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A  NEW  VARIORUM  EDITION 


OP 


Shakespeare 


EDITED  BY 

HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 


VOL.  11 

Macbeth 

REVISED  EDITION 


BY 

HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS,  Jr. 


PHILADELPHIA 
J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY 

LONDON:  5  HENRIETTA  STREET,  COVENT  GARDEN 


•      «  <••  •  ^^   •  « 


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Entered  according^  to  Act  of  Congnu*  in  the  year  1873,  by 

H.  H.  FURNESS, 
In  the  Office  of  the  librarian  of  CongreM,  at  Washington. 

Copyright,  X90Z,  by  Horacb  Howard  Furnbss. 


Copyright,  1903,  by  Horacb  Howard  Furnbss,  Jr. 


BcicTNorrpco  by 

UrCBTOOTT  a  THOMBON.  PHILAOA. 


LIPPINCOTT'S  mEBB. 

PHILAOA. 


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PREFACE 


The  Preface  to  the  preceding  volume,  Romeo  and  yuliet^  set  forth 
so  fully  the  scope  and  plan  of  this  Edition  that  it  seems  needless 
to  re-state  them  here ;  and  yet,  as  these  volumes  are  intended  to  be  as 
£ur  as  possible  independent  and  complete  each  in  itself,  a  concise 
statement  of  the  rules  which  have  guided  the  Editor  may  be  not  unrea- 
sonably demanded. 

Although  in  the  main  the  plan  of  the  former  voliune  has  been  ad- 
hered to  in  this,  yet  experience  has  suggested  certain  changes  which, 
without  at  all  affecting  its  general  character,  seemed  to  render  it  more 
complete. 

It  is  stated  in  the  Preface  to  Romeo  and  Juliet  that  the  Variorum 
of  1 82 1  has  been  taken  as  a  point  of  departure  to  the  extent  of 
admitting  into  the  present  edition  only  such  notes  from  it  as  had  been 
adopted  by  the  succeeding  editors,  together  with  all  the  original  notes 
of  those  editors  themselves.  This  limitation  has  been  in  the  present 
volume  wholly  disregarded.  The  Variorum  of  1821  here  has  its  posi- 
tion chronologically  among  the  rest,  and  although  it  has  'a  station 
'in  the  file,  not  i'  the  worst  rank,'  yet  it  is  no  longer  the  starting- 
point  whence  Shakespearian  criticism  shall  begin,  as  though  all  criti- 
cism that  preceded  it  went  for  naught. 

Probably  no  Editors  of  Shakespeare  have  left  a  more  enduring  im- 
pression of  their  labours  than  Steevens  and  Malone,  not  because  of 
any  pre-eminent  ability  or  fitness  for  their  office,  but  because  they 
were  so  early  in  the  field  that  they  were  able  to  glean  the  richest 
sheaves.  To  them,  therefore,  we  must  still  go  for  many  explanations 
and  illustrations  of  the  text.  But  there  were,  before  them,  other 
Editors  and  Commentators  whose  notes  they  overlooked,  or  per- 
chance silently  incorporated  with  their  own.  Heath  is  only  rarely 
quoted  by  the  Variorum  Editors,  although  his  eminence  as  a  scholar, 
whose  name  still  stands  high  at  home  and  abroad,  should  have  secured 
for  him  on  all  occasions  a  respectful  hearing.  His  Revisal  of  Shake- 
speare's Text  shows  sound  wisdom  and  starts  many  shrewd  conjectures, 
and  had  it  been  issued  in  connection  with  the  Text,  would  undoubt- 
edly have  commanded  an  honourable  position.     Again,  in  Steevens's 


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iv  PREFACE 

day  poor  Theobald  still  staggered  under  the  weigJ^J  of  Pope's  unjust 
and  jealous  '  Dimciad/  and  was  therefore  contemned  by  the  Editor  of 
the  earlier  Variorums;  and  Capell  had  no  friends  anywhere  among 
the  leading  literary  men  of  his  day.  It  was  such  omissions  as  these, 
and  others,  that  led  me,  although  at  the  cost  of  additional  labour,  to 
enlarge  the  rule  by  which  I  was  restricted  in  the  First  Volume,  and  to 
set  aside  the  Variorum  of  182 1  as  the  starting-point  of  Shakespearian 
research. 

In  the  present  volume  will  be  found,  therefore,  such  notes  and  com- 
ments from  all  sources  as  I  have  deemed  worthy  of  preservation, 
either  for  the  purpose  of  elucidating  the  text,  or  as  illustrations  of  the 
history  of  Shakespearian  criticism. 

Let  it  be  distinctly  understood  that  the  notes  are  not  exact  reprints 
of  the  original,  but  have  been  condensed,  care  having  always  been 
taken  to  retain  as  &r  as  possible  the  very  words  of  the  author;  in 
some  cases  indeed,  such  as  in  Theobald's  notes,  and  Capell's,  I  have 
retained  the  spelling  even,  as  lending  a  certain  charm  to  the  quaintness 
of  the  expression. 

All  references  to  other  plays  of  Shakespeare  which  have  been  cited 
simply  to  show  a  repetition  of  the  same  word  are  omitted.  Mrs 
Clarke  has  done  that  office  for  us  once  and  for  ever.  But  where  there 
is  a  reference  to  a  similarity  of  thought,  a  peculiarity  of  construction 
or  expression,  there  the  case  is  very  different ;  of  these  citations  there 
cannot  be  too  many.  All  references  to  Romeo  and  yuliet  refer  to  the 
preceding  volume  of  this  edition ;  in  all  other  cases  I  have  adopted 
The  Globe  Edition^  which  every  student  imdoubtedly  possesses,  as  a 
standard  authority  in  regard  to  Acts,  Scenes,  and  Lines.* 

In  the  Textual  Notes  I  have  recorded  a  thorough  and  exact  colla- 
tion of  the  Four  Folios,  and  of  the  editions  enumerated  on  p.  xiii.  [545]. 
In  regard  to  the  Folios  I  have  preferred  to  err  on  the  side  of  fulness ; 
in  regard  to  the  later  editions  I  have  exercised  my  discretion,  and  have 
not  recorded  minute  variations  in  punctuation  (as  the  use  of  a  colon 
instead  of  a  semicolon  or  the  like),  nor  in  cases  where  the  sense  can 
be  in  nowise  affected.  I  have  not  in  every  instance  noted  the  various 
spellings  of  the  word  weyward^  wayward^  weyard,  &c. ;  Theobald  was 
the  first  to  adopt  weird;  afler  noting  his  emendation  once  or  twice,  I 
have  not  repeated  it  as  often  as  the  word  occurs.  I  am  not  so  rash  as 
to  assert  that  no  vartetas  lectionis  has  escaped  me,  but  I  trust  tkat  no 
error  will  ever  be  found  in  the  various  readings  that  I  have  recorded. 

*  In  Romeo  and  Juliet  all  references  were  made  to  The  Globe  Edition^  although  I 
forgot  to  mention  it  in  the  Preface. 


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PREFACE  V 

The  present  Editor  and  all  future  Editors  will  always  remain  deeply  in- 
debted to  the  Cambridge  Editors  for  their  accurate  collation  of  the  early 
editions  of  Shakespeare ;  they  may  well  be  proud  of  work  which  is 
done  for  all  time.  Although  the  present  collation  is  entirely  original, 
and  no  reading  recorded  at  second-hand,  yet  it  should  be  always  borne 
in  mind  that  I  had  the  great  advantage  of  a  check-list,  so  to  speak,  in 
the  foot-notes  of  the  Cambridge  Edition.  If  here  and  there,  at  rare 
intervals,  there  appear  a  discrepancy  between  my  collation  and  that  of 
the  Cambridge  Editors,  let  it  not  hastily  be  supposed  that  any  inaccu- 
racy exists  in  either.  To  all  ^miliar  with  the  venerable  Folios  there 
comes  with  age  and  wider  experience  no  little  caution  in  pronoun- 
cing upon  the  accuracy  or  inaccuracy  of  any  alleged  reading.  What- 
ever be  the  explanation,  the  &ct  is  certain  that  not  only  in  these 
volumes,  but  in  others  of  the  same  period,  more  or  less  variety  exists 
in  copies  bearing  the  same  date  on  the  title-page.  That  the  copies  of  the 
First  Folio  vary  has  been  generally  known  ever  since  the  appearance, 
a  dozen  years  ago,  of  Booth's  most  accurate  Reprint.  Wherefore,  all 
a  cautious  editor  can  claim  for  his  collation  is  that  it  is  that  of  his  own 
copies,  'always  thought'  that  there  exists  that  mysterious  percentage 
of  error  for  ever  inherent  in  every  book  which  issues  from  the  press. 

In  an  edition  like  the  present  it  is  of  great  moment  to  economise 
space,  especially  in  the  textual  notes.  Of  course  abbreviations  cannot 
be  avoided.  I  have  endeavored  to  make  them  as  intelligible  as  pos- 
sible, and  hope  that  I  have  made  one  or  two  improvements  on  those 
adopted  in  my  first  volume. 

There  was  so  little  genuine  collation  of  the  Folios  by  the  earlier 
editors  (though  they  all  more  or  less  claimed  great  diligence  in  the 
discharge  of  that  duty)  that  from  Rowe  to  Johnson,  inclusive,  the 
text  in  this  play  is  comparatively  uniform ;  and  as  Rowe  printed  from 
the  Fourth  Folio,  that  text  may  be  also  included  in  the  series.  Pope 
printed  from  Rowe,  and  Hanmer  printed  from  Pope ;  I  am  not  quite 
certain  from  whom  Theobald  printed,  but  I  incline  to  think  from 
Pope's  second  edition.  I  am  quite  sure  that  Warburton  printed 
from  Theobald's  second  edition,  and  Dr  Johnson  printed  from  War- 
burton,  even  retaining  in  one  instance  a  ridiculous  and  palpable  mis- 
print. I  have  therefore  adopted  the  isimple  mathematical  sign  +  to 
signify  Rowe,  Pope,  Theobald,  Hanmer,  Warburton,  and  Johnson,  col- 
lectively, or  any  of  them  not  specified  as  adopting  another  reading ; 
where  any  of  these  editors  differed  from  the  rest  I  have  used  the  oppo- 
site mathematical  sign  —  before  the  name  of  the  deserter:  thus, 
Rowe  -h  (—Johns.)  means  that  all  these  editors  followed  Rowe  except 
Dr  Johnson,  whose  reading  is  the  same  as  the  text ;  if  his  reading  be 


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vi  PREFACE 

different  from  the  text,  it  is  of  course  given,  and  no  reference  is  made 
to  him  after  Rowe  -f .  In  any  note  on  the  numbering  of  the  scenes, 
this  sign,  4- ,  does  not  include  Theobald,  in  whose  edition  the  scenes 
are  not  numbered. 

The  abbreviation  et  cet  after  any  reading  indicates  that  it  is  the 
reading  of  all  editors  other  than  those  specified. 

An  asterisk  indicates  that  the  reading  or  conjecture  is  taken  from 
The  Cambridge  Edition. 

These  are  the  only  abbreviations  which  I  have  used  except  in  the  case 
of  proper  names,  and  of  the  inferior  numerals  to  indicate  the  four 
Folios,  and  '  Coll.  (MS),'  as  an  equivalent  for  Mr  Collier's  Manuscript 
Corrector.  My  abbreviations  of  proper  names  will  be  found  in  the 
List  of  Editions  collated.  It  may  be  proper  to  mention  here  that 
Var,  includes  Malone's  Edition  of  1790;  and  that  Steev,  includes 
Steevens's  earlier  editions,  unless  otherwise  recorded,  and  except  in 
cases  of  trifling  differences. 

When  a  conjecture  by  an  Editor  is  recorded  I  place  *  conj.'  after  his 
name,  lest  it  be  supposed  that  the  emendation  was  incorporated  in  his 
text.  In  all  other  cases  conj.  is  omitted.  When  any  conjectural  read- 
ing is  given  in  the  commentary  it  is  not  repeated  in  the  textual  notes 
unless  it  has  been  adopted  in  some  text.  And  in  this  regard  it  is  to 
be  noted  that  I  have  diverged  from  the  custom  in  Romeo  and  yuHet. 
There  very  many  conjectures  are  simply  recorded  in  the  textual  notes 
without  comment.  Here  I  have  always  endeavoured,  where  practi- 
cable, to  give  space  to  the  critic  to  explain  or  advocate  his  emendation, 
except  in  the  cases  of  two  writers  for  whose  suggestions,  I  might  as 
well  confess,  my  patience  was  long  since  exhausted.  After  examining 
the  pages  of  this  volume  every  candid  student  will,  I  think,  give  me 
the  credit  at  times  of  long-suffering  patience.  But  I  reserve  to  myself 
the  right  to  set  a  limit  beyond  which  my  editorial  duty  of  imper- 
sonality does  not  oblige  me  to  pass,  and  that  limit  I  place  before  the 
volumes  of  Zachary  Jackson  and  Andrew  Becket.  Here  and  there 
Jackson's  technical  knowledge  of  a  printer's  case  has  enabled  him  to 
make  a  lucky  guess,  and  there  I  hope  I  have  done  him  justice.  But 
I  can  perceive  no  knowledge,  technical  or  otherwise,  that  has  served 
Andrew  Becket  in  any  stead.  If  these  two  wholesale  omissions  be 
reckoned  against  me,  I  shall  take  my  punishment  without  flinching. 

As  &r  as  I  know,  this  is  the  first  edition  of  any  play  of  Shakespeare's 
in  which  there  has  been  any  attempt  to  give  literally  the  notes  of 
Capell.  All  Editors  acknowledge  the  general  purity  of  his  text,  yet 
none  quote  his  voluminous  notes  upon  it.  Nor  can  the  &intest  blame 
be  attached  to  them  for  the  omission.  For  so  obscure  is  Capell's  style 
that  it  happens  not  infrequently  that  his  elucidation  is  &r  darker  than 


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PREFACE  vii 

the  passage  which  he  explains.  Dr  Johnson  said  that  if  Capell  had 
come  to  him  he  would  have  endowed  his  purposes  with  words ;  and 
Waiburton  pronounced  him  an  'idiot.'  'His  style,*  says  Lettsom, 
'may  be  fidrly  described  by  parodying  Johnson's  panegyric  on  Addi- 
'  son.  Whoever  wishes  to  attain  an  English  style  imcouth  without  sim- 
'  plicity,  obscure  without  conciseness,  and  slovenly  without  ease,  must 
'give  his  nights  and  days  to  the  Notes  of  Capell.'  And  as  if  all  this 
were  not  enough,  these  Notes  are  printed  in  so  odd  a  fashion,  that  it 
is  in  itself  an  additional  stumbling-block.  The  page  is  a  large  Quarto, 
divided  into  parallel  columns,  and  at  whatever  letter  the  lines  end, 
there  the  word  is  cut  off,  and  a  h3rphen  joins  the  dismembered  sylla- 
ble. For  instance,  on  looking  over  only  a  page  or  two,  I  find  such 
divisions  as  the  following :  *  pr-oceed,*  '  wh-ere,'  '  gr-ound,*  '  thr-ough,' 
*wh-ich,'  'editi-ons,'  'pl-ease,'  'be-auty,*  'apothe-gms,'  'mat-ch,' 
'sou-rce.'  It  is  really  humiliating,  after  the  drollery  has  worn  off,  to 
find  how  serious  is  the  annoyance  which  so  trifling  a  matter  can  create. 

And  yet,  in  spite  of  all  this,  Capell's  notes  are  worthy  of  all  respect. 
He  had  good  sense,  and  his  opinions  (when  we  can  make  them  out) 
are  never  to  be  lightiy  discarded.  The  note  cited  at  the  beginning 
of  Act  n,  and  on  'The  Date  of  the  Play'  on  p.  381  [353],  are  instances 
of  his  style  at  its  best. 

'Walker,*  without  further  specification,  refers  to  the  Third  Voliraie 
of  W.  Sidney  Walker's  Criticisms  on  the  Text  of  Shakespeare, 

Citations  from  Abbott's  Shakespearian  Grammar  refer  to  the  third 
Edition  of  that  invaluable  book,  which  was  issued  in  its  present 
enlarged  form  while  my  former  volume  was  going  through  the  press, 
but  too  late  to  be  cited  except  here  and  there  towards  the  close.  Oc- 
casionally I  have  cited  Abbott,  not  because  he  was  by  any  means  the 
first  to  call  attention  to  certain  peculiarities  of  construction,  but  because 
he  spreads  before  us  such  a  wealth  of  illustration. 

In  1673  there  appeared  *  Macbeth :  A  Tragedy.  Acted  At  the  Dukes- 
^Theatre.'  This  has  hitherto  been  cited  as  D'Avenant's  Version,  even 
by  the  very  accurate  Cambridge  Editors,  and  in  sooth  it  may  be  that 
it  is,  but  it  is  very  different  from  the  D'Avenant's  Version  published  in 
the  following  year,  to  which  almost  uniformly  all  references  apply,  and 
not  to  this  edition  of  1673.  The  only  points  of  identity  between  the 
two  are  to  be  found  in  the  Witch-scenes,  and  there  they  are  not 
uniformly  alike,  nor  are  the  Songs  introduced  in  the  same  scenes  at 
the  same  places ;  and  of  the  Song  '  Black  Spirits  and  white y*  &c.,  only 
the  first  two  words  are  given.  In  other  respects  the  edition  of  1673 
is  a  reprint  of  the  First  Folio,  as,  for  instance,  to  give  one  proof  out 
of  very  many  that  might  be  adduced,  the  phrase  'the  times  has 


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viii  PREFACE 

'been  *  (III,  iv,  98)  is  retained  by  D'Avenant  from  the  First  Folio,  while 
in  the  later  Folios  it  is  changed  to  modem  usage.  It  is  a  source  of 
regret  that  I  did  not  record  a  more  thorough  collation  of  this  edition 
in  the  First  Act,  but  it  was  some  time  before  I  discovered  the  difference 
between  it  and  the  version  of  1674,  reprinted  in  the  Appendix.  As  a 
general  rule,  however,  unless  otherwise  stated,  the  readings  of  F, 
include  the  edition  of  D'Avenant  of  1673.  I  am  also  sorry  that  I  did 
not  distinguish  between  the  two  versions  by  citing  the  earlier  under 
some  other  title,  as,  for  instance,  Betterton*s :  it  is  a  mere  suspicion 
of  mine  that  the  success  which  attended  the  representation  of  this 
earlier  version  induced  the  Poet  Laiu-eate  in  the  following  year  to 
'  amend  *  it  still  more,  and  prefix  an  *  Argument  *  which,  by  the  way, 
he  took  word  for  word  from  Heylin's  Cosmography, 

The  first  divergence  from  the  First  Folio  in  Betterton*s  version  (if  I 
may  be  permitted  so  to  term  it  for  the  nonce,  to  avoid  repetition  and 
confusion)  occurs  at  the  end  of  the  Second  Scene  in  the  Second  Act, 
where  the  Witches  enter  and  *  sing '  the  song  found  in  D' Avenant's  Ver- 
sion (see  p.  324  [519]),  beginning  ^  Speak,  Sister,  is  the  Deed  donef 
&c.,  down  to  '  What  then,  when  Monarch^ s  perish,  should  we  do  /* 

At  the  end  of  the  next  scene  occurs  the  second  divergence,  consist- 
ing of  the  Witches'  Song  (see  p.  325  [519]),  beginning  ^  Lef  s  have  a 
^  Dance  upon  the  Heath,*  &c.,  down  to  *  We  Dance  to  the  Ecchoes  of  our 
*Feet,'  as  it  is  in  D' Avenant's  version,  except  that  *  the  chifping  Cricket ' 
is  changed  into  the  *  chirping  Critick,* 

The  third  and  last  addition,  which  is  not  wholly  unauthorized,  since  it 
is  indicated  in  the  Folios,  is  to  be  found  at  III,  v,  33.  Here  the  extract 
from  Middleton  (see  pp.  337  [376]  and  401  [525])  is  given :  ^Come  away 
^ Heccat,  Heccat,  Oh,  come  away,*  &c.,  down  to  ^Nor  Cannons  Throats 
*  our  height  can  reach. '  As  I  have  before  said,  with  these  three  excep- 
tions, Betterton's  version  is  a  more  or  less  accurate  reprint  of  the  First 
Folio;  some  of  the  most  noteworthy  discrepancies,  however,  that 
occur  in  the  First  Act  are  as  follows,  and  I  might  as  well  give  them 
here,  since  they  are  not  recorded  in  the  Textual  Notes :  In  I,  vi,  35,  *  in 
'  compt '  (Jo  count — ^Betterton) ;  I,  vii,  11,  *  Commends  th'  Ingredience ' 
(^Commands  th*  Ingredience — Betterton);  I,  vii,  17,  *  First,  as  I  am* 
{First,  I  am — Betterton) ;  I,  vii,  26,  '  Heauen's  Cherubin '  {Heavens 
Cherubim — Betterton) ;  I,  vii,  60,  '  Be  so  much  more  the  man '  {Be 
much  more  the  Man — Betterton);  I,  vii,  81,  'What  not  put  vpon ' 
(  W?tat  not  upon — Betterton) ;  I,  vii,  ^^,  '  their  very  Daggers '  {their 
Daggers — Betterton).*  Noticeable  also  is  the  phrase  '  everlasting  bone- 
*fire  *  in  the  Porter's  speech,  which  may  contain  an  allusion  which  would 
point  more  to  D'Avenant  as  its  author  than  any  other.     I  think  that  I 

*  These  are  now  incorporated  in  Textual  Notes  in  present  revised  edition. — ^Ed.  ii. 


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PREFACE  ix 

have  recorded  all  other  varias  lectiones  of  any  moment.  Let  it  be  borne 
in  mind  that  *  D'Av.'  in  the  Textual  Notes  refers  to  this  Edition  of  1673. 

In  the  year  1 799  there  was  published  at  York  an  Edition  of  Macbethy 
with  ^  Notes  and  Emendations ^  by  Harry  Rowe,  Trumpet-Major  to  the 
'  High  Sheriffs  of  Yorkshire ;   and  Master  of  a  Puppet-show.      The 

*  Second  Edition.'     In  the  Prefiice  the  Editor  says,  'Critics  may  call 

*  me  an  impudent  fellow,  if  they  please ;  and  my  associates  a  parcel 
'of  blockheads;  but  I  would  have  those  learned  gentlemen  to  know, 
•that  what  we  want  in  genius,  we  make  up  in  solidity-      In  plain 

*  English,  I  am  Master  of  a  Puppet-show ;  and  as  from  the  nature  of 
*my  employment,  I  am  obliged  to  have  a  few  stock-plays  ready  for 
'  representation,  whenever  I  am  accidentally  visited  by  a  select  party 
'  of  Ladies  and  Gentlemen,  I  have  added  the  Tragedy  of  Macbeth  to 
'my  Green-room  collection.  The  alterations  that  I  have  made  in 
'  this  play  are  warranted  from  a  careful  perusal  of  a  very  old  manu- 
'  script  in  the  possession  of  my  prompter,  one  of  whose  ancestors,  by 
'  the  mother's  side,  was  rush-spreader  and  candle-snuffer  at  the  Globe 
'play-house,  as  appears  from  the  following  memorandum  on  a  blank 
'page  of  the  manuscript.  This  day  March  the  fourth  1598  received 
'  [paid  *]  the  sum  of  seven  shillings  and  four  pence  for  six  bundles  of 
'  rushes  and  two  pair  of  brass  snuffers.  Having  brought  myself  for- 
'  ward  as  a  Dramatic  Critic,  let  me  beseech  the  authors  of  the  Pursuits 

*  of  Literature  to  bestow  upon  me,  and  my  wooden  Company,  an 
'immortal  flagellation.'  Although  Harry  Rowe  was  a  veritable 
person,  yet  a  glance  at  the  notes  scattered  through  his  volume  is  suffi- 
cient to  show  that  they  were  not  written  by  a  man  whose  life  had  been 
spent  '  ushering  Judges  into  the  Castle  of  York '  and  pulling  the  wires 
of  a  Puppet-show.  It  is  easy  to  see  that  these  notes  are  the  work  of 
one  who  revelled  in  the  inmiunity  which  a  mask  afforded  of  levelling 
his  satire  at  the  critics  of  the  day,  and  also  of  proposing  emendations 
of  the  text  which,  as  coming  from  a  showman,  would  at  least  be  read, 
while  if  they  were  issued  under  his  own  unfamiliar  signature  they  might 
be  passed  by  unheeded.  So  keen  is  the  satire  that,  as  the  Cambridge 
Editors  say,  it  is  'not  always  quite  certain  whether  the  Editor  is  in 
'jest  or  earnest.'  In  Notes  and  Queries \  it  is  stated  that  Mr  F.  G. 
Waldron,  the  dramatic  Editor,  has  prefixed  to  a  copy  of  Macbeth  the 
following  manuscript  note :  '  Alexander  Hunter,  M.  D. ,  now  residing 


*  My  copy  of  this  Edition  of  Macbeth  is  a  presentation  copy,  *  E  dono  Editoris/ 
and  contains  many  corrections,  and  some  additional  MS  notes,  signed,  like  the  printed 
notes, '  N.  R*  In  the  present  passage  '  received  *  is  crossed  out  with  a  pen,  tLad/aid 
written  above  it — Ed. 

t  Third  Series,  vol.  xi,  25  May,  1867. 


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X  PREFACE 

*at  York,  was  the  real  Editor  of  Harry  Rowe's  Macbeth;  but  not 

*  choosing  to  acknowledge  it  publicly,  he  gave  it  to  Harry  Rowe  to 
'  publish  it  for  his  own  emolument.    Mr  Melvin,  an  actor  of  celebrity 

*  who  performed  at  Covent  Garden  Theatre,  in  the  season  of  1806-7, 

*  and  previously  at  the  York  Theatre,  was  acquainted  with  Dr  Hunter, 
*and  was  informed  by  him  of  the  above.*  The  emendations  from 
this  source  are  accordingly  in  the  Cambridge  Edition  credited  to  *A. 
'Hunter';  as,  however,  there  are  already  two  commentators  of  that 
name,  and  only  one  of  Rowe,  I  have  preferred  to  retain  the  pseudonym. 
As  Harry  Rowe  printed  from  Steevens,  I  have  not  recorded  his  read- 
ings except  in  cases  of  divergence.* 

A  Variorum  Edition  of  Macbeth  was  published  in  1807  anony- 
mously; it  followed  the  text  of  Reed's  Edition  of  1803,  and  con- 
tains, besides  original  notes  signed  *Z,*  some  'Preliminary  observa- 

*  tions,*  of  which  perhaps  the  most  valuable  is  an  account  of  the  various 
actors  and  actresses  who  had  up  to  that  time  assumed  the  chief  parts 
in  this  tragedy,  and  a  notice  of  Matthew  Lock,  the  composer  of  the 
music  introduced  in  D'Avenant's  Version.  This  Edition  I  have  cited 
in  the  Commentary  under  the  heading  Anonymous. 

