Luke. Come, stand by me, fear nothing: Guard | To give me ample satisfaction with halberds. Adr. Ah me, it is my husband! Witness you Even now we hous'd him in the abbey here; Enter ANTIPHOLUS and DROMIO of Ephesus Ant. E. Justice, most gracious duke, oh, grant me justice! Even for the service that long since I did thee, Ant. E. Justice, sweet prince, against that woman She whom thou gav'st to me to be my wife; [there. That hath abused and dishonour'd me, Even in the strength and height of injury! Luc. Ne'er may I look on day, nor sleep on night, But she tells to your highness simple truth! Ang. O perjur'd woman! they are both forsworn. In this the madman justly chargeth them. Ant. E. My liege, I am advised what I say; Neither disturb'd with the effect of wine, Nor heady-rash, prov 'd with raging ire, Albeit, my wrongsight make one wiser mad. This woman lock me out this day from dinner : That goldsmith nere, were he not pack'd with her, Could witness it, for he was with me then; Who parted with me to go fetch a chain, Promising to bring it to the Porcupine, Where Balthazar and I did dine together. Our dinner done, and he not coming thither, I went to seek him: In the street I met him; And in his company, that gentleman. There did this perjur'd goldsmith swear me down, That I this day of him receiv'd the chain, Which, God he knows, I saw not: for the which, He did arrest me with an officer. I did obey; and sent my peasant home For certain ducats: He with none return'd. Then fairly I bespoke the officer, To go in person with me to my house. By the way we met My wife, her sister, and a rabble more Of vile confederates; along with them They brought one Pinch; a hungry lean-faced villain, A thread-bare juggler, and a fortune-teller; For these deep shames, and great indignities. Ang. My lord, in truth, thus far I witness with him, That he dined not at home, but was lock'd out. Duke. But had he such a chain of thee, or no? Ang. He had, my lord: and when he ran in here, These people saw the chain about his neck. Mer. Besides, I will be sworn, these ears of mine Heard you confess, you had the chain of him, After you first forswore it on the mart, And, thereupon I drew my sword on you; And then you fled into this abbey here, From whence, I think, you are come by miracle. Ant. E. I never came within these abbey walls, Nor ever didst thou draw thy sword on me; I never saw the chain, so help me heaven! And this is false, you burden me withal. Duke. What an intricate impeach is this! I think, you all have drank of Circe's cup. If here you hous'd him, here he would have been. If he were mad, he would not plead so coldly :You say, he dined at home; the goldsmith here Denies that saying:-Sirrah, what say you? Dro. E. Sir, he dined with her there, at the Porcupine. [ring. Cour. He did; and from my finger snatch'd that Ant. E. 'Tis true, my liege, this ring I had of her. Duke. Saw'st thou him enter at the abbey here? Cour. As sure, my liege, as I do see your grace. Duke. Why, this is strange :-Go call the abbess I think, you are all mated, or stark mad. [hither; [Exit an Attendant. Ege.Most mighty duke, vouchsafe me speak a word, Haply, I see a friend will save my life, And pay the sum that may deliver me. Duke. Speak freely, Syracusan, what thou wilt. Ege. Is not your name, sir, call'd Antipholus ? And is not that your bondman Dromio? Dro. E. Within this hour, I was his bondman, sir, But he, I thank him, gnaw'd in two my cords : Now am I Dromio, and his man, unbound. Ege. I am sure, you both of you remember me. Dro. E. Ourselves we do remember, sir, by you; For lately we were bound, as you are now. You are not Pinch's patient, are you, sir? Ege. Why look you strange on me? you know me Ant. E. I never saw you in my life, till now, [well. Ege. Oh! grief hath chang'd me, since you saw me last; Ege. Not know my voice! O, time's extremity Hast thou so crack'd and splitted my poor tongue, In seven short years, that here my only son Knows not my feeble key of untun'd cares? Though now this grained face of mine be hid In sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow, And all the conduits of my blood froze up; Yet hath my night of life some memory, My wasting lamps some fading glimmer left, My dull deaf ears a little use to hear: All these old witnesses (I cannot err,) Tell me, thou art my son Antipholus. Ant. E. I never saw my father in my life Ege. But seven years since, in Syracusa, boy, Thou know'st, we parted: but, perhaps, my son, Thou sham'st to acknowledge me in misery. Ant. E. The duke, and all that know me in the city, Can witness with me that it is not so; I ne'er saw Syracusa in my life. Duke. I tell thee, Syracusan, twenty years Enter the Abbess, with ANTIPHOLUS Syracusan, and Abb. Most mighty duke, behold a man much Dro. S. I, sir, am Dromio; command him away. Ege. If I dream not, thou art Æmilia; Abb. By men