Of Birnam rife, and our high-plac'd Macbeth
Shall live the lease of Nature, pay his breath
To time and mortal custom!

Yet my heart

Throbs to know one thing; Tell me, (if your Art
Can tell fo much) fhall Banquo's iffue ever

Reign in this Kingdom?

All. Seek to know no more.

[The Cauldron finks into the Ground.

Macb. I will be fatisfy'd. Deny me this,

And an eternal curfe fall on you! let me know,

Why finks that cauldron ? and what noise is this?

1 Witch. Shew!

2 Witch. Shew!

[Hautboys.

3 Witch. Shew!

All. Shew his eyes, and grieve his heart; Come like fhadows, fo depart.

[Eight Kings appear and pass over in order, and (21) Banquo; the laft, with a glass in his hand. Macb. Thou art too like the spirit of Banquo; down! Thy crown does fear mine eye-balls.- -And thy hair (Thou other gold-bound brow) is like the firft

Rebellious Head rife never,

i. e. Let Rebellion never make Head against me, till a Foreft move, and I shall reign long enough in Safety.

(21) Eight Kings appear and pass over in order, and Banquo laft, with a Glass in bis band.] The Editors could not help blundering even in this Stage-Direction. For 'tis not Banque, who brings the Glafs; as is evident from the following Speech:

And yet the Eighth appears, who bears a Glass,

Which fhews me many more; and Some I fee,

That twofold Balls, and treble Scepters carry.

I have quoted the last Line, because it will not be amifs to obferve, that this fine Play, 'tis probable, was not writ till after 2. Elizabeth's Death. Thefe Apparitions, tho' very properly fhewn with Regard to Macbeth, yet are more artfully fo, when we confider the Addrefs of the Poet in complimenting K. James I. here upon his uniting Scotland to England: and when we confider too, that the Family of the Stuarts are said to be the direct Defcendents from Banque,

A

eye!

What! will the line ftretch out to th' crack of Doom?-
A feventh! I'll fee no more

Another yet?
And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glafs,
Which fhews me many more; and fome I fee,
That twofold balls and treble scepters carry.
Horrible fight! nay, now, I fee, 'tis true;
For the blood-bolter'd Banquo fmiles upon me,
And points at them for his. What, is this fo?
1 Witch. Ay, Sir, all this is fo. But why
Stands Macbeth thus amazedly?

Come, fifters, chear we up
his fprights,
And fhew the best of our delights;
I'll charm the Air to give a Sound,
While you perform your antick round:
That this great King may kindly fay,
Our duties did his welcome pay.

[Mufick..

[The witches dance and vanish.

Macb. Where are they? gone?Let this pernicious

hour

Stand ay accurfed in the kalendar!.

Come in, without there!

Enter Lenox.

Len. What's your Grace's will?

Mach. Saw you the weird fifters ?TM

Len. No, my lord..

Macb. Came they not by you?

Len. No, indeed, my lord.

Macb. Infected be the air whereon they ride,

And damn'd all thofe that truft them! I did hear

The galloping of horse.

Who was❜t came by?

Len. 'Tis two or three, my lord, that bring you

Len. Ay, my good lord.

Mach. Time, thou anticipat'ft my dread exploits :

The flighty purpose never is o'er-took,
Unless the deed go with it.

From this moment,
The very firftlings of my heart fhall be

The firftlings of my hand. And even now

To crown my thoughts with acts, be't thought and done!

The Caftle of Macduff I will furprise,

Seize upon Fife, give to the edge o' th' fword

His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate fouls

That trace him in his line. No boasting like a fool,
This deed I'll do before this purpose cool.

But no more fights. Where are these gentlemen?
Come bring me where they are.

[Exeunt.

SCENE changes to Macduff's Cafle at Fife.

Enter Lady Macduff, ber Son, and Rosse,

`L. Macd. WHAT had he done, to make him fly

Land?