Under  the  name  of  El  win  I  have  cited  the  notes  contained  in  an 
Edition  of  Macbeth^  called  Shakespeare  Restored^  privately  printed  at 
Norwich,  England,  in  1853.  Mr  Phillipps  (Halliwell),  in  his  folio 
Edition,  says  that  this  Macbeth  *  is  now  known  to  have  been  written 
*by  Hastings  Elwin,  esq.,  of  Horstead  House  near  Norwich,*  and 
furthermore  pronounces  him  '  the  most  able  of  any  of  its  critics.'  As 
the  metrical  division  of  the  lines  of  the  First  Folio  is  *  restored '  in 
this  Edition,  I  have  not  cited  Elwin  in  addition  to  F,  in  the  Textual 
Notes,  in  cases  of  metre. 

In  the  Appendix  I  have  reprinted  D'Avenant's  Version  of  1674. 
Let  it  not  be  supposed  that  because  this  Version  holds  in  this  volume 
a  position  corresponding  to  the  Reprint  of  the  First  Quarto  in  Romeo 
and  yuiiety  I  esteem  it  of  proportionate  value  in  a  literary  point  of 
view.  It  is  reprinted  simply  because  it  is  by  no  means  a  common 
book  in  this  coimtry,  and  because  to  this  hour  it  retains  a  certain  hold 
upon  the  stage,  and  influences  disastrously  the  acting  of  Macbeth,  It 
has,  moreover,  supplied  not  a  few  changes  of  the  text  in  the  editions  of 
the  earlier  Editors.  To  save  space  I  have  not  recorded  these  emenda- 
tions, but  have  left  them  to  be  discovered  by  the  student, — neither  an 
uninteresting  nor  an  unprofitable  task. 

*  For  further  information  concerning  Harry  Rowe,  see  Notes  and  Queries  just 
dted,  and  also  the  number  for  27  April  in  the  same  volume,  and  Chambers's  Book  of 
DaySf  vol.  ii,  p.  436,  dted  by  Mr  John  Piggott,  jun. 


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PREFACE  xi 

Then  follows  a  reprint  of  the  passages  from  Holinshed  whence 
Shakespeare  obtained  the  materials  for  this  tragedy  \  and  it  was  while 
in  search  of  these  passages  that  I  came  across  one  which  has  escaped 
the  vigilance  of  my  predecessors,  and  which  I  cannot  but  believe 
gave  Shakespeare  the  hint  for  the  'voice*  which  'murdered  sleep*; 
it  is  given  on  p.  359  [383]. 

Then  succeed  various  extracts  in  which  learned  Editois  and  Com- 
mentatois  have  foimd  indications,  more  or  less  remote,  of  the  Source 
or  THE  Plot. 

The  discussion  on  the  Date  of  the  Play  follows  next  in  order, 
together  with  an  accoimt  of  Middleton's  Witch^  of  which  the  scenes 
that  have  any  relation  to  the  present  tragedy  are  reprinted.  Under 
the  heads,  *The  Text,*  'Costume,*  'Was  Shakespeare  ever  in 
'Scotland?*  'The  Character  of  Macbeth,'  'The  Character  of 
'Lady  Macbeth,*  I  have  endeavoured  to  condense  and  digest  much 
information  scattered  through  many  and  various  volumes.  The  re- 
marks of  several  English  Commentators  follow,  which  could  not  well 
be  put  under  any  of  these  headings.  In  my  selection  (and  *I  was 
forced  to  make  a  selection,  or  '  the  line  would  stretch  out  to  the  crack 
'  of  doom ')  I  was  guided  by  the  wish  to  reproduce  passages  of  value 
not  readily  accessible  to  the  ordinary  student.  Such  books  as  Hud- 
son's  Lectures  on  Shakespeare^  or  his  more  recent  volumes:  Shake- 
speare^s  Artj  Life^  and  Characters^  and  Giles's  Human  Life  in 
Shakespeare^  are  within  easy  reach,  and  should  be  in  the  possession 
of  every  lover  of  the  Poet. 

To  the  selections  from  the  German  commentators  I  have  prefixed 
a  short  account  of  several  translations  in  that  language,  down  to  Schle- 
GEL  and  TiECK*s  in  1833.* 

*Of  course,  in  these  early  versions  it  is  not  difficult  to  find  misinterpretations 
that  sometimes  verge  on  the  ludicrous.  One  occurs  in  Wieland's  translation,  and, 
although  it  does  not  properly  belong  to  this  tragedy,  it  is  so  very  ingenious  that  I 
cannot  refrain  from  mentioning  it  here,  more  especially  since  I  can  hardly  expect  to 
live  long  enough  to  reach  the  play  in  which  it  is  found.  In  the  Third  Act  of  Ttmon 
of  Athens^  at  the  dose  of  the  bitter  blessing  which  Timon  asks  upon  his  feast  of 
warm  water,  he  says  to  his  false  friends,  'Uncover,  dogs,  and  lap.*  This  short  phrase 
completely  gravelled  Widand.  He  knew  what  *  uncover'  meant,  and  what  'dogs' 
meant,  but  <Ai/' — there  was  the  rub.  At  last  it  dawned  on  him  that  Mapdogs'  were 
household  favourites  in  England.  The  difficulty  vanished,  and  the  whole  phrase  was 
converted  into  a  stage-direction :  '  The  covers  are  removed,  and  the  dishes  are  all 
'  found  to  be  filled  with  dogs  of  various  kinds.'  It  would  be  unfair  to  convey  the 
impression  that  this  exquisite  rendering  has  escaped  the  notice  of  Wieland's  suc- 
cessors ;  it  is  detected  in  GENts's  excellent  History  of  Shakespeare^ s  Dramas  in 
Germany. 


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xii  PREFACE. 

If  there  be  any  one  pursuit  which  is  likely  to  teach  humility  on  the 
subject  of  errors,  typographical  and  otherwise,  it  is  a  study  of  the  va- 
rious editions  of  Shakespeare.  I  claim  no  undue  exemption  from  the 
common  lot ;  I  can  only  say  that  I  have  spared  neither  time  nor  labour 
in  aiming  at  perfection,  and  for  all  fisdlures  in  my  attempts  to  reach 
that  unattainable  standard  my  apologies  may  be  presumed. 

It  is  with  no  slight  degree  of  pleasure  that  I  recount  the  names  of 
those  to  whom  I  am  indebted  for  aid.  First,  alphabetically  and  in 
degree,  my  thanks  are  due  to  Prof.  Allen,  of  the  University  of  Penn- 
sylvania, whose  notes  appear  here  and  there  on  the  following  pages, 
and  to  whom  I  have  constantly  appealed  when  in  editorial  distress,  and 
never  in  vain;  to  J.  Payne  Coluer,  esq.,  for  many  acts  of  thought- 
ful kindness,  and  whose  name  here,  as  a  living  presence,  links  this 
edition  with  the  days  of  Steevens  and  Malone;  to  Prof.  Corson, 
of  Cornell  University;  to  A.  I.  Fish,  esq.;  to  the  Rev.  H.  W.  Foote 
of  Boston ;  to  the  Hon.  Alexander  Henry  ;  to  Dr  Hering  ;  to  Dr 
C.  M.  Ingleby  of  London;  To  J.  Parker  Norris,  esq.;  to  J.  O. 
Phillips,  esq.,  of  London;  to  W.  L.  Rushton,  esq.,  of  Liverpool; 
to  Lloyd  P.  Smith,  esq..  Librarian  of  the  Philadelphia  Library;  to 
S.  TiMMiNS,  esq.,  of  Birmingham,  and  to  W.  A.  Wheeler,  esq..  Libra- 
rian of  the  Boston  Public  Library.  And  to  the  following  gentlemen 
my  hearty  thanks  belong  for  words  of  cheer,  or  kind  proffers  of  assist- 
ance: Prof.  Karl  Elze  of  Dessau;  the  Rev.  H.  N.  Hudson  of 
Boston;  W.  J.  Rolfe,  esq.,  of  Cambridge;  H.  Staunton,  esq.,  of 
London;  Prof.  ULRia  of  Halle;  R.  Grant  White,  esq.,  and  W. 
Aldis  Wright,  esq.,  of  Trinity  College,  Cambridge. 

To  my  father,  the  Rev.  Dr  Furness,  I  am  indebted  for  the  trans- 
lation of  many  passages  from  the  German  (all  that  is  well  done  is  his, 
and  the  rest  mine),  and  to  my  sister,  Mrs  A.  L.  Wister,  for  translat- 
ing the  extract  from  Flathe. 

Nor  should  I  forget  Mr  L.  F.  Thomas,  the  Proof-reader  in  the 
establishment  where  this  volume  is  stereotjrped ;  the  worth  of  an  accu- 
rate, vigilant  proof-reader  it  is  hard  to  over-estimate  in  a  work  like  the 
present,  where  typographical  difficulties  occur  on  nearly  every  page. 

H.  H.  F. 

Philadelphia,  1873. 


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Almost  as  many  years  now  separate  us  from  the  first  volume  of  this 
Edition  as,  at  the  time  of  its  publication,  separated  us  from  the  Van'- 
orum  of  1821.  During  these  years  so  much  has  been  added  in  the 
way  of  Criticism  and  Illustration,  that  the  epithet  'new*  as  applied  to 
the  earlier  volumes  is  become  almost  misleading,  and  a  demand  for  a 
*  newest  new'  Variorum  can  be  deemed  hardly  unreasonable. 

Furthermore,  the  Text  of  the  first  four  Plays  is  composite ;  the  Text 
of  the  remaining  eight  is  that  of  the  First  Folio.  Although  each  play 
is  a  volume  apart  and  independent  of  the  rest,  yet  a  uniformity  of  Text 
is,  to  some  extent,  desirable. 

To  supply  this  uniformity,  and  also  to  gamer  the  material  of  the 
last  thirty  years,  has  been  the  cause  of  this  Revised  Edition  of  Macbeth. 

Surely,  the  instances  are  not  many  where  a  literary  task  begun  by  a 
father  is  taken  up  and  carried  forward  by  a  son ;  still  fewer  are  they 
where  the  &ther  can  retire  within  the  shadow  with  such  conviction,  as 
is  now  mine,  that  the  younger  hands  are  the  better  hands,  and  that  the 
work  will  be  done  more  deftly  in  the  future  than  in  the  past. 

H.  H.  F. 
January,  igo3. 


The  change  of  Text  in  the  present  Revised  Edition  of  Macbeth 
necessitated  a  new  collation  of  all  the  Texts. 

Quotations  from  The  New  English  Dictionary^  as  &r  as  '  the  proud 
fiill  sail '  of  that  invaluable  work  is  gone,  have  replaced  the  older  im- 
perfect etymological  conjectures. 

An  account  of  the  Actors,  from  Garrick  to  the  present  day,  the 
Music,  and  an  Index  to  the  longer  notes  have  been  added. 

Of  D'Avenant's  Version,  which  appears  in  the  First  Edition,  un- 
abridged, those  portions  alone  are  here  given  wherein  there  is  a  marked 
divergence  from  the  First  Folio. 

The  present  Editor  lays  no  claim  to  all  the  notes  signed  'Ed.  ii.' 

A  few,  which  have  been  transferred  from  the  Appendix  of  the  former 

xiii 


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xiv  PREFACE 

Edition  to  the  Commentary  of  the  present,  are  thus  signed.     Elsewhere 
this  signature  marks  a  veritable  addition. 

In  all  probability  the  next  play  in  this  series,  edited  by  my  junior 
hands,  will  be  Richard  IIL 

Should  I  close  this  Pre&ce  without  an  allusion  to  my  Father,  I  might 
be  justly  condemned  for  an  ingratitude,  than  which  nor  serpent's  tooth 
nor  winter  wind  is  keener.  But  on  high  authority  we  know  that 
'silence  is  the  perfectest  herald  of  joy.*  Be  this  silence  here  the 
herald  of  my  gratitude  to  him. 

It  is  with  the  greatest  pleasure  that  I  express  the  thanks  due  to  my 

Aunt,  Mrs  A.  L.  Wister,  for  the  translation  of  many  passages  from 

the  German. 

H.  H.  F.,  Jr. 

January^  igoj. 


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THE    TRAGEDIE    OF 
MACBETH 


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Dramatis  Perfona 


Duncan,  King  of  Scotland. 
.AIN,  l^^*^- 

'H     ) 

I   '   >  generals  of  the  King's  army. 


Malcolm.     )    . . 

DONALBAIN,   l^^*^- 

Macbeth^ 

Banquo. 

Macduff, 

Lennox, 

Ross, 

Menteith, 

Angus, 

Caithness,  ^ 

Fleance,  son  to  Banquo.  12 


noblemen  of  Scotland 

ID 


Dnunads  Personse]   As  given  by  7,  9,  11.  Lennox^  Menteithy  Caith- 

Djce.    First  given  by  Rowe.  ness\  Lenox^  Menteth^  Cathness  in  all 

4.  MiKbetk]  Macbeth^  his  cousin  and  editions  before  Dyce's. 
general  of  his  forces.  Cap. 


5.  Banquo]  The  pronunciation  of  this  name  is  perhaps  noteworthy.  Holins- 
hed  spells  it  uniformly  *Banquho.'  Sir  Walter  Scott  (iii,  135,  foot-note)  says:  'It 
is  well  known  to  all  who  have  looked  in  a  Scottish  book  of  antiquity,  that  the  letters 
ghf  absurdly  printed  qu^  are  almost  uniformly  placed  for  wh,  of  which  it  has  the 
power  and  force.  So  whom  is  printed  qukom^  what  is  printed  guhai^  &c.,  to  the 
very  unnecessary  encumbrance  of  the  Southron.  This  mode  of  expressing  the  sound 
is  not,  however,  peculiar  to  Scotiand.  In  the  English  chronicles,  Guildhall  is  often 
printed  WheldehiUl,  In  the  Spanish,  the  same  mode  of  writing  is  universally  adopted, 
as  aiguasU  is  pronounced  ahohasU,*  From  this  it  would  seem  that  Holinshed's  Ban- 
quho  was,  in  reality,  Bangho^  where  the  guttural  gh  was  represented  by  qu^  and  pro- 
nounced Banwho,  When  the  name  first  appears  in  the  text  (I,  ii,  41 )  it  is  spelt 
Bamquoh,  which  suggests  that  the  compositor  simply  reversed  the  last  two  letters. 
At  its  next  appearance  (I,  iii,  73)  it  is  spelt  without  the  final  A,  and  so  continues 
throughout  the  play.  Forman,  in  his  account  (see  Appendix)^  spells  the  name 
Banko^  Banckoy  Banco^  and  possibly  wrote  the  name  phonetically,  just  as  he 
wrote  Mackdme^  Mackbet^  etc.  Also  Burton,  Anatomy  of  Melancholy ^  PL  i,  sect  2, 
memb.  i,  subsec.  2,  p.  64,  ed.  1621,  in  a  passage  referring  to  the  meeting  of  Macbeth 
and  Banquo  with  the  Witches,  spells  the  name  Banco,  The  old  form  *  banket '  for 
banquet y  and  these  two  illustrations  from  Forman  and  from  Burton,  suggest  that  this 
name,  in  the  time  of  Shakespeare,  was  possibly  pronounced  Banko, — Ed.  ii. 

5-12.  Banquo  . . .  Fleance]  Chalmers  (Caledonia,  1,411) :  History  knows  noth- 

3 


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4  DRAMATIS  PERSONAL 

Si  WARD,  earl  of  Northumberland,  general  of  the  13 

English  forces. 
Young  SiwARD,  kis  son. 

Seyton,  an  officer  attending  on  Macbeth.  15 

Boy,  son  to  Macduff. 
An  English  Doctor. 
A  Scotch  Doctor. 
A  Sergeant. 

A  Porter.  20 

An  Old  Man. 

Lady  Macbeth. 
Lady  MACDUPr. 
Gentlewoman,  attending  on  Lady  Macbeth.  24 

15.  Seyton\  Siton  Theob.  i.  24.  Gen/tezvoman,,.'}  Gentlewomen... 

Rowe,  + . 

ing  of  Banquo,  the  thane  of  Lochaber,  nor  of  Fleance  his  son.  Even  the  very  names 
seem  to  be  fictitious,  as  thej  are  not  Graelic.  The  traditions  with  regard  to  them  are 
extremely  faint  There  is,  indeed,  on  the  sununit  of  one  of  the  Sidlaw  Hills,  about 
eight  miles  from  Dunsinan,  an  old  tower  of  modem  erection,  which  is  called  Banpio 
Tower  (Ainslie's  Map  of  Forfarshire),  None  of  the  ancient  chronicles,  nor  Irish 
annals,  nor  even  Fordun,  recognise  the  fictitious  names  of  Banquo  and  Fleance, 
though  the  latter  be  made,  by  genealogists,  the  *  root  and  father  of  many  kings.' 
Even  the  commentators  trace  up  the  family  of  Stewart  to  Fleance.  Neither  is  a 
thane  of  Lochaber  known  in  Scottish  history,  because  the  Scottish  kings  had  never 
any  demesnes  within  that  impervious  district — Ed.  ii.  French  (p.  291):  Sir  Wal- 
ter Scott  [History  of  Scotland^  vol.  i,  ch.  ii. — Ed.  ii.]  observes  that  '  early  authori- 
ties show  us  no  such  persons  as  Banquo  and  his  son  Fleance  ;  nor  have  we  reason 
to  think  that  the  latter  ever  fled  further  from  Macbeth  than  across  the  flat  scene 
according  to  the  stage-direction.  Neither  were  Banquo  and  his  son  ancestors  of  the 
house  of  Stuart.*  Yet  modem  Peerages  and  Genealogical  Charts  still  retain  the 
names  of  Banquo  and  Fleance  in  the  pedigp'ee  of  the  Royal  Houses  of  Scotland  and 
England. 

12.  Fleance]  Malone:  Fleance,  after  the  assassination  of  his  father,  fled  into 
Wales,  where,  by  the  daughter  of  the  prince  of  that  country,  he  had  a  son  named 
Walter,  who  afterwards  became  lord  High  Steward  of  Scotland,  and  from  thence 
assumed  the  name  of  Walter  Steivard.  From  him,  in  a  direct  line,  King  James  I. 
was  descended,  in  compliment  to  whom  our  author  has  chosen  to  describe  Banquo, 
who  was  equally  concerned  with  Macbeth  in  the  murder  of  Duncan,  as  innocent  of 
that  crime.  [A.  S.  Ellis  {Notes  6*  Queries,  Nov.  23,  1878) :  It  is  well  known  now 
that  there  is  reference  to  Fleance  himself  in  our  records,  the  Hundred  Rolls  (i,  434), 
of  the  time  of  Edward  I.  The  jurors  of  the  hundred  of  Launditch,  Norfolk,  say : 
*  Melam  (Mileham)  with  its  appurtenances  was  in  the  hands  of  William  the  Bastard 
at  the  Conquest,  and  the  said  king  gave  the  manor  to  a  certain  knight  named 


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DRAMATIS  PERSONjE  5 

Hecate.  25 

Three  Witches. 

Apparitions. 

LordSy    Gentlemen^  Officers^  Soldiers^  Murderers^ 
Attendants^  and  Messengers. 

Scene  :  in  the  end  of  the  fourth  act^  in  England;  29 

through  the  rest  of  the  play^  in  Scotland. 

FlanoiSf  who  came  with  him  into  England,  and  afterwards  the  manor  descended 
firom  heir  to  heir  unto  John  Fitzalan,  now  in  the  King^s  custody.*  It  is  curious  in 
this  instance  how  nearly  the  name  resembles  Fleance ;  other  forms  occur,  as  Fleald, 
Flaald,  Flahald,  but  Fledald  is  the  most  correct. — Ed.  ii.] 


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THE   TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH        [act  i,  sc.  L 


[4.  Enter  three  Witches.] 
advantage  resulting  from  such  anticipation,  but,  on  the  contrary,  think  it  injurious,  I 
conclude  the  scene  is  not  genuine. — Coleridge  (p.  241)  :  The  true  reason  for  the 
first  appearance  of  the  Witches  is  to  strike  the  key-note  of  the  character  of  the  whole 
drama. — C.  A.  Brown  (p.  147) :  Less  study,  less  experience  in  human  nature,  less 
mental  acquirements  of  every  kind,  I  conceive,  were  employed  on  Macbeth,  wonder- 
fully as  the  whole  character  is  displayed  before  us,  than  on  those  imaginary  creations, 
the  three  weird  sisters  who  haunt  his  steps,  and  prey  upon  his  very  being. — Schmidt 
(p.  436)  :  The  witches  should  not  be  visible  when  the  curtain  rises,  but  should  glide 
in  like  ghosts. — [Dowden  (p.  244) :  These  are  not  the  broomstick  witches  of  vulgar 
popular  traditions.  If  they  are  grotesque,  they  are  also  sublime.  They  may  take 
their  place  beside  the  terrible  old  women  of  Michael  Angelo,  who  spin  the  destinies 
of  man. '  Shakespeare  is  no  more  afraid  than  Michael  Angelo  of  being  vulgar.  .  .  . 
And  thus  he  fearlessly  showed  us  his  weird  sisters,  'the  goddesses  of  destinie,' 
brewing  infernal  charms  in  their  wicked  cauldron.  We  cannot  quite  dispense  in 
this  life  with  ritualism,  and  the  ritualism  of  evil  is  foul  and  ugly. . . .  Yet  these 
weird  sisters  remain  terrible  and  sublime.  They  tingle  in  every  fibre  with  evil 
energy;  their  malignity  is  inexhaustible;  they  have  their  raptures  and  ecstasies 
in  crime;  they  are  the  awful  inspirers  of  murder,  insanity,  suicide. — Snider 
(i,  p.  176)  :  What  is  the  purpose  for  which  the  Poet  employs  these  shapes?  The 
answer  must  give  the  most  important  point  for  the  proper  comprehension  of  the 
play.  It  lies  in  the  character  of  Banqtto  and  Mcubeth  to  see  such  specters.  Hence 
they  are  absolutely  necessary  for  the  characterization.  The  Weird  Sisters  are  beheld 
by  these  two  persons  alone,  and  it  must  be  considered  as  the  deepest  phase  of  their 
nature  that  they  behold'the  unreal  phantoms.  Both  have  the  same  temptation ;  both 
are  endowed  with  a  strong  imagination  ;  both  witness  the  same  apparition.  In  other 
words,  the  external  influences  which  impel  to  evil  are  the  same  for  both.  In  their 
excited  minds  these  influences  take  the  form  of  the  Weird  Sisters.  Such  is  the 
design  of  the  poet ;  he  thus  gives  us  at  once  an  insight  into  the  profbundest  trait  of 
their  characters.  In  no  other  way  could  he  portray  so  well  the  tendency  to  be  con- 
trolled and  victimized  by  the  imagination,  which  sets  up  its  shapes  as  actual,  and 
then  misleads  men  into  following  its  fantastic  suggestions. . . .  The  author  has  scrupu- 
lously guarded  the  reality  of  the  Weird  Sisters;  whenever  they  appear  they  are 
treated  as  positive  objective  existences.  Mark  the  fact  that  two  persons  behold  them 
at  the  same  time,  address  them,  and  are  addressed  by  them.  For  this  special  care, 
to  preserve  the  air  of  reality  in  these  shapes,  the  Poet  has  a  most  excellent  reason, 
one  that  lies  at  the  very  basis  of  Tragedy.  He  wishes  to  place  his  audience  under 
the  same  influences  as  his  hero,  and  involve  them  in  the  same  doubts  and  conflicts. 
We  too  must  look  upon  the  Weird  Sisters  with  the  eyes  of  Macbeth  and  Banquo ; 
we  may  not  believe  in  them,  or  we  may  be  able  to  explain  them — still  the  great  dra- 
matic object  is  to  portray  characters  which  do  behold  them  and  believe  in  them.  The 
audience,  therefore,  must  feel  the  same  problem  in  all  its  depth  and  earnestness,  and 
must  be  required  to  face  the  enigma  of  these  ap]>earances ;  for  a  character  can  be 
tragic  to  the  spectators  only  when  they  are  assailed  with  its  difiiculties  and  involved 
in  its  collision.  It  would  have  destroyed  the  whole  effect  of  the  Weird  Sisters  had 
their  secret  been  plainly  shown  from  the  beginning.  In  fact,  when  the  audience 
stand  above  the  hero,  and  are  made  acquainted  with  all  his  complications,  mistakes, 
and  weaknesses,  the  realm  of  Comedy  begins — ^the  laugh  is  excited  instead  of  the 
tear.    We  make  merry  over  men  pursuing  that  which  we  know  to  be  a  shadow.     To 


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Acri.sci,]  THE   TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  9 

