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If you can look into the feeds of time,

And fay, which grain will grow and which will not; Speak then to me, who neither beg, nor fear,

Your favours, nor your hate.

1 Witch. Hail!

2 Witch. Hail!

3

Witch. Hail!

1 Witch. Leffer than Macbeth, and greater. 2 Witch. Not fo happy, yet much happier.

3 Witch. Thou shall get Kings, though thou be none; So, all hail, Macbeth and Banquo!

1 Witch. Banque and Macbeth, all-hail!

Mach. Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more:
By Sinel's death, I know, I'm Thane of Glamis;
But how, of Cawdor? the Thane of Cawdor lives,
A profp'rous gentleman; and, to be King,
Stands not within the profpect of belief,

No more than to be Cawdor. Say, from whence
You owe this ftrange intelligence? or why
Upon this blafted heath you stop our way,

With fuch prophetick greeting?-speak, I charge you.
[Witches vanifb.
Ban. The earth hath bubbles, as the water has ;
And these are of them: whither are they vanish'd ?
Macb. Into the air: and what feem'd corporal
Melted, as breath, into the wind.-

'Would they had staid!

Ban. Were fuch things here, as we do speak about? (6). Or have we eaten of the infane root,

(6) Were fuch Things here, as we do speak about? Or have we eaten of the infane Root,

That takes the Reason prisoner?]

Hector Boethius, who gives us an Account of Sueno's Army being intoxicated by a Preparation put upon them by their fubtle Enemy, informs us; that there is a Plant, which grows in great Quantity in Scotland, called Solatrum Amentiale; that its Berries are purple, or rather black, when full ripe; and have a Quality of laying to Sleep; or of driving into Madness, if a more than ordinary Quantity of them be taken. This Paffage of Boethius, I dare fay, our Poet had an Eye to and, I think, it fairly accounts for his Mention of the infane Root.

M 4

'That

That takes the reafon prifoner ?

Macb. Your children fhall be Kings.

Ban. You fhall be King.

Macb. And Thane of Cawdor too; went it not fo?

Ban. To th' felf fame tune, and words; who's here?

Enter Roffe and Angus.

Roffe. The King hath happily receiv'd, Macbeth,
The news of thy fuccefs; and when he reads
Thy perfonal venture in the rebels' fight,
His wonders and his praises do contend,
Which should be thine, or his. Silenc'd with that,
In viewing o'er the reft o'th' felf-fame day, -
He finds thee in the ftout Norweyan ranks,
Nothing afraid of what thyfelf didft make,
Strange images of death.

As thick as hail,
Came poft on poft; and every one did bear
Thy praises in his kingdom's great defence:
And pour'd them down before him.
Ang. We are fent,

To give thee, from our royal mafter, thanks;
Only to herald thee into his fight,

Not pay thee.

Roe. And for an earnest of a greater honour,
He bade me, from him, call thee Thane of Cawdor :
In which addition, hail, moft worthy Thane!
For it is thine.

Ban. What, can the devil speak true?
Macb. The Thane of Cawdor lives ;
Why do you drefs me in his borrow'd robes ?
Ang. Who was the Thane, lives yet;
But under heavy judgment bears that life,
Which he deferves to lofe. Whether he was
Combin'd with Norway, or did line the rebel
With hidden help and 'vantage; or that with both
He labour'd in his country's wreck, I know not;
But treasons capital, confefs'd and prov'd,

Have overthrown him.

Macb. Glamis and Thane of Cawdor!

[Afide. The

The greateft is behind. Thanks for your pains. [To An. Do you not hope, your children fhall be Kings. [To Ban. When thofe that gave the Thane of Cawdor to me, Promis'd no lefs to them?

Ban. That, trufted home,

Might yet enkindle you unto the crown,
Befides the Thane of Cawdor. But 'tis ftrange:
And oftentimes, to win us to our harm,
The inftruments of darknefs tell us truths;
Win us with honeft trifles, to betray us
In deepest confequence.

Coufins, a word, I pray you.

Mach. Two truths are told,

[To Roffe and Angus.

[Afide.

