A deed of dreadful note.

Lady. What's to be done?

Macb. Be innocent of the knowledge, deareft chuck, 'Till thou applaud the deed: come, feeling night, (23) Skarf up the tender eye of pitiful day,

And with thy bloody and invisible hand
Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond,

Which keeps me pale! Light thickens, and the Crow
Makes wing to th' rooky wood:

Good things of day begin to droop and drouze.
Whiles night's black agents to their prey do rouze,
Thou marvell'ft at my words; but hold thee ftil!;
Things, bad begun, make ftrong themfelves by ill:
So, pr'ythee, go with me.

[Exeunt.

SCENE changes to a Park; the Castle at a distance.

Enter three Murderers.

1 Mur. OUT who did bid thee join with us ?

•BU

3 Mur. Macbeth.

2 Mur. He needs not our mistruft, fince he delivers (24)

(23)

come, fealing night,

Skarf up the tender eye of pitiful day;] Mr. Rowe and Mr. Pope, neither of them were aware of the poet's metaphor here, and fo have blundered the text into nonfenfe. I have reftor'd from the old sopies,

come, feeling night,

i. e. blinding. It is a term in falconry, when they run a thread thro' the eyelids of a hawk first taken, fo that the may fee very little, or not at all, to make her the better endure the hood. This they call feeling a hawk.

(24) He needs not to mistrust,—] Mr. Pope has here sophisticated the text, for want of understanding it. I can easily fee, that he conceiv'd this to be the meaning; that Macbeth had no occafion to miftruft the murderers he had employ'd, and plant another upon them. But the text in the old copies ftands thus,

He needs not our mistrust

Macbeth had agreed with the two murderers, and appoints a third to affift them. The two are somewhat jealous of him at first, but finding that he was fo particular and precife in his directions, that he knew every part of their commiffion, they agree, that there is no need to miftruft him, and fo bid him stand with them...

Our

Our offices, and what we have to do,
To the direction just.

1 Mur. Then ftand with us.

The weft yet glimmers with fome ftreaks of day:
Now fpurs the lated traveller apace,

To gain the timely inn; and near approaches
The fubject of our watch.

3 Mur. Hark, I hear horfes.

Banquo within. Give us lights there, ho!
2 Mur. Then it is he: the reft

That are within the note of expectation,
Already are i' th' court.

1 Mur. His horses go about.

3 Mur. Almoft a mile: but he does ufually, (So all men do,) from hence to th' palace-gate Make it their walk.

Enter Banquo and Fleance, with a Torch.

2 Mur. A light, a light. 3 Mur. 'Tis he.

I Mur. Stand to't.

Ban. It will be rain to-night.

I Mur. Let it come down.
Ban. Oh, treachery!
Fly, Fleance, fly, fly, fly,
Thou may'ft revenge. Oh flave!

[They affault Banquo.

[Dies. Fleance escapes.

3 Mur. Who did strike out the light?
I Mur. Was't not the way?

3 Mur. There's but one down; the fon Is Яed.

2 Mur. We've loft beft half of our affair.

1 Mur. Well, let's away, and fay how much is done.

[Exeunt.

SCENE changes to a Room of State in the Caftle,

A Banquet prepar'd. Enter Macbeth, Lady, Roffe, Les nox, Lords, and Attendants.

Macb.

YOU

OU know your own degrees, fit down;
At first and last, the hearty welcome.

Lords. Thanks to your Majesty.

Mach. Ourfelf will mingle with fociety,

And play the humble host:

Our hoftefs keeps her ftate, but in best time

We will require her welcome.

[They fit.

Lady. Pronounce it for me, Sir, to all our friends, For my heart speaks, they're welcome.

Enter firft Murderer.

Macb. See, they encounter thee with their hearts' thanks. Both fides are even: here I'll fit i' th' midft;

Be large in mirth, anon we'll drink a measure
The table round-There's blood upon thy face.

[To the Murderer, afide, at the door.

Mur. 'Tis Banquo's then.

Macb. 'Tis better thee without, than he within. Is he difpatch'd?