[4.  Enter  three  Witches.] 
persons  who  can  remain  uninfluenced  by  their  imaginations  this  representation 
may  appear  ridiculous  even  in  its  present  shape.  Few  people  have,  however,  so 
much  passivity  and  so  little  poetry. — Miss  Charlotte  Carmichael  {^Academy, 
8  Feb.  1879)  traces  a  connection  between  the  Nomae  of  Scandinavian  Mythology 
and  the  present  Witches,  and  suggests  that  the  Nornae  are  three  in  number ;  so  here 
there  are  three  witches.  'Of  these,  the  Third,'  she  says,  *  is  the  special  prophetess, 
while  the  First  takes  cognisance  of  the  past,  and  the  Second  of  the  present,  in  affairs 
connected  with  humanity.  These  are  the  tasks  of  the  Urda,  Verdandi,  and  Skulda 
of  Scandinavian  Mythology.'  Here  the  First  Witch  asks  where  is  to  be  their  next 
place  of  meeting.  The  Second  Witch  decides  the  time ;  the  Third  announces  what 
is  to  be  done.  <  But  their  rOle  is  most  clearly  brought  out  in  the  famous  "  Hails."  ' 
The  1st  Witch  (  Urda— the  Past)  hails  Macbeth  by  his  former  title ;  the  2nd  Witch 
( Verdandi— ^he  Present)  calls  him  by  his  new  title ;  and  the  3d  Witch  (Skulda— the 
FtUure)  hails  him  as  what  he  shall  be.  *  The  same  order  is  observed  in  their  con- 
ference with  Banquo,  which  is  the  more  striking,  as  Shakespeare  purposely  alters  the 
order  given  by  Holinshed.  It  is  just  to  acknowledge  that  in  the  later  scenes  this  is 
less  clear :  Shakespeare  has  got  more  under  the  influence  of  his  conception.  Cer- 
tainly there  is  something  like  the  same  order  in  *Mst.  Speak.  2nd.  Demand.  3d. 
We'll  answer,"  [IV,  i,  67-69].  But  the  answers  come  not  from  their  mouths,  but 
finom  their  masters'.  There  is  nothing  diflicult  in  the  supposition  that  Shakespeare,  in 
writing  a  play  to  do  honour  to  his  new  Scotch  King,  did  not  forget  that  the  latter  had 
just  published  a  book  on  Demonologie.  But  the  new  Scotch  King  had  just  brought 
him  a  new  Danish  Queen  ;  and  it  is  likely  that  Shakespeare  knew  or  learned  some- 
what of  the  mythology  of  the  one,  to  wed  to  the  superstition  of  the  other.'  See  also 
IV,  i,  2 ;  note  by  Fleay.— T.  A.  Spalding  {Academy^  i  March,  1879,  in  reply 
to  the  forgoing  note) :  In  Act  I,  scene  i,  it  cannot  be  said  that  the  First  Witch 
says  or  does  a  thing  to  identify  her  with  Urda,  the  Past;  and  the  remarks  of 
the  Second  Witch  relate  to  the  future  rather  than  to  the  present  It  is  only  the 
Third  Witch  who  in  any  sense  justifies  the  attempt  to  thrust  the  functions  of  the 
third  Norn,  Skulda,  upon  her,  by  her  prophesy  of  the  meeting  with  Macbeth.  It  is 
true  that  when  the  meeting  actually  takes  place  the  three  Witches  do  follow  the 
chronological  order  in  their  recital  of  Macbeth' s  honours — Glamis  (in  the  past), 
Cawdor  (in  the  present),  and  King  (in  the  future) :  but,  granting  that  this  sequence, 
which  could  not  have  been  otherwise  in  any  case,  proves  anything,  it  would  appear 
that  these  Noms  only  came  out  in  their  proper  characters  upon  the  greatest  emer- 
gency, forgetting  themselves  sadly  when  off  their  guard ;  for  only  a  few  lines  before 
we  find  Urda,  whose  attention  should  have  been  solely  occupied  with  the  past,  pre- 
dicting with  some  minuteness  the  results  that  were  to  follow  her  projected  voyage  to 
Aleppo ;  and  that  without  the  slightest  indication  of  anno3rance  from  Skulda,  whose 
province  she  was  thus  invading.  Again,  in  the  prophecies  to  Banquo,  the  First 
Witch  utterly  fails  to  represent  the  past,  and  it  is  only  by  an  extreme  stretch  of 
courtesy  that  the  Second  Witch  can  be  taken  to  represent  the  present ;  certiunly  she 
does  not  do  so  any  more  than  the  First  Witch.  Doubtless  it  may  be  answered  to 
my  remarks  on  this  last  scene  [I,  iii.]  that  the  Norn  element  is  embodied  in. the 
Witch  speeches  after  the  entrance  of  Macbeth  and  Banquo,  and  the  Witch  element  is 
embodied  in  the  former  portion  of  the  scene.  Attention  is  called  to  Macbeth' s 
description  of  the  would-be  Nomae : — *  You  seem  to  understand  me  By  each  at  once 
her  choppy  finger  laying  Upon  her  skinny  lips : — You  should  be  women.  And  yet 


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lO  THE   TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH        [act  i,  sc  L 

[4.  Enter  three  Witches.] 
your  beards  foibid  me  to  interpret  that  you  are  so/  [I,  iii,  47-51]. . . .  When  it  can 
be  shown  that  choppy  fingers,  skinny  lips,  and  beards  naturally  suggest  Nomae,  then 
the  prophecies  which  immediately  follow  may  be  taken  as  coming  from  Nomae.  It 
surely  requires  the  capacity  of  a  Polonius  for  searching  after  truth  to  discover  the 
Norn  element  in  IV,  i,  where  the  Witches  say  (i)  Speak,  (2)  Demand,  (3)  We'U 
answer. . . .  The  evidence  derived  from  almost  every  line  of  the  Witch  scenes  con- 
nect them  with  the  current  belief  of  the  time  upon  the  subject  of  witchcraft. ...  It 
would  be  interesting  to  know  from  what  source  Shakespeare  derived  his  knowledge 
of  Scandinavian  mythology.  A  little  might  perhaps  be  floating  about  in  the  form 
of  tradition,  but  would  certainly  excite  only  a  feeble  interest  at  a  time  when  witch- 
craft was  causmg  so  intense  an  excitement  [Should  this  seem  to  accord  but  scant 
justice  to  a  point  of  importance,  reference  may  be  made  to  Spalding  (pp.  89- 
108),  wherein  he  has  amplified  his  remarks,  as  quoted  above,  and  added  thereto 
numerous  extracts  from  writers  contemporaneous  to  Shakespeare.] — W.  Leighton 
(Robinson^i  Epii.  of  LU,^  15  April,  1879)  :  It  has  been  often  remarked  how 
wholly  his  own  are  Shakespeare's  witches.  Comparing  them  with  Middleton's, 
which  are  able  creations,  we  comprehend  more  fully  the  majesty  and  weirdness  that 
belong  to  the  tempters  of  Macbeth.  May  it  not  be  that  the  dignity  and  peculiar 
interest  that  dothes  them  is  greatly  due  to  the  fact  that  they  are,  indeed,  the  outcries 
of  sinful  desires  in  the  human  heart,  and  that  intuitively  we  feel  something  of  this, 
however  little  we  analyze  the  poet's  art? — Irving  {^Macbeth:  Acting  Verswn,  p. 
6) :  As  regards  the  treatment  of  the  witches,  this  is,  I  believe,  the  first  time  the 
weird  sisters  have  been  performed  by  women ;  and  this  innovation — if  it  can  be 
so  called — ^is  made  in  the  same  spirit  which  has  animated  many  of  my  predecessors 
in  dramatic  management,  namely :  to  divest  Shakespeare's  witches  of  that  semi- 
comic  element  which  at  one  time  threatened  to  obscure,  if  not  to  efiiiure  altogether, 
their  supernatural  significance.  It  is  with  this  end  in  view  that  at  their  first  intro- 
duction on  the  stage  they  are  represented  as  coming  out  of  a  thunder-doud,  sug- 
gesting that  their  home  is  among  the  dark  and  tempestuous  elements  of  nature. 
— Sherman:  To  catch  the  full  dramatic  purport,  we  must  avoid  presuming  that 
this  meeting  of  the  witches  is  either  fortuitous  or  brought  to  pass  solely  on  our 
account ;  it  would  be  inartistic  for  the  author  to  require  the  one  or  the  other  assump- 
tion. The  sisters,  we  may  suppose,  are  so  agog  over  the  mischief  their  masters  have 
in  hand  that  they  have  already  met,  perhaps  more  than  once,  since  daybreak ;  and 
they  are  determining  whether  their  enthusiasm  will  warrant,  against  the  final  mo- 
ment, another  coming  together. — Ed.  ii.] 

5-15.  When  . .  .  a3rre]  Deuus  :  This  metre  (namely,  Trodiaics  of  four  accents, 
intermixed  here  and  there  with  Iambics)  Shakespeare  has  elsewhere  used  to  mark 
the  language  of  supernatural  creatures,  as  in  Temp,  and  Mui.  N,  D, 

6.  or]  Jennens  :  The  question  is  not  which  of  the  three  they  should  meet  in,  but 
when  they  should  meet  for  their  incantations. — Harry  Rowe  :  By  the  use  of  the 
disjunctive  particle  *or,*  for  the  conjunctive  andy  the  terror  of  the  scenery  is  lessened. 
Thunder  and  lightning  and  rain,  when  combined,  present  a  terrific  image ;  but  when 
separated,  they  cease  to  impress  the  mind  with  the  same  degree  of  terror. — Knight 
(ed.  ii. ) :  The  Witches  invariably  meet  under  a  disturbance  of  the  elements,  and 
this  is  clear  enough  without  any  change  of  the  original  text 

7.  Hurley-burley's]  Murray  (iV.  E,  />.):  Known  from  about  1540.  The 
phrase  hurling  and  burling  occurs  somewhat  earlier.     In  this  the  first  word  is 


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ACT  I.  sc.  i.]  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  1 1 

3.  That  will  be  ere  the  fet  of  Sunne. 

1.  Where  the  place?  lo 

2.  Vpon  the  Heath. 

3.  There  to  meet  with  Macbeth.  12 

9.     ihe\  Om.  Pope,+,  Sing.  i.  Jen.  conj.     to  meet  and  greet  Macbeth 

11.  Heath,']  heath :  C^,]^.  Jackson,     to  greet  Macbeth  Tmvcn,    to 

12.  tomeet7inthyLwchedi]/gotomeet  meet  with  thane  Macbeth  Nicholson  ap. 
Macbeth  Pope,  +  .  to  meet  with  great  Cam.  to  meet  toith  thee,  Macbeth  W.  W. 
Macbeth  Cap.     we  go  to  meet  Macbeth  Lloyd  (N.  &  Qa.  6  June,  1885). 

hailing  <  commotion^'  and  burling  seems  to  have  been  merely  an  initially-varied 
repetition  of  it,  as  in  other  reduplicated  combinations  and  phrases  which  express 
non-uniform  repetition  or  alternation  of  action.  Hurly-burly  holds  the  same  rela- 
tion to  hurling  and  burling  that  the  simple  Hurly  [commotion]  holds  to  hurling. 
But  hurly-burly  cannot,  with  present  evidence,  be  considered  as  direct  from 
hurly y  since  the  latter  has  not  been  found  before  1596.  It  is  difficult  to  estab- 
lish any  historical  contact  with  the  French  hurluberlu,  a  heedless,  hasty  person 
(Rabelais,  1535) ;  or  the  German  hurliburli,  adv.,  precipitately,  with  headlong  haste. 
Hurly-burly  as  a  noun  signifies,  uproar,  turmoil,  confusion — (Formerly  a  more  dig- 
nified word  than  now).  1539  Tavemer  Gard.  IVysed.  ii.  £ij  b,  Hys  comons  whome 
...  he  perceuyed  in  a  hurly-burly.  1571  Golding,  Calvin  on  Ps,  ix.  14^  Such  as  are 
desperate  doo  rage  with  more  hurly-burly  and  greater  head3messe. — £d.  ii. 

7.  done]  Harry  Rows  :  To  say  A  riot's  done,  A  battle's  done,  A  stonn's  done, 
is  not  very  good  English.  My  company  of  wooden  comedians  always  say  over. 
Praesente  quercu,  ligna  quivis  colligit 

9.  Sunne]  Knight  (ed.  ii.) :  We  have  here  the  commencement  of  that  system 
of  tampering  with  the  metre  of  Shakespeare  in  this  great  tragedy  which  universally 
prevailed  till  the  reign  of  the  Variorum  critics  had  ceased  to  be  considered  as  firmly 
established  and  beyond  the  reach  of  assault.  We  admit  that  it  will  not  do  servilely 
to  follow  the  original  in  every  instance  where  the  commencement  and  close  of  a  line 
are  so  arranged  that  it  becomes  prosaic ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  we  contend  that  the 
desire  to  get  rid  of  hemistichs,  without  regard  to  the  nature  of  the  dialogue,  and  so 
to  alter  the  metrical  arrangement  of  a  series  of  lines,  is  to  disfigure,  instead  of  to 
amend,  the  poet  Any  one  who  has  an  ear  for  the  fine  lyrical  movement  of  the 
whole  scene  will  see  what  an  exquisite  variety  of  pause  there  is  in  the  ten  lines  of 
which  it  consists.  Take,  for  example,  line  12,  and  contrast  its  solemn  movement 
with  what  has  preceded  it 

12.  There]  Strevens:  Had  the  First  "V^tch  not  required  information,  the 
audience  must  have  remained  ignorant  of  what  it  was  necessary  for  them  to  know. 
Her  speeches,  therefore,  proceed  in  the  form  of  interrogatories ;  but  all  on  a  sudden 
an  answer  is  given  to  a  question  which  had  not  been  asked.  Here  seems  to  be  a 
chasm  which  I  shall  attempt  to  supply  by  the  introduction  of  a  single  pronoun,  and 
by  distributing  the  hitherto  mutilated  line  among  the  three  speakers :  '3  Witch,  There 
to  meet  with—  i  Witch.  Whom  f  2  Witch,  Macbeth.'  Distinct  replies  have  now 
been  afforded  to  the  three  necessary  inquiries.  When,  Where,  and  Whom  the  Witches 
were  to  meet  The  dialogue  becomes  more  regular  and  consistent,  as  each  of  the 
hags  will  now  have  spoken  thrice  (a  magical  number)  before  they  join  in  utterance 
of  the  concluding  words,  which  relate  only  to  themselves.     I  should  add  that,  in 


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12  THE   TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH        [act  i.  sc.  L 

I.  I  come,  Gray-Malkin.  13 

AIL  Padock  calls  anon :  faire  is  foule,  and  foule  is  faire, 

13.  I  comi]  I  come,  I  come  Yap^j-^- ,  ter.  Sing,  ii,  "Wh.  Glo.  Ktly,  Fumess, 
[Spirits  call  in  succession]  Nich-        Rife.    All.   Padock  calls: — Anon/Ctip. 

olson  ap.  Cam.  et  cet 

Gray-Malkin.]  Grimalkin  Pope,+ .  14.  faire  is..."]  All.  Fair  is...  Pope,  + , 

Graymalkin  Sleev.  et  seq.  Hunter,  Sing,  ii,  Wh.  Glo.  Ktly,  Fur- 

14.  All.      Padock    calls   anon:']    2.  ness. 

Witch.    Padocke  calls — anon!  Pope,  +  ,  faire...faire'\  Sep.  line.  Pope,  et 

Dyce  ii.  Huds.  iii.    Sec.  Witch.    /W-        seq. 
dock  calls.     Third  Witch.    Anon.  Hun- 

the  two  prior  instances,  it  is  also  the  Second  Witch  who  furnishes  decisive  and  mate- 
rial answers,  and  that  I  would  give  the  words,  *  I  come,  Graymalkin  !'  to  the  Third. 
— [Fletcher  (p.  142)  :  Here  is  the  first  intimation  of  that  spirit  of  wickedness 
existing  in  Macbeth  which  developes  itself  in  the  progress  of  the  piece.  From 
this  first  moment  the  reader  or  auditor  should  be  strictly  on  his  guard  against  the 
ordinary  critical  error  of  regarding  these  beings  as  the  originators  of  Macbeth' s  crim- 
inal purposes.  Macbeth  attracts  their  attention  and^xcites  their  interest  through 
the  sympathy  which  evil  ever  has  with  evil — ^because  he  already  harbours  a  wicked 
design — because  mischief  is  germinating  in  his  breast,  which  their  interest  is  capable 
of  fomenting.  It  is  most  important,  in  order  to  judge  aright  of  Shakespeare's  meta- 
physical, moral,  and  religious  meaning  in  this  great  composition,  that  we  should  not 
mistake  him  as  having  represented  that  spirits  of  darkness  are  here  permitted  abso- 
lutely and  gratuitously  to  seduce  his  hero  from  a  state  of  perfectly  innocent  intention. 
It  is  plain  that  such  an  error  at  the  outset  vitiates  and  debases  the  moral  to  be  drawn 
from  the  whole  piece.  Macbeth  does  not  project  the  murder  of  Duncan  because  of 
his  encounter  with  the  weird  sisters;  the  weird  sisters  encounter  him  because  he 
has  projected  the  murder — ^because  they  know  him  better  than  his  rojral  master 
does,  who  tells  us,  'There  is  no  art  To  find  the  mind's  construction  in  the 
face.'  But  these  ministers  of  evil  are  privileged  to  see  'the  mind's  construction' 
where  human  eye  cannot  penetrate — in  the  mind  itself.  They  repair  to  the  blasted 
heath  because,  as  one  of  them  says  afterwards  of  Macbeth,  ^  something  wicked  this 
way  comes.' — Ed.  ii.] 

13.  Gray-Malkin]  Steevens  :  Upton  observes,  that  to  understand  this  passage 
we  should  suppose  one  familiar  calling  with  the  voice  of  a  cat,  and  another  with  the 
croaking  of  a  toad. — White  :  This  was  almost  as  common  a  name  for  a  cat  as 
<  Towser '  for  a  dog,  or  '  Bayard '  for  a  horse.  Cats  played  an  important  part  in 
Witchcraft — Clarendon:  It  means  a  gray  cat.  <Malkin'  is  a  diminutive  of 
'Mary.'  'Maukin,'  the  same  word,  is  still  used  in  Scotland  for  a  hare.  Compare 
IV,  i,  3. 

14.  Padock]  Steevens  :  According  to  Goldsmith  a  frog  is  called  a  paddock  in 

the  North  ;  as  in  Ccesar  and  Pompey^  by  Chapman,  1607,  * Paddockes,  todes, 

and  watersnakes,'  [I,  i,  20].  Again  in  Wyntownis  Crony kil,  bk.  i,  c.  xiii,  55  : 
*  As  ask,  or  eddyre,  tade  or  pade.'  In  Shakespeare,  however,  it  certainly  means  a 
toad.  The  representation  of  St  James  (painted  by  *  Hell '  Breugel,  1566)  exhibits 
witches  flying  up  and  down  the  chimney  on  brooms,  and  before  the  fire  sits  grimal- 
kin and  paddock,  i.  e.  a  cctt  and  a  toad,  with  several  baboons.  There  is  a  cauldron 
boiling,  with  a  witch  near  it  cutting  out  the  tongue  of  a  snake  as  an  ingredient  for 


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ACTi,sc.i.]  THE   TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  13 

Houer  through  the  fogge  and  filthie  ayre.  Exeunt.         15 

15.  the]  Om.  Pope,  Han.  and  fly  away.  Rowe,  +  .  Witches  vanish. 

Exeunt]  They  rise  from  the  Stage        Mai. 

the  charm. — ^Tollst  :  ' Some  say  they  (witches)  can  keepe  devils  and  spirits 

in  the  likeness  of  todes  and  cats.' — Soot's  Discovery  of  Witchcraft,  1584,  Bk,  i,  ch.  iv. 
— CoLUER :  In  the  TownUy  MiracU-Play  (Surtees  Soc,  p.  325)  we  read,  'And  ees 
oat  of  your  hede  thus-gate  shalle  paddokes  pyke.' — Halliwell  :  *  Paddock,  toode, 
bu/o.^  Prompt.  Parv.  Topsell,  Historie  of  Serpents,  1608,  [p.  187],  speaks  of  a 
poisonous  kind  of  frog  so  called. — Clarendon  :  Cotgrave  gives  the  word  as  equiva- 
lent to  grenauilUy  a  frog,  and  not  to  crapaud,  a  toad.  Minsheu  gives  also  *  Padde '  — 
Bufo.  'Paddock'  is  in  its  origin  a  diminutive  from  'pad,'  as  hillock  from  hill. 
[Topsell,  in  his  History  of  Serpents  (p.  187,  ed.  1608),  observes  that  '  This  crooke- 
backed  Paddocke  is  called  by  the  Germans  Gartenfrosch,  ...  It  is  not  altogether 
mute,  for  in  time  of  perrill . .  .  they  have  a  crying  voyce,  which  I  have  oftentimes 
prooved  by  experience.'  If  this  were  a  fact  commonly  believed  at  the  time,  may  it 
not  furnish  us  with  a  reason  for  the  hurried  departure  of  the  witches  immediately  on 
a  signal  from  their  sentry.  Paddock? — Ed.  ii.] 

14.  anon]  Nares  :  Immediately,  or  presently. — Dyce  :  Equivalent  to  the  modem 
'coming.' 

14.  All]  Hunter  (ii,  164) :  It  is  a  point  quite  notorious  that  the  stage-direc- 
tions throughout  the  Folios  are  very  carelessly  given,  and  have  been  often  silently 
corrected  by  the  later  editors.  So  carelessly  have  they  been  given  that  we  have 
sometimes  the  actor's  name  instead  of  that  of  the  character.  Now  we  have  the  three 
times  three  of  the  witches  at  Saint  John's.  [When  James  I.  visited  Saint  John's 
College,  Oxford,  he  was  encountered  by  three  youths  personating  the  three  Way- 
ward Sisters  who  had  the  interview  with  Macbeth  and  Banquo,  with  appropriate 
song  or  dialogue. — Ed.]  And  we  may  perceive  also  a  correspondency  with  the 
'Thrice  to  thine,  and  thrice  to  mine.  And  thrice  again  to  make  up  nine.' 

14.  faire  . .  .  faire]  Johnson  ;  The  meaning  is,  that  to  us,  perverse  and  malig- 
nant as  we  are,  fair  is  foul  and  foul  is  fair.  [Nashe  has  a  somewhat  similar  idea : 
*euerything  must  bee  interpreted  backward  as  Witches  say  their  Pater-noster,  good 
being  the  character  of  bad,  and  bad  of  good,'  Terrors  of  the  Night,  1594,  p.  294, 
ed.  Grosart. — Ed.  ii.  ] — Seymour  :  That  is,  now  shall  confusion  work ;  let  the  order 
of  things  be  inverted. — Staunton  :  The  dialogue  throughout,  with  the  exception  of 
'  I  come,  Graymalkin '  and  '  Paddock  calls : — anon  !'  was  probably  intended  to  be 
snng  or  chanted.  [For  'witch,'  for  'fog,'  for  'foul,'  and  for  'fair,'  compare  Spen- 
ser, Faerie  Queene,  I,  c.  ii,  v.  38,  '  The  wicked  Witch,  now  seeing  all  this  while 
The  doubtfull  ballaunce  equally  to  sway,  What  not  by  right,  she  cast  to  win  by 
guile ;  And,  by  her  hellish  science,  raisd  streight  way  A  f(^gy  mist  that  overcast  the 
day.  And  a  dull  blast  that  breathing  on  her  face  Dimmed  her  former  beauties  shin- 
ing ray.  And  with  foule  ugly  forme  did  her  disgrace ;  Then  was  she  fayre  alone, 
when  none  was  faire  in  place.'  Farmer  pointed  out  that  the  phrase  '  fair  and  foul ' 
seems  to  have  been  proverbial,  and  quotes  from  the  Faerie  Queene  another  passage 
in  the  Fourth  Book :  'Then  fair  grew  foul  and  foul  grew  fair  in  fight.'  It  is,  of 
course,  impossible  to  say  now  from  what  copy  Farmer  quoted ;  although  the  main 
part  of  the  line,  as  given  by  him,  is  found  in  the  Fourth  Book,  canto  viii,  verse  32, 
yet  the  last  word  is  sight,  not '  fight.'  Grosart,  in  his  edition  of  the  Faerie  Queene, 
line  289,  has  not  there  noted  any  such  variant  as  '  fight.'     Doubtless  the  long/occa- 


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14  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH       [act  i,  sc.  iL 


Scena  Secunda. 


Akamm  wUkut,    Enter  King  Malcamej  Donald  2 

iaine,  Lenox,  ivitk  attendants  ,  meeting 
a  bleeding  Captame. 

Eng.    What  bloody  man  is  that?  be  can  report,  5 

As  fcfnirtb  by  his  plight,  of  the  Reuolt 

Al^boe.  Rowe.    Tlie  Bdaoe  at        Djce,  Cam.  Wli.iL  King  Doncui,  Gtp. 
Fori&   Tlnolk     A  Camp  near  Fores.        cCceL 

CapLCtseq.  4.  Captaioe.]  Rowe,+,  CoILn.   Ser- 

a.  AkivM  vidun.]  Ohu  Rove,  +.  s^ant.  GIol  Dyoe  ii,  io.    Seyton  woond- 

Kiifj    King,    Fi;+.      DuMsn,        cd.  DaT.'74.     Soldier.  Cap.  ct  ceL 

5.  King.]  Do.  C8p.clsa). 


skned  Fanaer's  cmr,  vhidi  cnor  was  fiutblaUj  copied  in  all  die  subsequent  Van- 
oraaa  Edteoas  down  to  and  indoding  that  of  1821. — ^Eo.  n.] 

15.  HoQCr]  AnoTT  ^$466)  :  Tbe  v  in  this  woid  is  soAeaed;  and  aldKmg^  it 
wmj  seen  dttoah  for  Bodem  readers  to  nndentand  how  it  oonld  be  dooe,  yet  it 
piiJ<j(U  no  Bore  Afioltj  dian  die  dropping  of  die  v  m.  ever  or  tftwr. 

15.  ajre]  Elwdc  :  This  brief  dialogoe  of  die  witches  is  a  series  of  ctmgraim' 
imiwy  e^mntSmtims^  and,  bronght  to  die  height  of  ecstasy,  they  exnhingly  pro- 
claim thcBseKcs  snch  as  take  gmd  fir  evil  mmd  evii  fir  gwmd;  for  die  phzase 
*Fair  is  fodU*  etc  indndes  this  aaoral  sense,  in  additioo  to  its  literal  refer- 
cane  to  the  Aa^iftwii  wemAer^  as  being  propidons  (sach  was  the  bdief  of 
the  liMe)  to  works  of  witi^crait  The  last  line  bat  one  [bne  14],  miere 
Ae  er.'hswmtijm  An*«aiifi  ^tmerm£^  is  designedhr  made  of  great  lengdi,  indenting 
Aat  it  is  spoken  wi^  breadiless  lapiditT,  sigaincatrre  of  the  howling  ddir- 
■■■  of  triaa^ih  iaio  whidi  die  speakeis  aie  wrcvght  by  &e  sonnds  &at  haw 
SBiBtooaMd  theai,  and  by  the  expectancy  awakened  by  the  oonse  and  character 
of  dKsr  coUoqay.  whilst  the  last  line  is  bronght  into  amsoa  wi^  it  by  an  exultant 
of  &e  coodnding  woid  mir  ^as  fin-  as  die  exhalatxm  of  a  foll-diawn 
will  penait'^  to  sait  dK  tootioB  of  ascending  lato  iL  The  ■axkiii  drrision 
of  Ak  one  line  into  two  tancs  down  the  coacepti.^  of  die  iiihnt  by  efrfreWing  the 
expression  of  this  aatmal  increase  of  wicked  excitcjntniL — [Shi&mak  :  The  neantng 
in^J^ed  aa^r  be  thai  the  Third  Witch,  who  seea^  the  aost  pofeent  and  ak»e  utters 
a^  prophecy  ,cf  L  9  and  I,  ni»  55^*  wiU  not  go  ahnnd  firoaa  the  place  o^  battle  till 
Macheth*s  Tvctory  is  complete*  Slie  alone  ■altr  no  report  «t  the  opening  of  the 
T^urdSccM^ — Kd.  iL] 

L  Scc«n  Sccnndn]  See  A/f^mJix-  TV  fri£,^~J.  Colimax  yGemUewimm's 
JMt|:w^  3ilaidk  iSSq"^:  *AaKft$r«t  the  xenic  efiects  of  Keas*s  icvival  of  Mmcteti 
«t  tihe  Friaccss^s  Theatre.  1  recaU  wtth  pteasare  Daacaa^s  caaip  «t  Foires.  The 
scene  was  dfacoyeied  in  n^ght  and  $aknce«  a  conpte  of  sems^savage  anned  kerns 
were  ««  ganid^  pvowtiog  to  and  fro  with  stealAy  steps.     A  < 

r  In  ieplT«  aMMher,  and  yet  anodber ;  a  rcti  of  Ak 


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ACT  I.  sail]         THE   TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  15 

The  neweft  (late.  7 

Mai.    This  is  the  Serieant^ 
Who  like  a  good  and  hardie  Souldier  fought 
'Gainft  my  Captiuitie :  Haile  braue  friend ;  lO 

Say  to  the  King,  the  knowledge  of  the  Broyle,     * 

8,9.    Serieant  „.  Who  ,., good'\  ser-  Waib. 
jeani^  who  Like  a  right  good  Hbiu  ll,  the    knowledge^     thy    kmmUdgi 

8.  StrUanf\  sergednt  Ktly.  Walker,    Coll.    (MS),    Wh.    i,    Ktly, 

10.  HaiWl  Haile:  Haile  F,.    Haile^  Dyce  ii,  iii,  Huds.  iii.    your  knowledge 

Haile  FjF^,  Rowe,  Pope,  Thcob.  Han,  Gould. 

