BANQUO I dreamt last night of the three weyard sisters.
To you they have showed some truth.
MACBETH I think not of them.
Yet when we can entreat an hour to serve,
We would spend it in some words upon that business
If you would grant the time.
BANQUO At your kind’st leisure.
MACBETH If you shall cleave to my consent when ’tis,
It shall make honour for you.
BANQUO So I lose none
In seeking to augment it, but still keep
My bosom franchised and allegiance clear,
I shall be counselled.
MACBETH Good repose the while.
BANQUO Thanks, sir; the like to you.
Exit Banquo [with Fleance] (2.1.19-30)
Is Banquo—just making conversation? or has this been preying on his mind, waiting for the opportunity to talk it over again with Macbeth. (There’s no separate exit for Fleance in the Folio text, and some editions have him exit before Banquo speaks.) I dreamt last night of the three weyard sisters. (Also: a night has passed since the encounter on the heath. The audience probably doesn’t notice; the impression is that the action is more or less continuous, headlong, urgent, but there’s been travelling time, and the main purpose of that interpolated night is to allow Banquo to say that he’s had a dream.) His next phrase is carefully neutral (or else, again, conversational: wow, how about it!): to you they have showed some truth. Macbeth’s lie (I think not of them) is almost too obvious, at least to the audience, and an interesting character note: what does he gain, from saying that he hasn’t been thinking about it at all, especially as he pretty much backtracks straight away. But—yes, you’re right—when we can find the time, when we can entreat an hour to serve, we would spend it in some words upon that business, if you would grant the time. It again strikes a jarring note, the extreme formality that Macbeth lapses into when he’s put on the spot or feeling insecure, with a strange swerve into what might be interpreted as a royal plural (we would spend it). He’s not exactly saying, right, mate, of course, yeah, we should really have a proper chat about that, soon, yeah? At your kind’st leisure, the man who’s meant to be one of his closest friends and comrades replies, perhaps slightly mocking, mimicking the tone, or perhaps baffled by the formality. But Macbeth pushes on in the same vein: if you shall cleave to my consent when ’tis, it shall make honour for you. Look, I’ll get back to you—not right now, is implicit, although that’s perhaps what Banquo has been anticipating and hoping for—but it’d be really helpful if you’d let me say when? be a gent? I’ll make it worth your while? Macbeth’s deliberately obfuscating, not least because his mind is very much on other things. But also, he really doesn’t want Banquo thinking about the witches’ prophecy—that Macbeth will be king—at this point in time, even though it’s clearly exactly what’s on Banquo’s mind. And Banquo plays along, he’s not going to make a big deal out of it. No problem at all: I lose no honour in merely wanting to increase it; my bosom is franchised and my allegiance is clear. My conscience is clear and I’m a free agent; I don’t owe any one anything. (He is, perhaps, signalling that he’s not unconditionally signed up to whatever Macbeth might be doing or thinking. But that’s only one possibility. I shall be counselled, Banquo concludes: it’s up to you when we talk, and on what terms. I’ll listen to your advice. He trusts his friend, or at least says that he does; he’s partly an avatar of Duncan in this moment, another trusting man, trusting Macbeth. In the meantime, good repose: sleep well, says Macbeth, more or less sending him to bed. (Sleep soundly, don’t wake, is implicit.) You too, replies his sometime friend Banquo. But Macbeth will never sleep well again, after this night.
