Ay, and fince too, Murthers have been perform'd
Too terrible for th' ear: the times have been,

That, when the brains were out, the man would die
And there an end; but now they rife again
With twenty mortal Murthers on their crowns,
And push us from our ftools; this is more strange
Than fuch a murther is.

Lady. My worthy lord,

Your noble friends do lack you..
Macb: I do forget.

Do not muse at me, my moft worthy friends,
I have a ftrange Infirmity, which is nothing

To those that know me. Come, Love and Health to all!
Then I'll fit down: give me fome wine, fill full
I drink to th' general joy of the whole table,
And to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss;
'Would he were here! to all, and him, we thirst,
And all to all.

Lords. Our Duties, and the Pledge.

[The Ghoft rifes again. Mach. Avant, and quit my fight! Let the earth hide thee!

Thy bones are marrrowlefs, thy blood is cold;
Thou haft no fpeculation in those eyes,

Which thou doft glare with.

Lady. Think of this, good Peers,
But as a thing of cuftom; 'tis no other;
Only it fpoils the pleasure of the time.
Mach. What man dare, I dare:

Approach Thou like the rugged Russian bear,
The arm'd rhinoceros, or Hyrcanian tyger,
Take any shape but That, and my firm nerves
Shall never tremble: Or, be alive again,
And dare me to the Defert with thy fword;
If trembling I inhibit, then proteft me
The baby of a girl. Hence, terrible fhadow!
Unreal mock'ry, hence! Why, fo,

being gone, [The Ghoft vanisbes. [The Lords rife. broke the good With

I am a man again: pray you, fit ftill.
Lady. You have displac'd the mirth,
Meeting

With most admir'd disorder.

Macb. Can fuch things be,

And overcome us like a Summer's cloud,

Without our fpecial wonder? You make me ftrange
Ev'n to the difpofition that I owe,

When now I think, you can behold fuch fights;
And keep the natural Ruby of your Cheeks,
When mine is blanch'd with fear.

Roffe. What fights, my lord?

Lady. I pray you, fpeak not; he grows worfe and worfe;

Queftion enrages him: at once good night.

Stand not upon the Order of your Going,
But go at once.

Len. Good night, and better health

Attend his Majesty!

Lady. Good night, to all.

[Exeunt Lerds.

Macb. It will have blood, they fay; blood will have

blood;

Stones have been known to move, and trees to speak; Augurs, that understood relations, have

By mag-pies, and by choughs, and rooks brought forth The fecret'ft man of blood. What is the night?

---

Lady. Almoft at odds with morning, which is which. Macb. How fay'ft thou, that Macduff denies his perfon, At our great bidding?

Lady. Did you fend to him, Sir?

Mach. I hear it by the way; but I will fend:
There's not a Thane of them, but in his house (16)
I keep a fervant fee'd. I will to morrow
(Betimes I will) unto the weird fifters:

More

(16) There is not One of them,] Thus the modern Editors. But, One of Whom? Macbeth has just said, that he heard, Macduff meant to difobey. his Summons: and he would immediately fubjoin, that there is not a Man of Macduff's Quality in the Kingdom, but He has a Spy under his Roof. This is understood, not exprefs'd, as the Text as yet has ftood: The old Folio's give us the Paffage thus ;

There's not a one of them

Here

More fhall they speak; for now I'm bent to know,
By the worst means, the worft, for mine own good.
All caufes fhall give way; I am in blood

Stept in fo far, that, fhould I wade no more,
Returning were as tedious as go o'er :

Strange things I have in head, that will to hand;
Which must be acted, ere they may be scann'd.
Lady. You lack the Season of all Natures, Sleep.
Macb. Come, we'll to fleep; my strange and self-abuse
Is the initiate fear, that wants hard use:
We're yet but young in Deed. (17)

SCENE changes to the Heath.

[Exeunt.

Thunder. Enter the three Witches, meeting Hecate.

1 Witch.

W

HY, how now, Hecat', you

gerly.

look an

Hec. Have I not reason, Beldams, as you are?
Sawcy, and over-bold! how did you dare
To trade and traffick with Macbeth,

In riddles and affairs of death?
And I, the mistress of your Charms,
The close contriver of all harms,
Was never call'd to bear my part,
Or fhew the glory of our Art?