In  an  instant  the  whole  camp  was  alive  with  kerns  and  gallowglasses,  who  circled 
roand  the  old  king  and  the  princes  of  the  blood.  The  Bleeding  Sergeant  was  carried 
in  upon  a  litter,  and  the  scene  was  illuminated  with  the  ruddy  glare  of  burning  pine- 
knots.'  Kerns  and  gallowglasses  were,  however,  of  Macdonwald's  forces,  not  Dun- 
can's.— Ed.  ii. 

2.  Holinshed  was  Theobald's  authority  (see  Text.  Notes)  for  placing  this  scene  at 
Fores.  *  It  fortuned  as  Mackbeth  and  Banquho  ioumeid  towards  Fores,  where  the 
king  then  late,'  . .  .  etc. — Ed.  ii. 

5.  bloody]  BoDXNSTEDT :  This  word  *  bloody '  reappears  on  almost  every  page, 
and  nins  like  a  red  thread  through  the  whole  piece  ;  in  no  other  of  Shakespeare's 
dramas  is  it  so  frequent 

8.  Serieant]  Steeyens:  Holinshed  mentions,  in  his  account  of  Macdowald's 
rebcUion,  that  the  king  sent  a  sergeant  at  arms  to  bring  up  the  chief  offenders  to 
answer  the  charges  preferred  against  them ;  but  the  latter  misused  and  slew  the 
messenger.  This  sergeant  at  arms  is  certainly  the  origin  of  the  bleeding  sergeant 
here  introduced.  Shakespeare  just  caught  the  name  from  Holinshed,  but  disregarded 
the  rest  of  the  story. — Singer  :  In  ancient  times  they  were  not  the  petty  officers  now 
distinguished  by  that  title,  but  men  performing  one  kind  of  feudal  military  service,  in 
rank  next  to  esquires. — Staunton  :  Sergeants  [at  Armes,  servientes  ad  Arma]  were 
fiormerly  a  guard  specially  appointed  to  attend  the  person  of  the  king ;  and,  as  Min- 
sheu  says,  '  to  arrest  Traytors  or  great  men,  that  doe,  or  are  like  to  contemne  messen- 
gers  of  ordinarie  condition,  and  to  attend  the  Lord  High  Steward  of  England,  sitting 
in  judgement  upon  any  Tray  tor,  and  such  like.' — Clarendon  :  It  is  derived  from 
the  French  sergent,  Italian  sergente^  and  they  from  Lat.  serviens.  So  we  have  g  for 
V  in  pioggia^  abriger^  alleggiare,  alUger^  etc.  It  originally  meant  a  common  foot- 
soldier. — Walker  (  Vers.  182)  :  In  this  line,  if  nothing  be  lost,  the  e  in  ' sergeant' 
is  pronounced  as  a  separate  syllable.    [Thus  Keightley,  see  Text.  Notes. — Ed.  ii.] 

9.  10.  Who  .  .  .  friend]  Walker  ( Crit.  iii,  250) :  One  might  suggest  *  Hail, 
my  brave  friend  I'  But  a  somewhat  lesser  alteration  may  suffice  to  restore  the 
metre,  by  ccmmiencing  the  second  line  'Fought  against,'  etc.  Or  can  anjrthing 
be  k>st? 

10.  Haile]  Abbott  (§  484) :  Monosyllables  containing  diphthongs  and  long 
vowels,  since  they  naturally  allow  the  voice  to  rest  upon  them,  are  often  so  emphasized 
IS  to  dispense  with  an  unaccented  syllable.  When  the  monosyllables  are  imperatives 
of  verbs,  or  nouns  used  imperatively,  the  pause  which  they  require  after  them  renders 
them  peculiarly  liable  to  be  thus  emphasized.  Whether  the  word  is  disyllablized, 
or  merely  requires  a  pause  after  it,  cannot  in  all  cases  be  determined. 


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l6  THE   TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH       [act  i,  sc.  iL 

As  thou  didfl  leaue  it.  12 

Cap.     Doubtful!  it  ftood, 
As  two  fpent  Swimmers,  that  doe  cling  together, 
And  choake  their  Art :  The  mercileffe  Macdonwald  15 

(Worthie  to  be  a  Rebell,  for  to  that 
The  multiplying  Villanies  of  Nature 
Doe  fwarme  vpon  him)  from  the  Wefteme  Ifles  18 

I3»  3I»  42.  Cap.]   Rowe,  +  ,  Coll.  ii.  Far  the  two  armies  were  Id.  conj. 
Sergeant    Glo.    Dyce    ii,    iii.     Soldier  14.  two]  to  Warb. 

Cap.  et  oet.  15.  Macdonwald]      Macdonnel     Ff. 

13.  Doubtfuil]  Doubtful  long  Voipe,  Macdonel  Pope,  +  ,  Cap.  Macdonal 
+  .     Doubtfully  Steev.  Johns, 

it]  it  had  Anon.  ap.  Cam.  17.  Villanies]  Villaines  TJ^y 

flood]    Line   Om.    Ktly.   stood. 

12,  13.  As  . . .  stood]  Abbott  (§  506) :  Lines  with  four  accents,  where  there  is 
an  interruption  in  the  line,  are  not  uncommon.  It  is  obvious  that  a  syllable  or  foot 
may  be  supplied  by  a  gesture,  as  beckoning,  a  movement  of  the  head  to  listen,  or 
of  the  hand  to  demand  attention. 

13-15.  Doubtfull  .  ,  .  Art]  Dkighton  :  The  simile  here  is  somewhat  confused, 
and  as  this  scene  is  universally  believed  to  be  mutilated,  something  may  have  fallen 
out.  But  the  general  meaning  is  fairly  dear.  The  issue  of  the  battle  for  some  time 
remained  doubtful ;  for  as  two  swimmers,  whose  strength  is  spent,  by  clinging  to 
one  another,  and  thus  making  each  the  other's  skill  useless,  Ipth  perish,  so  these 
opposed  hosts,  in  the  fierce  embrace  of  battle,  seemed  likely  to  throttle  each  other 
and  both  to  be  exterminated. — Ed.  ii.  ^ 

13-26.  Doubtfull  .  .  .  Slaue]  G.  Sarrazin  {Englische  Studien^  xxi,  2,  i^S)  : 
Compare  Kyd  (Spanish  Tragedy)^  *In  all  this  turmoil,  three  long  hours  and  more. 
The  victory  to  neither  part  indin'd  Till  Don  Andrea  . .  .  made  so  great  a  breach.* — 
Haz.  Dods.  p.  13. — Ed.  ii. 

14.  spent]  Jennens:  *Tis  probable  Shakespeare  wrote  *  Xpert,  cutting  off  the  e  to 
make  it  measure.  Spent  can  here  have  no  meaning ;  for  the  simile  is  drawn  from 
two  persons  swimming  for  a  trial  of  their  skill,  and  as  they  approach  near  the  goal, 
they  are  supposed  to  cling  together  and  strive  to  hinder  each  other  in  their  progress ; 
an  operation  inconsistent  with  their  being  tired  and  spent^  but  well  agreeing  with 
their  being  expert  in  their  art. 

15.  Art]  Clarendon  :  That  is,  drown  each  other  by  rendering  their  skill  in 
swimi^i^  useless.  <  Choke  *  was  andently  used  of  suffocation  by  water  as  well  as 
by  other  means.  See  Mark,  v,  13  :  « The  herd  ran  violently  down  a  steep  place  into 
the  sea  .  .  .  and  were  choked  in  the  sea.' 

15.  Macdonwald]  Steevens:  Holinshed  has  MacdowaJd. — Malone:  So  also 
the  Scottish  Chronicles.  Shakespeare  might  have  got  the  name  from  Holinshed* s 
account  of  the  murder  of  King  Duff  by  Donwald. 

16.  to  that]  Abbott  (§  186) :  The  radical  meaning  of  <  to  *  is  motion  towards. 
Hence  addition.  Further,  motion  *  with  a  view  to,*  '  for  an  end,*  etc.  This  is,  of 
course,  still  common  before  verbs,  but  the  Elizabethans  used  *  to  *  in  this  sense  before 
nouns.     In  the  present  case  *  For  to  that  *  =  to  that  end. 


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ACTi.scii.]        THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  ly 

Of  Kernes  and  Gallowgrofles  is  fupplyM, 

And  Fortune  on  his  damned  Quarry  fmiling,  20 

19.  O/^  WiiA  Han.  20.  damned  Quarry']  damned  quarrel 

GaUawgroJfes\  GaUowglafes  Ff.  Johns.  Mai.  Var.  Hal.  Dyce,  Wh.  Ktly, 

gaUoTvglasses  Steev.  et  seq.  (subs.)  Cam.  Huds.  iii.    damped  quarry  Jack- 

is\  was  Pope,  +  .  son. 

19.  Of]  Abbott  (§  171) :  We  still  retain  *  of  *  with  verbs  of  construction  and  adjec- 
tives of  fulnessy  but  the  Elizabethans  retained  0/  with  verbs  of  fulness  also,  as  in  the 
present  instance. — Clarendon  :  Compare  Bacon  (Advancement  of  Learning,  Bk. 
iiy  22,  §  15),  *  He  is  invested  of-  a  precedent  disposition.* 

19.  Kernes]  Murray  {N,  E.  D,)i  K  light  armed  Irish  foot-soldier ;  one  of  the 
poorer  class  among  the  '  wild  Irish,'  from  whom  such  soldiers  were  drawn;  (Some- 
times applied  to  Scottish  Highlanders.)  Stanyhurst  divides  the  followers  of  an  Irish 
chief  into  five  classes — daltins  or  boys,  grooms,  kerns,  gallowglasses,  and  horsemen. 
Dymmok,  1600,  Ireland  (1843),  7:  The  kerne  is  a  kinde  of  footeman,  sleightly 
armed  with  a  sworde,  a  taigett  of  woode,  or  a  bow  and  sheafe  of  arrows  with  barbed 
heades,  or  els  3  dartes.  (^.)  In  collective  sense;  originally  a  troop  or  band  of 
Irish  foot-soldiers.  (Obsolete.)  T.  Stafford,  1633,  Pac.  Hib.  I,  iv.  (1810),  58:  John 
Fltz  Thomas  accompanied  with  one  hundred  Kerne. — Ed.  ii. 

19.  GallowgTOsses]  Murray  (N,  E.  D,);  Irish  and  Gaelic  gall-ogldch^  from 
gall,  foreigner,  stranger,  and  dgldch,  youth,  warrior.  The  etymologically  correct 
form,  galloglagh,  appears  later  than  the  erroneous  galloglass,  which  was  probably  the 
result  of  the  plural,  gallogla(gh)s ;  in  some  early  instances  galloglas  seems  to  be 
nsed  as  a  plural,  but  galloglcuses  is  found  already  in  our  earliest  quotation  :  r  1515. 
State  Papers  Henry  VI IL  (1834),  II,  5,  500  sperys,  500  galloglasseis,  and  looo 
kerne:  (i.)  One  of  a  particular  class  of  soldiers,  or  retainers,  formerly  maintained 
by  Irish  chiefs.  Dynmiok,  1600,  Ireland  (184^)9  7  :  The  Galloglass  are  pycked  and 
scdected  men  of  great  and  mightie  bodies,  crewell  without  compassion.  Holland, 
Camden^ s  Brit,,  16x0,  II,  1 47 :  Souldiers  set  in  the  rere  gard,  whom  they  terme  Gallo- 
glasses,  who  fight  with  most  keene  hatchets. — Ed.  ii. 

19.  is]  LRttsom  (tf/.  Dyce,  ed.  ii.) :  Read,  with  Pope,  was ;  the  corruption  was 
caused  by  '  Do  '  just  above. 

20, 27.  his . . .  Which]  C.  W.  Hodell  {Poet-Lore,  Vol.  xiii,  No.  2, 1901)  :  If  these 
two  words  refer  to '  Fortune '  in  both  cases,  then  no  change  in  the  text  is  necessary.  The 
success  of  the  battle  stood  in  doubt.  The  rebel  Macdonwald  was  so  well  supplied  with 
men  that  Fortune  seemed  to  smile  on  Fortune's  fated  Quarry,  looking  as  if  she  loved 
the  rebel  and  was  his  favoring  lady,  yet  only  seeming  so ;  for  Macbeth,  disdaining 
Fortune  and  holding  to  force,  like  Valour's  minion  instead  of  Fortune's,  carved  out 
his  passage  through  all  these  men,  and  faced  this  slave  of  Fortune,  which  never 
showed  any  sign  of  abandoning  him,  of  shaking  hands  with  him,  or  saying  good- 
bye, so  sudden  was  the  stroke  that  undid  him,  till  Macbeth  unseamed  him  from 
Nave  to  Chops,  etc.  It  is  admitted  that  the  gender  of  Fortune  changes  with  truly  . 
Elizabethan  swiftness  of  metaphor  in  line  20,  and  that  the  antecedents  of  the 
'which,'  the  'he's,'  and  'him's,'  in  lines  27-29,  are  unconsecutive,  and  are  to  be 
read,  despite  confusion,  in  the  light  of  the  context.  . . .  The  idea  of  compelling  a 
deceitful  fortune,  brought  forward  thus  in  this  first  scene,  is  a  significant  confinna- 
tion  of  a  dramatic  habit  of  Shakespeare  to  introduce  at  the  threshold  of  the  action 
a 


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l8  THE   TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH       [act  i,  sa  ii. 

Shewed  like  a  Rebells  Whore :  but  all's  too  weake :  21 

21.  a  RebeUs\  the  rebeVs  Han.  21.  aWs\  all  Pope,  +  ,  Lettsom. 

the  master-idea  prevalent  throughout  the  play.  Certainly,  in  Macbeth  the  dash  of 
force  with  Fortune  and  the  deceitfulness  of  Fortune's  favors  are  not  alone  prominent 
in  these  words  of  the  Sergeant,  but  elsewhere  also. — £d.  ii. 

20.  Quarry]  Johnson  :  I  am  inclined  to  read  quarrel^  which  was  formerly  used 
for  cause  or  for  the  occasion  of  a  quarrel. — Steevens  :  Quarrell  occurs  in  Holins- 
hed's  relation  of  this  very  fact,  and  may  be  regarded  as  sufficient  proof  of  its  having 
been  the  term  here  employed  by  Shakespeare.  [' .  .  .for  out  of  the  western  Isles 
there  came  vnto  him  a  great  multitude  of  people,  offering  themselves  to  assist  him 
in  that  rebellious  quarrell,  and  out  of  Ireland  in  hope  of  the  spoile  came  no  small 
number  of  Kernes  and  Gallowglasses.' — Ed.  ii.]  Besides,  Macdonwald's  quarry 
(f .  e,  game)  must  have  consisted  of  DuncarCs  friends^  and  would  the  speaker  then 
have  applied  the  epithet  'damned'  to  them? — Malonb:  Again  in  this  play,  IV, 
iii,  154,  «our  warranted  quarreP;  the  exact  opposite  of  *  damned  quarrel,^ — Bos- 
well  :  It  should  be  recollected,  however,  that  quarry  means  not  only  game,  but 
also  an  arrow,  an  offensive  weapon.  We  might  say  without  objection  <  that  Fortune 
smiled  on  a  warrior's  sword  J — Dyce  :  This  note  of  Boswell's  would  almost  seem 
to  have  been  written  in  ridicule  of  the  conunentators. — Heath  :  Quarry  here  means 
the  slaughter  and  depredations  made  by  the  rebel.  Thus  in  IV,  iii,  241,  'Were,  on 
the  quarry  of  these  murder* d  deer,'  etc. — Dyce  :  If  the  passage  in  IV,  iii,  241,  is  to 
be  considered  as  parallel  with  the  present,  and  '  his  quarry '  means  *  the  slaughter 
and  depredations  made  by  the  rebel,*  must  we  not  understand  '  the  quarry  of  these 
murder* d  deer  *  to  mean  '  the  quarry  made  by  these  murder* d  deer*? — Knight  :  We 
conceive  that  quarry  is  the  word  used  by  Shakespeare.  We  have  it  in  the  same  sense 
in  CorioL  I,  i,  202  ;  the  *  damned  quarry  *  being  the  doomed  army  of  kernes  and  gal- 
lowglasses,  who,  although  fortune  deceitfully  smiled  on  them,  fled  before  the  sword 
of  Macbeth  and  became  his  quarry — his  prey.  [In  support  of  Knight's  interpreta- 
tion of  <  damned*  in  the  sense  of  doomed,  compare  Adam  Bell,  Clime  of  the  Goughe, 
and  William  ofCloudslee,  line  183.  (Bishop  Percy's  Folio  Manuscript,  edited  by  Hales 
and  Fumivall,  v.  iii,  p.  82),  'Qoudslee  is  tane  &  damned  to  death  and  readye  to  be 
hanged.' — Ed.  ii.  J — Dyce  :  How,  on  earth,  could  *  his  *  mean  Macbeth' s  f  Surely, 
it  must  have  escaped  Knight  that  the  name  of  Macbeth  has  not  yet  been  mentioned  in 
this  scene  /  Singer  (^Shakespeare  Vindicated,  250)  is  also  a  defender  of  the  old  lec- 
tion :  '  The  epithet  *'  damned^'*  is  inapplicable  to  quarrel  in  the  sense  which  it  here 
bears  of  condemned  *  (which  I  am  convinced  it  does  not  bear  here).  Collier  himself 
says  that  quarry  *  gives  an  obvious  and  striking  meaning  much  more  forcible  than 
quarrel.*  The  note  by  Collier  ad  I,,  to  which  Singer  approvingly  refers,  is  ^Bis 
damned  quarry,  i.  e.  His  army  doomed,  or  damned,  to  become  the  *< quarry**  or 
prey  of  his  enemies,'  as  forced  an  explanation  as  well  can  be,  for  <  his  quarry ' 
could  only  signify  His  own  quarry  or  prey. — Elwin  :  Fortune  smiled,  not  upon 
Macdonwald's  quarry,  which  would  necessarily  denote  his  foe,  but  upon  his  quar- 
rel  only ;  and  the  deceitful  smile  that  she  thus  bestowed  upon  an  illegal  cause  calls 
forth  the  aptly  opprobrious  epithet  that  is  applied  to  her.  No  explanation  can  justify 
the  denomination  of  Macdonwald's  axmy  as  his  own  quarry, — Collier  (Note  on 
CorioL  I,  i,  202)  :  < Quarry'  generally  means  a  heap  of  dead  game,  and  BuUokar, 
in  his  English  Expositor  (as  quoted  by  Malone),  161 6,  says  also  [s.  v.  QiKarrif.— ed. 


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ACT  I.  sc.  ii.]         THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  19 

For  braue  Macbeth  (well  hee  deferues  that  Name)  22 

Difdayning  Fortune,  with  his  brandifht  Steele, 

Which  fmoakM  with  bloody  execution 

(Like  Valours  Minion)  caru'd  out  his  paflage,  25 

22-25.  Mad>eth ...  cartid'\  Macbeth^  25.  Like  Valours  Minion]   Separate 

lUe  VaIo$tf's  minion —  Well  he  deserves  line,  Steev.  Var.  Sing,  ii,  Dyce,  Walker, 

that  nanu-~disdaining  Fortune,  With  Sta.   Line  marked  defective,  Ktly.   Om. 

his  brandished  steel,  Which  smoked  with  Mitford  ap.  Cam. 

Uoody  execution,  carved  Uoyd  (N.  &  caru'd]  carved  Rowe  ii,  et  seq- 
Qn.  29  Jane,  1889). 

1621]  that :  '  Among  hunters  it  signifieth  the  reward  giuen  to  Houndes  after  they 
hane  hnnted,  or  the  Venison  which  is  taken  by  hunting.' — Clarendon  :  Fairfiu,  in 
his  trandation  of  Tasso's  Gerusalemme  Liberata,  uses  'quarry'  as  well  as  quarrel 
for  the  square-headed  bolt  of  a  cross-bow. 

21.  Shew*d]  Malone  :  The  meaning  is  that  Fortune,  while  she  smiled  on  him, 
deceired  him. — Ritter  :  Compare  King  John,  III,  i,  56.  Because  Fortune  dallied 
with  the  rebels  Macbeth  disdained  her,  and  conquered  not  by  her  aid,  but  as  valour's 
minion. 

21.  aU's  too  weake]  Hunter  :  It  should  be  all-too-weak,  an  old  idiom  expiring 
m  the  time  of  Shakespeare ;  that  is.  Fortune  was  all-too-weak,  a  connection  which 
is  lost  in  the  present  reading.  [Compare  Middleton :  A  Mad  World  My  Masters, 
1608,  Act  V,  sc  i,  « Sir  Bounteous.  Well  there's  a  time  for't.  For  all's  too  little 
now  for  entertainment.' — ^Ed.  ii.] — R.  G.  White:  As,  'a  certain  Woman  cast  a 
piece  of  millstone  upon  Abimelech's  head,  and  all-to  brake  his  scull.' — Judges,  ix, 
53. — Clarendon  :  We  should  have  expected  *  all  was  too  weak.'  The  abbreviation 
for  was  is  not  used  elsewhere  by  Shakespeare,  nor  does  the  use  of  the  historic  pres- 
ent, preceded  and  followed  by  past  tenses,  seem  at  all  probable.  Pope  cut  the 
knot.  [See  Text.  A^e^w.]— [Murray  (AT.  E.  /?.):  7.  With  adverbs  of  degree,  all 
gives  emphasis,  —  Quite,  altogether,  as  ail  so,  all  to,  Chaucer,  Hall  of  Fame, 
'Dido  .  . .  That  loued  alto  sone  a  gest,'  1.  288.  Holinshed,  1587,  Scot,  Chron, 
(1806),  II,  175 :  'The  King  ...  did  send  forth,  but.  all  too  late,  Andrew  Wood.* 
a  Hen.  IV:  V,  ii,  24 :  '  Our  Aigument  Is  all  too  heavy  to  admit  much  talke.' — 
Sec  Bartlett's  Concordance,  s.  v,  <A11  too,'  for  other  examples.  In  regard  to 
the  passage  horn  Judges,  quoted  by  R.  G.  White,  Skeat  {Diet.)  has:  'In  the 
phrase  all-to  brake.  Judges,  ix,  53,  there  is  an  ambiguity.  The  proper  spelling  in 
earlier  English  would  be  al  tobrak,  where  al  is  an  adverb,  signifjring  "utterly," 
and  tobrak  the  third  person  singular  past  tense  of  the  verb  tobreken,  to  break  in 
pieces;  so  that  al  tobrak  means  "utterly  brake  in  pieces."  The  verb  tobreken  is 
common;  cf.  **All  is  tobroken  thilke  regioun,"  Chaucer,  Canterbury  Tales,  2759.' 
—Ed.  it] 

25.  Like  .  .  .  Minion]  Mitford:  We  consider  'Disdaining  fortune'  and 
*like  valour's  minion'  to  be  two  readings  of  the  same  line.  The  latter  was 
written  on  the  margin  opposite  to  that  line,  and,  by  the  blunder  of  the  printer, 
was  inserted  below.  We  also  think  this  marginal  reading  to  be  Shakespeare's 
second  and  better  thought,  and  that  it  ought  to  stand  in  the  place  of  *  Disdaining 
foitane.' 


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20  THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH        [act  i,  sc.  ii. 

Till  hee  facM  the  Slaue :  26 

Which  neu'r  fliooke  hands,  nor  bad  farwell  to  him, 

Till  he  vnfeam'd  him  from  the  Naue  to  th' Chops,  28 

26,27.   Till.„hands]  7W  he  outfaced  ii,  Cam.    W4<7  «^^  Pope,  + .   And  ne'er 

the  slave^  nor  ^er  shook  hands  Moberly  Cap.   Steev.   Sing.   Dyce  ii,  Huds.  iii, 

conj.  ap.  Cam.  Mull.      When   he  ne'er  Nicholson  ap. 

26.  heel  ^  ^^  Pop^y  Theob.  Han.  Cam. 

Warb.  Cap.  27.  Jhooke  hands']  slacked  hand  Bul- 

Slaue  .•]  A  line  Om.  Ktly.  sUrve^  loch. 
with    Vengeance  at  his  side  Id.   conj.  bad]    bid   F^,    Rowe,  +  .      bade 

then  laid  on  nor  ceased  Mull.  Var.  '78,  et  seq. 

27.  Which  net^r]  r,F3.    Which  never  28.  JSTaue]  nape  Han.  Warb. 

F^,  Rowe  i,  Ktly.     Which  n^er  Rowe  Chops]  chaps  Var.  '03,  et  seq. 

26.  Till  .  .  .  Slaue]  Elwin  (p.  iii.)  :  The  abrupt  curtness  of  a  verse  brings  the 
recital  to  a  sudden  check,  where  the  progress  of  the  combatant  is  temporarily  arrested 
by  the  opposition  of  a  potent  foe ;  graphically  imaging  this  phase  of  the  action  re- 
counted, and  indicating  the  fitting  pause  to  be  there  observed  by  the  narrator. — 
Abbott  (§  511)  :  Single  lines  with  two  or  three  accents  are  frequently  interspersed 
amid  the  ordinary  verses  of  five  accents.  In  the  present  instance  this  irregular  line 
is  explained  by  the  haste  and  excitement  of  the  speaker.  This  is  also  illustrated  by 
line  49  in  this  same  scene.  [Has  not  Abbott  overlooked  the  fact  that  Rowe,  not 
Shakespeare,  is  responsible  for  this  short  line  (49)  of  only  three  accents  ?  See  Text, 
Notes^  1.  49. — Eo.  ii.] 

27.  Which  neu'r  shooke  hands]  Dyce  (ed.  i.):  If  <  Which'  be  right,  it  is 
equivalent  to  Who  (i.  e.  Macbeth). — Id.  (ed.  ii.) :  'Which '  was  evidently  repeated, 
by  a  mistake  of  the  scribe  or  compositor,  from  the  commencement  of  the  third  line 
above. — Clarendon  :  There  is  some  incurable  corruption  of  the  text  here.  As  the 
text  stands  the  meaning  is,  Macdonwald  did  not  take  leave  of,  nor  bid  farewell  to, 
his  antagonist  till  Macbeth  had  slain  him.  For  '  shake  hands  *  in  this  sense,  com- 
pare Lyl/s  Enpkuis^  p.  75,  ed.  Arber:  'You  haue  made  so  large  profer  of  your 
seruice,  and  so  faire  promises  of  fidelytie,  that  were  I  not  ouer  charie  of  mine  hon- 
estie,  you  woulde  inueigle  me  to  shake  handes  with  chastitie.'  But  it  is  probable 
that  some  words  are  omitted,  and  that  'Macbeth'  is  the  antecedent  to  'Which.' — 
[Sherman  :  The  text  perhaps  is  mutilated,  though  something  may  be  charged  to 
the  shambling  and  ambitious  manner  of  the  sergeant. — Ed.  ii.] 

