2

Discomfort fwell'd. Mark, King of Scotland, mark
No fooner Juftice had, with valour arm'd,
Compell'd thefe skipping Kernes to trust their heels;
But the Norweyan lord, furveying vantage,
With furbisht arms and new fupplies of men
Began a fresh affault.

King. Difmay'd not this

Our Captains, Macbeth and Banquo ?
Cap. Yes,

As fparrows, eagles; or the hare, the lion,
If I fay footh, I muft report, they were

As cannons overcharg'd; with double cracks, (2)
So they redoubled ftroaks upon the foe:

Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds,
Or memorize another Golgotha,

I cannot tell

But I am faint, my gafhes cry for help.

King. So well thy words become thee, as thy wounds : They mack of honour both. Go, get him furgeons. Enter Roffe and Angus.

But who comes here?

Mal. The worthy Thane of Roffe.

Len. What hafte looks through his eyes?

So fhould he look, that feems to fpeak things ftrange. Roffe. God fave the King!

King. Whence cam'ft thou, worthy Thane ?

Roffe. From Fife, great King,

Where the Norweyan Banners flout the sky,

And fan our people cold.

So from that Spring, whence Comfort feem'd to come,

"Discomforts well'd.

Norway,

i. e. ftream'd, flow'd forth: a Word that peculiarly agrees with the Metaphor of a Spring. The Original is Anglo-Saxon peallian, fcaturize; which very well expreffes the Diffusion and Scattering of Water from its Head.

As Cannons overcharg'd with double cracks.] Cannons overcharg'd with Cracks I have no Idea of: My Pointing, I think, gives the casy and natural Senfe. Macbeth and Banque were like

Norway, himself with numbers terrible, (3)
Affifted by that moft difloyal traitor

The Thane of Cawdor, 'gan a difmal conflict;
'Till that Bellona's bridegroom, lapt in proof, (4)
Confronted him with felf-comparisons,

Point against point rebellious, arm 'gainft arm,
Curbing his lavish fpirit. To conclude,
The victory fell on us.

King. Great happiness!

Roffe. Now Sweno, Norway's King, craves compofition:

Nor would we deign him burial of his men,
'Till he disburfed, at Saint Colmes-kill-ifle,
Ten thousand dollars, to our gen'ral use.

King. No more that Thane of Cawdor fhall deceive
Our bofom int'reft. Go, pronounce his death;
And with his former Title greet Macbeth.
Roffe. I'll fee it done.

King. What he hath loft, noble Macbeth hath won.

[Exeunt.

Cannons overcharg'd; why? becaufe they redoubled Strokes on the Foe with twice the Fury, and Impetuofity, as before.

(3) Norway himself, with Numbers terrible,

Affified by that, &c.] Norway himself affifted, &c. is a Reading we owe to the Editors, not to the Poet, That Energy and Contraft of Expreffion are loft, which my Pointing restores. The Senfe is, Norway, who was in himself terrible by his own Numbers, when affifted by Cawdor, became yet more terrible. (4) Till that Bellona's Bridegroom, lapt in Proof,

Confronted him with felf-Comparisons,

Point against point, rebellious arm'gainst arm,

Curbing his lavish Spirit.] Here again We are to quarrel with the Tranfpofition of an innocent Comma; which however becomes dangerous to Senfe, when in the Hands either of a careJefs or ignorant Editor. Let us fee who is it, that brings this rebellious Arm? Why, it is Bellona's Bridegroom: and who is He, but Macbeth. We can never believe, our Author meant any thing like This. My Regulation of the Pointing restores the true Meaning; that the loyal Macbeth confronted the difloyal Cawdar,

arm to arm.

SCENE

1 Witch.

3

SCENE changes to the Heath.

Thunder. Enter the three Witches.

WH

HERE haft thou been, fifter?
2 Witch. Killing fwine.

Witch. Sifter, where thou?

1 Witch. A failor's wife had chefnuts in her lap, And mouncht, and mouncht, and mouncht.

Give me,

quoth I.

Aroint thee, witch!

-

the rump-fed ronyon cries.

Her husband's to Aleppo gone, mafter o'th' Tyger:

But in a fieve I'll thither fail,

And like a rat without a tail,
I'll do I'll do and I'll do..

2 Witch. I'll give thee a wind.

1 Witch. Thou art kind.

3

Witch. And I another.

