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Lady. Know you not he has?

Mach. We will proceed no further in this business. He hath honour'd me of late; and I have bought Golden opinions from all forts of people, Which would be worn now in their neweft glofs, Not caft afide fo foon.

Lady. Was the hope drunk,

Wherein you dreit yourfelf? hath it flept fince?
And wakes it now, to look fo green and pale
At what it did fo freely? From this time,
Such I account thy love. Art thou afraid
To be the fame in thine own act and valour,
As thou art in defire? Wouldft thou have That;
Which thou efteem'ft the ornament of life,
And live a coward in thine own efteem?
Letting I dare not wait upon I would,
3 Like the poor Cat i'th Adage.
Mach. Pr'ythee, peace.

I dare do all that may become a man;
Who dares do more, is none.

Lady. What beast was't then,

That made you break this enterprize to me?
When you durft do it, then you were a man;
And, to be more than what you were, you
would
Be fo much more the man. Nor time, nor place
* Did then cohere, and yet you would make both;
They've made themfelves, and that their fitnefs now
Do's unmake you. I have given fuck, and know
How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me;

2

Wouldst thou have That, Which thou efteem'ft the ornament of life,

And live a coward in thine own efteem?] In this there feems to be no reafoning. I fhould read,

Or live a corward in thine own fleem.

Unless we choose rather,

Wouldst thou leave That 3 Like the poor Cat i’tb' adage.] The adage alluded to is, The cat loves fifh, but dares not wit ber fect,

Ċarus amat Pifces; fed non wakt tingere Plantas.

4 Dia then cohere,-} Co bere, for fuit, fit. WARE.

It is adbers in the old copy.

I

I would, while it was fmiling in my face,

Have pluckt my nipple from his bonele's gums,
And dafh'd the brains out, had I but fo fworn
As you have done to this.

Macb. If we fhould fail,
Lady. We fail!

But fcrew your courage to the fticking place,
And we'll not fail. When Duncan is asleep,
Whereto the rather shall his day's hard journey
Soundly invite him, his two chamberlains
s Will I with wine and waffel fo convince,
That memory, the warder of the brain,
Shail be a fume; and the receipt of reafon
"A limbeck only. When in twinish fleep
Their drenched natures lie as in a death,
What cannot you and I perform upon
Th' unguarded Duncan? what not put upon.
His fpungy officers, 7 who fhall bear the guilt
Of our great quell?

Mach. Bring forth men-children only!

For thy undaunted metal fhould compofe
Nothing but males. Will it not be receiv'd,
When we have mark'd with blood those fleepy two
Of his own chamber, and us'd their very daggers,
That they have don't?

Lady. Who dares receive it other,

As we shall make our griefs and clamour roar,
Upon his death?

Mach. I am fettled, and hend up
Each corporal agent to this terrible Feat.

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Away, and mock the time with fairest show:

Falfe face muft hide what the falfe heart doth know.

[Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

8 MACBETH's CASTLE.

Enter Banquo, and Fleance with a torch before him.

BANQUO.

OW goes the night, boy?

Fle. The moon is down; I have not heard the clock.

Ban. And fhe goes down at twelve.

Fle. I take't, 'tis later, Sir.

Ban. Hold, take my fword. There's hufbandry
in heav'n,

Their candles are all out.-Take thee that too.
A heavy fummons lies like lead upon me,
And yet I would not fleep. Merciful Pow'rs!
Restrain me in the curfed thoughts, that nature
Gives way to in repofe.

Enter Macbeth, and a fervant with a torch.

Give me my fword. Who's there?

Macb. A friend.

Ban. What, Sir, not yet at reft? The King's a-bed.

8 Macbeth's Cafle.] The place is not mark'd in the old edition, nor is it easy to say where this encounter can be. It is not in the ball, as the editors have all fuppofed, for Banquo fees

the fky; it is not far from the bedchamber, as the conversation fhews: it must be in the inner court of the caftle, which Banquo might properly cross in his way to bed.

Ha

He hath to night been in unusual pleasure,
And fent great largefs to your officers;
This diamond he greets your wife withal,
By the name of moft kind Hoftefs, and fhut up
In measureless content.

Mach. Being unprepar'd,

Our will became the fervant to defect;
Which elfe fhould free have wrought.

Ban. All's well.

I dreamt laft night of the three weyward fifters;
To you they've fhew'd fome truth.

Mach. I think not of them,

Yet, when we can intreat an hour to ferve,
Would fpend it in fome words upon that business,
If you would grant the time.

Ban. At your kind leisure.

Mach. If you fhall cleave to my confent, when 'tis, It fhall make honour for you.

Ban. So I lofe none

In feeking to augment it, but ftill keep
My bofom franchis'd and allegiance clear,
I fhall be counsell'd.

Mach. Good repofe the while!

Ban. Thanks, Sir; the like to you.

[Exeunt Banquo and Fleance.

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Macb. Go, bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready,

She ftrike upon the bell. Get thee to bed. [Exit Serv. Is this a dagger which I see before me,

9 If you shall cleave to my confent, when 'tis,] Confent, for will. So that the fenfe of the line is, If you will go into

Dd2

my measures when I have determined of them, or when the time comes that I want your affiftance. WARBURTON

The

The handle tow'rd my hand? Come, let me clutch

thee.

I have thee not, and yet I fee thee still.
Art thou not, fatal vifion, fenfible
To feeling as to fight? or art thou but
A dagger of the mind, a falfe creation.
Proceeding from the heat-oppreffed brain?
I fee thee yet, in form as palpable

As that which now I draw.

Thou marshal'st me the way that I was going;
And fuch an inftrument I was to use.

Mine eyes are made the fools o' th' other fenfes,
Or elfe worth all the reft-I fee thee ftill;

'And on thy blade and dudgeon,

gouts of blood, Which was not fo before.-There's no fuch thing.It is the bloody bufinefs, which informs

Thus to mine eyes. Now o'er one half the world

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Na

The little birds in dreams their
Jongs repeat,

And fleeping flow'rs beneath the
night dews fweat.
Even luft and envy fleep!

Thefe lines, though fo well
known, I have tranfcribed, that
the contrast between them and
this paffage of Shapespeare may
be more accurately observed.

Night is defcribed by two great poets, but one defcribes a night of quiet, the other of perturbation. In the night of Dryden, all the difturbers of the world are laid asleep; in that of Shakespeare, nothing but forcery, luft and murder, is awake. He that reads Dryden, finds himself lull'd with ferenity, and difpofed to folitude and contemplation He that perufes Shakelp ar, looks

round

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