And, which is worse, all you have done

Here we again meet with a deprav'd Reading; but it is fuck a One, as, I am perfuaded, has led me to the Poet's true Word and Meaning.

There's not a Thane of them,

i. e. a Nobleman: and fo the Peers of Scotland were all call'd, till Earls were created by Malcolme the Son of Duncan.

(17) We're yet but young indeed.] If we transpose these Words, we shall find, they amount to no more than This, We are yet indeed but young. But this is far from comprizing either the Poet's, or Macbeth's, Meaning. I read,- in Deed, i. e. but little inur'd yet to Acts of Blood and Cruelty: for Time and Practice harden Villains in their Trade, who are timorous till fo harden'd.

Hath

Hath been but for a weyward fon;
Spightful and wrathful, who, as others do,
Loves for his own ends, not for you.
But make amends now; get you gone,
And at the pit of Acheron

Meet me i'th" morning: thither he
Will come, to know his destiny;
Your veffels and your spells provide,
Your Charms and every thing befide.
I am for th' Air: this night I'll spend
Unto a difmal, fatal end.

Great business must be wrought ere noon :
Upon the corner of the Moon

There hangs a vap'rous drop, profound;
I'll catch it ere it come to ground;
And That, diftill'd by magick flights,
Shall raife fuch artificial fprights,
As, by the ftrength of their illufion,
Shall draw him on to his confufion.
He fhall fpurn fate, fcorn death, and bear
His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace, and fear:
And, you all know, Security

Is mortals' chiefest enemy.

[Mufick and a Song.

Hark, I am call'd; my little fpirit, fee,
Sits in the foggy cloud, and ftays for me.

[Sing within. Come away, come away, &c. 1 Witch. Come, let's make hafte, fhe'll foon be back

Len.

again.

[Exeunt.

SCENE changes to a chamber.

MY

Enter Lenox, and another Lord.

Y former speeches have but hit your thoughts, Which can interpret farther: only, I fay, Things have been ftrangely borne. The gracious Duncan Was pitied of Macbeth marry, he was dead: And the right-valiant Banquo walk'd too late. Whom, you may fay, if't please you, Fleance kill'd, For Fleance fled: men must not walk too late. Who cannot want the thought, how monstrous too VOL. VI.

It

It was for Malcolm, and for Donalbain

To kill their gracious father? damned fact !
How did it grieve Macbeth? did he not straight
In pious rage the two delinquents tear,

That were the flaves of drink, and thralls of fleep?
Was not that nobly done? ay, wifely too;
For 'twould have anger'd any heart alive
To hear the men deny't. So, that, I fay,
He has borne all things well; and I do think,
That had he Duncan's fons under his key,

(As, an't please heav'n, he shall not;) they fhould find
What 'twere to kill a father: fo fhould Fleance.
But peace! for from broad words, and 'cause he fail'd
His prefence at the tyrant's feaft, I hear,

Macduff lives in difgrace. Sir, can you tell
Where he bestows himself?

Lord. The Son of Duncan, (18)

From whom this tyrant holds the due of Birth,

(18) The Sons of Duncan

Lives

From whom this Tyrant holds the Due of Birth,] I have fet right this Paffage against the Authority of our unobserving Editors. And the Proofs of my Emendation are obvious. In the first place, Macbeth could not be faid to hold the Due of Birth from Both Duncan's Sons. The Succeffion to the Crown was the Right of Malcolm; and Donalbain could have no Right to it, as long as his Elder Brother or any of his Iffue were in Being. In the next place, the Sons of Duncan did not Both shelter in the English Court. Upon the Discovery of their Father's Murder, we find them thus determining.

Malc..

I'll to England.

Donal. To Ireland I; our separated Fortune

Shall keep us both the fafer.

This Determination, 'tis plain, they immediately put into A&, or Macbeth had very ill Intelligence:

We bear, our bloody Coufins are befiow'd

In England and in Ireland.

Nor were they together, even at the time when Malcolm difputed his Right with Macbeth.

Who knows, if Donalbain be with his Brother?

Len. For certain, Sir, be is not.

Befides, Hector Boethius and Holing bead (the latter of whom

our