MACBETH
There's blood on thy face.

First Murderer
'Tis Banquo's then.

MACBETH
'Tis better thee without than he within.
Is he dispatch'd?

First Murderer
My lord, his throat is cut; that I did for him.
Most royal sir,
Fleance is 'scaped.

MACBETH
Then comes my fit again: I had else been perfect,
But now I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confined, bound in
To saucy doubts and fears. But Banquo's safe?
First Murderer
Ay, with twenty trenched gashes on his head;
The least a death to nature.

MACBETH
There the grown serpent lies; the worm that's fled
Hath nature that in time will venom breed,
No teeth for the present. Get thee gone: to-morrow
We'll hear, ourselves, again.
Exit Murderer