Thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first :A third is like the former :-Filthy hags!

Why do you show me this?-A fourth?-Start, eyes!
What! will the line stretch out to the crack of doom?
Another yet?-a seventh: I'll see no more:-
And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass,
Which shows me many more; and some I see,
That two-fold balls and treble sceptres carry :
Horrible sight!-Ay, now, I see, 'tis true;
For the blood-bolter'd Banquo smiles upon me,
And points at them for his.-What, is this so?
1 Witch. Ay, sir, all this is so :-But why
Stands Macbeth thus amazedly?—
Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprights,
And show the best of our delights;
I'll charm the air to give a sound,
While you perform your antique round:
That this great king may kindly say,
Our duties did his welcome pay.

[Music. The Witches dance, and vanish. Mach. Where are they? Gone?-Let this perni

Mech. Time, thou anticipat'st my dread exploits : The flighty purpose never is o'er took,

Unless the deed go with it: From this moment,
The very firstlings of my heart shall be

The firstlings of my hand. And even now

To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and done:

The castle of Macduff I will surprise;
Seize upon Fife; give to the edge of the sword
His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls
That trace his line. No boasting like a fool;
This deed I'll do, before this purpose cool:
But no more sights!-Where are these gentlemen?
Come, bring me where they are.
[Exeunt.

SCENE II-Fife. A Room in Macduff's Castle.
Enter Lady Macduff, her Sốn, and Rosse.

L. Macd. What had he done to make him fly the land?

Rosse. You must have patience, madam.
L. Macd.

He had none :

All is the fear, and nothing is the love; As little is the wisdom, where the flight So runs against all reason.

My dearest coz',

Rosse. I pray you school yourself: But, for your husband, He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows The fits o'the season. 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 sea, Each way, and move.-I take my leave of you: Shall not be long but I'll be here again: Things at the worst will cease, or else climb upward To what they were before.-My pretty cousin, Blessing upon you.

L. Macd. Father'd he is, and yet he's fatherless. Rosse. I am so much a fool, should I stay longer, It would be my disgrace, and your discomfort: I take my leave at once.

[Exit Rosse.

market.

Son. Nay, how will you do for a husband?
L. Macd. Why, I can buy me twenty at any
Son. Then you'll buy 'em to sell again.
L. Macd. Thou speak'st with all thy wit; and yet,
i'faith,

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 swears and lies.
Son. And be all traitors, that do so?

L. Macd. Every one that does so, is a traitor, and must be hanged.

Son. And must they all be hanged, that swear and

lie?

L, Macd. Every one.

Son. Who must hang them?

L. Macd. Why, the honest men.

Son. Then the liars and swearers are fools; for there are liars and swearers enough to beat the honest men, and hang up them.

L. Macd. Now 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 sign that I should quickly have a new father.

L. Macd. Poor prattler! how thou talk'st.

Enter a Messenger.

Mes. Bless you, fair dame! I am not to you known,

babes,

His mansion, and his titles, in a place

From whence himself does fly? He loves us not;
He wants the natural touch: for the poor wren,

The most diminutive of birds, will fight,
Her young ones in her nest, against the owl.

I doubt, some danger docs approach you nearly:
If you will take a homely man's advice,

Be not found here; hence, with your little ones.
To fright you thus, methinks, I am too savage;
To do worse to you, were fell cruelty,
Which is too nigh your preson. Heaven preserve you!

When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again?
Since that the truest issue of thy throne
By his own interdiction stands accurs'd,
And does blaspheme his breed?-Thy royal father
Was a most sainted king; the queen, that bore thee,
Oftner upon her knees than on her feet,
Died every day she lived. Fare thee well!
These evils, thou repeat'st upon thyself,

Have banish'd me from Scotland.-O, my breast,
Thy hope ends here!

Mal.

Macduff, this noble passion,
Child of integrity, hath from my soul
Wip'd the black scruples, reconcil'd my thoughts
To thy good truth and honour. Devilish Macbeth
By many of these trains hath sought to win me
Into his power; and modest wisdom plucks me
From over-credulous haste: But God above
Deal between thee and me! for even now
I put myself to thy direction, and
Unspeak mine own detraction; here abjure
The taints and blames I laid upon myself,
For strangers to my nature. I am yet
Unknown to woman; never was forsworn;
Scarcely have coveted what was mine own;
At no time broke my faith; would not betray
The devil to his fellow; and delight

No less in truth, than life: my first false speaking
Was this upon myself: What I am truly,
Is thine, and my poor country's, to command:
Whither, indeed, before thy here-approach,
Old Siward, with ten thousand warlike men,
All ready at a point, was setting forth:
Now we'll together; And the chance, of goodness,
Be like our warranted quarrel! Why are you silent?
Mard. Such welcome and unwelcome things at once,
"Tis hard to reconcile.

Enter a Doctor.

Mal. Well; more anon.-Comes the king forth, I pray you?

Doet. Ay, sir; there are a crew of wretched souls, That stay his cure: their malady convinces The great assay of art; but, at his touch, Such sanctity hath heaven given his hand, They presently amend.

Mal. I thank you, doctor. [Exit Doctor. Macd. What's the disease he means? Mal 'Tis call'd the evil: A most miraculous work in this good king; Which often, since my here-remain in England, I have seen him do. How he solicits heaven, Himself best knows: but strangely-visited people, All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye, The mere despair of surgery, he cures ; Hanging a golden stamp about their necks, Put on with holy prayers: and 'tis spoken,

To the succeeding royalty he leaves

The healing benediction. With this strange virtue,

He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy;

And sundry blessings hang about his throne,

That speak him full of grace.