28.  Naue]  Warburton:  We  seldom  hear  of  such  terrible  blows  given  and 
received  but  by  giants  and  miscreants  in  Amadis  de  Gaule.  Besides,  it  must  be  a 
strange,  awkward  stroke  that  could  unrip  him  upwards  from  the  navel  to  the  chaps, 
Shakespeare  certainly  wrote  nape, — Harry  Rowe:  I  should  have  been  sorry  if 
any  of  my  puppets  had  used  '  nave '  for  nape.  The  rage  and  hatred  of  Macbeth 
(odium  intemecinum)  is  here  finely  depicted  by  his  not  shaking  hands  with  Mac- 
donel,  or  even  wishing  him  '  farewell  *  when  dying. — Steevens  :  The  old  reading  is 
certainly  the  true  one,  being  justified  by  a  passage  in  Dido^  Queene  of  Carthage^  by 
Nash,  1594:  'Then  from  the  nauell  to  the  throat  at  once  He  ript  old  Priam,'  [11.  554, 
555>  «d'  Grosart — Ed.  ii.] .  So  likewise  in  an  ancient  MS  entitled.  The  Boke  ofHunt- 
yngthat  is  cleped  Mayster  of  Game,  cap.  v. :  '  Som  men  haue  sey  hym  slitte  a  man  fro 
the  kne  up  to  the  brest^  and  slee  hym  all  starke  dede  at  o.strok.* — Kemble  (Macbeth 
and  Richard  the  Third,  1817,  p.  16)  :  That  wounds  may  be  thus  inflicted  is  clear 


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ACT  I,  sc.  ii.]         THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  2 1 

And  fixM  his  Head  vpon  our  Battlements, 

King,     O  valiant  Coufin,  worthy  Gentleman.  30 

Cap.     As  whence  the  Sunne  'gins  his  refle6lion, 
Shipwracking  Stormes,  and  direful!  Thunders  : 
So  from  that  Spring,  whence  comfort  feem'd  to  come, 
Difcomfort  fwells  :  Marke  King  of  Scotland,  marke,  34 

31.  ^gins'\  gins  Yi,  gives  Pope,  Han.  32,  TTiunders  .*]    Thunders  breaking 
reJUifiion]  rejiection  F,.   reflexion        Ff,  Rowe.      thunders  break   Pope,  et 

Var.  Mai.  Steev.  Var.  cet. 

32.  Shipwracking"]  Rowe,  Pope,  34.  Difcomfort  fwells:]  Discomfort 
Theob.  i,  Knt,  Sing,  ii,  Wli.  Ship-  swelVd  Pope,  +  .  Discomfort  welPd 
wrecking  Theob.  ii,  et  cet  Thirlby  (Nich.  Litt.  111.  ii,  228).     Dis- 

Shipwracking...  Thunders]  Burst  comforts  weir d  ]o\ms.  Discomfit  well* d 
forth  shiprufrecking  storms  and  direful  Warb.  Discomfort  wells  Cap.  Discom- 
tkunders  Anon.  ap.  Cam..  fort  swells  Var.  '73,  et  cet. 

on  the  authority  of  a  very  ancient  and  of  a  very  modern  writer :  *  Vedi  come  stor- 
piato  ft  Maometto :  Dinanzi  a  me  sen*va  piangendo  Ali,  Fesso  nel  volto  dcU  menlo 
dufettoJ*  Dante,  Inferno,  canto  xxviii,  v.  31.  Charles  Ewart,  sergeant  of  the  Scots 
GrcjTS,  in  describing  his  share  in  the  battle  of  Waterloo,  thus  writes  in  a  letter  dated 

Rouen^June  \%thy  1815  :  * after  which  I  was  attacked  by  one  of  their  lancers, 

who  threw  his  lance  at  me,  but  missed  the  mark,  by  throwing  it  off  with  my  sword 
by  my  right  side ;  then  /  cut  him  from  the  chin  upwards,  which  went  through  his 
teeth,'  etc— 7^  Battle  of  Waterloo,  etc.  By  a  Near  Observer,  1816.— Maginn 
(Shakespeare's  Papers,  p.  172) :  If  we  adopt  Warburton's  emendation  the  action  could 
hardly  be  termed  unseaming ;  and  the  wound  is  made  intentionally  horrid  to  suit  the 
diaracter  of  the  play. — Clarendon  :  This  word  is  not  found,  so  far  as  we  know,  in 
any  other  passage  for  navel.  Though  the  two  words  are  etymologically  connected, 
their  distinctive  difference  of  meaning  seems  to  have  been  preserved  from  very  early 
times,  nafu  being  Anglo-Saxon  for  the  one,  and  nafel  for  the  other.  Steevens's 
citation  from  Nash  gives  great  support  to  the  old  reading. 

30.  Cousin]  Clarendon  :  Macbeth  and  Duncan  were  first  cousins,  being  both 
grandsons  of  King  Malcolm.  [*  After  Malcolme  succeeded  his  nephue  Duncane,  the 
Sonne  of  his  daughter  Beatrice :  for  Malcolme  had  two  daughters,  the  one  which 
was  this  Beatrice,  being  giuen  in  marriage  vnto  one  Abbanath  Crinan,  a  man  of  great 
nobilitie,  and  thane  of  the  Isles  and  west  parts  of  Scotland,  bare  of  that  marriage 
the  aforesaid  Duncane ;  The  other  called  Doada,  was  maried  vnto  Sinnell,  the  thane 
of  Glanmiis,  by  whom  she  had  issue  one  Makbeth,  a  valiant  gentleman,'  etc. — Holins- 
^</.— Ed.  ii.] 

31.  Sunne]  Singer  (ed.  ii.)  :  The  allusion  is  to  the  storms  that  prevail  in  spring, 
at  the  vernal  equinox — the  equinoctial  gales.  The  beginning  of  the  reflection  of  the 
»n  (Cf.  *  So  from  that  Spring  * )  is  the  epoch  of  his  passing  from  the  severe  to  the 
mildest  season,  opening,  however,  with  storms. 

31.  'g^s]  Capell  (ii,  3)  :  This  word  is  us'd  for  the  purpose  of  insinuating  that 
storms  in  their  extreamest  degree  succeed  often  to  a  dawn  of  the  fairest  promise  ;  for 
in  that  chiefly  lyes  the  aptness  of  his  similitude. 

32.  Walker  {Crit.  iii,  250) :  Perhaps  burst  would  be  better  [than  Pope's  change]. 
Or  was  the  word  threat? 


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22  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH       [act  i»  sc.  ii. 

No  fooner  luilice  had,  with  Valour  ann'd,  35 

CompellM  thefe  skipping  Kernes  to  tnift  their  hedes, 
But  the  Norweyan  Lord,  furueying  vantage, 
With  furbulht  Armes,  and  new  fupplyes  of  men. 
Began  a  frelh  aflault 

King.    Difmay'd  not  this  our  Captaines,  Macbeth  and  40 

Banquoh'i 

Cap.    Yes,  as  Sparrowes,  Eagles ; 
Or  the  Hare,  the  Lyon  :  43 

35.  kad^  wUKl  had  with  F^.  Two  lines  endii^,  tMs ...  Yes  Pope,  et 
56.  KerHei\    herwus  Johns,      kems        oeL 

Han.  40.  CapiaiMei\     capiaims    twain    S. 

58.  furhu/kf^fw^Uht  Rowe, + «  Jur-  Walker. 

lnsKd\9i.  *73,  et  scq.  Madieth]  brtnte   Macbeth    Han. 

40.  Di/mayd...tkis  our\  Dismayed...  Cap. 

This  our  KUy.  42,  43.  as...LyeH'\  Ff,  Rowe.     One 

40,  41.   Difmayd  ...  Banqnoh]     Ff  line.  Pope,  et  ceL   (Beginning  line  Yes 

(Banqoo  F,F^)   Rowe,   Knt,   Sing.    iL  Knt,  Sing.  IL) 

34.  swells]  Elwin  :  The  word  <  stonns'  in  the  preceding  line  suggests  the  idea 
of  a  spring  that  had  brought  only  comfort,  swelling  into  a  destructive  flood. — Clar- 
endon :  '  Swells '  seems  the  best  word,  indicating  that,  instead  of  a  feitiliang  stream, 
a  desolating  flood  had  poured  from  the  ^ning. 

36.  skipping]  Clarendon  :  An  epithet  appropriate  enough  to  the  rapid  move- 
ment of  the  light  aimed  kems. 

40,  41.  Dismay'd  . . .  Banquoh]  Douce  (i,  369) :  Shakespeare  had,  no  doobt, 
written  capitaynes^  a  common  mode  of  spelling  in  his  time. — ^Knight  :  This  line  is 
an  Alexandrine — a  Terse  constantly  introduced  by  Sfaakeq>eare  for  the  production  of 
variety. — Elwin  :  The  Alexandrine  is  here  introduced  to  soit  the  slackened  delivery 
of  dqection,  in  opposition  to  the  mcMre  rapid  exclamation  of  joyous  admiration  to 
which  Duncan  has  just  before  given  utterance,  whilst  it  at  the  same  time  denotes 
(for  to  preserve  the  full  music  it  must  be  spoken  without  stop)  that  the  anxiety  of 
the  speaker  forbids  him  to  pause  in  his  question. — ^Walker  (Crit.  iii,  171)  :  Possibly 
<  Our  raptftin«  twotH^*  etc. ,  or  we  should  end  line  40  with  '  captains.'  Was  captain 
ever  prcmonnced  as  a  trisyllable — capitain — ^in  that  age,  except  by  such  as,  like 
Spenser,  affected  old  forms  ? — Lettsom  {Foot-note  to  foregoing  )  :  It  would  seem  so 
from  the  following :  *  The  king  may  do  much,  captain^  believe  it.' — Beanmont  and 
Fletcher,  King  and  No  King,  IV,  iii.  *  Captain  Pufl",  for  my  last  husband's  sake,' 
etc. — Ram  AUey,  III,  i.  *  Hold,  captain  !  What,  do  you  cast  your  whelps  ?' — Ihid. 
[The  following  Lettsom  iumished  to  Dyce  (ed.  ii.)]  :  '^  sent  for  you,  and,  cap- 
tain,  draw  near.' — Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  Fcdtkfid  Friends,  III,  iii.  'I  hear 
another  tune,  good  captain* — Fletcher's  Island  Princess,  II,  iii.  *  Sirrah,  how  dare 
you  name  a  captain  f — Shirley's  Gamester,  IV,  i. 

42,  43.  Yes  . . .  Lyon]  Elwin  :  These  lines  are  intended  to  signify,  in  dieir 
division  in  the  Ff,  the  failing  powers  of  the  speaker,  who  lingers  upon  each  idea, 
and  pauses  painfully  in  his  speech,  until  he  is  newly  aroused  to  |:reater  vivacity  by 


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ACT  i,.sa  ii.]         THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  23 

If  I  fay  footh,  I  muft  report  they  were 

As  Cannons  ouer-charg'd  with  double  Cracks,  45 

So  they  doubly  redoubled  ftroakes  vpon  the  Foe : 

Except  they  meant  to  bathe  in  reeking  Wounds, 

Or  memorize  another  Golgotha^  48 

45.  ouer-charg^ d  wUK\  overcharged;  Qa. 

znih  Theob.  Han.     charged  with  Sey-  46.  So  ihey\  Separate  line,  Var.  Mai. 

moor  (reading  As„Jhey  as  one  line).  Ran.  Steev.  Var.  Sing,  i,  Dyce,  Cam. 

cvercharg*d  with  Rowe,  et  cet  They  so  Ktiy  conj. 

Cracks\   cretckes  F,Fj.      eraeks;  doubly^  Om.  Pope,  +  . 

Cap.  et  seq.  (subs.)  vpon]  on  Ff,  Rowe,  Cap. 

45,  46.  As  ...  they]   One   line,   Glo.  47.  reeking]  recking  F,Fj. 

the  warlike  character  of  his  own  images,  which  infuse  into  him  a  momentary  strength, 
in  the  exercise  of  which  he  faints. 

45.  oaer-charg*d]  Keightley  :  We  might,  but  not  so  well,  perhaps,  read  o'er- 
charg'd.  [Keightley  prints  so  they  as  tlie  last  syllables  of  a  lost  line.] — Abbott 
($  511) :  This  may  be  an  instance  of  a  short  line.  But  more  probably  we  must 
scan  :  *  As  cdnnons  |  o'erchdrged  |  .' 

45.  Cracks]  Johnson:  That  a  'cannon  is  charged  with  thunder,'  or  *with 
doable  thunders,'  may  be  written,  not  only  without  nonsense,  but  with  elegance, 
and  nothing  else  is  here  meant  by  '  cracks,'  which  in  Shakespeare's  time  was  a  word 

of  such  emphasis  and  dignity  that  in  this  play  he  terms  the  general  dissolution  ^ftni^ 
nature  the  *  crack  of  doom.' — Malone  :  In  the  old  play  of  King  John^  1591,  it  is      t 

applied,  as  here,  to  ordnance :  ' as  harmless  and  without  effect  As  is  the      t 

echo  of  a  cannon's  crack^^  [p.  62,  ed.  Bowie. — Murray  {N.  £,  D,):  To  make  a 
sharp  or  explosive  sound  (said  of  thunder  or  a  cannon  (chiefly  dialectic) ^  a  rifle,  a 
whip,  etc.).  Lay,  1875,  c  1205  :  *  Banes  ther  crakeden.'  Cursor  Mundi,  3568, 
(Gdtt),  a  1300:  <  His  heued  bigines  for  to  schake  .  .  .  And  his  bonis  for  to  crac.' 
Ywaine  6j*  Gawaine,  370,  c.  1400  :  *  The  thoner  last  gan  crak.'  Burton,  Anat,  of 
Mel.^  II,  ii,  !▼,  285 :  '  Aurum  fulminans  which  shall  .  . .  crack  lowder  then  any 
gunpowder.' — Ed.  iL] 

46.  doubly  redoubled]  Steevens  :  We  have  the  phrase  in  Hich,  II:  I,  iii,  80. 
From  the  irr^ularity  of  the  metre,  I  believe  we  should  read  (omitting  *So  they'), 
•  Doubly  redoubling,'  etc — Walker  {jCrit.  iii.  250) :  I  suspect  *  doubly'  is  an  inter- 
polation. It  reminds  me  of  the  wretched  old  Hamlet  of  1603  :  *  Shee  as  my  chylde 
obediently  obey'd  me.*  *  For  here  the  Satyricall  Satyre  writes,'  etc. — Lettsom  : 
Note  the  following  similar  examples,  for  which,  I  presume,  we  may  thank  compos- 
itors :  Hen,  V:  IV,  i,  268,  *  great  greatness.'  Dumb  Knight^  II,  i,  *  our  high  height 
of  bliss.'  Shiriey,  Coronation^  IV,  i,  <  great  greatness '  (here  the  metre  demands  the 
expulsion  of  great), — Ritter  :  Compare  Much  Ado,  I,  i,  16,  •  better  bettered  expec- 
tation.' 

46.  So  . .  .  Foe]  R.  G.  White  :  The  halting  rhythm  of  the  first  part  of  this 
line,  its  two  superfluous  syllables,  and  the  unmitigated  triplication  of  '  double,'  lead      "^i 
me  to  think  that  the  greater  part  of  a  line  has  been  lost,  of  which  in  '  so  they'  vf^"^^ 
have  only  the  first  two  or  last  two  syllables. 

48.  memorize]  Heath  :  That  is,  make  another  Golgotha,  which  should  be  cele- 
brated and  delivered  down  to  i>osterity  with  as  frequent  mention  as  the  first. 


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24  T//E  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH        [act  i,  sc.  iL 

I  cannot  tell :  but  I  am  faint. 

My  Gafhes  cry  for  helpe.  50 

King.   So  well  thy  words  become  thee,  as  thy  wounds, 
They  fmack  of  Honor  both :  Goe  get  him  Surgeons. 

Enter  Rojfe  and  Angus.  5  3 

49,  50    I,.,teU.„helpe\  Two  lines,  the  52.  After    Surgeons,      Exeunt   some 

first  ending  tell  Rowe  et  seq.  with   the   Soldier.    Cap.     Exit  Soldier 

49.  tell :'\  tell —  Rowe,  Pope,  Theob.         attended.  Mai.  et  seq.  (subs.) 

Warb.  Johns.  Cam.  Ktly.     telL—  Coll.  53.  Enter  Rofle  and  Angus.]  Enter 

Wh.  i.     tell.  Glo.  Wh.  ii.  Macduff,  (after line  57)  Dav..*74,  Booth. 

50.  helpe,'\  kelp —  Rowe,  Pope,  Enter  Ross,  (after  line  54)  Cap.  Cam. 
Han.  i.  Wh.  ii.   (After  line  57)  Dyce,  Sta.  Ktly. 

50.  helpe]  Coleridge  (p.  240)  :  The  style  and  rhythm  of  the  captain's  speeches 
should  be  illustrated  by  reference  to  the  interlude  in  Hamlety  in  which  the  epic  is 
substituted  for  the  tragic,  in  order  to  make  the  latter  be  felt  as  the  real-life  diction. 
In  Macbeth  the  poet's  object  was  to  raise  the  mind  at  once  to  the  high  tragic  tone, 
that  the  audience  might  be  ready  for  the  precipitate  consummation  of  g^lt  in  the 
early  part  of  the  play. 

51.  So  well  .  .  .  wounds]  G.  Sarrazin  {Englische  Studien,  xxi,  2,  1895) : 
Compare  Kyd,  Spanish  Tragedy y  'These  words,  these  deeds  become  thy  person 
well.* — Haz.  Dods.  p.  15. — Ed.  ii. 

3.  Enter  Rosse  . .  .]  Libby  :  The  Thane  of  Ross,  though  a  subordinate  char- 
acter, is  more  important  than  has  yet  been  shown  :  he  b  not  merely  loquacious  and 
weak,  but  an  ambitious  intriguer ;  a  man  of  some  ability,  but  no  moral  worth ;  a 
coward,  spy,  and  murderer.  Daniel  and  others  have  pointed  out  the  fact  that  Ross 
tells  utterly  different  stories  in  si>eaking  to  Duncan  and  in  relating  to  Macbeth  what 
he  had  already  said  to  the  king.  No  editor  has  offered  any  explanation  of  this  fact. 
Angus  was  present  on  both  occasions  and  must  have  heard  the  inconsistent  stories 
of  Ross.  [F.  A.  Libby,  in  an  ingenious  and  carefully  worked  out  h3rpothesis,  has 
endeavored  to  show  that  Ross  is  the  real  source  of  all  the  villainy  in  the  Tragedy. 
It  is  he  who,  in  complicity  with  Macbeth  and  Banquo,  ruined  Cawdor,  an  upright 
and  honourable  thane.  It  is  Ross  who  is  the  actual  murderer  of  Banquo,  through 
jealousy  of  Banquo' s  influence  as  first  adviser  to  Macbeth.  That  third  mysterious 
Murderer  is  thus  again  dressed  <in  borrowed  robes.'  It  is  Ross  who  is  Macbeth' s 
agent  in  the  murder  of  Lady  Macduff  and  her  family.  Then,  seeing  Macbeth*  s 
power  on  the  wane,  Ross  goes  to  England  and  throws  in  his  lot  with  Malcolm  solely 
because  he  considers  that  it  is  the  most  politic  way  for  him  to  act,  and  through  no 
love  of  Malcolm.  *  He  returns  with  the  Prince,  sees  Macbeth  defeated,  and  as  a 
reward  of  endless  treachery  is  made  an  earl,  escaping  immediate  punishment  that 
the  Fates  may  torture  him  later,  in  which  he  resembles  lago,  whom  he  also  resem- 
bles in  many  respects.'  Libby* s  notes  in  support  of  his  interpretations  of  the 
characters  of  Ross  and  Cawdor  will  be  found  under  the  passages  to  which  they 
directly  refer. — Ed.  ii.] 

53.  Rosse  and  Angus]  Steevens  :  As  Ross  alone  is  addressed,  or  is  men- 
tioned, in  this  scene,  and  as  Duncan  expresses  himself  in  the  singular  number,  as 
in  line  59,  Angus  may  be  considered  as  a  superfluous  character.  Had  his  present 
appearance  been  designed,  the  king  would  naturally  have  taken  some  notice  of  him. 


well 

acte 
wea 


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ACT  I,  sc.  ii.]  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  2$ 

Who  comes  here  ? 

Ma/.     The  worthy  TAane  of  Roffe*  55 

Lenox.     What  a  hafte  lookes  through  his  ^y^s  ? 
So  fliould  he  looke,  that  feemes  to  fpeake  things  ftrange. 

Roffe.     God  faue  the  King. 

King.     Whence  cam'ft  thou,  worthy  Thane  ? 

Rojfe.     From  Fiffe,  great  King,  60 

54.  Whol   But  who  Pope,  +  ,   Cap.         lines,  ending /A7>&...>h'ff^/  Han.  et  cet. 
Who  i^t  Steev.  conj.  57.  feefn€s\  comes  Coll.  ii,  iii,  Ktly. 

here  /]  here  now  ?  Ktly.  seeks  or  deems  Anon.  ap.  Cam. 

56.  a  hafte'\  haji  Yi.    ^af/^Rowe,  +  ,  58.  Roffe]      Macduff     (throughout) 

Cap.  Walker,  Dyce  ii,  iii,  Huds.  Fur-  D'Av.  '74,  Booth. 

ness.  60-62.  From,,.cold.'\  Two  lines,  the 

57,58.  So...King\  Ffj  +  j  Johns.  Knti,  first  ending  banners  (reading  Did  flout) 

Coll.  Sing.  ii,Sta.Wh.  Del.  KUy.    Two  Ktly. 

— Malone  :  In  Sc.  iii.  Aiigus  says,  « We  are  sent.* — Elwin  :  That  the  whole  atten- 
tion of  Duncan,  Malcolm,  and  Lennox  should  remain  so  engrossed  in  Rosse,  who 
first  enters  and  first  attracts  it  by  his  tale  as  to  make  them  unobservant  of  the  pres- 
ence of  Angus,  serves  to  show  the  intense  interest  which  possesses  them. 

55.  Thane]  Clarendon  :  From  the  Anglo-Saxon  *  thegen,*  literally,  a  servant, 
and  then,  technically,  the  king's  servant,  defined  to  be  'an  Anglo-Saxon  nobleman, 
inferior  in  rank  to  an  eorl  and  ealdorman*  (Bosworth).  Ultimately  the  rank  of 
thegn  became  equivalent  to  that  of  eorl. 

56.  haste]  Walker  (Crit,  i,  ^) :  An  instance  where  *a'  is  interpolated  in  F,.— 
Dyce  :  No  doubt  *  a  *  is  rightly  omitted  in  F,.     See  Jul.  Cas,  I,  iii,  42. 

57.  should]  Abbotf  (§  323) :  Should^  the  past  tense,  not  being  so  imperious  as 
shai/f  the  present,  is  still  retained  in  the  sense  of  ought,  appljring  to  all  three  persons. 
In  the  Elizabethan  authors,  however,  it  was  more  commonly  thus  used,  often  where 
we  should  use  ought.     See  also  I,  iii,  49,  and  V,  v,  35. 

/      56,  57.  LiBBY  (see  note  on  1.  53) :  Contrast  this  sarcastic  introduction  with  the 

i  welcome  received  by  the  truthful  sergeant  Lennox  tells  us  that  the  warlike  courage 
of  Ross  is  in  the  expression  of  his  eyes.  He  comes  up,  not  covered  with  blood  from 
honourable  warfare,  but  fidl  of  a  startling  story.     '  Seems  *  is  precisely  the  word  to 

I  show  his  insincere  loquacity.    The  presence  of  the  sergeant  has  a  marked  effect  upon 

I  the  ^eech  of  Ross. — Ed.  ii. 

57.  seemes]  Johnson  :  Shakespeare  undoubtedly  said  teems,  i.  e.  like  one  big 
with  something  of  importance. — Heath  (p.  376)  :  That  app>ears  to  be  upon  the 
point  of  speaking  things  strange. — Collier  (* Notes,*  etc.):  If  the  objection  to 
*  seems*  be  not  hjrpercritical,  it  is  entirely  removed  by  the  old  annotator,  who 
assures  us  that  comes  has  been  misprinted  'seems'  (spelt  seemes  in  the  Folios). 
Ross  certainly  came  <to  speak  things  strange,*  and  on  his  entrance  looked,  no 
donbt,  as  if  he  did. — Singer  ( Text  of  Shakespeare  Vtnd.) :  *  Seems*  may  be  received 
in  its  usual  sense  of  *  appears.' — Collier  (ed.  ii. ) :  It  is  hardly  intelligible  unless  we 
suppose  it  means  seems  to  come. — Staunton  :  Compare  I,  v,  30. — Keightley  : 
Collier's  MS  corrector  reads,  I  think,  rightly.  We  can  hardly  take  *to  speak*  in 
the  sense  of  about  to  speak. — Bailey  (ii,  21) :  Conf.  parallel  passage  in  /  Henry 


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26  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH       [act  i,  sc.  iL 

Where  the  Norweyan  Banners  flowt  the  Skie,  6i 

And  fanne  our  people  cold. 

Norway  himfelfe,  with  terrible  numbers,  63 

61,  62.  JUmt,,.fanne\flouted,,.fantC d  self  Theob.  Han.  Waib.  Cap.   Norway^ 
Moberiy  conj.  himself ^  Johns.  Var.  '73. 

62,  63.  And,,,numberSj'\  Lines  end  63.  terrible']  treble  A.  Gray  (N.  & 
hitnfelfe  ...  numbers^  Walker,   Sing,  ii,  Qu.  28  Ap.  1888). 

Glo.  Dyce  ii,  Fumess,  Rife.  terrible  numbers^  numbers  terri- 

63,  Norway  himfelfe^]  Norway^  him-        ble^  Pope,  + ,  Cap. 

numbers f]  numbers^  there  Ktly. 