Mur. My Lord, his throat is cut, that I did for him. Macb. Thou art the beft of cut-throats; yet he's good, That did the like for Fleance: if thou didst it,

Thou art the non-pareil.

Mur. Moft royal Sir,

Fleance is 'fcap'd.

Mach. Then comes my fit again: I had elfe been perfect; Whole as the marble, founded as the rock;

As broad, and gen'ral, as the cafing air:

But now I'm cabin'd, cribb'd, confin'd, bound in
To faucy doubts and fears. But Banquo's fafe ?-

Mur. Ah, my good Lord: fafe in a ditch he bides,

With twenty trenched gafhes on his head;

The leaft a death to nature.

Mach. Thanks for that;

There

There the grown ferpent lies: the worm, that's fled,.
Hath nature that in time will venom breed,

No teeth for th' prefent. Get thee gone, to-morrow
We'll hear❜t ourselves again.

Lady. My royal Lord,

[Exit Murderer

You do not give the cheer; the feaft is fold,

That is not often vouched, while 'tis making;

'Tis given, with welcome. To feed, were best at home; From thence, the fauce to meat is ceremony;

Meeting were bare without it.

[The Ghost of Banquo rifes, and fits in Macbeth's place, Mach. Sweet remembrancer!

Now good digestion wait on appetite.

And health on both!!

Len. May't please your Highness fit?

Mach. Here had we now our country's honour roof'd, Were the grac'd perfon of our Banquo prefent,ks. (Who may I rather challenge for unkindness, Than pity for mifchance!)

Roffe. His abfence, Sir,

Lays blame upon his promife. Fleas't your Highnefs To grace us with your royal company?

Mach. The table's full

Len. Here's a place referv'd, Sir..
Macb. Where?

Len. Here, my good Lord.

What is't that moves your Highnefs?

Macb. Which of you have done this?

Lords. What, my good Lord ?

[Starting

Macb. Thou can'ft not fay, I did it: never fhake
Thy goary locks at me.

Roffe. Gentlemen, rife; his Highnefs is not well.
Lady. Sit, worthy friends, my Lord is often thus,
And hath been from his youth. Pray you, keep feat.
The fit is momentary, on a thought

He will again be well. If much you note him,
You fhall offend him, and extend his paffion;
Feed, and regard him not.-Are you a man?

[To Macbeth, afide.

Macb. Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that,

Which might appall the devil.

Lady. O proper stuff!

This is the very painting of your fear;

This is the air-drawn-dagger, which, you faid,
Led you to Duncan. Oh, these flaws and ftarts
(Impostors to true fear,) would well become
A woman's story at a winter's fire,

Authoriz'd by her grandam. Shame itself!—
Why do you make fuch faces? when all's done,
You look but on a stool.

Macb. Pr'ythee, see there!

[afide.

Behold! look! lo! how fay you? [Pointing to the Ghoft. Why, what care I! if thou canst nod, fpeak too.

If charnel-houses and our graves must send

Thofe, that we bury, back; our monuments
Shall be the maws of kites.

[The Gheft vanishes.

Lady. What? quite unmann'd in folly ?

Macb. If I ftand here, I saw him.

Lady. Fy, for shame!

Macb. Blood hath been fhed ere now, i' th'olden time,
Ere human ftatute purg'd the gen'ral weal; (25)
Ay, and fince too, murders have been perform'd
Too terrible for th' ear: the times have been,

That, when the brains were out, the man would die,
And there an end; but now they rise again

With twenty mortal murders on their crowns,
And push us from our ftools; this is more frange
Than fuch a murder is.

Lady. My worthy Lord,

Your noble friends do lack you.

Mach. I do forget.

Do not mufe at me, my moft worthy friends,
I have a ftrange infirmity, which is nothing
To thofe that know me.

Come, love and health to all!

(25) Ere human ftatute purg'd the gentle weal.] Thus all the editions but Mr. Warburton very juftly advis'd, as I have reform'd the text, gen'ral weal: "And it is a very fine Periphrafis (fays he) to "fignifiy, ere civil focieties were inftituted. For the early murders, "recorded in Scripture, are here alluded to: and Macbeth's apologizing for murder from the antiquity of the example is very natu❝rai."

Then.