Norway, himself with numbers terrible, (3)
Affifted by that most disloyal traitor

The Thane of Cawdor, 'gan a difmal conflict;
'Till that Bellona's bridegroom, lapt in proof, (4)
Confronted him with felf-comparisons,

Point against point rebellious, arm 'gainst arm,
Curbing his lavish fpirit. To conclude,
The victory fell on us.
King. Great happiness!

Roffe. Now Saveno, Norway's King, craves compo-
fition:

Nor would we deign him burial of his men, 'Till he disburfed, at Saint Colmes-kill-ifle, Ten thousand dollars, to our gen'ral ufe.

King. No more that Thane of Cawdor fhall deceive Our bofom int'reft. Go, pronounce his death; And with his former Title greet Macbeth. Roffe. I'll fee it done.

King. What he hath loft, noble Macbeth hath won.

[Exeunt.

Cannons overcharg'd; why? because they redoubled Strokes on the Foe with twice the Fury, and Impetuofity, as before.

(3) Norway himself, with Numbers terrible,

Affifted by that, &c.] Norway himfelf affifted, &c. is a Read ing we owe to the Editors, not to the Poet. That Energy and Contraft of Expreffion are loft, which my Pointing restores. The Senfe is, Norway, who was in himself terrible by his own Numbers, when affifted by Cawdor, became yet more terrible, (4) Till that Bellona's Bridegroom, lapt in Proof,

Confronted him with felf-Comparisons,

Point against point, rebellious arm 'gainst arm,

Curbing his lavish Spirit.] Here again We are to quarrel with the Transposition of an innocent Comma; which however becomes dangerous to Senfe, when in the Hands either of a careJefs or ignorant Editor. Let us fee who is it, that brings this rebellious Arm? Why, it is Bellona's Bridegroom; and who is He, but Macbeth. We can never believe, our Author meant any thing like This. My Regulation of the Pointing restores the true Meaning; that the loyal Macbeth confronted the disloyal Cawdor,

arm to arm.

SCENT

1 Witch.

SCENE changes to the Heath.
Thunder. Enter the three Witches.

WHE

HERE haft thou been, sister ?
2 Witch. Killing swine.

3 Witch. Sifter, where thou?

I Witch. A failor's wife had chefnuts in her lap, And mouncht, and mouncht, and mouncht. Give me, quoth I.

Aroint thee, witch! the rump-fed ronyon cries.
Her husband's to Aleppo gone, master o'th' Tyger:
But in a fieve I'll thither fail,

And like a rat without a tail,

I'll do I'll do and I'll do.

z Witch. I'll give thee a wind.

I Witch. Thou art kind.

3

Witch. And I another.

1 Witch. I my self have all the other,
And the very points they blow;
All the quarters that they know,
I'th' fhip-man's card.

I will drain him dry as hay;
Sleep shall neither night nor day
Hang upon his pent-house lid;
He fhall live a man forbid;
Weary fev'n-nights, nine times nine,
Shall he dwindle, peak and pine:
Though his bark cannot be loft,
Yet it shall be tempeft-toft.

Look, what I have.

2 Witch. Shew me, fhew me.

Witch. Here I have a pilot's thumb,

Wreckt as homeward he did come.

3 Witch. A drum, a drum!

Macbeth doth come !

[Drum within.

All. The Weird fifters, hand in hand, (5)

Posters

(5) The weyward Sifters, band in hand,] The Witches are here Speaking of themselves, and it is worth an Enquiry why they

M 5

fhould

Posters of the fea and land,

Thus do go about, about,

Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine,
And thrice again to make up nine!

Peace!

the Charm's wound up.

Enter Macbeth and Banquo, with Soldiers and other attendants.

Mac. So foul and fair a day I have not seen.
Ban. How far is't call'd to Foris ? — What are these,
So wither'd, and fo wild in their attire,

That look not like th' inhabitants o'th' earth,
And yet are on't? Live you, or are you aught
That man may question? You feem to underftand me,
By each at once her choppy finger laying
Upon her skinny lips;

You fhould be women,

And yet your beards forbid me to interpret,
That you are so.

Macb. Speak, if you can; what are you?

1 Witch. All-hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, Thane of Glamis !

2 Witch. All-hail, Macbeth: hail to thee, Thane of Cawdor!

Witch. All-hail, Macbeth! that fhalt be King hereafter.

Ban. Good Sir, why do you ftart, and feem to fear Things that do found fo fair? I'th' name of truth, Are ye fantastical, or That indeed [To the Witches. Which outwardly ye fhew? my noble Partner

fhould file themselves the wayward, or wayward Sifters. This Word in its general Acceptation fignifies, perverse, froward, moody, obftinate, untractable, &c. and is every where so used by our Shakespeare. It is improbable, the Witches would adopt this Epithet to themfelves, in any of thefe Senfes; and therefore we are to look a little farther for the Poet's Word and Meaning. Wierd, in the Scotch Language, fignifies a Witch, or Wizard: and therefore, in every Paffage, where there is any Relation to thefe Witches or Wizards, my Emendation must be embraced, and we muft read Wierd, or Weird.

You

You greet with prefent grace, and great prediction
Of noble Having, and of royal Hope,

That he seems rapt withal; to me you speak not.
If you can look into the Seeds of time,

And fay, which Grain will grow and which will not;
Speak then to me, who neither beg, nor fear,
Your favours, nor your hate,

1 Witch. Hail!

2 Witch. Hail!

3

Witch. Hail!

Witch. Leffer than Macbeth, and greater.

2 Witch. Net fo happy, yet much happier.

3

Witch. Thou shalt get Kings, though thou be none: So, all hail, Macbeth and Banquo!

1 Witch. Banquo and Macheth, all-hail !.

Macb. Stay, you imperfect Speakers, tell me more;
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 ftrange intelligence? or why
Upon this blafted heath you ftop our way,

you.

With fuch prophetick Greeting? - fpeak, I charge
[Witches vanish.
Ban. The earth hath bubbles, as the water has;
And these are of them: whither are they vanish'd ?
Mach. 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? (6)

(6) Were fuch Things here, as we do speak about ?

Or bave we eaten of the infane Root,

That takes the Reason prisoner?]

Or

Hector Boethius, who gives us an Account of Sueno's Army being intoxicated by a Preparation put upon them by their fubtle Enemy, informs us; that there is a Plant, which grows in great Quantity in Scotland, call'd Solatrum Amentiale; that its Berries are purple, or rather black, when full ripe; and have a

Quality

Or have we eaten of the infane root,
That takes the Reason prifoner ?

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 same tune, and words; who's here?
Enter Roffe and Angus.

Roffe. The King hath happily receiv'd, Macbeth,
The news of thy fuccefs; and when he reads
Thy perfonal venture in the rebels' fight,
His wonders and his praifes do contend,
Which fhould be thine, or his. Silenc'd with That,
In viewing o'er the reft o'th' self-same day,
He finds thee in the ftout Norweyan ranks,
Nothing afraid of what thy felf didst 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 Master,
Only to herald thee into his fight,

Not pay thee.

thanks

Roffe. And for an earneft 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. What, can the Devil speak true ?

Mach. The Thane of Cardor 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

Quality of laying to Sleep; or of driving into Madness, if a more than ordinary Quantity of them be taken. This Paffage of Boethius, I dare fay, our Poet had an Eye to : and, I think, it fairly accounts for his Mention of the infane Root.

Combin'd