Do you not hope your children shall be kings, BANQUO When those that gave the thane of Cawdor to me Look, how our partner's rapt. Promised no less to them? MACBETH BANQUO [Aside] If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me, That trusted home Without my stir. Might yet enkindle you unto the crown, Besides the thane of Cawdor. But 'tis strange: BANQUO And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, New horrors come upon him, The instruments of darkness tell us truths, Like our strange garments, cleave not to their mould Win us with honest trifles, to betray's But with the aid of use. In deepest consequence. Cousins, a word, I pray you. MACBETH MACBETH [Aside] Come what come may, Time and the hour runs through the roughest day. [Aside] Two truths are told, As happy prologues to the swelling act BANQUO Of the imperial theme.--I thank you, gentlemen. Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure. Aside MACBETH Cannot be ill, cannot be good: if ill, Give me your favour: my dull brain was wrought Why hath it given me earnest of success, With things forgotten. Kind gentlemen, your pains Commencing in a truth? I am thane of Cawdor: Are register'd where every day I turn If good, why do I yield to that suggestion The leaf to read them. Let us toward the king. Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair Think upon what hath chanced, and, at more time, And make my seated heart knock at my ribs, The interim having weigh'd it, let us speak Against the use of nature? Present fears Our free hearts each to other. Are less than horrible imaginings: BANQUO My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, Shakes so my single state of man that function Very gladly. Is smother'd in surmise, and nothing is MACBETH But what is not.
Do you not hope your children shall be kings, When those that gave the thane of Cawdor to me Promised no less to them? BANQUO That trusted home Might yet enkindle you unto the crown, Besides the thane of Cawdor. But 'tis strange: And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, The instruments of darkness tell us truths, Win us with honest trifles, to betray's In deepest consequence. Cousins, a word, I pray you. MACBETH [Aside] Two truths are told, As happy prologues to the swelling act Of the imperial theme.--I thank you, gentlemen. Aside Cannot be ill, cannot be good: if ill, Why hath it given me earnest of success, Commencing in a truth? I am thane of Cawdor: If good, why do I yield to that suggestion 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 smother'd in surmise, 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 horrors 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 Are register'd where every day I turn The leaf to read them. Let us toward the king. Think upon what hath chanced, and, at more time, The interim having weigh'd it, let us speak Our free hearts each to other. BANQUO Very gladly. MACBETH