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Discomfort fwell'd. Mark, King of Scotland, mark;
No fooner Justice had, with valour arm'd,

Compell'd thefe skipping Kernes to truft their heels ;
But the Norweyan lord, furveying vantage,
With furbisht arms and new fupplies of men
Began a fresh affault.

King. Difmay'd not this

Our Captains, Macbeth and Banquo ?
Cap. Yes,

As fparrows, eagles; or the hare, the lion.
If I fay footh, I must report, they were
As cannons overcharg'd; with double cracks, (2)
So they redoubled ftroaks upon the foe:
Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds,
Or memorize another Golgotha,

I cannot tell

But I am faint, my gashes cry for help.

King. So well thy words become thee, as thy wounds : They mack of honour both. Go, get him furgeons. Enter Roffe and Angus.

But who comes here?

Mal. The worthy Thane of Roffe.

Len. What hafte looks through his eyes?

So fhould he look, that feems to speak things ftrange.
Roffe. God fave the King!

King. Whence cam'ft thou, worthy Thane ?
Roffe. From Fife, great King,

Where the Norweyan Banners flout the sky,

And fan our people cold.

Norway, himfelf with numbers terrible, (3)

So from that Spring, whence Comfort feem'd to some,

Discomforts well'd.

Affifted

i. e. ftream'd, flow'd forth: a Word that peculiarly agrees with the Metaphor of a Spring. The Original is Anglo-Saxon Peallian, fcaturires which very well expreffes the Diffusion and Scattering of Water from its Head.

(2) I must report they were

As Cannons overcharg'd with double cracks.] Cannons over

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charg'd

Affifted by that most disloyal traitor

The Thane of Cawdor, 'gan a difmal conflict.
'Till that Bellona's bridegroom, lapt in proof, (4)
Confronted him with felf-comparisons,

Point against point rebellious, arm 'gainft arm,
Curbing his lavifh fpirit. To conclude,

The victory fell on us.

King. Great happiness!

Roffe. Now Sweno, Norway's King, craves compo

fition:

Nor would we deign him burial of his men,
'Till he disburfed, at Saint Golmes-kill-ifle,
Ten thousand dollars, to our gen'ral use.

King. No more that Thane of Cawdor fhall deceive
Our bofom int'reft. Go, pronounce his death;
And with his former Title greet Macbeth.

Roffe. I'll fee it done.

King. What he hath loft, noble Macbeth hath won. [Exeunt.

charg'd with Cracks I have no Idea of: My Pointing, I think, gives the cafie and natural Senfe. Macbeth and Banquo were like Cannons overcharg'd; why because they redoubled Strokes on the Foe with twice the Fury, and Impetuosity, as before.

(3) Norway himself, with Numbers terrible,

Affifted by that, &c.] Norway himself affifted, &c. is a Reading we owe to the Editors, not to the Poet. That Energy and Contraft of Expreffion are loft, which my Pointing reftores, The Senfe is, Norway, who was in himself terrible by his own Numbers, when affifted by Cawdor, became yet more terrible. (4) Till that Bellona's Bridegroom, lapt in Proof,

Confronted him with felf-Comparisons,

Point against point, rebellious arm'gainst arm,

Curbing his lavish Spirit. ] Here again We are to quarrel with the Tranfpofition of an innocent Comma; which however becomes dangerous to Senfe, when in the Hands either of a careless or ignorant Editor. Let us fee who is it, that brings this rebellious Arm? Why, it is Bellona's Bridegroom: and who is He, but Macbeth. We can never believe, our Author meant any thing like This. My Regulation of the Pointing reftores the true Meaning; that the loyal Macbeth confronted the difloyal Cawdor, arm to arm. SCENE

1 Witch.

SCENE changes to the Heath.
Thunder. Enter the three Witches.

WH

HERE haft thou been, fifter?
2 Witch, Killing swine.

3 Witch. Sifter, where thou?

I Witch. A failor's wife had chefnuts in her lap, And mouncht, and mouncht, and mouncht. Give me, quoth I.

Aroint thee, witch! the rump-fed ronyon cries.
Her husband's to Aleppo gone, master o'th' Tyger:
But in a fieve I'll thither fail,

And like a rat without a tail,

I'll do I'll do and I'll do.

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2 Witch. I'll give thee a wind. 1 Witch. Thou art kind.

3 Witch. And I another..

1 Witch. I my self have all the other,
And the very points they blow;
All the quarters that they know,
I'th' fhip-man's card.

I will drain him dry as hay;
Sleep shall neither night nor day
Hang upon his pent-house lid;
He shall live a man forbid;
Weary fev'n-nights, nine times nine,
Shall he dwindle, peak and pine:
Though his bark cannot be loft,
Yet it fhall be tempest-toft.
Look, what I have.

2 Witch. Shew me, fhew me.

1 Witch. Here I have a pilot's thumb,

Wreckt as homeward he did come.

3 Witch. A drum, a drum!

Macbeth doth come!

[Drum within

All. The Weird fifters, hand in hand, (5)

Pofters

(s) The weyward Sifters, hand in hand,] The Witches are here fpeaking of themselves, and it is worth an Enquiry why they

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fhould

Pofters of the fea and land,

Thus do go about, about,

Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine,
And thrice again to make up nine!
Peace! the Charm's wound up.

Enter Macbeth and Banquo, with Soldiers and other attendants.

Mac. So foul and fair a day I have not seen.
Ban. How far is't call'd to Foris? What are thefe,

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So wither'd, and fo wild in their attire,

That look not like th' inhabitants o'th' earth,
And yet are on't? Live you, or are you aught

That man may question? You seem to understand me,
By each at once her choppy finger laying

Upon her skinny lips ;

You should be women •

And yet your beards forbid me to interpret,
That you are fo.

Macb. Speak, if you can; what are you?

1 Witch. All-hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, Thane of Glamis !

2 Witch. All-hail, Macbeth: hail to thee, Thane of Cawdor!

3

Witch. All-hail, Macbeth I that fhalt be King hereafter.

Ban. Good Sir, why do you ftart, and seem to fear Things that do found fo fair? I'th' name of truth, Are ye fantastical, or That indeed [To the Witches. Which outwardly ye fhew? my noble Partner

hould ftile themfelves the wayward, Ox wayward Sifters. This Word in its general Acceptation fignifies, perverse, troward, moody, obftinate, untractable, &c. and is every where so used by Our Shakespeare. It is improbable, the Witches would adopt this Epithet to themselves, in any of these Senses; and therefore we are to look a little farther for the Poet's Word and Meaning. Wierd, in the Scotch Language, fignifies a Witch, or Wizard: and therefore, in every Paffage, where there is any Relation to thefe Witches or Wizards, my Emendation muft be embraced, and we mnft read Wierd, os Weird.

You

You greet with prefent grace, and great prediction
Of noble Having, and of royal Hope,

That he feems rapt withal; to me you speak not.
If you can look into the Seeds 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!

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

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

I Witch. Banquo and Macbeth, all-hail!

Macb. 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 blasted heath you ftop our way,

With fuch prophetick Greeting? fpeak, I charge
you.
[Witches vanish.
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)

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

That takes the Réason prisoner ? }

Or

Hector Boethius, who gives us an Account of Sueno's Army being intoxicared by a Preparation put upon them by their fubtle Enemy, informs us; that there is a Plant, which grows in great Quantity in Scotland, call'd Solatrum Amentiale; that its Berries are purple, or rather black, when full ripes

and

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