I Witch. I my felf have all the other,
And the very points they blow ;
All the quarters that they know,
I'th' fhip-man's card;

1

I will drain him dry as hay;
Sleep fhall neither night nor day
Hang upon his pent-house lid;
He fhall live a man forbid;
Weary fev'n-nights, nine times nine,
Shall he dwindle, peak and pine:
Though his bark cannot be loft,
Yet it shall be tempeft-toft.

Look, what I have.

2 Witch. Shew me, fhew me.

1 Witch. Here I have a pilot's thumb,

Wreckt as homeward he did come.

3 Witch. A drum, a drum!

Macbeth doth come!

[Drum within.

All. The Weird fifters, hand in hand, (5)

Pofters

(5) The weyward Sifters, band in band,] The Witches are here fpeaking of themselves, and it is worth an Enquiry why they

M 5

fhould

Pofters of the fea and land,

Thus do go about, about,

Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine,
And thrice again to make up

Peace!

nine!

the Charm's wound up.

Enter Macbeth and Banquo, with Soldiers and other attendants.

Mac. So foul and fair a day I have not seen.. Ban. How far is't call'd to Foris? What are thefe, So wither'd, and so wild in their attire,

That look not like th' inhabitants o'th' earth,
And yet are on't? Live you, or are you aught

That man may question? You feem to understand me,
By each at once her choppy finger laying

Upon her skinny lips;

You thould be women,,

And yet your beards forbid me to interpret,
That you are fo.

Macb. Speak, if you can; what are you?

1 Witch. All-hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, Thane of Glamis !

2 Witch. All-hail, Macbeth: hail to thee, Thane of

Cawdor!

3 Witch. All-hail, Macbeth! that shalt be King here after.

Ban. Good Sir, why do you ftart, and feem to fear Things that do found fo fair? I'th' name of truth, Are ye fantastical, or That indeed [To the Witches.. Which outwardly ye fhew? my noble Partner

should stile themselves the wayward, or wayward Sifters, This Word in its general Acceptation Agnifies, perverse, froward, moody, obftinate, untra&table, &c. and is every where fo ufed by our Shakespeare. It is improbable, the Witches would adopt this Epithet to themselves, in any of these Senses; and therefore we are to look a little farther for the Poet's Word and Meaning. Wierd, in the Scotch Language, fignifies a Witch, or Wizard:. and therefore, in every Paffage, where there is any Relation to thefe Witches of Wizards, my Emendation must be embraced, and we must read Wierd, or Weird.g

You

You greet with present grace, and great prediction
Of noble Having, and of royal Hope,

That he feems rapt withal; to me you speak not.
If you can look into the Seeds of time,

And fay, which Grain will grow and which will not;
Speak then to me, who neither beg, nor fear,
Your favours, nor your hate.

1 Witch. Hail!

2 Witch. Hail!

3

Witch. Hail !

I Witch. Leffer than Macbeth, and greater. 2 Witch. Not fo happy, yet much happier.

3

Witch. Thou fhalt get Kings, though thou be none: So, all hail, Macbeth and Banque !

1 Witch. Banquo and Macbeth, all-hail!

Mach. Stay, you imperfect Speakers, tell me more;
By Sinel's death, I know, I'm Thane of Glamis;
But how, of Cawdor? the Thane of Cawdor lives,
A profp'rous gentleman; and, to be King,
Stands not within the profpect of belief,

No more than to be Cawdor. Say, from whence
You owe this ftrange intelligence? or why
Upon this blafted heath you ftop our way,

With fuch prophetick Greeting? -fpeak, I charge [Witches vanish.

you.

Ban. The earth hath bubbles, as the water has; And thefe are of them: whither are they vanish'd ♪ Mach. Into the air: and what feem'd corporal Melted, as breath, into the wind.

'Would they had ftaid!

Ban. Were fuch things here, as we do speak about ? (6)

(6) Were fuch Things bere, as we do speak about &

Or bave we eaten of the infane Root,

That takes the Reason prisoner ?]

Heftor Boethius, who gives us an Account of Sueno's, Army being intoxicated by a Preparation put upon them by their fubtle Enemy, informs us; that there is a Plant, which growe in great Quantity in Scotland, call'd Solatrum Amentiale; that its Berrics are purple, or rather black, when full ripe; and have a Quality