Page 2083 - Shakespeare - Vol. 3

Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair,
And make my seated heart knock at my ribs
Against the use of nature? Present fears
Are less than horrible imaginings.

My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical,
Shakes so my single state of man
That function is smothered in surmise, [140]
And nothing is but what is not.

BANQUO

Look how our partner’s rapt.

MACBETH

[aside] If chance will have me king, why chance may crown me
Without my stir.

BANQUO
New honours come upon him
Like our strange garments, cleave not to their mould
But with the aid of use.

MACBETH
[aside] Come what come may,
Time and the hour runs through the roughest day.

BANQUO
Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure.

MACBETH
Give me your favour. My dull brain was wrought
With things forgotten. Kind gentlemen, your pains [150]

Are registered where every day I turn
The leaf to read them. Let us toward the King.
[to Banquo] Think upon what hath chanced, and at more time,
The interim having weighed it, let us speak

Our free hearts each to other