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All. Liften, but speak not.

App. Be lion-mettled, proud, and take no care,
Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are:
Macbeth fhall never vanquish'd be, until

Great Birnam-wood to Dunfinane's high hill
Shall come against him.

Macb. That will never be :

Who can imprefs the foreft, bid the tree

[Defcends.

Unfix his earth-bound root? Sweet boadments! good!
Rebellious head rise never, till the wood (34)

Of Birnam rise, and our high-plac'd Macbeth
Shall live the leafe of nature, pay his breath
To time and mortal cuftom!- -Yet my heart
Throbs to know one thing; tell me, (if your art
Can tell fo much) fhall Banquo's iffue ever

(34) Rebellious dead, rife never till the wood

Of Birnam rife, &c.] Thus all the impreffions, from the very beginning, exhibit this paffage: but I cannot imagine what notion the editors could have of the dead being rebellious. It looks to me, as if they were content to believe the poet genuine, wherever he was myfterious beyond being understood. The emendation of one letter gives us clear fenfe, and the very thing which Macbeth fhould be fuppos'd to say here. We muft restore

Rebellious head rise never,

i. e. Let rebellion never make head against me, till a foreft move, and I fhall reign long enough in fafety. Shakespeare very frequently ufes this term to this purpose; of which I'll subjoin a few examples, 1 Henr. IV.

-Douglas and the English rebels met,
Th' eleventh of this month, at Shrewsbury;

A mighty and a fearful bead they are.

2 Henr. IV.

For his divifions, as the times dɔ brawl,

Are in three beads; one pow'r against the French, & Again, in the 1ft Henr. IV.

We were inforc'd for safety's fake to fly

Out of your fight, and raise this prefent head.
Henr. VIII.

My noble father, Henry of Buckingham,
Who first rais'd head againft ufurping Richard.
Coriolanus.

When Tarquin made a head for Rome, he fought
Beyond the mark of others.
&c. &c. &c.

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Reign in this kingdom?

All. Seek to know no more.

[The cauldron finks into the ground.

Mach. I will be fatisfy'd. Deny me this,

And an eternal curfe fall on you! let me know,

Why finks that cauldron ? and what noise is this?

1 Witch. Shew!

2 Witch. Shew!

3

Witch. Shew!

All. Shew his eyes, and grieve his heart; Come like fhadows, fo depart.

[Hautboys.

[Eight Kings appear and pass over in order, and (35) Banquo; the laft, with a glass in his hand.

Macb. Thou art too like the fpirit of Banquo; down!
Thy crown does fear mine eye-balls. And thy hair
(Thou other gold-bound brow) is like the firft-
A third is like the former-filthy hags!

Why do you fhew me this? A fourth-Start eye!
What! will the line ftretch out to th' crack of doom?·
Another yet?-A feventh? I'll fee no more-
And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass,
Which fhews me many more; and some I see,
That twofold balls and treble fcepters carry,
Horrible fight! nay, now, I fee, 'tis true;
For the blood-bolter'd Banquo fmiles upon me,
And points at them for his. What, is this fo?

(35) Eight Kings appear, and pass over in order, and Banquo laft, with a glass in bis band.] The editors could not help blundering even in this ftage-direction. For 'tis not Banquo, who brings the glass; as is evident from the following speech:

And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass

Which fhews me many more:and some I fee,
That twofold balls, and treble scepters carry.

I have quoted the laft line, because it will not be amiss to observe, that this fine play, 'tis probable, was not writ till after Q. Elizabeth's death. These apparitions, tho' very properly fhewn with regard to Macbeth, yet are more artfully fo, when we confider the addrefs of the poet in complimenting K. James 1. here upon his uniting Scotland to England: and when we confider too, that the family of the Stuarts are faid to be the direct defcendants of Banquo.

1 Witch.

1 Witch. Ay, Sir, all this is fo. But why
Stands Macbeth thus amazedly?
Come, fifters, chear we up his fprights,
And fhew the best of our delights:
I'll charm the air to give a found,
While you perform your antick round:
That this great King may kindly say,
Our duties did his welcome pay.

[Mufick.

[The witches dance and vanish.

Macb. Where are they! gone!-Let this pernicious hour Stand ay accurfed in the calendar!