IV :  III,  ii,  162. — ^Clarendon  :  Whose  appearance  corresponds  with  the  strange- 
ness  of  his  message.     For  the  general  sense,  compare  Rich,  //.*  Ill,  ii,  194. 
I       60-76.  LiBBY  (see  note  on  1.  53) :  This  long  speech  gives  token  of  careful  prep- 
'  aration :  it  is  framed  with  the  perfect  subtlety  of  the  thorough  intriguer.    So  skilfully 
are  the  names  of  Cawdor  and  Norway  mixed  in  it  that  at  a  single  reading  it  is  impos- 
sible to  say  which  statements  refer  to  the  foreign  king  and  which  to  the  Scotch  Thane. 
There  is  little  doubt  that  Duncan  believes  lines  66-70  to  refer  to  a  combat  between 
Macbeth  and  Cawdor  :  Ang^us,  however,  takes  these  lines  as  referring  in  a  general 
way  to  Norway  and  his  forces  (see  I,  iii,  124-127).   If  any  proof  of  this  were  needed, 
it  might  be  had  by  placing  in  brackets  all  that  really  refers  to  Cawdor  ( '  assisted  by 
that  most  disloyal  traitor,  the  thane  of  Cawdor ' )  and  reading  the  speech  without  it 
When,  however,  Duncan  exclaims,  '  Great  happiness,'  Ross  knows  he  has  taken  his 
words  to  mean  that  Cawdor  was  overcome,  and  he  resumes  his  speech  by  naming 
'Sweno,  the  Norways  King'  fully,  which  he  would  never  have  done  if  Duncan 
had  taken  the  preceding  lines  to  refer  to  this  same  Sweno.     Is  it  possible  to  suppose 
I  that  Ross  would  here  mention  Sweno  elaborately  if  he  had   not  been  deceiving 
I  Duncan  and  Angus  by  speaking  ambiguously  in  the  lines  before? — Eo.  ii. 

61.  flowt]  M alone:  In  King  John^  V,  i,  72:  ^Mocking  the  air,  with  colours 
idly  spread.*  The  meaning  seems  to  be,  not  that  the  Norweyan  banners  proudly 
, insulted  the  sky,  but  that,  the  standards  being  taken  by  Duncan's  forces,  and  fixed 
in  the  ground,  the  colours  idly  flapped  about,  serving  only  to  cool  the  conquerors 
instead  of  being  proudly  displayed  by  their  former  possessors. — Anon.  :  Gray  has 
borrowed  this  thought,  and  even  the  expressions  in  the  lines  of  both  plays,  Macbeth 
and  Kir^  John^  in  his  Ode  The  Bard,  [In  a  note  on  the  line  in  King  John^  which 
he  has  above  quoted,  Malone,  in  his  own  edition,  points  out  the  similarity  of  thought 
between  this  passage  in  Macbeth  and  the  opening  lines  of  Gray's  Ode. — Ed.  ii.] — 
Elwin  :  Rosse,  like  the  sergeant,  describes  the  previous  advantages  of  the  rebels  in 
the  present  tense,  in  order  to  set  the  royal  victory  in  the  strongest  light  of  achieve- 
ment The  Norweyan  banners  flout  or  insult  the  sky,  whilst  raised  in  the  pride  of 
expected  victory.  It  refers  to  the  bold  display  of  lawless  ensigns  in  the  face  of 
heaven,  *  And  fan,'  etc.  is  metaphorically  used  for  chill  them  Tvith  apprehension, — 
Keightley  :  Both  sense  and  metre  require  *  Did  flout,'  etc.  The  battle  was  over 
and  the  enemy  was  defeated. — Clarendon  :  *  Flout  the  sky'  seems  better  suited  to 
the  banners  of  a  triumphant  or  defiant  host 

63.  numbers]  Staunton  :  Pope's  transposition  is  prosodically  an  improvement 
— Clarendon  :  It  is  impossible  to  reduce  many  lines  of  this  scene  to  regularity 
without  making  unwarrantable  changes. 


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Acri,scii.]         THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  27 

Aflifted  by  that  moft  difloyall  Traytor,  64 

The  Thane  of  Cawdor,  began  a  difmall  Conflidl, 

Till  that  Belloncls  Bridegroome,  lapt  in  proofe,  66 

65.  began\^ganYQ'^y>f,         ' 

64.  Assisted]  Clarendon  ;  Nothing  is  said  by  Holinshed  of  the  thane  of 
Cawdor's  having  assisted  the  Norwegian  invaders.— [Chalmers  (CaUdania,  i,  415)  : 
At  the  end  of  this  century,  [900  A.  D.],  Maolbrigid,  the  Prince,  or  Maormar,  of 
Moray,  had  the  difficult  task  of  defending  his  country  against  the  Norwegian  vikings. 
. . .  Maolbrigid  was  succeeded  by  his  son  Gilcomgain  in  the  arduous  government  of 
Moray.  .  .  .  Engaged  in  civil  war  with  Malcolm,  Gilcomgain  was  killed  in  1032. 
The  Maormars  of  that  age,  when  they  rebelled,  could  only  forfeit  for  themselves : 
the  clans  possessed  privileges  which  precluded  the  king  from  appointing  a  Maormar 
for  them  without  their  own  consent :  hence  the  clans  were  ever  forward  to  revenge 
the  death  of  their  Maormar  and  protect  the  rights  of  his  issue.  From  those  several 
traits  of  real  history  arose  the  singular  story  :  that  the  thane  of  Moray  was  forfeited^ 
and  that  Macbeth  was  apj>ointed  Thane,  [Macbeth  married  the  widow  of  Gilcom- 
gain, the  Lady  Gmoch.]  The  rebellion  of  Gilcomgain  was  obviously  the  origin  of 
w\mX  is  said  of  *  that  most  disloyal  traitor,  the  thane  of  Cawdor,'  who  was  con- 
deomed  and  his  title  given  to  Macbeth ;  and  hence,  Moray,  in  its  largest  extent,  is 
made  the  scene  of  the  several  events  in  the  drama  till  the  thane  of  so  many  districts 
acquired  the  crown. .  . .  The  titles  of  Glamis  and  Cawdor  were  borrowed  by  Boece 
from  thanedoms  of  more  recent  origin ;  the  former  in  Angus ;  the  latter  in  Moray. 
—Ed.  n.] 

65.  Cawdor]  See  line  77. 

66.  Bellona's  Bridegroome]  E.  Litchfield  {N.  dr*  Qu,y  10  Sept  1892) :  The 
captain  ends  his  account  of  the  battle  against  Macdonal  and  a  lord  of  Norway,  in 
which  both  Macbeth  and  Banquo  were  generals,  which  battle  was  fought  near  Inver- 
ness ;  then  Ross  arrives  and  reports  on  another  victory  in  Fife.  Therefore,  Bel- 
lona's bridegroom  was  not  Macbeth — ^he  could  not  be  in  two  places  at  once.  The 
meaning  is  until  Mars  (or  the  fortune  of  war),  all  armed  and  in  their  favor,  confronted 
the  traitor. — Ed.  ii. 

66.  Bridegroome]  Henley  :  This  passage  may  be  added  to  the  many  others 
which  show  how  little  Shakespeare  knew  of  ancient  mythology. — Steevens  :  He 
might  have  been  misled  by  Holinshed,  who,  p.  567,  speaking  of  Henry  V^  says : 
'  He  declared  that  the  Goddesse  of  battell,  called  Bdlonoy  etc.  Shakespeare,  there- 
fore, hastily  concluded  the  Goddess  of  War  was  wife  to  the  God  of  it — Harry 
RowE:  Suidas  is  not  blamed  for  calling  Aristotle  'Nature's  Secretary.' — DoucE: 
Shakespeare  has  not  called  Macbeth,  to  whom  he  alludes,  the  God  of  War,  and 
there  seems  to  be  no  great  impropriety  in  poetically  supposing  that  a  warlike  hero 
might  be  newly  married  to  the  Goddess  of  War. — Kemble  :  Shakespeare  calls  Mac- 
beth himself  Bellona^s  Bridegroom,  as  if  he  were,  in  fact,  honoured  with  the  union, 
of  which  Rosse,  in  his  excessive  admiration,  paints  him  worthy.  [See  Brown  (Auto- 
biog.  Poems)  to  the  same  effect. — Ed.] — Clarendon  :  The  phrase  was,  perhaps,  sug- 
gested to  the  writer  by  an  imperfect  recollection  of  Virgil's  j^neui,  iii,  319,  *  Et 
Bellona  manet  te  pronuba.' 

66.  proofe]  Steevens  :  That  is,  defended  by  armor  of  proof.     [Compare  First 


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28  THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH        [act  i,  sc.  iL 

Confronted  him  with  felfe-comparifons,  (y*j 

Point  againfl  Point,  rebellious  Arme  'gainft  Arme, 

Curbing  his  lauifh  fpirit :  and  to  conclude, 

The  Viflorie  fell  on  vs.  70 

King.     Great  happineffe. 

Rojfe.     That  now,  Sweno^  the  Norwayes  King,  72 

,      67.  compari/ans]    caparisons  Daniel,  72,  73.     That  ...  compofition :'\    Two 

Huds.  iii.  lines,  ending  now,.,  compofition ;Vzx. 

68.  Point,  rebeiiious  Armi\YiyKowty         *78,  '85,  Mai.  Var.  Ran.  Cam. 

Pope,  Knt,  Coll.  Sing,  ii,  Wh.  i,  Del.  72.    That  now... the  Norwayes^  No%v 

Hal,     point  rebellious y  arm  Theob.   et  Norway's  (reading  now... compofition  as 

cct.  one  line)  Pope, +  . 

69.  and'\  Om.  Pope,  + .  Norwayes']  Norway's  Ff,  + ,  Var. 
70-72.   The...now\    One    line,    Glo.  '73,    Kdy.       Norways'    Var.    '78,    et 

The.. .us; — ...  happiness!      That  now        cet. 
Ktly,  Huds.  iii. 

Part  of  Jeronimoy  1605  :  *•  Roger o.     Art  thou  true  valiant?   hast  thou  no  coat  of 
proof  Girt  to  the  Loins?'  p.  390,  Haz.  Dods. — Ed.  ii.] 

67.  him  .  .  .  comparisons]  Warburton  :  That  is,  Macbeth  gave  Norway  as 
good  as  he  brought,  showed  he  was  his  equal. 

67.  comparisons]  Capell  (Notes,  ii,  3) :  Meeting  him  at  equality ;  equal  arms, 
equal  valour. 

68.  Point]  Knight  :  We  think,  with  Tieck,  that  the  comma  is  better  after  this 
word  than  after  *  rebellious.* — Clarendon  :  If  the  old  punctuation  be  right,  *  rebel- 
lious,' being  applied  to  the  arm  of  the  loyal  combatant,  must  be  taken  to  mean 
'  opposing,  resisting  assault.'  But  '  rebel '  and  its  derivatives  are  used  by  our  author 
almost  invariably  in  a  bad  sense,  as  they  are  used  now. 

69.  lauish]  Clarendon  :  That  is,  prodigal,  unbounded  in  the  indulgence  of 
•passion,  insolent.  A  *  lavish  spirit '  corresponds  nearly  to  the  Greek  Kop6q,  Com- 
pare 2  Hen.  IV:  IV,  iv,  64. 

72.  That  now]  Elwin  :  There  is  no  rest  in  the  sense  at  •  now.*  The  division  of 
ideas  is  at  '  king '  [as  in  the  Folios].  Rosse  first  defines  the  person,  and  then  tells 
his  act.  Besides,  he  designedly  isolates  the  concluding  phrase,  *  craves  composition,' 
and  bestows  upon  it  a  prolonged  and  trii^phant  emphasis,  in  order  to  announce  the 
declaration  of  submission  with  full  effect. — Abbott  (§  283) :  So  before  that  is  very 
frequently  omitted,  as  in  this  instance.  Compare  I,  vii,  12;  II,  ii,  10;  II,  ii,  33; 
IV,  iii,  9 ;  IV,  iii,  96. 

72.  Sweno]  Steevens  :  The  irregularity  of  the  metre  induces  me  to  believe  that 
Sweno  was  only  a  marginal  reference,  thrust  into  the  text,  and  that  the  line  originally 
read,  *  That  now  the  Norways'  king  craves  composition.'  Could  it  have  been  neces- 
sary for  Rosse  to  tell  Duncan  the  name  of  his  old  enemy,  the  king  of  Norway  ? — 
Clarendon  :  There  is  near  Forres  a  remarkable  monument  with  runic  inscriptions, 
popularly  callcid  *  Sweno' s  stone,'  and  supposed  to  commemorate  the  defeat  of  the 
Nor%ve|Tiftns. 

72»  Norwayes]  Clarendon  :  Perhaps  we  should  read,  the  Nonvay  king.  .So  in 
Fairfax  ;   Tiuso^  Bk.  v,  st.  57,  Gemando  is  called  *  the  Norway  prince.' — Abbott 


k 


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ACT  I,  sc.  u.]         THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  29 

Craues  compofition :  73 

Nor  would  we  deigne  him  buriall  of  his  men, 
Till  he  disburfed,  at  Saint  Colmes  ynch,  75 

Ten  thoufand  Dollars,  to  our  generall  vfe. 

King.     No  more  that  Thane  of  Cawdor  (hall  deceiue  ^^ 

75.  Colmes   ynch'\   Colmes  hill  Ff.  Dyce  i.     ColnWs-inch  Dyce  ii.     Colme's 

ColmeS'kill'isU    Pope,    Theob.    Warb.  inch  Cam.  Wh.  ii.     Colmei  inch  Var. 

Johns.     Colmkilisle  Han.     Colmes  hill  '73,  et  cet 
Cap.      Colmes  inch  Mai.      Colmes-inch 

(§  433) '  A  participle  or  adjective,  when  used  as  a  noun,  often  receives  the  inflection 
of  the  possessive  case  or  of  the  plural.     As  here,  if  the  text  be  correct. 

75.  Colmes  ynch]  Steevens  :  Colmes'  is  here  a  disyllable.  Colmes' -ynch,  now 
called  Inchcomb  [or  Inchcolm — Dyce],  is  a  small  island  lying  in  the  Frith  of  Edin- 
bu^h,  with  [considerable  remains  of— Dyce]  an  Abbey  upon  it,  dedicated  to  St 
Columb,  called  by  Camden  Inch  Colm,  or  The  Isle  of  Columba,  Some  editors,  with- 
out authority,  read  *  Saint  Colmes'-kill  Isle,*  but  very  erroneously,  for  Colmes^  Inch  and 
Colm-kill  are  two  different  islands,  the  former  lying  on  the  eastern  coast,  near  the 
place  where  the  Danes  were  defeated,  the  latter  in  the  western  seas,  being  the 
famous  lona,  one  of  the  Hebrides.  Thus  Holinshed :  ['  They  that  escaped  and 
got  once  to  their  ships,  obteined  of  Makbeth  for  a  great  summe  of  gold,  that  such 
of  their  friends  as  were  sdaine  at  this  last  bickering,  might  be  buried  in  saint  Colmes 
Inch.' — Ed.  ii.].  Inch,  or  Inshe^  in  the  Irish  and  Erse  languages,  signifies  an  Island, 
[generally  a  small  one — Dyce]. — Clarendon  :  A  description  of  this  island  (which 
is  about  half  a  mile  long  by  one-third  of  a  mile  at  the  broadest)  is  given  in  the  Pro- 
ceedings of  the  Society  of  Antiquaries  of  Scotland,  ii,  pp.  489-528. 

76.  Dollars]  Clarendon  :  A  great  anachronism  is  involved  in  the  mention  of 
dollars  here.  The  dollar  was  first  coined  about  15 18,  in  the  Valley  of  St.  Joachim, 
in  Bohemia,  whence  its  name,  *  Joachim*  s-thaler*;  *  thaler,'  'dollar.' 

j  777  Cawdor]  Johnson  (^Obs.) :  The  incongruity  of  all  the  passages  in  which  the 
I  Thane  of  Cawdor  is  mentioned  is  very  remarkable.  Ross  and  Angus  bring  the  king  A 
'  an  account  of  the  battle,  and  inform  him  that  Norway,  assisted  by  the  Thane  of 
Cawdor,  *gan  a  dismal  conflict  It  appears  that  Cawdor  was  taken  prisoner,  for  in 
the  same  scene  the  king  commands  his  present  death.  Yet  though  Cawdor  was  thus ' 
taken  by  Macbeth,  in  arms  against  his  king,  when  Macbeth  is  saluted,  in  Scene  iii. 
Thane  of  Cawdor,  by  the  Witches,  he  asks,  *  How  of  Cawdor?  the  Thane  of  Caw- 
dor lives.  A'  prosperous  gentleman,*  and  in  the  next  line  considers  the  promises  that 
he  should  be  Cawdor  and  king  as  equally  unlikely  to  be  accomplished.  How  can 
Macbeth  be  ignorant  of  the  state  of  the  Thane  whom  he  has  just  defeated  and  taken 
prisoner,  or  call  him  a  prosperous  gentleman  who  has  forfeited  his  title  and  life  by 
open  rebellion  ?  He  cannot  be  supposed  to  dissemble,  because  nobody  is  present 
but  Banquo,  who  was  equally  acquainted  with  Cawdor's  treason.  However,  in  the 
next  scene  his  ignorance  still  continues ;  and  when  Ross  and  Angus  present  him 
with  his  new  tide,  he  cries  out,  *  l"he  Thane  of  Cawdor  lives.  Why  do  you  dress,' 
etc  Ross  and  Angus,  who  were  the  messengers  that  informed  the  king  of  the 
assistance  given  by  Cawdor  to  the  invader,  having  lost,  as  well  as  Macbeth,  all 
memory  of  what  they  had  so  lately  seen  and  related,  make  this  answer  fsee  I.  iii.  124- 
127].    Neither  Ross  knew  what  he  had  just  reported,  nor  Macbeth  what  he  had  just 


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30  THE   TRAGEDIE   OF  MACBETH      [act  i,  sc.  iiu 

Our  Bofome  intereft  :  Goe  pronounce  his  prefent  death,  78 

And  with  his  former  Title  greet  Macbeth^ 

RoJJe.     He  fee  it  done.  80 

King.    What  he  hath  loft,  Noble  Macbeth  hath  wonne. 

Exeunt.  82 


Scena  Tertia. 


Thunder.     Enter  the  three  Witches.                              2 

1.  Where  haft  thou  bet ne, Sifter? 

2.  Killing  Swine.  4 

78.  Bo/ome    intereJI'Y     bosom-interest  79.  formerl  forfeit  Warb.  conj.  MS, 

Warb.  Johns.  Var.  '73,  Ktly.     bosom  ap.  Cam.  ii. 

trust  Cap.  conj.     bosom^s  trust  Anon.  ^^^^]  g^^^^  F^« 

ap.  Cam.    bisson  trust  Anon.  Id.    trust-  The  heath.  Rowe.  A  heath.  Cap. 

ing  bosom  Anon.  Id.      bosom  into  rest  A  heath  near  Forres.  Glo.      A  lonely 

Forsyth  (Inverness  Advertiser,  1867),  Heath.     Nightfall.  Booth, 

ap.  Cam.  ii.  3>  4>  5-  etc.  i.  2.  3.  etc.]  i  Witch,  2 

interefl}  interest  Theoh.  +  .  Witch,    3   Witch,    etc.    Rowe   et   seq. 

Goe"]  Om.  Cap.  conj.  (subs.) 

prefent'\  Om.  Pope,  + .  3.  thou\  Om.  Steev.  conj. 


done.     This  seems  not  to  be  one  of  the  faults  that  are  to  be  imputed  to  transcribers, 

since,  though  the  inconsistency  of  Ross  and  Angus  might  be  removed  by  supposing 

that  their  names  were  erroneously  inserted,  and  that  only  Ross  brought  an  account 

^.  of  the  battle,  and  only  Angus  was  sent  to  Macbeth,  yet  the  forgetfulness  of  Mac- 

/  beth  cannot  be  palliated,  since  what  he  says  could  not  have  been  spoken  by  any 

lother. 

78.  Bosome  interest]  Clarendon  :  That  is,  close  and  intimate  affection.  Com- 
pare Mer,  of  Ven,  III,  iv,  17  :  *  Being  the  bosom-lover  of  my  lord,'  «.  e.  being  his 
intimate  friend.  And  Lear,  IV,  v.  26  :  *  I  know  you  are  of  her  bosom,'  1.  e,  in  her 
confidence.  *  Interest  *  means  the  due  part  or  share  which  a  friend  has  in  the  affec- 
tions of  another.  Compare  Cym,  I,  iii,  30.  The  meaning  of  the  word  is  further 
illustrated  by  the  use  of  the  verb  in  Lear,  I,  i,  87. 

78.  present]  Clarendon  :  That  is,  instant.  So  *  presently*  is  used  for  'instantly' 
in  conformity  with  its  derivation,  from  which  our  modem  use  of  the  word  departs. 
So  <  by  and  by,'  which  first  meant  *  immediately,'  has  now  come  to  mean  *  after  an 
interval.'  See  Ma/tAew,  xiii,  21  :  *  By  and  by  he  is  offended'  {ev6vc  OKav^dXiCerat), 
and  Lu^f  xxi,  9 :  *  The  end  is  not  by  and  by*  (ovk  evOecjg  rd  riXoc)' 

81.  LiBBY  (see  note  on  1.  53) :  Ross  has  gained  his  point :  while  pretending  to 
Angus  to  speak  mainly  of  Norway,  he  has  pretended  to  Duncan  to  speak  mainly  of 
Cawdor.  The  duplicity  of  Ross  in  this  scene  is  excelled  only  by  his  duplicity  in 
reporting  it  to  Macbeth  in  Sc.  iii.    It  weakens  both  scenes  to  remove  Angus  from  Sc 


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ACTi,SC.m.]        THE   TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH  31 

3.  Sifter, where  thou?  5 

I,  A  Saylors  Wife  had  Cheftnuts  in  her  Lappe, 

And  mouncht,&  mouncht,and  mouncht : 

Giue  me,  quoth  I. 

Aroynt  thee,  Witch,  the  rumpe-fed  Ronyon  cryes.  9 

5.  Sifier\  Om.  Stccv.  couj.  moutuh^d: —  Give  Var.    '73,    ct   cet. 

6.  Ckeftnuts\  ehfsnuts  Theob.  Warb.         (subs. ) 

Johns.  Var.  Mai.  Steev.  Var.  Coll.  9.  Aroynt   thee]  Anoynt  thee   FjF^. 

7,8.  And  mounchty.„quoth  /.]  One  Tverauntreeor  A  RauntreeS.  H.  (Gent. 

line.  Pope  et  seq.  Mag.  liv,  p.  731, 1784).  Aroint  the  Beck- 

7.  8.  mouncht :  Give]  mouncht.   Give  et.     Aroint  thee  Rowe,  et  cet. 
Pope,  +  .    (reading  m<7Mifr^V)  Cam. 

ii.  Cawdor  has  been  condemned  merely  upon  a  parenthetical  line  and  a  half  from 
Ross.  There  is  absolutely  no  other  proof  of  his  gudt  in  the  play.  It  is  like  Ross  to 
ignore  Angus,  who  is  also  commissioned  by  Duncan.  In  Sc.  iii,  Angus  says,  *  we 
are  sent'  The  *  exeunt^  of  the  Folio  at  the  end  of  this  scene  probably  refers  to 
Ross  and  Angus,  but  not  to  Duncan  and  his  attendants. — ^£d.  ii. 
4.  Swine]   Steevens  :   So,  in  y^  Detection  of  Damnable  Driftes  practized  by 

Three  IVitches,  etc.  1 579 :  * she  came  on  a  tyme  to  the  house  of  one  Robert 

Lathburie,  etc.  who,  dislyking  her  dealyng,  sent  her  home  emptie ;  but  presently 
after  her  departure,  his  hogges  fell  sicke  and  died ^  to  the  number  of  twentie.* — John- 
son :  Witches  seem  to  have  been  most  suspected  of  malice  against  swine.  Dr. 
Harsnet  observes  that,  about  that  time,  '  a  sow  could  not  be  ill  of  the  measles,  nor  a 
girl  of  the  sullens,  but  some  old  woman  was  charged  with  witchcraft.* 

7.  mouncht]  Clarendon  :  This  means  *  to  chew  with  closed  lips,'  and  is  used 
in  Scotland  in  the  sense  of  <  mumbling  with  toothless  gums,'  as  old  people  do  their 
food.     It  is  probably  derived  from  the  French  manger^  Lat.  manducare. 

8.  quoth]  Clarendon  :  From  the  Anglo-Saxon  '  cwaethan,'  to  say,  speak,  of 
which  the  first  and  third  persons,  singular,  preterite  are  *cw3Bth.* 

9.  Aroynt]  Johnson  :  Anoint  [F^F^]  conveys  a  sense  very  consistent  with  the 
common  account  of  witches,  who  are  related  to  perform  many  supernatural  acts  by 
means  of  unguents,  and  particularly  to  fly  to  their  hellish  festivals. — [Murray  (N.  E, 
D.) :  Origin  unknown.  First  used  by  Shakespeare  in  Macbeth  and  King  Lear  ( 1605). 
The  origin  of  aroynt,  or  aroint,  has  been  the  subject  of  numerous  conjectures,  none  of 
which  can  be  said  to  have  even  a  prima  fade  probability.  The  following  passages  are 
usually  cited  as  pointing  to  the  same  word :  Ray,  North  Country  Words^  1691 :  Ryntye, 
by  your  leave  stand  handsomely.  As  '  Rynt  jrou  witch,'  quoth  Bessie  Locket  to  her 
mother;  Proverb:  Cheshire.  Thoresby,  Lett,  to  Ray^  1703  (Yorkshire  Words), 
has :  Ryndta  used  to  cows  to  make  them  give  way  and  stand  in  their  stalls.  In 
parts  of  Cheshire  and  Lancashire  <w  (as  in  round)  is  pronounced  !  or  f ;  so  that 
round  becomes  rynd,  Ryndta !  is  thus  merely  a  local  pronunciation  of  *  round 
thee '  *  move  around.  The  local  nature,  the  meaning,  and  form  of  the  phrase,  seem 
all  opposed  to  its  identity  with  Shakespeare's  Aroint. — Ed.  ii.] 

9.  rumpe-fed]  Colepeppkr  :  The  chief  cooks  in  noblemen's  families,  colleges, 
etc  anciently  claimed  the  emoluments  or  kitchen  fees  of  kidneys,  £eit,  rumps ^  etc., 
which  they  sold  to  the  poor.  The  weird  sister,  as  an  insult  on  the  poverty  of  the 
woman  who  had  called  her  witch^  reproaches  her  poor  abject  state  as  not  being  able 


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32  THE   TRAGEDIE   OF  MACBETH       [act  i,  sc,  iii. 

Her  Husband's  to  Aleppo  gone,  Mafter  o'th'  Tiger :  lo 

But  in  a  Syue  He  thither  fayle, 

II.  Syue\  sive  Cap.    fieve  F^,  et  cet.  ii,  13,  14.  JU\  Pll  F^  et  seq. 

to  procure  better  food  than  ofial. — Nares  :  This  means,  probably,  nothing  more  than 
fedy  or  fattened  in  the  rump.  It  is  true  that  fat  flaps,  kidneys,  rumps^  and  other 
scraps  were  among  the  low  perquisites  of  the  kitchen  ;  but  in  such  an  allusion  there 
would  have  been  little  reason  to  prefer  rumps ;  scrap-fed  would  be  more  natural, 
and  kidney-fed,  or  flap-fed,  equal.  But  fat-rumped  conveys  a  picture  of  the  person 
mentioned,  which  the  others  would  not  in  any  degree. — Dyce  (ed.  ii.) :  Long  ago 
a  friend  of  mine,  who  was  never  at  a  loss  for  an  explanation,  queried,  <  Can  rump- 
fed  mean  '* nut-fed"?  The  sailor's  wife  was  eating  chestnuts.  In  Kilian*s  J9fV/. 
is  ''^  Ronipe,  Nux  myristica  vilior,  cassa,  inanis."  ' — Clarendon  :  Fed  on  the  best 
joints,  pampered. 

