Malice domeftic, foreign levy, nothing
Can touch him further!
Lady. Come on;

Gentle my Lord, fleek o'er your rugged looks;
Be bright and jovial 'mong your guests to-night.
Macb. So fhall I, love; and fe, I pray, be you;
Let your remembrance ftill apply to Banquo;
Prefent him eminence, both with eye and tongue
Unfafe the while, that we must lave our honours
In these so flattering streams, and make our faces
Vizors t' our hearts, difguifing what they are!—
Lady. You must leave this.

Macb. O, full of fcorpions is my mind, dear wife!
Thou knowest that Banquo and his Fleance lives.
Lady. But in them nature's copy's not eternal.
Macb. There's comfort yet, they are affailable;
Then be thou jocund. Ere the bat hath flown
His cloyftered flight, ere to black Hecate's fummons
The thard-born beetle with his drowfy hums
Hath rung night's yawning peal, there fhall be done
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 invifible hand

(2·3)

-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 refrored from the old copies;

come feeling night,

i. c. blinding. It is a term in falconry, when they run a thread through the cyelids of a hawk first taken, so that she may fee very little, or not at all. to make her the better en dure the hood. This they call feeling a hawk.

Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond,
Which keeps me pale! Light thickens, and the crow
Makes wing to th' rocky wood:

Good things of day begin to droop and drouze,
While night's black agents to their prey do rouze.
Thou marvelleft at my words; but hold thee ftill;
Things bad begun, make strong themfelves by ill:
So, pr'ythee, go with me.
[Exeunt.

SCENE changes to a Park; the Caftle at a distance.
Enter three Murderers.

1 Mur. But who did bid thee join with us? 3 Mur. Macbeth.

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

Our offices, and what we have to do,

To the direction just.

I Mur. Then ftand with us.

The weft yet glimmers with some streaks 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 horses.

Banque within.] Give us light there, hoa!

(24) He needs not to mißtrufl,--] Mr Pope has here fophifti cated the text, for want of understanding it. I can cafily fee, that he concieved this to be the meaning; that Macbeth had no occafion to mistrust the murderers he had employed, and plant another upon then. 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 te aflift them. The two are fomewhat jealous of him at first, but finding that he was fo particular and precife in his directions, that he knew every part of their com miflion, they agree that there is no need to miftrust him, and fo bid him fland with them.

z Mur. Then it is he: the rest, That are within the note of expectation, Already are i' th' court.

1 Mur. His horses go about.

3. Mur. Almost 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.

1 Mur. Stand to't..

Ban. It will be rain to-night.

1 Mur. Let it come down. [They affault Banquo, Ban. Oh, treachery!

Fly, Fleance, fly, Ay, Ay,

Thou mayelt revenge. Oh flave!

3

[Dies. Fleance efcapes.

Mur. Who did ftrike out the light?
Mur. Was't not the way?

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

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

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

done.

[Exeunt.

SCENE changes to a Room of State in the Caffle. A Banquet prepared. Enter MACBETH, Lady, ROSSE, LENOx, Lords, and Attendants.

Mach. You know your own degrees, fit down: At firit and lat the hearty welcome..

Lards... Thanks to your Majesty.

Mach. Ourfelf will mingle with fociety,

And play the humble hoft:

Our hoftefs keeps her state, but in best time
We will require her welcome.

[They fit. Lady. Pronounce it for me, Sir, to all our friends,, For my heart fpeaks they're welcome.

Enter Firf 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 Bound---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 dispatched?

Mur. My Lord, his throat is cut, that I did for him. Macb. Thou art the best of cut-throats; yet he's good

That did the like för Fleance: if thou didst it,
Thou art the nonpareil.

Mur. Moft royal Sir,
Fleance is, efcaped,

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 cabined; cribbed, confined, bound in
To faucy doubts, and fears. But Banquo's fafe?---
Mur. Ay, my good Lord; fafe in a ditch the
With twenty trenched gathes on his head, [bides,
The leaft a death to Nature,,

Mach. Thanks for that;

There the grown ferpent lyes: 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. [Exit Murderera

Lady. My royal Lord,

You do not give the cheer; the feast is fold, That is not often vouched while 'tis making, "Tis given with welcome.

home;

To feed were beft at

From thence, the fauce to meat is ceremony;
Meeting were bare without it.

[The Ghoft of Banquo rifes, and fits in
Macbeth's place.

Mach. Sweet remembrancer!

Now good digeftion wait on appetite,

And health on both!

Len. May't please your Highness fit?

Macb. Here had we now our country's honour roofed,

Were the graced perfon of our Banquo prefent,--(Whom may I rather challenge for unkindness Than pity for mischance!)

Roffe. His abfence, Sir,

Lays blame upon his promise. Please't your High

To grace us with your royal company?

Mach. The table's full.

Len. Here's a place referved, 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?

[nels

[Starting

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

Roffe. Gentlemen rife, his Highness 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 fall offend him, and extend his paffion;.