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2. Murderer.

It was unfortunate we miss'd his son.

1. Murderer.

Well, let's away and tell how much is done.

(Exit

SCENE-A Room of State.

Enter Macbeth, Lady Macbeth, Rosse, Lenox, and Company to a banquet.

Macbeth.

Come, gentlemen, be seated-pray make free.

Lady Macbeth.

Give all a hearty welcome, Sir, for me.

Macbeth.

I'll in the middle sit-in mirth abound,
Aud help my friends to push the liquor round.

MACBETH TRAVESTIE.

Enter the 1st. Murderer.

What do I see? there's blood upon thy face

1. Murderer.

'Tis Banquo's.

(Apart,

Macbeth.

Then 'tis in a proper place.

1. Murderer.

His throat is cut-I did that noble part.

Macbeth.

An honourable cut-throat then thou art-
Who did the like for Florence is another.

1. Murderer.

He, royal sir, escaped us in the pother.

Macbeth.

Then comes my fit again-I'd else been whole, And founded as the rock; but now my soul

With saucy doubts and fears is rack'd and teased.
No matter-Mr. Banquo is deceas'd—
That's comfort--we shall talk again anom,
So, for the present, fellow, get thee gone.

Lady Macbeth.

Come, royal sir, you do not give the cheer.

(The Ghost of Banquo rises and sits in Macbeth's chair.)

Macbeth.

How happy we should be were Banquo here.

Rosse.

He ought to be asham'd his word to break.
But, sir, your royal company we seek.

(Macbeth going to sit down in the
ghost's lap, starts back.)

The table's full !

Here is a place, sir.

Lenox.

Macbeth.

Where?

Lenox,

Here, my good lord; here is your highness's chair.

Macbeth.

Which of cut this fellow's throat, I say?

you

Whose throat?

All.

Macbeth.

Thou can'st not say 'twas. I-away!
Why twist you thus your ugly mug at me? (23)

Rosse.

His Majesty is very ill I see.

Lady Macbeth.

Sit still-he's drank too freely of his

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And often raves when he has got a sup—(24)

He'll soon be sober-turn away your eyes,

For if remark'd, his cholar will arise.

Are you a man?

(Apart to Macbeth,

Macbeth.

Aye, and a bold one too,

To look on that would shock the dev'l to view.

Lady Macbeth..

Hut tut (25)—all fancy-idle fear I know.

Macbeth.

Prithee, see there! behold! behold! look! lo?Why what care I? If thou canst glare aboutThy mouth, too, open-damn it, sir, speak out.

If I stand here I saw him.

(Ghost vanishes.

Fie for shame

Lady Macbeth.

Your noble friends do lack you you're to blame.

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