9.  Ronyon]  Grey  :  That  is,  a  scabby  or  mangy  woman.    French  rogneux^  royne^ 

scurf.     Thus  Chaucer,  Romaunt  of  the  Rose  :  * her  necke  Withouten  bleine,  or 

scabbe,  or  roine,'  [I.  553].  Also  in  Aferry  Wives,  IV,  ii,  195,  and  as  an  adjective 
in  As  You  Like  It,  II,  ii,  8.    [Thus  also.  Century  Dictionary, — Ed.  ii.] 

10.  Aleppo]  Collier  (ed.  ii.) :  In  Hakluyt's  Voyages,  1589  and  1599,  are 
printed  several  letters  and  journals  of  a  voyage  to  Aleppo  in  the  ship  Tiger,  of 
London,  in  1583.  For  this  note  we  are  indebted  to  Sir  W.  C.  Trevelyan,  Bart — 
Clarendon  :  An  account  is  given  in  Hakluyt's  Voyages,  vol.  ii,  pp.  247,  251,  of 
a  voyage  by  Ralph  Fitch  and  others  in  a  ship  called  the  Tiger,  to  Tripolis,  whence 
they  went  by  caravan  to  Aleppo,  in  the  year  1583.  In  the  Calendar  of  Domestic 
State  Papers  (1547-1580),  vol.  xzxiii,  53,  under  date  April  13,  1564,  mention  is 
made  of  the  ship  Tiger,  apparently  a  Spanish  vessel.  Sir  Kenelm  Digby,  in  his 
journal,  1628,  mentions  a  ship  called  '  the  Tyger  of  London,  going  for  Scanderone,' 
p.  45  (Camden  Society).  Shakespeare  has  elsewhere  given  this  name  to  a  ship: 
Twelfth  Night,  V,  i,  65.  [W.  A.  Wright  (note  V,  i,  62,  Twelfth  Night,  of  this 
ed.) :  A  common  name  for  a  vessel  in  Shakespeare's  day,  and,  if  we  may  trust 
Virgil  {^neid,  x,  166),  even  in  the  days  of  ^neas. — Ed.  ii.] 

11.  Syue]  Steevens  :  Scot,  Discovery  of  Witchcraft,  1584,  says  it  was  believed 
that  witches  '  could  sail  in  an  egg  shell,  a  cockle  or  muscle  shell,  through  and  under 
the  tempestuous  seas,'  [Bk,  i,  ch.  iv.].  Again,  D'Avenant,  Albomne,  1629:  'He 
sits  like  a  witch  sailing  in  a  sieve,'  [Act  IV,  sc.  i,  p.  77,  ed.  Paterson. — Steevens 
quotes  also  an  incident  told  in  Newes  from  Scotland,  In  Pitcaim's  Criminal  Trials, 
vol.  I,  pt.  ii,  p.  217,  the  same  incident  is  given  more  fully,  as  follows :]  '  The  said  Agnis 
Tompson  (Sampson)  was  after  brought  again  before  the  Kinges  Majestie  and  Coun- 
cell,  and  being  examined  of  the  meetings  and  detestable  dealings  of  those  witches, 
she  confessed,  that  upon  the  night  of  AUhallow  Even  last,  she  was  accompanied, 
as  well  with  the  persons  aforesaide,  as  also  with  a  great  many  other  witches,  to 
the  number  of  two  hundreth,  and  that  all  they  together  went  to  Sea,  each  one 
in  a  riddle  or  dve,  and  went  into  the  same  very  substantially,  with  flaggons  of 
wine,  making  merry  and  drinking  by  the  way  in  the  same  riddles  or  cives,  to  the 
Kirke  of  North  Barrick  in  Lowthian  ;  and  that  after  they  had  landed,  tooke  handes 
on  the  lande  and  daunced  this  reill  or  short  daunce,  singing  all  with  one  voice, 
"  Commer  goe  ye  before,  commer  goe  ye,  Gif  ye  will  not  goe  before,  commer  let 
me." ' — Clarendon  :  In  Greek,  <  to  go  to  sea  in  a  sieve '  was  a  proverbial  ezpres- 


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ACT  I.  sc.  iii.]        THE  TR AGED  IE  OF  MACBETH  33 

And  like  a  Rat  without  a  tayle,  12 

He  doe,  He  doe,  and  He  doe. 

2.  He  giue  thee  a  Winde,  14 

13.  and  He  doe\  and  FU  not  fail  Jackson. 

sion  for  an  enterprise  of  extreme  hazard  or  impossible  of  achievement. — [Dyer  (p. 
34)  :  The  sieve,  as  a  symbol  of  the  clouds,  has  been  regarded  among  all  nations  of 
the  Aryan  stock  as  the  mythical  vehicle  used  by  witches,  nightmares,  and  other  elfish 
beings  in  their  excursions  over  land  and  sea. — Ed.  ii.] 

12.  tayle]  Cafrll  (AW/j,  p.  4) :  Tails  are  the  rudders  of  water-animals,  as  the 
'  nt '  is  occasionally,  so  that  it  is  intimated  in  effect  that  she  would  find  her  port 
without  rudder  as  well  as  sail  in  a  sieve. — Steevens  :  It  should  be  remembered  (as 
it  was  the  belief  of  the  times)  that  though  a  witch  could  assume  the  form  of  any 
animal  she  pleased,  the  tail  would  still  be  wanting.  The  reason  given  by  some  old 
writers  for  such  a  deficiency  is,  that  though  the  hands  and  feet,  by  an  easy  change, 
might  be  converted  into  the  four  paws  of  a  beast,  there  was  still  no  part  about  a 
woman  which  corresponded  with  the  length  of  tail  common  to  almost  all  our  four- 
iboted  creatures. — [Sherbcan  :  The  commentators  ordinarily  assume  that  the  witch 
proposes,  in  the  language  here  used,  to  take  the  form  of  a  rat,  though  she  does  not 
say  so.  It  would  be  inartistic  if  the  author  caused  this  witch  to  go  on  declaring 
characteristic  things,  such  as  real  witches  would  take  for  granted.  Shakespeare's 
object  is,  of  course,  to  make  the  audience  realize  what  power  these  witches  wield. 
—Ed.  ii.] 

13.  He  doe]  Clarendon  :  She  threatens,  in  the  shape  of  a  rat,  to  gnaw  through 
the  hull  of  the  Tiger  and  make  her  spring  a  leak. — [Paton  :  In  our  opinion  the 
l^tch,  in  her  fiendish  vindictiveness,  never  dreamt  of  acting  as  suggested  by  the 
Clarendon  editors.  It  was  evidently  to  the  destruction  of  the  Tiger's  rudder  that 
she  intended  to  apply  her  energies;  and  this  view  accepted,  the* Pilot's  Thumb,' 
that  ghastly  treasure,  takes  an  appropriate  and  strange  significance.  Had  the  Tiger 
sprung  a  leak,  she  would  have  gone  down  and  <  there  an  end  on't,'  but  she  was  to 
be  knocked  about,  the  sport  of  the  elements,  for  more  than  a  year  and  a  half, 
nnable  to  sink,  and  probably  not  to  be  lost  in  the  end,  but  to  strand  on  some 
unknown  shore  fieur  from  the  many-mosqued  City,  or  to  drift,  with  her  companionless 
and  skeleton-like  skipper,  into  her  own  bay.  In  the  eight  lines  in  this  scene,  com- 
mencing, '  I'll  drain  him  dry  as  hay,'  we  seem,  indeed,  to  have  the  reef  out  of 
which  grew  TTie  Rime  of  the  Ancient  Mariner, — Ed.  ii.] 

14.  Winde.]  Steevens  :  This  free  gift  of  a  wind  is  to  be  considered  as  an  act  of 
sisterly  friendship,  for  witches  were  supposed  to  sell  them.     In  Summer's  Last  WiU 

and  Testament^  [T.  Nashe],  1600 :  * in  Ireland  and  in  Denmark  both.  Witches 

for  gold  will  sell  a  man  a  wind.  Which,  in  the  comer  of  a  napkin  wrap'd.  Shall 
blow  him  safe  unto  what  coast  he  will,'  [p.  65,  ed.  Has.  Dods.  Nashe  possi- 
bly had  in  mind  the  following  passage  from  his  own  Terrors  of  the  Night  (1596)  : 
'Faire  cheaper  may  you  buy  a  winde  amongst  them  [Witches],  than  you  can  buy 
wine  or  faire  words  in  the  Court.  Three  knots  in  a  thred,  or  an  odde  grandame 
blessing  in  the  comer  of  a  napkin,  will  carrie  you  all  the  world  over,'  p.  241,  ed. 
Grosart. — ^Ed.  ii.].  See  also  Drayton:  Moon-Calf  [line  865. — Clarendon]. — 
HtTNTKR  quotes  from  Harington's  Notes  on  the  xxxviii/A  Book  of  Orlando  Furioso, 
'SoKceren  neare  the  North  sea,  use  to  sell  the  winde  to  sailers  in  glasses';  and 

3 


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34  THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH       [act  i,  sc.  iiL 

I,  Th'art  Idnde.  iS 

3.  And  I  another. 

I.  I  my  felfe  haue  all  the  other, 
And  the  very  Ports  they  blow, 
All  the  Quarters  that  they  know, 
I W  Ship-mans  Card.  20 

15.  Th^arf]  Ff,  Knt,  Sing,  ii,  Wh.  i,  18,  19.  blow  ...  k9ww\  know  ...  6/aw 

Del.     Thotirt  Cap.  Cam.  Rife,  Wh.  ii.  Allen  MS. 

Thou  art  Pope,  Furness,  et  cet  19.  kturw^  know,  IBi,    knew  Cap.  et 

18.  ike  very  Forts']   to  every  point  seq. 

Robertson.  20.  Pth']  Ff,+,  Wh.    In  the  KUy. 

Ports]  points  Pope,  +  ,  Var.  '73,  Pthe  Cap.  et  cet 

'78,  '85,  Huds.  iii.  Card:\  card^Vo^,  Han.L  card 

to  show.  Coll.  ii.  (MS). 

from  The  Rnsse  Commonwealth^  by  Giles  Fletcher,  1591,  to  the  effect  that  the  Lap- 
landers giye  winds,  'good  to  their  friends  and  contrary  to  other  whom  they  mean 
to  hart,  by  tjring  of  certain  knots  upon  a  rope  (somewhat  like  to  the  tale  of  Ek>las 
his  wind-bog)*;  and  also,  to  the  same  effect,  from  Heywood's  Hierarchy  of  the 
Blessed  Angels,  1635. 

18.  very]  Johnson:  Probably,  various,  which  might  be  easily  mistaken  for 
'very,*  being  either  negligently  read,  hastily  pronounced,  or  imperfectly  heard. — 
Steevens  :  The  *  very  ports '  are  the  exact  ports.  Anciently  to  blow  sometimes 
means  to  blow  upon.  So  in  Love's  Lab,  L,  IV,  iii,  109.  We  say  it  blows  East  or 
West,  without  a  preposition. 

18.  Ports]  Clarendon  :  Orts  for  '  ports '  seems  probable.  Ort,  the  same  word 
as  the  German,  is  found  as  '  art '  in  the  North  of  England  and  *  airt '  in  Scotland. — 
Elwin  :  That  is,  all  the  points  they  blow  from, — ^Anonymous,  1807 :  We  prefer 
points.  To  blow  a  port  is  a  strange  phrase.  '  I  not  only,'  sajrs  the  witch,  *  have  all 
the  other  chief  winds,  but  I  also  possess  an  influence  over  all  the  different  direc- 
tions in  which  they  ^/^ne^, according  to  the  points  described  by  seamen  on  their  card.* 
Besides,  her  having  the  ports  would  answer  no  purpose,  for  the  bark  could  not  be 
lost;  she  could  not  prevent  its  arriving  ultimately  at  its  destination  ;  it  was  only  in 
her  power  to  make  it  the  ^x>rt  of  the  winds :  tempest-tost. — [Moberly  :  '  To  blow  a 
port,'  like  '  flet  noctem,'  *  cantu  querulse  rumpunt  arbusta  dcadie.* — Abbott  (§  198) : 
Prepositions  are  frequendy  omitted  after  verbs  of  motion.  We  can  still  say :  *  to 
descend  the  hill,'  but  not  '  to  descend  the  summit,'  nor  '  Some  (of  her  hair)  de- 
scended her  sheav'd  hat,'  Lov.  Comp.  31.  These  omissions  may,  perhaps,  illustrate 
the  idiom  in  Latin  and  in  Greek  poetry. — Ed.  ii.] 

20.  Card]  Steevens  :  This  is  the  paper  on  which  the  winds  are  marked  under 
the  pilot's  needle;  or  perhaps  the  sea-chart,  so  called  in  Shakespeare's  days. — 
Nares  :  Hence  to  speak  by  the  card  meant  to  speak  with  great  exactness,  true 
to  a  point.  See  Hamlet  V,  i,  149. — Hunter  :  This  is  what  we  now  call  a  chart. 
Thus  in  Hakluyt's  Virginia  Richly  Valued,  1609,  'John  Danesco  said  that  he 
had  seen  the  sea-card,  and  that  from  the  place  where  they  were  the  coast  ran 
east  and  west  unto,'  etc.  p.  164.  In  Sir  Henry  Mainwaring's  Seaman**s  Dic- 
tionary, 1670,  *  a  card,  or  sea-card,^  is  said  to  be  '  a  gec^japhical  description  of 
coasts,  with  the  true  distances,  heights,  and  courses,  or  winds,  laid  down  on  it : 


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ACT  I,  sc.  iii.]        THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH  35 

He  dreyne  him  drie  as  Hay :  21 

Sleepe  (hall  ne)^er  Night  nor  Day 

Hang  vpon  his  Pent-houfe  Lid : 

He  fhall  liue  a  man  forbid : 

Wearie  Seu'nights,nine  times  nine,  25 

Shall  he  dwindle, peake, and  pine : 

21.  JU\  rie  F^Fj.     IwiU  Pope,  +  ,  -nigkis  Var.  '73,  '78,  '85,  Ran.  Dyce, 

Var.  Mai.  Steev.  Var.  Coll.  ii,  iii.  Cam.  Huds.  iii.    unnighis  Cam.    sei/n-nights 

Wh.  ii,  Huds.  iii.    77/  F^  et  cct  Theob.  ii,  et  cct 

25.  Seu'nights]  Ff,  Pope,  Theob.  i,  26.  ptaki^  and"]  peak  and  Rowe, 
Warb.  Cap.    sei/n  nights  Johns,    seven-  Var.  '73. 

not  describing  any  inland,  which  belongs  to  maps,*  p.  20. — Coluer  {Notes,  etc) : 
From  line  16  to  20  all  is  rhyme,  but  line  20  has  no  corre^x>nding  line,  and  is  evi- 
dently short  of  the  necessary  syllables.  These  are  furnished  by  the  MS  Corrector, 
and  we  can  scarcely  doubt  give  the  words  by  some  carelessness  omitted.  [See 
Text.  Notes,'\ — SiNGKR  (Sh.'s  Text  Vind.):  Evidently  no  rhyme  was  intended, 
for  the  word  know  already  rhymes  with  to  blow  in  the  preceding  line. — Dyce  (ed. 
L) :  In  four  other  places  in  this  scene  we  have  lines  without  any  rhyme:  11.  13,  29, 
37,  40. — R.  G.  Whits  (ed.  i.)  :  That  is,  his  chart,  which  rightfully  should  be  pro- 
nounced cartf  the  ch  as  in  charta, — Dyce  (ed.  ii.)  :  'A  Sea-card,  charta-marina,* 
—Coles's  Lai,  and  Eng,  Diet,  I  find  in  Sylvester's  Du  Bartas,  *Sure,  if  my  Card 
and  Compasse  doe  not  fail,  Ware  neer  the  YotC—The  Triumph  of  Faith,  p.  256, 
ed.  1 641,  where  the  original  has  '  mon  Quadrant  et  ma  Carte  marine.' — H  ALU  WELL : 
The  compass,  or,  here  perhaps,  the  paper  on  which  the  points  of  the  wind  are 
marked.  The  term  occurs  in  the  same  sense  in  The  Loyal  Subject,  [Fletcher,  1618], 
ed.  Dyce,  p.  56 :  <  The  card  of  goodness  in  your  minds,  that  shews  ye  When  ye  sail 
£ilse.' — ClAEEMDON :  In  Spenser,  Faerie  Queene,  II,  c.  vii,  v.  6 :  *  Upon  his  card 
and  compass  firmes  his  eye.'  And  Pope,  Essay  on  Man,  ii,  108 :  '  On  life's  vast 
ocean  diversely  we  sail.  Reason  the  card,  but  passion  is  the  gale.' 

21.  He  .  .  .  Hay]  Hunter  :  This,  it  was  believed,  it  was  in  the  power  of 
witches  to  do,  as  nuiy  be  seen  in  any  of  the  narratives  of  the  cases  of  witchcraft. 

23.  Pent -house]  Malone:  In  Decker's  GulVs  Home-^book,  [p.  79,  ed.  Grosart]  : 
*The  two  eyes  are  the  glasse  windowes,  at  which  light  disperses  itself  into  every 
roome,  having  goodlie  pent-houses  of  haire  to  overshaddow  them.'  So  in  David 
and  Goliath,  by  Drayton,  1.  373 :  *  His  brows,  like  two  steep  penthouses,  hung  down 
Over  his  eyelids.' — Clarendon:  In  the  present  passage  the  eyelid  is  so  called 
widioof  any  reference  to  the  eyebrow,  simply  because  it  slopes  like  the  roof  of  a  pent* 
house  or  lean-to.  '  Pent-house'  is  a  corruption  of  the  French  appentis,  an  appen* 
dage  to  a  house,  an  out-house.  So  we  have  '  cray-fish '  from  icrevisse^  and  *  cause- 
way'  from  chaussle.  It  is  used  in  the  sense  of  the  Latin  testudo  in  Fairfax's  Tasso, 
Bk,  zi,  St.  33 :  *  And  o'er  their  heads  an  iron  penthouse  vast  They  built  by  joining 
many  a  shield  and  targe.'  [HoUyband  {French  Diet,  1593):  'Vne  Appends 
oontre  vne  maison,  a  penthouse,* — ^Ed.  ii.] 

24.  forbid]  Theobald  :  As  under  a  curse,  an  interdiction.  So  IV,  iii,  123. — 
[Thus  also,  Bradley,  A^.  E,  /?.] 

26.  dwindle]  Steevens  :  This  mischief  was  supposed  to  be  done  by  means  of 
a  waxen  figure,  representing  the  person  to  be  consumed  by  slow  degrees.     Id 


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36  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH       [act  i,  sc.  iii. 

Though  his  Barke  cannot  be  loft,  27 

Yet  it  fhall  be  Tempeft-toft. 
Looke  what  I  haue. 

2.  Shew  me,  (hew  me.  30 
I.  Here  I  haue  a  Pilots  Thumbe, 

Wrackt,as  homeward  he  did  come.  Drum  within. 

3.  A  Drumme,  a  Drumme : 
Macbeth  doth  come. 

^  All.    The  weyward  Sifters,  hand  in  hand,  35 

32.  Wrackfl  Yi,  Rowe,  Pope,  Theob.        Sing,  u,  Wh.  i.     Wrecked  Han.  et  cet 
L    ^r^^ife/ Theob.  ii,  +  .    WraciedY^vX^ 

Webster's  Duchess  of  Malfy^  IV,  i,  [p.  262,  ed.  Dyce]  r  ' it  wastes  me  more 

Than  wer*!  my  picture,  fashioned  out  of  wax.  Stuck  with  a  magical  needle,  and  then 
buried  In  some  foul  dung-hill.'  [See  Appendix^  Holinshed,  reference  to  present 
line,  near  the  beginning.  ]—Staunton  :  In  Scofs  Discoverie  of  Witchcrafts  [Bk. 
12,  ^.  xvi.],  there  is,  ^A  charme  teaching  hew  to  hurt  whom  you  tist  with  images 
ofwax^  etc  Make  an  image  in  his  name,  whom  you  would  hurt  or  kill,  of  new 
vizgine  wax ;  under  the  right  arme-poke  whereof  place  a  swallow's  heart,  and  the 
liver  under  the  left ;  then  hang  about  the  neck  thereof  a  new  thred  in  a  new  needle 
pricked  into  the  member  which  you  would  have  hurt,  with  the  rehearsall  of  certain 
words,'  etc. 

26.  pine]  R.  G.  White  :  Pining  away,  the  disease  now  known  as  marasmms^ 
was  one  of  the  evils  most  commonly  attributed  to  witchcraft ;  because,  by  the  inferior 
pathological  knowledge  of  the  days  when  witches  were  believed  in,  it  could  be 
attributed  to  no  physiological  cause. — Clarendon  :  See  Rich,  HI:  III,  iv,  70-74. 
We  have  'peak'  in  Hamlet^  II,  ii,  594.  [Compare  Scot's  Discoverie  of  Witchcraft  (Bk. 
12,  ch.  xxi.)  :  *For  L.  Vairus  saith,  that  old  women  have  infeebled  and  killed  chil- 
dren with  words  . . . ;  they  have  made  men  pine  away  to  death,'  etc. — Ed.  ii.] 

28.  Tempest-tost]  Steevens:  luNewesftomScottand^tltetAyqpoXiiAi  ^Againe 
it  is  confessed,  that  the  said  christened  cat  was  the  cause  of  the  Jdnges  Majesties 
shippe^  at  his  coming  forthe  of  Denmarke^  had  a  contrarie  winde  to  the  rest  of  the 
shippes  then  beeing  in  his  companie,  which  thing  was  most  straunge  and  true,  as  the 
Kinges  Majestie  acknowledgeth,  for  when  the  rest  of  the  shippes  had  a  faire  and 
good  winde,  then  was  the  winde  contrarie  and  altogether  against  his  Majestie.' — 
[ViSCHSR  (ii,  p.  67)  :  In  place  of  this  story  Schiller  here  introduces  a  song,  in  Inl- 
lad-form,  of  a  fisherman  who  found  a  treasure  and  in  consequence  lost  his  peace  of  mind. 
[See  Appendix."]  There  is  more  poetry  in  Schiller,  but  more  of  witchcraft  in  Shake- 
speare. Of  course,  in  Schiller's  version  the  cauldron  with  all  its  accessories  is  no 
longer  suitable. — Ed.  ii.] 

^  Macbeth  doth  come]  Sherman  :  Shakespeare  undoubtedly  had  the  actor 
impersonating  the  Third  Witch  pronounce  these  words  as  in  excitement,  yet  slowly 
and  ominously. — Ed.  ii. 

35.  The  .  . .  hand]  Seymour  :  It  has  been  suggested  by  Mr  Strutt  that  the  play 
should  properly  begin  here;  and,  indeed,  all  that  has  preceded  might  well  be 
omitted.    Rosse  and  Angus  express  everything  material  that  is  contained  in  the 


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ACT  I.  sc.  iii.]        THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  37 

Poflers  of  the  Sea  and  Land^  36 

thizd  scene  ;  and  as  Macbeth  is  the  great  object  of  the  witches,  all  that  we  hear  of 
the  sailor  and  his  wife  is  rather  ludicrous  and  impertinent  than  solemn  and  material. 
I  strongly  suspect  it  is  spurious. — C.  Lofft  (ap.  Seymour) :  The  play  would  cer- 
tainly begin  much  more  dramatically  at  this  line,  or  preferably,  I  think,  a  line  higher. 
*  Macbeth  doth  come !'  uttered  with  solemn  horror  by  one  of  the  prophetic  sisters, 
would  immediately  fix  and  appropriate  the  incantation ;  and  give  it  an  awful  dignity 
by  determining  its  reference  to  the  great  object  of  the  play. 

35.  weywmrd]  Theobald  :  This  word  [wayward],  in  general,  signifies  perverse^ 
frowardy  moody ^  etc,  and  is  everywhere  so  used  by  Shakespeare,  as  in  Two  Gent, 
P»  iif  57]>  l-cvis  Lab.  Z.  [Ill,  i,  181],  and  Macbeth,  It  is  improbable  the  Wiiches 
would  adopt  this  epithet  to  themselves  in  any  of  these  senses.  When  I  had  the 
first  suspicion  of  our  author's  being  corrupt  in  this  place,  it  brought  to  mind  this 
passage  in  Chaucer's  Troilus  and  Cresseide^  iii,  618 :  <  But,  O  Fortune,  executrix 
of  wierdesj  which  word  the  Glossaries  expound  to  us  by  Fates  or  Destinies.  My 
suspicion  was  soon  confirmed  by  happening  to  dip  into  Heylin's  Cosmography^ 
where  he  makes  a  short  recital  of  the  story  of  Macbeth  and  Banquo  :  *  These  two 
tnvelling  together  through  a  Forest  were  met  by  three  Fairies,  Witches,  Wierdsy 
the  Soots  call  them,'  etc.  I  presendy  recollected  that  this  story  must  be  recorded  at 
more  length  by  Holinshead,  with  whom  I  thought  it  was  very  probable  that  our 
author  had  traded  for  the  materials  of  his  tragedy,  and  therefore  confirmation  was 
to  be  fetch' d  from  this  fountain.  Accordingly,  looking  into  his  History  of  Scotland^ 
I  found  the  writer  very  prolix  and  express,  from  Hector  Boethius,  in  this  remarkable 
story;  and  in  p.  170,  speaking  of  these  Witches,  he  uses  this  expression:  'But 
afterwards  the  common  opinion  was,  that  these  women  were  either  the  weird  Sisters, 
that  is,  as  ye  would  say,  the  Goddesses  of  Destiny ^  etc.  Again  :  <  The  words  of  the 
three  wHrd  sisters  also  (of  whom  ye  have  heard)  greatly  encouraged  him  thereunto.' 
I  believe  by  this  time  it  is  plain,  beyond  a  doubt,  that  the  word  Wayward  has 
obtain' d  in  Macbeth,  where  the  witches  are  spoken  of  from  the  ignorance  of  the 
Copyists,  and  that  in  every  passage  where  there  is  any  relation  to  these  Witches  or 
Wiaards  my  emendation  must  be  embraced,  and  we  must  read  wHrd, — Steevens  : 
From  the  Saxon  wyrdy  fatum.  Gawin  Douglas  translates,  '  Piohibent  nam  cetera 
/anrir  Scire*  {yEneidy  iii,  379)  by  'The  weird sisteris  defendis  that  suld  be  wit.'— 
p.  80. — Ma  LONE :  *  Be  aventure  Makbeth  and  Banquho  were  passand  to  Fores, 
quhair  kyng  Duncane  hapnit  to  be  for  ye  tyme,  and  met  be  ye  gait  thre  women 
dothlt  in  elrage  and  uncouth  weid.  They  wer  jugit  be  the  pepill  to  be  weird  sisters,^ 
—Beitenden's  trans,  of  Hector  Boethius. —H^akes  :  In  «  The  Birth  of  Saint  George' 
it  means  a  witch  or  enchantress:  '  To  the  weird  lady  of  the  woods.'— /Vro'* J  Rel. 
iii,  p.  218,  ed.  1765.— Knight  :  We  cannot  agree  with  Tieck  that  the  word  is  way- 
»0r<^— wilfuL  The  word  is  written  weyward  in  the  original  to  mark  that  it  consists  of 
two  syllables.— Dyce  {Remarksy  etc.) :  In  Ortus  Vocabulorumy  1514,  we  find :  'Cloto 
. . .  anglice,  one  of  the  thre  wyrde  systers* — Hunter  (ii,  162) :  There  is  no  just  pre- 
tence for  supplanting  'wayward'  and  substituting  'weird.'  'Weird'  maybe  the 
more  proper — ^the  more  scientific  term ;  it  may  come  nearer  the  etjrmological  root,  it 
may  be  the  derivative  of  some  ancient  root  of  wordy  zs  fatum  oifovy  and  '  wayward  ' 
™"-7  suggest  an  erroneous  origin  and  a  wrong  meaning,  since  we  have  the  word 
'  wayward '  in  a  well-known  sense ;  but  notwithstanding  this,  an  editor  ought  not  to 
think  himself  at  liberty  to  print  weirdy  the  author  having  written  '  wayward,'  to  the 


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38  THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH       [act  i.  sc.  iiL 

Thus  doe  goe,  about,  about,  37 

Thrice  to  thine,  and  thrice  to  mine. 

