1 Witch. Hail!

2 Witch. Hail!

3 Witch. Hail!

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

3 Witch. Thou fhalt get Kings, though thou be

none;

So, all hail, Macbeth and Banquo!

1 Witch. Banquo and Macbeth, all hail!

Mac. Stay, you imperfect Speakers, tell me more;
2 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 strange intelligence? or why

Upon this blafted heath you stop our way,

you.

With fuch prophetick Greeting? Speak, I charge
Witches vanifb.
Ban. The earth hath bubbles, as the water has;
And these are of them. Whither are they vanish'd?
Mac. 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? Or have we eaten of the infane root,

That takes the Reason prisoner?

Mach. Your children fhall be Kings.
Ban. You fhall be King.

Mach. And Thane of Cawdor too; went it not fo?
Ban. To th' felf fame tune, and words; who's here?

2 By Sinel's death,-] The father of Macbe b.

POPE. 3 -euten of the infane root,] Mr. Theobald has a long, and

learned note on thefe words; and, after much puzzling, he at length proves from Hector Borthius, that this root was a berry.

WARBURTON.

SCENE

SCENE V.

Enter Roffe and Angus.

Silenc'd with That,

Roffe. The King hath happily receiv'd, Macbeth,
The news of thy fuccefs; and when he reads
Thy perfonal 'venture in the rebel's fight,
His wonders and his praifes do contend,
Which fhould be thine, or his.
In viewing o'er the reft o'th' felf-fame day,
He finds thee in the ftout Norweyan ranks,
Nothing afraid of what thy felf didft make,
Strange images of death. + As thick as hail,
Came Poft on Poft; and every one did bear
Thy praises in his Kingdom's great defence:
And pour'd them down before him.
Ang. We are fent,

To give thee, from our royal Mafter, thanks;
Only to herald thee into his fight,

Not pay thee.

Roffe. And for an earneft of a greater honour, He bad me, from him, call thee Thane of Cawdor: In which Addition, hail, moft worthy Thane!

For it is thine.

Ban. What, can the Devil speak true?
Mach. The Thane of Cawdor lives;
Why do you drefs me in his borrow'd robes?
Ang. Who was the Thane, lives yet;
But under heavy judgment bears that life,
Which he deferves to lofe.

Whether he was

as a tale can travel with the poff.
Or we may read, perhaps yet
better,

As thick as tale
Came poft with post ;-
That is, pofts arrived as fast as
they could be counted.

Com

Combin'd with Norway, or did line the Rebel
With hidden help and 'vantage; or that with both
He labour'd in his country's wreck, I know not;
But treasons capital, confefs'd, and prov'd,

Have overthrown him.

[Afide.

Macb. Glamis and Thane of Cawdor!
The greatest is behind. Thanks for your pains.

[To Angus.

Do you not hope, your children shall be Kings?

[To Banquo;

When those that gave the Thane of Cawdor to me,
Promis'd no lefs to them?

Ban. That, trusted home,

'Might yet enkindle you unto the Crown,
Befides the Thane of Cawdor. But 'tis ftrange;
And oftentimes, to win us to our harm,
The inftruments of darkness tell us truths,
Win us with honeft trifles, to betray us

In deepest confequence.

Coufins, a word, I pray you.

Mach. Two truths are told,

[To Roffe and Angus.

As happy prologues to the fwelling act

[Afide.

Of the imperial theme. I thank you, gentlemen

*This fupernatural Solliciting

[To Roffe and Angus.

Cannot be ill; cannot be good. If ill,
Why hath it giv'n me earnest of fuccefs,
Commencing in a truth? I'm Thane of Cawdor.
If good, why do I yield to that fuggeftion,

Whofe horrid image doth unfix my hair, And make my feated heart knock at my ribs Against the ufe of nature; prefent fears Are lefs than horrible imaginings.

My thought, whofe murther yet is but fantaftical, Shakes fo my fingle ftate of man, that Function Is fmother'd in furmife; and nothing is,

But what is not.

Ban. Look, how our Partner's rapt!

Macb. If Chance will have me King, why, Chance may crown me,

Without my ftir.

Ban. New Honours, come upon him,

[Afide.

Like our ftrange garments cleave not to their mould But with the aid of ufe.

Whofe horrid image doth UNFIX my hair,] But horror does not unfix the hair, but makes it ftand ftiff and upright. We should read, UPFIX. WARB. To unfix is, to put in motion.

9

-prefent fears

Are less than horrible Imaginings.] Macbeth, while he is projecting the murder, is thrown into the moft agonizing affright at the profpect of it: which foon recovering from, thus he reafons on the nature of his diforder. But Imaginings are fo far from being more or lefs than prefent fears, that they are the fame things under different words. Shakespear certainly wrote, -prefent feats

Are less than horrible imagine ings.

i. e. when I come to execute this murder, I fhall find it much lefs dreadful than my frighted imagination now prefents it to me.

Mach. Come what come may,

[Afide.

Time and the hour runs through the roughest day.
Ban. Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leifure.
Mach. Give me your favour. My dull brain was
wrought

With things forgot. Kind gentlemen, your pains
Are regiftred where every day I turn

[To Roffe and Angus. The leaf to read them.-Let us tow'rd the King; Think, upon what hath chanc'd; and at more time,

[To Banquo.

The Interim having weigh'd it, let us speak

Our free hearts each to other.

Ban. Very gladly.

Mach. Fill then, enough. Come, friends.

3 Time and the hour runs thro' the roughest day. I fuppofe every reader is difgutted at the tautology in this paffage, Time and the hour, and will therefore willingly believe that Shakere wrote thus,

Come what come may,
Time! on!—the hour runs thro'

the rougheft day.
Macbeth is deliberating upon the
events which are to befal him,
but finding no fatisfaction from
his own thoughts, he grows im-
patient of reflection, and refolves
to wait the clofe without harraf.
fing himself with conjectures.

Come what come my But to fhorten the pain of fufpenfe, he calls upon time in the ufual file of ardent defire, to

[Exeunt.

quicken his motion,
Time! on!
He then comforts himself with
the reflection that all his per-
plexity must have an end,

-the hour runs through the
roughest day.

This conjecture is fupported by the paffage in the letter to his lady, in which he fays, they referied me to the coming on of time, with Hail, King that fhalt be.

3 Time and the bour-] Time is painted with an hour-glass in his hand. This occafioned the expreffion. WARBURTON.

My dull brain was wrought With things forgot - ] My head was worked, agitated, put into commotion.