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The expedition of my violent love

Out-run the paufer, Reason. Here, lay Duncan;
His filver skin laced with his golden blood,

And his gafh'd Stabs look'd like a breach in Nature,
For Ruin's wafteful entrance; there, the murtherers ;
Steep'd in the colours of their trade, their daggers
Unmannerly breech'd with gore: who could refrain,
That had a heart to love, and in that heart
Courage, to make's love known?

Lady. Help me hence, ho! [Seeming to faint.
Macd. Look to the lady.

Mal. Why do we hold our tongues,
That moft may claim this argument for ours?
Don. What fhould be spoken here,
Where our Fate, hid within an augre-hole,
May rufh, and feize us? Let's away, our tears
Are not yet brew'd.

Mal. Nor our ftrong forrow on

The foot of motion.

Ban. Look to the lady;

[Lady Macbeth is carried out.

And when we have our naked frailties hid,
That fuffer in expofure, let us meet,

And question this moft bloody piece of work,
To know it further. Fears and fcruples fhake us.
In the great hand of God I ftand, and thence,
Against the undivulg'd pretence I fight

Of treas'nous malice.

Macb. So do I.

All. So, all.

Macb. Let's briefly put on manly readiness,

And meet i'th' hall together.

All. Well contented.

[Exeunt.

Mal. What will you do? let's not confort with them:

To fhew an unfelt forrow, is an office

Which the falfe man does eafie. I'll to England.
Don. To Ireland, I; our feparated fortune
Shall keep us both the fafer; where we are,
'There's daggers in men's fmiles; the near in blood,
The nearer bloody.

Mal.

Mal. This murtherous fhaft, that's shot, Hath not yet lighted; and our safest way Is to avoid the aim. Therefore, to horse;

And let us not be dainty of leave-taking,

But fhift away; there's warrant in that theft,
Which steals it felf when there's no mercy left. [Exeunt.

SCENE, the Outfide of Macbeth's Castle.

Old Man.

Enter Roffe, with an old Man.

T

Hreefcore and ten I can remember well, Within the volume of which time, I've feen

Hours dreadful, and things ftrange; but this fore night Hath trifled former knowings.

Roffe. Ah, good father,

Thou feeft, the heav'ns, as troubled with man's act,
Threaten this bloody ftage: by th' clock, 'tis day;
And yet dark night ftrangles the travelling lamp::
Is't night's predominance, or the day's fhame,
That darkness does the face of earth intomb,
When living light should kiss it?

Old M. 'Tis unnatural,
Even like the Deed that's done.

On Tuesday laft,'

A faulcon, towring in her pride of place,

Was by a moufing owl hawkt at, and kill'd.

Roffe. And Duncan's horfes, (a thing moft ftrange and certain!) (12)

Beauteous and fwift, the minions of the Race,

(12) And Duncan's Hörfes, (a Thing most strange and certain ! ) Beauteous and fwift, the Minions of their Race,]

I am pretty certain, all the Copies have err'd, one after another, in this Reading: and that I have reftor'd the true One. The Poet does not mean, that they were the best of their Breed; but that they were excellent Racers: in which Senfe he very poetically calls them, the Minions of the Race. This is a Mode of Expreffion, which he seems very fond of.

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Turn'd wild in nature, broke their ftalls, flung out,
Contending 'gainft obedience, as they would
Make war with man.

Old M. 'Tis faid, they eat each other.

Roffe. They did fo; to the amazement of mine eyes, That look'd upon't.

Enter Macduff.

Here comes the good Macduff.

How goes the world, Sir, now?
Macd. Why, fee you not?

Roffe. Is't known, who did this more than bloody
Deed?

Macd. Thofe, that Macbeth hath flain.

Roffe. Alas, the day !

What good could they pretend?

Macd. They were fuborn'd;

Malcolm, and Donalbain, the King's two Sons,

Are ftol'n away and fled; which puts upon

Sufpicion of the Deed.

Roffe. 'Gainft nature still;

Thriftless ambition! that wilt ravin up

them

Thine own life's means. -Then 'tis moft like,
The Sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth?

Macd. He is already nam'd, and gone to Scone
To be invested.

Roffe. Where is Duncan's body?

Macd. Carried to Colmes-hill,

The facred ftorehouse of his Predeceffors,
And guardian of their bones.

Roffe. Will you to Scone?

Macd. No, Coufin, I'll to Fife.

Roffe. Well, I will thither.

Macd. Well, may you fee things well done there, (adien ;)

Left our old robes fit eafier than our new!

Roffe. Farewel, Father.

Old M. God's benifon go with you, and with those That would make good of bad, and friends of foes.

[Exeunt.

ACT

A CT III.

SCENE, an Apartment in the Palace.

T

Enter Banquo.

HOU haft it now; King, Cawdor, Glamis, all
The weird women promis'd; and, I fear,

'Thou plaid'ft moft foully for't: yet it was faid, It fhould not stand in thy Pofterity;

But that my felf fhould be the root, and father
Of many Kings. If there come truth from them,
(As upon thee, Macbeth, their fpeeches fhine)
Why, by the verities on thee made good,
May they not be my Oracles as well,

And fet me up in hope? but, hush, no more.

Trumpets found. Enter Macbeth as King, Lady Macbeth, Lenox, Roffe, Lords and Attendants.

Macb. Here's our chief guest.

Lady. If he had been forgotten,

It had been as a gap in our great Feast,

And all things unbecoming.

Macb. To night we hold a folemn fupper, Sir,

And I'll request your prefence.

Ban. Lay your Highness'

Command upon me; to the which, my Duties
Are with a moft indiffoluble tye

For ever knit.

Macb. kide you this afternoon?

Ban. Ay, my good lord.

Macb. We fhould have elfe defir'd

Your good advice (which ftill hath been both grave
And profperous) in this day's Council; but
We'll take to morrow. Is it far you ride?
Ban. As far, my lord, as will fill up the time

Twixt this and fupper. Go not my horfe the better,
I must become a borrower of the night

For a dark hour or twain.

Macb. Fail not our feaft.

Ban. My lord, I will not.

Macb. We hear, our bloody Coufins are beftow'd
. In England, and in Ireland; not confeffing
Their cruel Parricide, filling their hearers

With strange invention; but of That to morrow;
When therewithal we shall have caufe of State,
Craving us jointly. Hie to horfe: adieu,

Till you return at night. Goes Fleance with you ?
Ban. Ay, my good lord; our time does call upon us.
Mach. I wish your horses swift, and fure of foot:
And fo I do commend you to their backs.

Farewel. [Exit Banquo. Let ev'ry man be master of his time (13) "Till feven at night; to make fociety

The sweeter welcome, we will keep our felf

'Till fupper-time alone: till then, God be with you. [Exeunt Lady Macbeth, and Lords:

Manent Macbeth, and a Servant.

Sirrah, a word with you: attend those men

Our pleasure?

Ser. They are, my lord, without the Palace-gate.

(13) Let ev'ry Man be. Mafter of his Time

Till fev'n at night, to make Society

The Sweeter welcome: We will keep our felf

Till Supper Time alone.] I am furpriz'd, none of the Editors fhould quarrel with the Pointing. How could ev'ry Man's being Mafter of his own Time till Night, make Society then the sweeter for, fó, every Man might have gone into Company in the mean while, and pall'd himself for the Night's Entertainment: My Regulation, I dare warrant, retrieves the Poet's Meaning. "Let every Man (fays the King,) be Mafter of his own time till Seven o' Clock: "and that I may have the ftronger Enjoyment of your Companies then, I'll abstain from all Company till Supper« time."

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Macb.

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