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Is execution done on Cawdor? Are not Those in commission yet return’d?
Has the execution been carried out on Cawdor? Haven’t Those in charge returned yet?
My liege, They are not yet come back. But I have spoke With one that saw him die: who did report That very frankly he confess’d his treasons, Implored your highness’ pardon and set forth A deep repentance: nothing in his life Became him like the leaving it; he died As one that had been studied in his death To throw away the dearest thing he owed, As ’twere a careless trifle.
My king, They haven’t come back yet. But I’ve spoken To someone who saw him die, and they reported That he openly admitted his treason, Asked for your pardon, and showed great regret: nothing in his life Was as fitting as his death; he died As though he had planned for his own death And was willing to throw away the most precious thing he had, As if it were an unimportant trinket.
There’s no art To find the mind’s construction in the face: He was a gentleman on whom I built An absolute trust.
There’s no way To read a person’s mind by looking at their face: He was a man I trusted completely.
O worthiest cousin! The sin of my ingratitude even now Was heavy on me: thou art so far before That swiftest wing of recompense is slow To overtake thee. Would thou hadst less deserved, That the proportion both of thanks and payment Might have been mine! only I have left to say, More is thy due than more than all can pay.
O most worthy cousin! The weight of my ingratitude has just hit me: you’re so far ahead That the fastest reward seems too slow To catch up with you. I wish you had deserved less, So I could have repaid you properly! All I can say is, You deserve more than anyone could ever repay.
The service and the loyalty I owe, In doing it, pays itself. Your highness’ part Is to receive our duties; and our duties Are to your throne and state children and servants, Which do but what they should, by doing every thing Safe toward your love and honour.
The service and loyalty I owe, In performing it, is its own reward. Your highness’ role Is to accept our duties; and our duties Are to your throne and state, as children and servants, Who do nothing more than what they should, by acting in ways That protect your love and honor.
Welcome hither: I have begun to plant thee, and will labour To make thee full of growing. Noble Banquo, That hast no less deserved, nor must be known No less to have done so, let me enfold thee And hold thee to my heart.
Welcome here: I have started to promote you, and will work To ensure you keep rising. Noble Banquo, Who has deserved just as much, and should be known For doing so, let me embrace you And hold you close to my heart.
There if I grow, The harvest is your own.
If I rise, The rewards are yours.
My plenteous joys, Wanton in fulness, seek to hide themselves In drops of sorrow. Sons, kinsmen, thanes, And you whose places are the nearest, know We will establish our estate upon Our eldest, Malcolm, whom we name hereafter The Prince of Cumberland; which honour must Not unaccompanied invest him only, But signs of nobleness, like stars, shall shine On all deservers. From hence to Inverness, And bind us further to you.
My many joys, Overflowing, try to hide themselves In tears of sadness. Sons, relatives, thanes, And all of you who are the closest, know That we will pass our title down to Our oldest son, Malcolm, whom we now name The Prince of Cumberland; an honor that must Not only go to him alone, But also to others deserving of it, like stars, shining On everyone worthy. From here to Inverness, And we’ll become even closer to you.
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.
The rest is work, which isn’t for you: I’ll go ahead and announce the good news To my wife before you arrive; So I’ll humbly take my leave.
My worthy Cawdor!
My noble Cawdor!
[Aside] 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.
[Aside] The Prince of Cumberland! That’s a step I have to either fall from, or jump over, Because it blocks my way. Stars, hide your lights; Don’t let the light see my dark and deep desires: Let the eye close to what the hand does; yet let it happen, Whatever the eye fears, when it’s 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.
True, noble Banquo; he is just as brave, And I feel nourished by his praise; It’s like a feast to me. Let’s go after him, His thoughts have already gone ahead to welcome us: He is a peerless relative.