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!
Macd. Look to the Lady.

Mal. Why do we hold our tongues,

[Seeming to faint,

That most may claim this argument for ours?
Don. What fhould be fpoken here,

Where our fate, hid within an augre-hole,

May rush, 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 molt bloody piece of work,
To know it further. Fears and fcruples thake us:
In the great hand of God I ftand, and thence,
Against the undivulg'd pretence I fight

Of treas'nous malice.

Mach. 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 eafy. I'll to England.

Don. To Ireland, I; our feparated fortune

Shall keep us both the fafer; where we are,

There's daggers in mens fmiles; the near in blood

The nearer bloody.

Mal. This murderous fhaft, that's hot,

Hath not yet lighted; and our fafeft 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 itself when there's no mercy left. [Exeunt.

SCENE,

SCENE, the Outfide of Macbeth's Caftle.

Enter Roffe, with an Old Man.

Old M. Within the volume of which time, I've feen

Hreefcore and ten I can remember well,

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 darknefs 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 last,
A faulcon, tow'ring 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! (19)

Beauteous and fwift, the minions of the race,
Turn'd wild in nature, broke their ftalls, flung out,
Contending gainst obedience, as they would

Make war with man.

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

(19) And Duncan's borfes, (a thing moft ftrange and certain!) Beauteous and fift, the minions of their race,]

The poet

I am pretty certain, all the copies have err'd, one after another, in this reading: and that I have reftord the true one. does not mean, that they were the best of their breed; but that they were excellent racers: in which fenfe he very poetically calls them, the minions of the race. This is a mode of expreffion, which he feems very fond of. So, before, in this play,

Like valour's minion, carved out his paffage,

King John.

Fortune fhall cull forth

Out of one fide her happy minion.

A Henry IV.

Who is Tweet fortune's minion, and her pride. And again;

-Gentlemen of the fhade, minions of the moon.

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? Magd. Thofe, that Macbeth hath slain,

Roffe. Alas, the day!

What good could they pretend?

Macd. They were fuborn'd;

Malcolm, and Donalbain, the King's two fons,
Are ftol'n away and fled; which puts upon them
Sufpicion of the deed.

Roffe. 'Gainft nature still ;-
Thriftlefs ambition! that will ravin up

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

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

To be invefted.

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, (adieu;} Left our old robes fit easier 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,

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 should not stand in thy pofterity;

But that myself fhould be the root, and father
Of many Kings. If there come truth from them,
(As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches 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. Ride you this afternoon ?

Ban. Ay, my good Lord.

Macb. We fhould have elfe defir'd

Your good advice (which still 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 bestow'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 fhall have caufe of ftate,
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.
Macb. I wish your horfes fwift, and fure of foot:
And fo I do commend you to their becks.

Farewel.
Let ev'ry man be master of his time (20)
'Till feven at night; to make fociety

The fweeter welcome, we will keep ourself

[Exit Banquo.

'Till supper-time alone: 'till then, God be with you.

[Exeunt Lady Macbeth, and Lords

Manent Macbeth, and a Servant.

Sirrah, a word with you attend thofe men

Our pleasure?

Ser. They are, my Lord, without the palace-gate. Macb. Bring them before us-To be thus, is nothing; [Exit Servant.

But to be fafely thus.Our fears in Banquo

Stick deep; and in his royalty of nature

Reigns that, which would be fear'd. 'Tis much he dares, (20) Let ev'ry man be mafter of his time 'Till feven at night, to make fociety

The javeeter welcome: We will keep our felf

'Till fupper-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 fociety then the fweeter? for, fo, 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 master of his own time 'till feven o'clock: and that I may have the ftronger enjoyment of your companies then, I'll "abftain from all company 'till fupper-time,"

And