William Shakespeare's Macbeth, his famous "Scottish play" is the story of a good man turned evil by a dark ambition he cannot control.
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Macbeth

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Act II. Scene II.

Scene II.—The Same. Another Room in
the Palace.

Enter LADY MACBETH and a Servant.

Lady M. Is Banquo gone from court?
Serv. Ay, madam, but returns again to-night.
Lady M. Say to the king, I would attend his
leisure
For a few words.
Serv. Madam, I will. [Exit.
Lady M. Nought'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.
Macb. 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 M. Come on;
Gentle my lord, sleek o'er your nigged looks;
Be bright and jovial among your guests to-night.
Macb. 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 honours in these flattering
streams,
And make our faces vizards to our hearts,
Disguising what they are.
Lady M. You must leave this.
Macb. O! full of scorpions is my mind, dear
wife;
Thou know'st that Banquo and his Fleance lives.
Lady M. But in them nature's copy's not
eterne.
Macb. There's comfort yet; they are assail-
able;
Then be thou jocund. Ere the bat hath flown
His cloister'd flight, ere, to black Hecate's sum-
mons
The shard-borne beetle with his drowsy hums
Hath rung night's yawning peal, there shall be
done
A. deed of dreadful note.
Lady M. What's to be done?
Macb. 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 mate strong themselves by
ill:
So, prithee, go with me. [Exeunt.
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