draw. |
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Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going; |
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And such an instrument I was to use. |
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Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses, |
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Or else worth all the rest; I see thee still, |
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And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood, |
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Which was not so before. There's no such thing: |
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It is the bloody business which informs |
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Thus to mine eyes. Now o'er the one halfworld |
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Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse |
50 |
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The curtain'd sleep; witchcraft celebrates |
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Pale Hecate's offerings, and wither'd murder, |
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Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf, |
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Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace. |
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With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design |
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Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm–set earth, |
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Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear |
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Thy very stones prate of my whereabout, |
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And take the present horror from the time, |
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Which now suits with it. Whiles I threat, he lives: |
60 |
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Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives. |
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A bell rings. |
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I go, and it is done; the bell invites me. |
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Hear it not, Duncan; for it is a knell |
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That summons thee to heaven or to hell. |
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Exit. |
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