As happy prologues to the fwelling act

Of the imperial theme. I thank you, gentlemen

This fupernatural folliciting

Cannot be ill; cannot be good.

-If ill,

Why hath it giv'n me earnest of fuccefs,
Commencing in a truth? I'm Thane of Cawdor.
If good; why do I yield to that suggestion,
Whofe horrid image doth unfix my hair,
And make my feated heart knock at my ribs
Against the ufe of nature? prefent feats (7)
Are less than horrible imaginings.

My thought, whofe murder yet is but fantaftical,
Shakes fo my fingle state of man, that function
Is fmother'd in furmife; and nothing is,

(7)

-prefent Fears

But

Are less than horrible Imaginings.] Macbeth, while he is projecting the Murder, which he afterwards puts in Execution, is thrown into the most agonizing Affright at the Profpect of it: which foon recovering from, thus he reafons on the Nature of his Disorder. Imaginings are fo far from being more or less than prefent Fears, that they are the fame Things under different Words. Shakespeare certainly wrote;

-prefent Feats

Are less than horrible Imaginings.

i. e. When I come to execute this Murder, I fhall find it much lefs dreadful than my frighted Imagination now prefents it to me. A confideration drawn from the Nature of the Imagination.

M 5

Mr. Warburton.

But

But what is not.

Ban. Look, how our partner's rapt!

Macb. If chance will have me King, why, chance

may crown me,

Without my ftir.

Ban. New Honours, come upon him,

[Afide.

Like our ftrange garments cleave not to their mould, But with the aid of ufe.

Macb. Come what come may,

Time and the hour runs thro' the roughest day.
Ban. Worthy Macbeth, we ftay upon your leisure.
Mabc. Give me your favour: my dull brain was
wrought

With things forgot. Kind gentlemen, your pains
Are registred where every day I turn

The leaf to read them. Let us toward the King;
Think, upon what hath chanc'd; and at more time,

[To Banquo. (The Interim having weigh'd it,) let us speak

Our free hearts each to other.

Ban. Very gladly.

Macb. 'Till then enough: come friends.. [Exeunt.

SCENE changes to the Palace.,

Flourish. Enter King, Malcolm, Donalbain, Lenox, and Attendants.

King.S execution done on Cawdor yet?.

Is

Or not thofe in commiffion yet return'd?
Mal. My liege,

Thy are not yet come back. But I have fpoke
With one that faw him die; who did report,
That very frankly he confefs'd his treafons;
Implor'd your Highness' pardon, and fet forth
A deep repentance; nothing in his life
Became him like the leaving it. He dy'd,
As one, that had been studied in his death,
To throw away the dearest thing he ow'd,'
As 'twere a careless trifle..

King. There's no art,

To find the mind's conftruction in the face:
He was a gentleman, on whom I built
An abfolute truft.

Enter Macbeth, Banquo, Roffe, and Angus.

O worthieft coufin!

The fin of my ingratitude e'en now

Was heavy on me. Thou'rt fo far before,
That swifteft wing of recompence is flow,

To overtake thee. 'Would, thou'dft lefs deferv'd,
That the promotion both of thanks and payment
Might have been mine! only I've left to fay,
More is thy due, than more than all can pay.
Mach. The fervice and the loyalty I owe,
In doing it, pays itself. Your Highness' part
Is to receive our duties; and our duties

Are to your throne, and state, children and fervants;
Which do but what they should, by doing every thing
Safe tow'rd your love and honour.

King. Welcome hither:

I have begun to plant thee, and will labour
To make thee full of growing. Noble Banquo,
Thou haft no lefs deferv'd; and must be known
No lefs to have done fo: let me enfold thee,
And hold thee to my heart.

Ban. There if I grow,
The harvest is your own.
King. My plenteous joys,

Wanton in fulness, feek to hide themselves
In drops of forrow. Sons, kinfmen, Thanes,
And
you whofe places are the nearest, know,
We will establish our eftate upon

Our eldeft Malcolm, whom we name hereafter
The Prince of Cumberland: which honour muft,
Not unaccompanied, inveft him only;

But figns of nobleness, like ftars, fhall fhine
On all defervers-- Hence to Inverness,
And bind us further to you.

Mach.

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