Macb. Bring them before us nothing; But to be fafely thus. To be thus, is [Exit fer. Our fears in Banquo Stick deep; and in his Royalty of Nature Reigns That, which would be fear'd. 'Tis much he dares, And to that dauntless temper of his mind, He hath a wisdom that doth guide his valour To make them Kings: the Seed of Banquo Kings: who's there? Enter Servant, and two Murtherers. Go to the door, and stay there, 'till we call. [Exit Servant. Was it not yesterday we spoke together? You have confider'd of my fpeeches ? know, In our last conf'rence, paft in probation with you: Who Who wrought with them: and all things elfe, that might To half a foul, and to a notion craz'd, Say, thus did Banquo. i Mur. True, you made it known. Macb. I did fo; and went further, which is now 1 Mur. We are men, my liege. Macb. Ay, in the catalogue ye go for men, That writes them all alike: and so of men. And not in the worst rank of manhood, fay it; 2 Mur. I am one, Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world I do, to fpite the world. 1 Mur. And I another, So weary with difafters, tugg'd with fortune, To mend it, or be rid on't. Macb. Both of you Know, Banquo was your enemy. Mur. True, my lord. Macb. Macb. So is he mine: and in fuch bloody distance, 2 Mur. We fhall, my lord, Perform what you command us. 1 Mur. Though our lives Macb. Your fpirits fhine through you. In this hour, at most, I will advise you where to plant your felves; Mur. We are refolv'd, my lord. Macb. I'll call upon you straight; abide within. [Exeunt Murtherers. It is concluded; Banquo, thy Soul's flight, If it find heav'n, must find it out to-night. [Exit. SCENE, another Apartment in the Palace. Enter Lady Macbeth, and a Servant. LadyS Banque gone from Court? Lady. Is Serv. Ay, Madam, but returns again to night. Lady. Lady. Say to the King, I would attend his leifure. For a few words. Serv. Madam, I will. Lady. Nought's had, all's fpent, Where our defire is got without content :: "Tis fafer to be That which we destroy, Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy. Enter Macbeth. How now, my lord, why do you keep alone? [Exit.. Ufing thofe thoughts, which fhould, indeed, have dy'd (14) We have scorch'd the Snake, not kill'd it, She'll clofe, and be herself; ] This is a Paffage, which has all along passed current thro' the Editions, and yet, I dare affirm, is not our Author's Reading. What has a Snake, clofing again, to do with its being fcorch'd? Scorching would never either separate, or dilate, its Parts; but rather make them inftantly contract and shrivel. SHAKESPEARE, I am very well perfwaded, had this Notion in his head; that if you cut a Serpent or Worm asunder, in feveral Pieces, there is fuch an unctuous Quality in their Blood, that the difmember'd Parts, being only placed near enough to touch one another, will cement and become as whole as before the Injury receiv'd. The Application of this Thought is to Duncan, the murder'd King, and his furviving Sons. Macbeth confiders them fo much as Members of the Father, that tho' he has cut off the Old Man, he would say, he has not entirely kill'd him, but he'll revive again in the Lives of his Sons. Can we doubt therefore but that the Poet wrote, as I have reftor'd to the Text, We have fcotch'd the Snake, not kill'd it? To fcotch, however the generality of our Dictionaries happen to omit the Word, fignifies, to notch, flash, hack, cut, with Twigs, Swords, &c, and so our Poet more than once has used it in his Works. Remaina Remains in danger of her former tooth. But let both worlds disjoint, and all things fuffer, That fhake 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 reftlefs ecftafie. Duncan is in his Grave; After life's fitful fever, he fleeps well; Treason has done his worst; nor fteel, nor poison, Can touch him further! Lady. Come on ; Gentle my lord, fleek o'er your rugged looks; Macb. O, full of fcorpions is my mind, dear wife! Hath rung night's yawning peal, there shall be done A Deed of dreadful note. Lady. What's to be done? Macb. Be innocent of the knowledge, deareft chuck, 'Till thou applaud the Deed: come, feeling Night, Skarf up the tender eye of pitiful day, And with thy bloody and invifible hand Which keeps me pale! Light thickens, and the Crow Good |