She'll clofe, and be herself; whilft our poor malice
Remains in danger of her former tooth.

But let both worlds disjoint, and all things fuffer,
Ere we will eat our meal in fear, and sleep
In the affliction of thefe terrible dreams,
That shake us nightly. Better be with the dead,
(Whom we, to gain our place, have fent to peace,)
Than on the torture of the mind to lie

In restless ecftafy.-Duncan is in his grave;
After life's fitful fever, he fleeps well;

Treafon has done his worft; nor fteel, nor poifon,
Malice domeftick, foreign levy, nothing
Can touch him further!

Lady. Come on;

Gentle my Lord, fleek o'er your rugged looks;
Be bright, and jovial, 'mong your guefts to-night.
Mach. So fhall I, love; and fo, I pray, be you;
Let your remembrance ftill apply to Banque.
Prefent him eminence, both with eye and tongue:
Unfafe the while, that we must lave our honours
In thefe fo flatt'ring ftreams, and make our faces
Vizors t'our hearts, difguifing what they are!—
Lady. You must leave this.

Macb. O, full of fcorpions is my mind, dear wife!
Thou know'ft, that Banquo, and his Fleance, lives.
Lady. But in them, nature's copy's not eternal.
Macb. There's comfort yet, they are affailable;
Then, be thou jocund. Ere the bat hath flown
His cloyfter'd flight, ere to black Hecate's fummons
The fhard-born beetle with his drowsy hums
Hath rung night's yawning peal, there fhall be done

the word, fignifies, to notch, flash, back, cut, with twigs, fwords, &c. and fo our poet more than once has ufed it in his works.

CORIOLANUS.

He was too hard for him directly, to fay the troth on't: Before Corioli, he fcotch'd him, and notch'd him, like a Carbonado. ANTONY and CLEOPATRA.

We'll beat 'em into bench-holes: I have yet
Room for fix fcotches more.

I made this emendation, when I publish'd my SHAKESPEARE TEH fter'd; and Mr. Pope has vouchfafed to embrace it in his last edition.

A

A deed of dreadful note.

Lady. What's to be done?

Macb. Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck, 'Till thou applaud the deed: come, feeling night, (23) Skarf up the tender eye of pitiful day,

And with thy bloody and invisible hand
Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond,

Which keeps me pale! Light thickens, and the Crow
Makes Wing to th' rooky wood :

Good things of day begin to droop and drouze. Whiles night's black agents to their prey do rouze, Thou marvell'it at my words; but hold thee ftill; Things, bad begun, make strong themselves by ill: So, pr'ythee, go with me.

[Exeunt,

SCENE changes to a Park; the Castle at a

distance.

Enter three Murderers.

1 Mur.B 3 Mur. Macbeth, •BUT

UT who did bid thee join with us?

2 Mur. He needs not our mistruft, fince he delivers (24) (23)

come, fealing night,

Skarf up the tender eye of pitiful day;] Mr. Roue and Mr. Pope, heither of them were aware of the poet's metaphor here, and fo have blunder'd the text into nonsense. I have reftor'd from the old copies,

come, feeling night,

i. e. blinding. It is a term in falconry, when they run a thread thro' the eyelids of a hawk firft taken, fo that the may fee very little, or not at all, to make her the better endure the hood. This they call, Jeeling a hawk.

(24) He needs not to mifruf,-] Mr. Pope has here fophifticated the text, for want of understanding it. I can eafily fee, that he conceiv'd this to be the meaning; that Macbeth had no occafion to miftruft the murderers he had employ'd, and plant another upon them. But the text in the old copies ftands thus,

He needs not our mistreft,

Macbeth had agreed with the two murderers, and apppoints a third to affift them. The two are fomewhat jealous of him at firft, but finding that he was fo particular and precife in his directions, that he knew every part of their commiffion, they agree, that there is no need to mistrust him, and fo bid him ftand with them.

Our

Our offices, and what we have to do,

To the direction juft.

1 Mur. Then stand with us.

The weft yet glimmers with fome ftreaks of day:
Now fpurs the lated traveller apace,

To gain the timely inn; and near approaches
The fubject of our watch.