of Epidamnum, he, and I, Duke. Why, here begins his morning story right: Ant. S. No, sir, not I; I came from Syracuse. [lord. Ant. E. I came from Corinth, my most gracious Dro. E. And I with him. Ant. E. Brought to this town by that most famous Duke Menaphon, your most renowned uncle. [warrior Adr. Which of you two did dine with me to-day? Ant. S. I, gentle mistress. Adr. And are not you my husband? On a careul revision of the foregoing scenes, I do not hesitate to pronounce them the composition of two very unequal writers. Shakspeare had undoubtedly a share in them; but that the entire play was no work of his, is an opinion which (as Benedict says)" fire cannot melt out of me; I will die in it at the stake." Thus, as we are informed by Aulus Gellius, lib. iii. cap. 3. some plays were actually ascribed to Plautus, which in truth had only been (retractæ et expolita) retouched and polished by him. In this comedy we find more intricacy of plot than distine tion o character; and our attention is less forcibly engaged, because we can guess in a great measure how the denouement will be brought about. Yet the subject appears to have been reluctantly dismissed, even in this last and unnecessary scene, Did call me brother :-What I told you then. Ang. That is the chain, sir, which you had of me And Dromio my man did bring them me : Το Ant. E. These ducats pawn I for my father here. Abb. Renowned duke, vouchsafe to take the pains, The duke, my husband, and my children both,- [Exeunt ANTIPHOLUS S. and E., ADR. and Luc. Dro. E. Methinks, you are my glass, and not my Dro. S. Not I, sir; you are my elder. Dro. E. Nay, then thus: We came into the world like brother and brother: where the same mistakes are continued, till their power of alfording entertainment is entirely lost.-STEVENS The long doggrel verses that Shakspeare has attributed in this play to the two Dromios, are written in that kind of metre which was usually attributed, by the dramatic poets before his time, in their comic pieces, to some of their inferior characters; and this circumstance is one of the many that authorizes us to place the preceding comedy, as well as Love's Labour's Lost, and The Taming of the Shrew, (where the same kind of versification is likewise found.) among our author's earliest productions; composed probably at a time when he was imperceptibly afected with the prevailing mode, and before he had completely learned to deviate boldly from the common track."-MALONE. ས F this splendid poem the first edition was that of the players in 1623. It was, however, in the opinion of Mr. Malone, written either in 1606 or 1607.-When Mr. Reed first discovered the MS. of Middleton's tragi-comedy the Witch, it was supposed that Shakspeare had taken from it the hint of the supernatural portion of this tragedy. There is no reason for suspecting that the play of Middleton was anterior to that of Shakspeare, and Mr. Malone has adduced several very strong arguments to shew that it was written several years later. The following Essay on the superstitious opinions prevalent in Shakspeare's time is from Dr. Johnson. In order to make a true estimate of the abilities and merit of a writer, it is always necessary to examine the genius of his age, and the opinions of his contemporaries. A poet who should now make the whole action of his tragedy depend upon enchantment, and produce the chief events by the assistance of supernatural agents, would be censured as transgressing the bounds of probability, be banished from the theatre to the nursery, and condemned to write fairy tales instead of tragedies; but a survey of the notions that prevailed at the time when this play was written, will prove that Shakspeare was in no danger of such censures, since he only turned the system that was then universally admitted, to his advantage, and was far from overburdening the credulity of his audience. The reality of witchcraft or enchantment, which, though not strictly the same, are confounded in this play, has in all ages and countries been credited by the common people, and in most, by the learned themselves. The phantoms have indeed appeared more frequently, in proportion as the darkness of ignorance has been more gross; but it cannot be shewn, that the brightest gleams of knowledge have at any time been sufficient to drive them out of the world. The time in which this kind of credulity was at its height, seems to have been that of the holy war, in which the Christians imputed all their defeats to enchantments or diabolical opposition, as they ascribed their success to the assistance of the military saints; and the learned Dr. Warburton appears to believe (Supplement to the Introduction to Don Quirote), that the first accounts of enchantments were brought into this part of the world by those who returned from their eastern expeditions. But there is always some distance between