Come in, without there!

Enter Lenox.

Len. What's your Grace's will?
Macb. Saw you the weird fifters ?
Len. No, my Lord.

Macb. Came they not by you?

Len. No, indeed, my Lord.

Mach. Infected be the air whereon they ride, And damn'd all thofe that truft them! I did hear The galloping of horfe. Who was❜t came by? Len. 'Tis two or three, my Lord, that bring you word, Macduff is fled to England.

Macb. Fled to England?

Len. Ay, my good Lord.

Macb. Time, thou anticipat't my dread exploits :

The flighty purpofe never is o'ertook,

Unless the deed go with it. From this moment,

The very firftlings of my heart fhall be

The firftlings of my hand. And even now

To crown my thoughts with acts, be't thought and done! The castle of Macduff I will furprife,

Seize upon Fife, give to the edge o' th' fword

His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate fouls

That trace him in his line. No boasting like a fool,
This deed I'll do before this purpose cool.

But no more fights. Where are thefe gentlemen?
Come, bring me where they are.

P 3

[Exeunt.

SCENE,

SCENE, changes to Macduff's Castle at Fife.

L. Macd.

Enter Lady Macduff, her Son, and Roffe.

W1

HAT had he done, to make him fly the land?

Roffe. You must have patience, Madam.

L. Macd. He had none;

His flight was madnefs; when our actions do not,
Our fears do make us traitors.

Roffe. You know not,

Whether it was his wifdom, or his fear.

Macd. Wifdom? to leave his wife, to leave his babes,

His manfion, and his titles, in a place

From whence himself does fly? he loves us not,

He wants the natʼral touch; for the poor wren,
The most diminutive of birds, will fight,
Her young ones in her neft, against the owl:
All is the fear, and nothing is the love;
As little is the wifdom, where the flight
So runs against all reason.

Roffe. My dearest Coufin,

I pray you, school yourfelf; but for your hufband,
He's noble, wife, judicious, and best knows

The fits o' the feafon. I dare not speak much further,
But cruel are the times, when we are traitors,

And do not know ourselves; when we hold rumour
From what we fear, yet know not what we fear;
But float upon a wild and violent fea

Each way, and move. I take my leave of you;
Shall not be long but I'll be here again :

Things at the worft will ceafe, or elfe climb upward
To what they were before: My pretty Coufin,
Bleffing upon you!

L. Macd. Fathered he is, and yet he's fatherless.
Roffe. I am fo much a fool, fhould I ftay longer,
It would be my difgrace, and your discomfort.
I take my leave at once.

L. Macd. Sirrah, your father's dead,

[Exit Roffe.

And

And what will you do now? how will you
Son. As birds do, mother.

live?

L. Macd. What, on worms and flies ?
Son. On what I get, I mean, and fo do they.

L. Macd. Poor bird! thou'dit never fear the net, nor The pit-fall, nor the gin.

[lime : Son. Why should I, mother? poor birds they are not

fet for.

My father is not dead, for all your faying.

L. Macd. Yes, he is dead; how wilt thou do for a father?

Son. Nay, how will you do for a husband ?

L. Macd. Why, I can buy me twenty at any market. Son. Then you'll buy 'em to fell again.

L. Macd. Thou speak'ft with all thy wit, and yet, With wit enough for thee.

Son. Was my father a traitor, mother?
L. Macd. Ay, that he was.

Son. What is a traitor?

L. Macd. Why, one that fwears and lies.

Son. And be all traitors that do fo?

[i'faith,

L. Macd. Every one, that does fo, is a traitor, and must be hang'd.

Son. And muft they all be hang'd, that fwear and lie ? L. Macd. Every one.

Son. Who muft hang them?

L. Macd. Why, the honeft men.

Son. Then the liars and fwearers are fools; for there are liars and fwearers enow to beat the honeft men, and hang up them.

L. Macd. God help thee, poor monkey; but how wilt thou do for a father?

Son. If he were dead, you'd weep for him: if you would not, it were a good fign that I fhould quickly have a new father.

L. Macd. Poor pratler! how thou talk'ft?

Enter a Meffenger.

Mef. Blefs you, fair dame! I am not to you known, Though in your state of honour I am perfect;

P 4

I doubt,

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