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 acquaints us at the same time that Banquo is not alone the origin of his uneasiness, but that his anguish has as deep a spring in Fleance:— Lady M. How now, my lord ? why do you keep alone, Of sorriest fancies your companions making? Macb. We have scotch'd the snake, not kill'd it; She'll close, and be herself; whilst our poor malice Remains in danger of her former tooth. O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife! Thou know'st, that Banquo, and his Fleance, lives?