the birth and maturity of folly as of wickedness: this opinion had long existed, though perhaps the application of it had in no foregoing age been so frequent, nor the reception so general. Olympiodorus, in Photius's Etracis, tells us of one Libanius who practised this kind of military magic, and having promised χώρις ὁπλιτῶν κατὰ Bappapor vepreiv, to perform great things against the Barbarians without soldiers, was, at the instance of the empress Placidia, put to death, when he was about to have given proofs of his abilities. The empress shewed some kindness in her anger, by cutting him off at a time so convenient for his reputation. But a more remarkable proof of the antiquity of this notion may be found in St. Chrysostom's book de Sacerdotio, which exhibits a scene of enchantments not exceeded by any romance of the middle age: he supposes a spectator overlooking a field of battle, attended by one that points out all the various objects of horror, the engines of destruction and the arts of slaughter. Δεικνύτο δὲ ἔτι παρὰ τοῖς ἐναντίοις καὶ πετομένους ἵππους διά τινος μαγγανείας, καὶ ὁπλίτας δι' ἀέρος φερομένους, καὶ πάσην γοητείας δύναμιν καὶ ἰδέαν. Let him then proceed to shew him in the opposite armies Aying horses by enchantment, armed men transported through the air, and every power and form of magic. Whether St. Chrysostom believed that such performances were really to be seen in a day of battle, or only endeavoured to enliven his description, by adopting the notions of the vulgar, it is equally certain, that such notions were in his time received, and that therefore they were not imported from the Saracens in a later age; the wars with the Saracens, however, gave occasion to their propagation, not only as bigotry naturally discovers prodigies, but as the scene of action was removed to a great distance. The Reformation did not immediately arrive at its meridian, and though day was gradually increasing upon us, the goblins of witchcraft still continued to hover in the twilight. In the time of Queen Elizabeth was the remarkable trial of the witches of Warbois, whose conviction is still commemorated in an annual sermon at Huntingdon. But in the reign of King James, in which this tragedy was written, many circumstances concurred to propagate and confirm this opinion. The king, who was much celebrated for his knowledge, had, before his arrival in England, not only examined in person a woman ac cused of witchcraft, but had given a very formal account of the practices and illusions of evil spirits, the compacts of witches, the ceremonies used by them, the manner of detecting them, and the justice of punishing them, in his dialogues of Damonologie, written in the Scottish dialect, and published at Edinburgh. This book was, soon after his succession, reprinted at London; and as the ready way to gain King James's favour was to flatter his speculations, the system of Damonelugie was immediately adopted by all who desired either to gain preferment or not to lose it. Thus the doctrine of witchcraft was very powerfully inculcated; and as the greatest part of mankind have no other reason for their opinions than that they are in fashion, it cannot be doubted but this persuasion made a rapid progress, since vanity and credulity co-operated in its favour. The infection soon reached the parliament, who, in the first year of King James, made a law, by which it was enacted, chap. xii. That if any person shall use any invocation or conjuration of any evil or wicked spirit; 2. or shall consult, covenant with, entertain, employ, feed, or reward any evil or cursed spirit, to or for any intent or purpose; 3. or take up any dead man, woman, or child, out of the grave, or the skin, bone, or any part of the dead person, to be employed or used in any manner of witchcraft, sorcery, charm, or enchantment; 4. or shall use, practise, or exercise any sort of witchcraft, sorcery, charm, or enchantment; 5. whereby any person shall be destroyed, killed, wasted, consumed, pined, or lamed in any part of the body; 6. That every such person being convicted shall suffer death. This law was repealed in our own time. "Thus, in the time of Shakspeare, was the doctrine of witchcraft at once established by law and by the fashion, and it became not only unpolite, but criminal, to doubt it; and as prodigies are always seen in proportion as they are expected, witches were every day discovered, and multiplied so fast in some places, that Bishop Hall mentions a village in Lancashire, where their number was greater than that of the houses, The jesuits and sectaries took advantage of this universal error, and endeavoured to promote the interest of their parties by pretended cures of persons affected by evil spirits; but they were detected and exposed by the clergy of the es tablished church. "Upon this general infatuation Shakspeare might be easily allowed to found a play, especially since he has followed with great exactness such histories as were then thought true; nor can it be doubted that the scenes of enchantment, however they may now be ridiculed, were both by himself and his audience thought awful and affecting."