Roffe. You must have patience, Madam.
L. Macd. He had none;

His flight was madness; when our actions do not,
Our fears do make us traitors.

Roffe. You know not,

Whether it was his wisdom, or his fear.

L. Macd. Wifdom? to leave his wife, to leave his babes,

His manfion, and his titles, in a place

From whence himself does fly? he loves us not,
He wants he natʼral touch; for the poor wren,
The most diminutive of birds, will fight,
Her young ones in her neft, against the owl:
All is the fear, and nothing is the love;
As little is the wisdom, where the flight
So runs against all reason.

Roffe. My Dearest Coufin,

your husband,

I pray you, school your felf; but for
He's noble, wife, judicious, and best knows

The fits o' th' feafon. I dare not speak much further,

But

But cruel are the times, when we are traitors,
And do not know ourselves: when we hold rumour
From what we fear, yet know not what we fear;
But float upon a wild and violent fea

Each way, and move. I take my leave of you;
Shall not be long but I'll be here again:

Things at the worft will ceafe, or else climb upward
To what they were before: My pretty Coufin,
Bleffing upon you?

L. Macd. Father'd he is, and yet he's fatherless.
Roffe. I am fo much a fool, fhould I ftay longer,
It would be my difgrace, and your discomfort,
I take my leave at once.

L. Macd. Sirrah, your father's dead,

[Exit Roffe.

And what will you do now? how will you live?
Son. As birds do, Mother.

L. Macd. What, on worms and flies?

Son. On what I get, I mean; and fo do they. L. Macd. Poor bird! Thou'dft never fear the net, nor lime :

The pit-fall, nor the gin.

Son. Why fhould I, Mother? poor birds, they are not fet for.

My father is not dead for all your Saying.

L. Macd. Yes, he is dead; how wilt thou do for a father?

Son. Nay, how will you do for a husband?
L. Macd. Why, I can buy me twenty
Son. Then you'll buy 'em to fell again.

at any

market.

L. Macd. Thou speak'ft with all thy wit, and yet, faith,

With wit enough for thee.

Son. Was my father a traitor, mother?

L. Macd. Ay, that he was..

Son. What is a traitor ?

L. Macd. Why, one that fwears and lies..
Son. And be all traitors, that do fo?

L. Macd. Every one, that does fo, is a traitor, and must be hang'd.

Son. And muft they all be hang'd, that swear and lie?

L. Macd

L. Macd. Every one.

Son. Who muft hang them?

L. Macd. Why, the honest men.

Son. Then the liars and fwearers are fools; for there are liars and fwearers enow to beat the honeft men, and hang up them.

L. Macd. God help thee, poor monkey! but how wilt thou do for a father?

Son. If he were dead, you'd weep for him: if you would not, it were a good fign that I should quickly have a new father.

L. Macd. Poor pratler! how thou talk'st ?

Enter a Meffenger.

Mef. Blefs you, fair dame! I am not to you known, Though in your state of honour I am perfect;

I doubt, fome danger does approach you nearly.
If you will take a homely man's advice,

Be not found here; hence with your little ones.
To fright you thus, methinks, I am too favage;
To do worse to you were fell cruelty,

Which is too nigh your perfon. Heav'n preferve you!
I dare abide no longer.

L. Macd. Whither fhould I fly?

[Exit Meffenger.

I've done no harm. But I remember now,
I'm in this earthly world, where to do harm
Is often laudable; to do good, sometime
Accounted dang❜rous folly. Why then, alas!
Do I put up that womanly defence,
To fay, I'd done no harm?

-what are these faces ?

Enter Murtherers.

Mur. Where is your husband?

L. Macd.' I hope, in no place fo unfanctified,.

Where fuch as thou may'st find him.

Mur. He's a traitor.

Son. Thou lyft, thoù fhag-ear'd villain.

Mur. What, you egg?

Young fry of treachery?

[Stabbing bim.