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 act in fafety. There is none but he,
Whofe Being I do fear: and, under him,
My Genius is rebuk'd; as, it is faid,
Antony's was by Cafar. He chid the Sifters,
When first they put the name of King upon me,
And bade them speak to him; then, Prophet-like,
They hail'd him father to a line of Kings."
Upon my head they plac'd a fruitless Crown,
And put a barren Scepter in my gripe,
Thence to be wrench'd with an unlineal hand,
No fon of mine fucceeding. If 'tis fo,
For Banquo's iffue have I fil'd my mind :
For them, the gracious Duncan have I murther'd:
Put rancours in the veffel of my Peace
Only for them: and mine eternal jewel
Giv'n to the common enemy of man,

To make them Kings: the Seed of Banquo Kings:
Rather than fo, come Fate into the list,
And champion me to th' utterance!

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?
Mur. It was, fo please your Highness..
Macb. Well then, now

You have confider'd of my fpeeches ? know,
That it was he, in the times paft, which held you
So under fortune; which, you thought, had been
Our innocent felf; this I made good to you

In our last conf'rence, paft in probation with you:
How you were borne in hand, how croft; the inftruments,

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
Our point of fecond meeting. Do you find
Your Patience fo predominant in your nature,
That you can let this go? are you fo gospell'd,
To pray for this good man and for his iffue,
Whofe heavy hand hath bow'd you to the Grave,
And beggar'd yours for ever?

1 Mur. We are men, my liege.

Macb. Ay, in the catalogue ye go for men,
As hounds, and greyhounds, mungrels, fpaniels, curs,
Showghes, water-rugs, and demy-wolves are cleped
All by the name of dogs; the valued file
Diftinguishes the fwift, the flow, the fubtle,
The house-keeper, the hunter; every one
According to the gift which bounteous Nature
Hath in him clos'd; whereby he does receive
Particular addition, from the bill

That writes them all alike: and so of men.
Now, if you have a station in the file,

And not in the worst rank of manhood, fay it;
And I will put that business in your bofoms,
Whofe execution takes your enemy off;
Grapples you to the heart and love of us,
Who wear our health but fickly in his life,
Which in his death were perfect.

2 Mur. I am one,

Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world
Have fo incens'd, that I am reckless what

I do, to fpite the world.

1 Mur. And I another,

So weary with difafters, tugg'd with fortune,
That I would fet my life on any chance,

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,
That every minute of his Being thrufts
Against my near'ft of life; and though I could
With bare-fac'd Power fweep him from my fight,
And bid my Will avouch it; yet I must not,
For certain friends that are both his and mine,
Whose loves I may not drop; but wail his Fall,
Whom I my felf ftruck down: and thence it is,
That I to your affiftance do make love,
Masking the bufinefs from the common eye
For fundry weighty reafons.

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;
Acquaint you with the perfect fpy o'th' time,
The moment on't; (for't must be done to night,
And fomething from the Palace: always thought,
That I require a Clearness:) and with him,
(To leave no rubs nor botches in the Work)
Fleance his fon, that keeps him company,
(Whofe abfence is no lefs material to me,
Than is his father's) must embrace the fate
Of that dark hour. Refolve your felves a-part,
I'll come to you anon.

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?
Of forrieft fancies your companions making,

[Exit..

Ufing thofe thoughts, which fhould, indeed, have dy'd
With them they think on? things without all remedy
Should be without regard; what's done, is done.
Macb. We have fcotch'd the fnake, not kill'd it—(14)
She'll close, and be herself; whilft our poor malice

(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,
Ere we will eat our meal in fear, and fleep
In the affliction of these terrible Dreams,

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,
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 guests to night.
Macb. So fhall I, Love; and fo, I pray, be you;
Let your remembrance ftill apply to Banquo.
Prefent him Eminence, both with eye
and tongue :
Unfafe the while, that we must lave our honours
In these 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 Hecat's fummons
The fhard-born beetle with his drowfie hums

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
Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond,

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

Good