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
Till then, enough. Come, friends.
Exeunt.
Scene IV
Forres. The palace.