Rosse. When I came hither to transport the tidings,
Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumour
Of many worthy fellows that were out;
Which was to my belief witness'd the rather,
For that I saw the tyrant's power afoot :
Now is the time of help; your eye in Scotland
Would create soldiers, make our women fight,
To doff their dire distresses.

Mal.
Be it their comfort,
We are coming thither: gracious England hath
Lent us good Siward, and ten thousand men ;
An older, and a better soldier, none
That Christendom gives out.

Rosse.
'Would I could answer
This comfort with the like! But I have words,
That would be howl'd out in the desert air,
Where hearing should not latch them.
Macd.

What concern they?

What, man! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows;
Give sorrow words: the grief that does not speak,
Whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it break.
Mard. My children too?
Rosse.

That could be found.

Macd.

Wife, children, servants, all

And I must be from thence!

That were most precious to me.-Did heaven look on,
And would not take their part? Sinful Macduff,
They were all struck for thee! naught that I am,
Not for their own demerits, but for mine,
Fell slaughter on their souls: Heaven rest them now!
Mal. Be this the whetstone of your sword: let grief
Convert to anger; blant not the heart, enrage it.
Mard. O, I could play the woman with mine eyes.
And braggart with my tongue!-But, gentle heaven,
Cut short all intermission; front to front,
Bring thou this fiend of Scotland, and myself;
Within my sword's length set him; if he 'scape,
Heaven forgive him too!

Mal.

This tune goes manly. Come, go we to the king; our power is ready;

Our lack is nothing but our leave: Macbeth
Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above

thus washing her hands; I have known her continue in this a quarter of an hour.

Lady M. Yet here's a spot.

Doc. Hark, she speaks: I will set down what comes from her, to satisfy my remembrance the more strongly.

Lady M. Out, damned spot! out, I say!-One; Two, Why, then 'tis time to do't: Hell is murky! -Fie, my lord, fie! a soldier, and afear'd? What need we fear who knows it, when none can call our power to account? Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?

Doc. Do you mark that?

Lady M. The thane of Fife, had a wife; Where is she now?-What, will these hands ne'er be clean?— No more o'that, my lord, no more o'that: you mar all with this starting.

Doc. Go to, go to; you have known what you should

not.

Gent. She has spoke what she should not, I am sure of that: Heaven knows what she has known.

Lady M. Here's the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh! oh! oh!

Doc. What a sigh is there! The heart is sorely charged.

Gent. I would not have such a heart in my bosom, for the dignity of the whole body.

Doc. Well, well, well,

Gent. 'Pray God, it be, sir.

Doc. This disease is beyond my practice: Yet I have

The night is long, that never finds the day. [Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I-Dunsinane. A Room in the Castle. En ter a Doctor of Physic, and a waiting Gentlewoman. || Doctor.

I HAVE two nights watched with you, but can perceive no truth in your report. When was it she last walked?

Gent. Since his majesty went into the field, I have seen her rise from her bed, throw her night-gown upon her, unlock her closet, take forth paper, fold it, write upon it, read it, afterwards seal it, and again return to bed; yet all this while in a most fast sleep.

Dec. A great perturbation in nature! to receive at once the benefit of sleep, and do the effects of watching.-In this slumbry agitation, besides her walking, and other actual performances, what, at any time, have you heard her say?

Gent. That, sir, which I will not report after her. Dec. You may, to me; and 'tis most meet you should.

Gent. Neither to you, nor any one; having no witDess to confirm my speech.

Enter Lady Macbeth, with a taper. Lo you, here she comes! This is her very guise; and, upon my life, fast asleep. Observe her; stand close. Der. How catre she by that light?

Gent. Why, it stood by her: she has light by her contionally; 'tis her command.

Doc. You see, her eyes are open.
Gent. Ay, but their sense is shut.

Doc. What is it she does now? Look, how she rubs her hands.

Gent. It is an accustomed action with her, to seem

have died holily in their beds.

Lady M. Wash your hands, put on your night-gown; look not so pale:-I tell you yet again, Banquo's buri ed; he cannot come out of his grave.

Doc. Even so ?

Lady M. To bed, to bed; there's knocking at the gate. Come, come, come, come, give me your hand; What's done, cannot be undone: To bed, to bed, to bed. [Exit Lady M.

Doc. Will she go now to bed?
Gent. Directly.

Doc. Foul whisperings are abroad: Unnatural deeds
Do breed unnatural troubles: Infected minds
To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets.
More needs she the divine, than the physician.-
God, God, forgive us all! Look after her;
Remove from her the means of all annoyance,
And still keep eyes upon her:-So, good night,
My mind she has mated, and amaz'd my sight:
I think, but dare not speak.
Gent.

Good night, good doctor. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.-The Country near Dunsinane. Enter with Drum and Colours, Menteth, Cathness, Angus Lenox, and Soldiers.

Ment. The English power is near, led on by Malcolm,

His uncle Siward, and the good Macduff.
Revenges burn in them: for their dear causes
Would, to the bleeding, and the grim alarm,
Excite the mortified man.

Ang.
Near Birnam wood
Shall we well meet them; that way are they coming.
Cath. Who knows, if Donaibain be with his brother?

Len. For certain, sir, he is not: I have a file
Of all the gentry; there is Siward's son,
And many unrough youths, that even now
Protest their first of manhood.