MACBETH.

MACBET

H.

ACT I. SCENE V.

UT 'tis ftrange;

Banguo. BUT

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 consequence.

From this fpeech may be deduced the nature of temptation to evil, which, by fuggefting fome immediate pleasure or profit, prompts us on to unhappy confequences.

SCENE VI.

The following defcription of the death of a brave man, after he has made a peace with his conscience by contrition, is a fine one.

Malcolm, Speaking to the King of the execution of the Thane of Cawdor.
Very frankly he confeffed his treafons,
Implored your highnefs' pardon, and fet forth
A deep repentance-Nothing in his life
Became him like the leaving it. He died
As one that had been ftudied in his death,
To throw away the dearest thing he owed †,
As 'twere a careless trifle.

The bravery of fpirit which fo many perfons, both antient and modern, have manifested, in this great and last article of their lives, feems to argue fomething more in human nature, than mere animal existence.

The fpecious appearances of men, by which the ingenuous and unwary are liable to be deceived in † Owed for owned.

• Who had frequently philofophifed upon it.

their commerce with the world, are marked and lamented by Duncan in this Scene, where, fpeaking of the above-mentioned rebel, he fays,

44

There is no art

To find the mind's construction * in the face-
'He was a gentleman, on whom I built

An abfolute trust.

Momus well wifhed a window in every man's breaft. Phyfiognomifts pretend they can take a peep through the features of the, face; but this is too abstruse a science to answer the general purposes of life; befides that education may render fuch knowledge doubtful, as in the cafe of Socrates. The difeafes or unfoundness of the body are generally visible in the countenance and complexion of the invalid; how infinitely more ufeful would it be, if the vices of the mind were as obvious there! It is not necessary in the first case, because the patient can tell his dif order; but, in the other inftance, the infected perfon is dumb.

"O heaven! that fuch refemblance of the Higheft

"Should yet remain, where faith and realty

"Remain not."

MILTON.

See the last remark upon Twelfth Night,

SCENE IX,

Macbeth, in his meditations on the murder of Duncan, has fome fine and juft reflections on the nature of confcience.

If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well
It were done quickly-If th' affaffination
Could trammel up the confequence, and catch
With its fuccefs, farceafe +; that but this blow
Might be the be all, and the end-all-here,
Eut here, upon this bank and fhoal of time,
We'd jump the life to come-But, in these cafes,
We ftill have judgment here, that we but teach
Bloody inftructions; which, being taught, return

Natural difpofition.

+ Success, furcease. These two words were reverfed, in the original, but profor transpoled by Theobald.

Το

To plague th' inventor; this even-handed justice
Commends the ingredients of our poifon'd chalice
To our own lips.

SCENE X.

And in this Scene, when Lady Macbeth upbraids her husband with cowardice, for not being more determined on the purpose of the murder, he makes the following noble reflection;

Prithee, peace

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

Doctor Johnson very justly fays, "That these lines ought to beftow immortality on the Author, "though all his other productions had been lost." SCENE II.

ACT II.

Again-The horrors of a guilty mind are strongly and finely painted, in the following fpeech. The images of our crimes not only haunt us in our dreams, but often become the vifions of our waking thoughts. All the bars that Providence could oppofe to vice, it has fet against it. It could no more, without depriving man of his free-will, and fo rendering him equally incapable of merit or blame.

Macbeth, going to commit the murder.

Is this a dagger which I fee before me,

The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee-
I have thee not, and yet I fee thee ftill.

Art thou not, fatal vition, 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'ft 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 rest-I see thee, still;

Commends, for returns,

And