Act I

The rest is labour, which is not used for you:

I’ll be myself the harbinger and make joyful

The hearing of my wife with your approach;

So humbly take my leave.

My worthy Cawdor!

The Prince of Cumberland! that is a step

On which I must fall down, or else o’erleap,

For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires;

Let not light see my black and deep desires:

The eye wink at the hand; yet let that be,

Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see.

True, worthy Banquo; he is full so valiant,

And in his commendations I am fed;

It is a banquet to me. Let’s after him,

Whose care is gone before to bid us welcome:

It is a peerless kinsman.