3 Mur. Hark, I hear horfes.

Banquo within. Give us light there, ho!
2 Mur. Then it is he: the rest,

That are within the note of expectation,
Already are i' th' court.

1 Mur. His horfes go about.

3

Mur. Almoft a mile: but he does ufually, (S all men do,) from hence to th' palace-gate Make it their walk.

Enter Banquo and Fleance, with a Torch.

2 Mur. A light, a light.

3

Mur. 'Tis he.

1 Mur. Stand to't.

Ban. It will be rain to-night.

I Mur. Let it come down.
Ban. Oh, treachery!

Fly, Fleance, fly, fly, Ay,

[They affault Banquo.

Thou may'ft revenge. Oh flave! [Dies. Fleance efcapes. 3 Mur. Who did ftrike out the light?

1 Mur. Was't not the way?

3

Mur. There's but one down; the fon Is fled.

2 Mur. We've loft beft half of our affair.

1 Mur. Well, let's away, and fay how much is done.

[Exeunt.

SCENE

SCENE changes to a Room of State in the Caftle.

A Banquet prepar'd. Enter Macbeth, Lady, Roffe, Lenox, Lords, and Attendants.

Macb.

YOU

OU know your own degrees, fit down:
At first and last, the hearty welcome.

Lords. Thanks to your Majefty.

Mach. Ourfelf will mingle with fociety,

And play the humble host:

Our hoftefs keeps her ftate, but in best time

We will require her welcome.

[They fit.

Lady. Pronounce it for me, Sir, to all our friends, For my heart fpeaks, they're welcome.

Enter firft Murderer.

Macb.See,they encounter thee with their hearts' thanks. Both fides are even: here I'll fit i' th' midft; Be large in mirth, anon we'll drink a measure The table round-There's blood upon thy face.

[To the Murderer, afide, at the door.

Mur. 'Tis Banquo's then.

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

Mur. My Lord, his throat is cut, that I did for him. Macb. Thou art the beft of cut-throats; yet he's good, That did the like for Fleance: if thou didst it, Thou art the non-pareil.

Mur. Moft royal Sir,

Fleance is 'fcap'd.

Macb. Then comes my fit again: I had elfe been perfect; Whole as the marble, founded as the rock;

A's broad, and gen'ral, as the cafing air:

But now I'm cabin'd, cribb'd, confin'd, bound in
To faucy doubts and fears. But Banquo's fafe?.
Mur. Ay, my good Lord: fafe in a ditch he bides
With twenty trenched gashes on his head;
'The leaft a death to nature.

Macb. Thanks for that;

There

There the grown ferpent lies: the worm, that's fled, Hath nature that in time will venom breed,

No teeth for th' prefent. Get thee gone, to-morrow We'll hear 't ourselves again.

Lady. My royal Lord,

[Exit Murderer.

You do not give the cheer; the feast is fold,

That is not often vouched, while 'tis making;

'Tis given, with welcome. To feed, were beft at home From thence, the fauce to meat is ceremony; Meeting were bare without it.

[The Ghoft of Banquo rifes, and fits in Macbeth's plact Mach. Sweet remembrancer!

Now good digeftion wait on appetite,

And health on both!

Len. May't please your Highness fit?

Macb. Here had we now our country's honour roof'd, Were the grac'd perfon of our Banquo prefent,(Whom may I rather challenge for unkindness, Than pity for mischance!)

Roffe. His abfence, Sir,

Lays blame upon his promife. Pleas't your Highness

To grace us with your royal company?

Macb. The table's full.

Len. Here's a place referv'd, Sir.

Macb. Where?

Len. Here, my good Lord.

What is't that moves your Highness

Mach. Which of you have done this?

Lords. What, my good Lord?

[Starting

Macb. Thou can'ft not fay, I did it: never shake

Thy goary locks at me.

Roffe. Gentlemen, rife; his Highness is not well. Lady. Sit, worthy friends, my Lord is often thus, And hath been from his youth. Pray you, keep feat. The fit is momentary, on a thought

He will again be well. If much you note him,
You fhall offend him, and extend his paffion;
Feed, and regard him not.-Are you a man?

[To Macb. afide

Macb. Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that,