-JOHNSON. Like valour's minion, Carv'd out his passage, till he fac'd the slave; And ne'er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him, Till he unseam'd him from the nave to the chaps, And fix'd his head upon our battlements. Dun. O, valiant cousin! worthy gentleman! Sol. As whence the sun 'gins his reflection Shipwrecking storms and direful thunders break; So from that spring, whence comfort seem'd to come, Discomfort swells. Mark, king of Scotland, mark, No sooner justice had, with valour arm'd, Compell'd these skipping Kernes to trust their heels: But the Norweyan ford, surveying vantage, With furbish'd arms, and new supplies of men, Began a fresh assault. Dun. Dismay'd not this Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo? Sol. Yes; As sparrows, eagles; or the hare, the lion. As cannons overcharg'd with double cracks · Doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe I cannot tell : But I am faint, my gashes cry for help. Who ormos kere? Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky, Norway himself, with terrible numbers, The thane of Cawdor, 'gan a dismal conflict: Point against point rebellious, arm 'gainst arm, Dun. Rosse. That now Great happiness! Sweno, the Norways' king, craves composition; Dun. No more that thane of Cawdor shall deceive Dun. What he hath lost, noble Macbeth hath won. [Exeunt. SCENE III.-A Heath. Thunder. Enter the three Witches. 1 Witch. Where hast thou been, sister? 2 Witch. Killing swine. 3 Witch. Sister, where thou? 1 Witch. A sailor's wife had chesnuts in her lap, And mounch'd and mounch'd and mounch'd:-Give me, quoth I: Aroint thee, witch! the rump-fed ronyon crier Her husband's to Aleppo gone, master o'the Tiger But in a sieve I'll thither sail, And, like a rat without a tail, I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do. 2 Witch. I'll give thee a wind. 1 Witch. Thou art kind. 3 Witch. And I another. 1 Witch. I myself have all the other; I will drain him dry as hay: 2 Witch. Shew me, shew me. 1 Witch. Here I have a pilot's thum, Wreck'd as homeward he did come. [Drum within. 3 Witch. A drum, a drum : Macbeth doth come. All. The weird sisters, hand in hand, Enter MACBETH and Banquo. Macb. Speak, if you can ;-What are you? [Glamis' 1 Witch. All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane of 2 Witch. All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane of Cawdor! [after. s Witch. All hail, Macbeth! that shalt be king hereBan. Good sir, why do you start; and seem to fear Things that do sound so fair?-I'the name of truth. 1 Witch. Lesser than Macbeth, and greater. 2 Witch. Not so happy, yet much happier. 3 Witch. Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none: So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo! 1 Witch. Banquo, and Macbeth, all hail! Macb. Your children shall be kings. Enter ROSSE and ANGUS. Rosse. The king hath happily receiv'd, Macbeth, The news of thy success: and when he reads Thy personal venture in the rebels' fight, His wonders and his praises do contend, Which should be thine, or his : Silenc'd with that, In viewing o'er the rest o' the self-same day, He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks, Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make, Strange images of death. As thick as hail, Came post with post; and every one did bear Thy praises in his kingdom's great defence, And pour'd them down before him. Ang. We are sent, To give thee, from our royal master, thanks; To herald thee into his sight, not pay thee. Rosse. And, for an earnest of a greater honour, He bade me, from him, call thee thane of Cawdor: In which addition, hail, most worthy thane! For it is thine. Ban. In borrow'd robes ? What, can the devil speak true? Macb. The thane of Cawdor lives; Why do you dress [me Ang. Who was the thane, lives yet; But under heavy judgment bears that life Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was 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, confess'd, and prov'd, Have overthrown him. Macb. Glamis, and thane of Cawdor: The greatest is behind.—Thanks for your pains. Ban. Do you not hope your children shall be kings, Macb. Two truths are told, Cannot be ill; cannot be good:-If ill, wrought With things forgotten. Kind gentlemen, your pains The leaf to read them.-Let us toward the king.- Ban. Very gladly. Macb. Till then, enough.-Come, friends. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-Fores. A Room in the Palace. Enter DUNCAN, MALCOLM, DONALBAIN, Dun. Is execution done on Cawdor? Are not Mal. As 'twere a careless trifle. Enter MACBETH, BANQUO, ROSSE, and ANGU |