And  thrice  againe,to  make  vp  nine. 

Peace,  the  Channels  wound  vp,  40 

Enter  Macbeth  and  Banquo. 

38.  TTtrice]  ThiceY^,  andotherAttendaiits.Rowe,+.  Banquo, 

41.  Scene  IV.    Pope,   Han.  Warb.  journeying ;  Soldiers,  and  Others,  at  a 

Johns.  Distance.  Cap. 
Banquo.]  Banquo,  with  Soldiers 

manifest  injury  of  the  Terse,  though  the  facts  just  named  would  form  a  very  proper 
subject  for  a  note,  in  which  we  were  to  be  informed  who  and  what  the  wayward 
sisters  were,  and  why  they  were  so  designated.  Shakespeare  is  by  no  means  pecu- 
liar in  writing  *  wayward.'  Heywood,  in  his  The  Late  Witches  of  Lancashire^  has, 
'  You  look  like  one  of  the  Scottish  wayward  sisters.' — R.  G.  White  :  This  word 
should  be  pronounced  wayrd  {ei  as  in  'obeisance,'  'freight,'  'weight,'  'either,' 
'  neither '),  and  not  weerd^  as  it  usually  is. — Clarendon  :  Weird  is  given  in  Jamie- 
son's  Scottish  Dictionary  as  a  verb,  to  determine  or  assign  as  one's  fate,  also  to  pre- 
dict.    He  gives  also  '  weirdly,'  i,  e,  happy,  and  '  weirdless,'  i.  e,  unhappy. 

37-39.  Thus  .  . .  nine]  Clarendon  :  They  here  take  hold  of  hands  and  dance 
round  in  a  ring  nine  times,  three  rounds  for  each  witch.  Multiples  of  three  and  nine 
were  specially  affected  by  witches  andent  and  modem.  See  Ovid,  Metam,  xiv,  58 : 
'  Ter  novies  carmen  magico  demurmurat  ore,'  and  vii,  189-191  :  '  Ter  se  convertit ; 
ter  sumptis  fiumine  crinem  Irroravit  aquis  ;  temis  ululatibus  ora  Solvit.' — Knight  : 
There  really  appears  no  foundation  for  Steevens's  supposition  that  this  scene  was' 
uniformly  metrical.  It  is  a  mixture  of  blank-verse  with 'the  seven-syllable  rhyme, 
producii^  from  its  variety  a  wild  and  solemn  effect  which  no  regularity  could  have 
achieved.  '  Where  . . .  swine '  [lines  3  and  4]  is  a  line  of  blank  verse ;  line  5  is  a 
dramatic  hemistitch.  We  have  then  four  lines  of  blank  verse  before  the  lyrical  move- 
ment, '  But  in  a  sieve/  etc.  '/*// . . .  another^  [14-16]  is  a  ten-syllable  line  rhym- 
ing with  the  following  octo-syllabic  line.  So,  in  the  same  manner,  P  the  , . .  hay  : 
is  a  ten-syllable  line,  rhyming  with  the  following  one  of  seven  syllables. 

41.  Enter  Macbeth  and  Banquo]  Karl  Bund  (Academy^  i  March,  1879) : 
It  has  always  struck  me  as  noteworthy  that  in  the  greater  part  of  the  scene  between 
the  Weird  Sisters,  Macbeth,  and  Banquo,  and  wherever  the  Witches  come  in,  Shake- 
speare uses  the  staff-rime  in  a  very  remarkable  manner.  Not  only  does  this  add 
powerfully  to  the  Archaic  impressiveness  and  awe,  but  it  also  seems  to  bring  the 
form  and  figure  of  the  Sisters  of  Fate  more  closely  within  the  circle  of  the  Teutonic 
idea.  The  very  first  scene  in  the  first  act  opens  strongly  with  the  staff-rime  :  '  When 
shall  w^  three  meet  again?— When  the  hurly-burl3r's  done,  When  the  battle's  lost 
and  won. — That  will  be  ere  jet  of  jun.'  This  feature  in  Shakespeare  appears  to  me 
to  merit  closer  investigation  ;  all  the  more  so  because  a  less  regular  alliteration,  but 
still  a  marked  one,  is  found  in  not  a  few  passages  of  a  number  of  his  pla3rs. — Ed.  ii. 
[The  Anglo-Saxon  staff,  or  stave-rime,  is  the  oldest  form  of  verse,  and,  although  allit- 
eration is  a  marked  characteristic,  yet  its  use  is  governed  by  more  stringent  rules  than 
the  recurrence  of  similar-sounding  consonants.  A  complete  verse  consists  of  a 
couplet,  with  two  accents,  or  loud  syllables,  to  each  line,  connected  by  alliteration. 


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ACT  I,  sc.  iii.]         THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH  39 

Macb.    So  foule  and  (aire  a  day  I  haue  not  feene.  42 

Banquo.  How  ferre  is't  call'd  to  Sons?  What  are  thefe, 

43.  SorWl  Ff,  Rowe.  Forts  Pope,  +  .  Cam.  Wh.  Coll.  iii.  Fores  Var.  '73,  et 
Forres  Hany   Rowe,   Sing,  ii,   Dyce,        cet. 

Each  oonplet  should  have  at  least  three  of  these  alliterative  or  rime-letters,  of  which 
two  are  placed  on  the  accented  syllables  of  the  first  line,  and  are  called  the  sub- 
letters,  and  one  on  the  first  accented  syllable  of  the  second  line ;  ^e  last  is  the  chief 
letter.  Should  the  initial  consonants  be  wanting,  the  vowel  sounds  are  more  com- 
monly difierent  (See  Rask,  Icelandic  Grammar ^  p.  205  ;  F.  A.  March :  Compara- 
tive Grammar  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  Language^  p.  222  ;  Guest,  History  of  English 
Rhythms,  p.  137  et  seq.;  also  W.  W.  Skeat :  Essay  on  Alliterative  Poetry^  in  Percy's 
Folio  MS,  ed.  Hales  and  Fumivall,  iii,  xiii.)  Applying  these  rules  to  the  passages, 
whereto  Blind  has  called  attention,  it  is  evident  that,  as  true  Anglo-Saxon  couplets, 
they  are  deficient  For  example,  in  the  lines :  <  Whxxi  the  hurly-burly*  s  done,  Whtn. 
the  battle's  lost  and  zran,'  the  rime-letters  are  not,  in  the  first  place,  in  the  proper 
positions  in  the  lines ;  secondly,  the  lines  themselves  have  more  than  two  accents. 
Alliteration  is,  in  fiul,  quite  as  prominent  throughout  the  speech  of  the  Captain 
(I,  ii.)  as  in  any  of  the  Witch  scenes ;  thus,  '5hipwracking  jtonns  and  direful  Thun- 
dei3 :  So  from  that  5^ring  whence  ^mfort  seemed  to  ^me.' — Ed.  ii.] 

41.  Macbeth]  Dowden  (p.  250) :  Shakespeare  does  not  believe  in  any  sudden 
txansformation  of  a  noble  and  loyal  soul  into  that  of  a  traitor  and  murderer.  At  the 
outset,  Macbeth  possesses  no  real  fidelity  to  things  that  are  true,  honest,  just,  pure, 
lovely.  He  is  simply  not  yet  in  alliance  with  the  powers  of  evil.  He  has  aptitudes 
for  goodness  and  aptitudes  for  crime.  Shakespeare  felt  profoundly  that  this  care- 
less attitude  of  suspense  or  indifference  between  virtue  and  vice  cannot  continue 
long. — Ed.  iL 

42.  foule  and  faire]  Elwin  :  Foul  with  regard  to  the  weather^  and  fair  with 
reference  to  his  victory, — Delius  :  Macbeth  enters  engaged  in  talking  with  Banquo 
about  the  varying  fortune  of  the  day  of  battle  which  they  had  just  experienced. 
<  Day '  as  equivalent  to  '  day  of  battle '  was  frequently  used. — ^Clarendon  :  A  day 
dianging  so  suddenly  firom  fine  to  stormy,  the  storm  being  the  work  of  witchcraft. — 
[Dowden  (p.  249) :  Observe  that  the  last  words  of  the  witches  in  the  opening  scene 
of  the  play  are  the  first  words  which  Macbeth  himself  utters  :  '  Fair  is  foul,  and  foul 
b  fair.'  Shakespeare  intimates  by  this  that,  although  Macbeth  has  not  yet  set  eyes 
upon  these  hags,  the  connection  is  already  established  between  his  sotd  and  them. 
Their  spells  have  already  wrought  upon  his  blood. — Ed.  ii.] 

43.  Sons]  Clarendon  :  Forres  is  near  the  Moray  Frith,  about  halfway  between 
Elgin  and  Nairn. 

43.  What  are  these]  Fletcher  (p.  144) :  The  expressions  of  enquiring  sur- 
prise which  escape  from  Uie  chieftains  on  first  beholding  these  apparitions  sufficiently 
show  that  Shakespeare  conceived  them  as  quite  independent  of  anything  which  the 
superstition  of  the  time  in  which  the  story  is  laid  may  be  supposed  to  have  imagined : 
they  are  as  new  and  strange  to  the  fancy  as  they  are  to  the  eyes  of  their  beholders. 
It  is  instructive,  also,  to  mark  the  first  indications  given  us  of  the  strong  difference 
of  character  between  Banquo  and  Macbeth,  by  the  very  difierent  tone  in  which  they 
address  these  novel  personages.  Banquo  uses  the  language  of  cool  and  modest 
enquiry ;  bat  Macbeth  betrays  at  the  very  first  his  habit  of  selfish,  headstrong  wilful- 


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40  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH       [act  i,  sc.  iii. 

So  withered,  and  fo  wilde  in  their  attyre, 

That  looke  not  like  th'Inhabitants  o'th'Earth,  45 

And  yet  are  on't?   Liue  you,  or  are  you  aught 

That  man  may  queftion  ?  you  feeme  to  vnderftand  me, 

By  each  at  once  her  choppie  finger  laying 

Vpon  her  skinnie  Lips :  you  ftiould  be  Women, 

And  yet  your  -Beards  forbid  me  to  interprete  50 

That  you  are  fo. 

Mac.    Speake  if  you  can :  what  are  you  ? 

I.  All  haile  J/^^^/A, haile  to  thee  Thane  of  Glamis,  53 

45-  th' InhaHtants  o'th'^   Ff,  Rowe,        tants  o'  the  Cap.  ct  cct 
Theob.  Wh.    inhabitants  of  Pope,  Han.  48.  chofpie]  chappy  Coll.  Dyce,  Wh. 

tfC  inhabitants  o*  the  Coll.     the  inhabi-        Glo.     choppy  Rowe,  et  ceL 

ness,  and  overbearing  command.  Banquo  continues  in  the  same  reasonable  and 
moderate  strain  towards  beings  whom  he  feels  to  be  exempt  from  his  control.  Mac- 
beth persists  in  commanding  them  to  speak  ;  yet,  when  first  addressed  by  Banquo, 
they  had  given  a  distinct  sign  ['  By  each  at  once  her  choppy  finger  laying  Upon  her 
skinny  lips']  that  they  were  not  accessible  to  himian  understanding.  They  return, 
indeed,  no  word  of  answer  to  either  of  their  human  interlocutors ;  their  enigmatical 
announcements  are  clearly  premeditated  and  purely  gratuitous. — Ed.  ii. 

44.  wither'd]  Davies  (ii,  75) :  When  James  I.  asked  Sir  John  Harington,  '  Why 
the  devil  did  work  more  with  ancient  women  than  others  ?'  Sir  John  replied : '  We 
were  taught  hereof  in  Scripture,  where,  it  is  told,  that  the  devil  walketh  in  dry 
places.^  ['  When  the  unclean  spirit  is  gone  out  of  a  man,  he  walketh  through  dry 
places,  seeking  rest,  and  findeth  none.' — Matthew,  xii,  43 ;  also  Luke^  xi,  24. — 
Ed.  ii.] 

47.  question]  Johnson  :  That  is.  Are  ye  any  beings  with  which  man  is  per- 
mitted to  hold  converse,  or  of  whom  it  is  lawful  to  ask  questions  ? — Hunter  :  To 
me  it  appears  to  mean.  Are  you  beings  capable  of  hearing  questions  put  to  you,  and 
of  returning  answers?  And  with  this  meaning  what  Banquo  next  says  is  more  con- 
gruous. 

49.  should]  See  I,  ii,  57 :  *  So  should  ht  looke,'  etc. 

50.  Beards]  Staunton  :  Witches,  according  to  the  popular  belief,  were  always 

bearded.    So  in  The  Honest  Man's  Fortune,  II,  i :  * and  the  women  that  Come 

to  us,  for  disguises  must  wear  beards  ;  And  that's  to  say,  a  token  of  a  witch* 

52.  Speake  if  you  can]  Coleman  [Gent,  Maga.,  March,  1889) :  It  seemed  as 
though  [Macready]  could  scarcely  repress  his  impatience  during  the  six  or  eight 
lines  of  interrogatory  which  came  from  his  co-mate  in  command,  and  it  was  in  a 
quick  imperious  tone  that  he  dashed  over  to  the  centre  of  the  stage  and  exclaimed : 
'  Speak  if  you  can  I  What  are  you  ?'  The  sinister  prophecies  of  the  weird  sisters 
seemed  to  thrill  through  the  man's  soul  and  body  as  he  started  awayv  and  for  a 
moment  <  stood  rapt  in  the  wonder  of  it.' — Ed.  ii.  , 

53.  Glamis]  Seymour  :  This  is,  in  Scotland,  always  pronounced  as  a  monosylla- 
ble, with  the  open  sound  of  the  first  vowel,  as  in  alms.  The  four  lines  [I,  v,  15  ;  I, 
Vy  60 ;  II,  ii,  54 ;  and  III,  i,  3]  appear  to  exhibit  the  word  as  a  disyllable,  a  mis- 


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ACT  I,  sc.  ui.]        THE  TRACE  DIE  OF  MACBETH  41 

2.  All  haile  Macbethy  haile  to  thee  Thane  of  Cawdor, 

3.  All  haile  Macbethy^zX,  ihalt  be  King  hereafter.  55 
Bang.  Good  Sir,  why  doe  you  ftart,and  feeme  to  feare 

Things  that  doe  found  fo  faire?  i'th'  name  of  truth 

Are  ye  fantafticall,or  that  indeed 

Which  outwardly  ye  (hew  ?  My  Noble  Partner 

You  greet  with  prefent  Grace,  and  great  predi6lion  60 

55.  that  Jhait']     thou    shalt   Harry  57.  V  th'  name]  V  the  name  Ca^,  et 

Rowe,  Glo.  seq. 

take  somewhat  similar  to  that  by  which,  in  Ireland,  James  and  Charles  are  so 
extended — ^Jam^s  and  Charles. — Steevens  :  The  thaneship  of  Glamis  was  the 
ancient  inheritance  of  Macbeth's  family.  The  castle  where  they  lived  is  still  stand- 
ing. See  a  particular  description  of  it  in  Gray's  letter  to  Dr  Wharton,  dated  Glames 
Castle.  [See  also  an  article  entitled  Glamis^  by  Lady  Glamis,  Pall  Mall  Maga^ 
Mine,  April,  1897. — Ed.  ii.] 

53-55.  Hudson  (ed.  iii,  p.  21 ) :  It  seems  worthy  of  remark  how  Buchanan  repre- 
sents the  salutation  of  the  Weird  Sisters  to  have  been  the  coinage  of  Macbeth' s 
dreams ;  as  if  his  mind  were  so  swollen  with  ambitious  thoughts,  that  these  haunt 
his  pillow  and  people  his  sleep  :  and  afterwards,  when  a  part  of  the  dream  came  to 
pass  without  his  help,  this  put  him  upon  working  out  a  fulfilment  of  the  remainder. 
Nor  in  this  view  of  the  matter  is  it  easy  to  see  but  that  a  dream  would  in  every  way 
satisfy  the  moral  demands  of  the  case,  though  it  might  not  answer  the  conditions  of 
the  drama. — Ed.  ii. — Libby  (see  note  on  I,  ii,  53)  :  Why  is  the  thanedom  of 
Glamis  polluted  by  the  lips  of  these  unnatural  sisters  ?  Would  it  not  be  in  the 
manner  of  Shakespeare  to  hint  that  Macbeth' s  first  uncertain  step  in  criminal  ambi- 
tion was  an  unfilial  desire  to  succeed  Sinel  before  the  appointed  time?  Macbeth' s 
references  to  future  time  are  worthy  of  separate  study.  In  this  way  of  looking  at  the 
three  all  hail^s  the  first  ambition  was  premature  inheritance^  which  is  a  rather  in- 
tangible  form  of  murder  :  the  second  is  the  guilty  silence  which  results  in  the  execu- 
tion  of  the  innocent  Cawdor  whom  Macbeth  should  have  defended  and  cleared;  this  is 
passive  murder:  the  third  step  is  the  horrible  midnight  assassination  of  Duncan. 
Surely  this  gradual  though  terribly  swift  descent  into  the  river  of  blood  is  more  human 
than  the  headlong  plunge  of  the  regular  view, — Ed.  ii. 

58.  fantaaticaU]  Johnson  :  That  is,  creatures  of  fantasy  or  imagmation.  ['  Here- 
with the  aforesaid  women  vanished  inunediadie  out  of  their  sight.  This  was  reputed 
at  the  first  but  some  vaine  fantastical!  illusion  by  Makbeth  and  Banquho.'— Holins- 
bed.  Sec  Appendix, — Ed.  ii.] — Abbott  (§  236) :  In  the  original  form  of  the  lan- 
guages^ is  nominative,  you  accusative.  This  distinction,  however,  though  observed 
in  our  version  of  the  Bible,  was  disregarded  by  Elizabethan  authors,  and  ye  seems 
to  be  generally  used  in  questions,  entreaties,  and  rhetorical  appeals.  Ben  Jonson 
says :  <  The  second  person  plural  is  for  reverence  sake  to  some  singular  thing.'  See 
lines  59,  60,  62,  63. 

60.  preaent  Grace]  Hunter:  There  is  here  a  skilful  reference  to  the  thrice 
repeated  'Hail'  of  the  witches.  'Thane  of  Glamis'  he  was;  that  is  the  'present 
grace '  ;  but  '  Thane  of  Cawdor '  was  only  predicted  ;  this  is  the  *  noble  having ' ; 
the  prospect  of  royalty  is  only  'hope,'  *of  royal  hope.' 


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42  THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH      [act  i,  sc.  iiL 

Of  Noble  hauing,and  of  Royall  hope,  6i 

That  he  feemes  wrapt  withall :  to  me  you  fpeake  not. 

If  you  can  looke  into  the  Seedes  of  Time, 

And  fay,  which  Graine  will  grow,  and  which  will  not, 

Speake  then  to  me,  who  neyther  begge,nor  feare  65 

Your  fauors,  nor  your  hate. 

1.  Hayle, 

2.  Hayle. 

3.  Hayle, 

1.  Leffer  then -/f/a^^^/A, and  greater.  70 

2.  Not  fo  happy,  yet  much  happyer. 

3.  Thou  fhalt  get  Kings,  though  thou  be  none : 
So  all  haile  MacbethySJid  Banquo. 

I.  BanguOy and  Macbethy  all  haile. 

Macb.     Stay  you  imperfeft  Speakers, tell  me  more:  -  75 

By  Sinells  death,  I  know  I  am  Thane  of  Glamis, 

62.  tt^^j//]  ra// Pope  et  seq.  r\xs,  So,.,allhail.  Lettsom  (ap.  Dyce  ii), 

64.  nof]  rot  Porson  MS  ap.  Cam.  Huds.  iii. 

73.  So]  Om.  Pope,  Han.  74.  i.  Banqao]  i,  2.  Banque  Cap. 

73,  74-  So.„aU  kaiU,\  i,  2,  3  in  cho-  76.  /  am\  Pm  Pope,  +  ,  Dyce  ii,  iii, 

Huds. 

61.  hauing]  Steevens  :  That  v&^estaie^  possession^  fortum.  Twelfth  Night,  III, 
i^>  379*  Merry  Wives,  III,  ii,  73. — Upton  (p.  300)  gives  this  as  an  instance  of 
Shakespeare's  knowledge  of  Greek,  in  that  it  is  equivalent  to  Ix^^t  habentia^ — 
Farmer  (ed.  ii,  p.  19)  contradicts,  and  shows  that  it  was  common  language  of 
Shakespeare's  time. — Clarendon  :  In  IV,  iii,  95,  where  we  read,  *  my  more-having,' 
so  hjrphenated  in  the  folio,  'having'  is  not  a  substantive. 

62.  wrapt]  Steevens  :  That  is,  rapturously  affected,  extra  se  raptus, — Claren- 
don :  F,  is  by  no  means  consistent  in  the  spelling  of  this  word.  In  Timon,  I,  i,  19,  it 
has  'rapt'  Of  course  from  its  etymology,  rapere,  raptus,  it  should  be  spelt  'rapt,' 
but  the  wrong  spelling  was  used  even  by  Locke  (as  quoted  by  Johnson). 

65,  66.  Speake  then  .  . .  your  hate]  Hudson  (ed.  iii,  p.  25) :  The  contrast  in 
the  behaviour  of  the  two  men  at  this  point  is  deeply  significant  Belief  takes  hold 
of  them  both  alike,  for  aught  appears.  Yet,  while  Macbeth  is  beside  himself  with 
excitement,  and  transported  with  guilty  thoughts  and  imaginations,  Banquo  remains 
calm,  unexcited,  and  perfectly  self-poised.  His  intellectual  forces  are  indeed  stimu- 
lated by  the  preternatural  address,  but  stimulated  only  to  moralise  the  occasion,  and 
to  draw  azguments  in  support  of  his  better  mind.  He  hears  the  speakers  with 
simple  wonder ;  shows  no  interest  in  them  but  that  of  an  honest  and  rational  curi- 
osity ;  his  mind  is  absorbed  in  the  matter  before  him  ;  and  because  he  sees  nothing 
of  himself  in  them,  and  has  no  germ  of  wickedness  for  them  to  work  upon,  therefore 
he  *  neither  begs  nor  fears  their  favours  nor  their  hate.' — Ed.  ii. 

76.  Sinells]  Pope  :  The  father  of  Macbeth. — Ritson  :  His  true  name  was  Finleg, 
corrupted,  perhaps  typographically,  to  Synele,  in  Hector  Boethius,  from  whom  it 


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ACT  I,  sc.  iii.]        THE  TR AGED  IE  OF  MACBETH  43 

But  how, of  Cawdor?  the  Thane  of  Cawdor  liues  J7 

A  profperous  Gentleman :  And  to  be  King, 

came  to  Holinshed. — Boswell  :  Dr  Beattie  conjectured  that  the  real  name  of  the 
fiunlly  was  Sinane,  and  that  Dunsinancy  or  the  hill  of  Sinane,  from  thence  derived 
its  appellation.  Clarendon  :  In  Fordun's  Scotichronicon,  Bk.  iv,  ch.  44,  Macbeth 
is  called  <  Machabeus  filius  Finele.' — Herrig  assures  us  that  *  By  Sinel's  death '  is  not 
an  adjuration. — [Sherman  :  The  implication  is  that  the  death  of  Sinel  has  occurred 
since  Macbeth  went  into  the  field ;  so  that  the  son  had  not  yet  entered  into  posses- 
sion of  his  father's  domain  or  assumed  his  title.  This  well  suits  the  author's  need 
of  dramatic  and  geographic  concentration,  since  Glamis,  a  village  ten  miles  north  of 
Dundee,  on  the  Frith  of  Tay,  is  almost  as  far  from  Forres  and  Inverness,  the  present 
estate  and  castle  of  Macbeth,  as  Fife.— Ed.  ii.] 
1^77,  78.  the  Thane  of  Cawdor  .  . .  Gentleman]  Libby  (see  note  on  I,  ii,  53) : 
I  Macbeth  means  by  this  that  Cawdor  is  probably  where  he  and  Banquo  left  him,  in 
I  the  Scotch  camp.  It  is  simply  incredible  that  these  words  are  used  of  an  imprisoned 
rebel,  who  had  turned  traitor  on  the  field  after  being  in  the  absolute  confidence  of 
the  king.  The  words,  *  The  thane  of  Cawdor  lives,  a  prosperous  gentleman,'  are 
shaded  down  to  the  simple  statement  of  his  living  when  Ross  salutes  Macbeth  as 
Cawdor.  Will  any  reader  believe  that  this  is  simply  the  result  of  corrupt  readings? 
What  method  there  must  be  in  the  corrupting  of  the  two  scenes  when  they  are  per- 
fectly coherent  from  speech  to  speech,  but  incongruous  when  compared  as  scenes. 
But  there  is  no  incongruity  whatever.  Macbeth  and  Banquo  desire  evexy  word  of 
the  witch's  predictions  to  come  true :  both  know  Cawdor  innocent ;  but  to  carry  out 
the  prediction  Macbeth  must  succeed  Cawdor.  Ross's  announcement  trebles  the  J 
desire  of  both  that  Cawdor  may  be  out  of  the  way.  If  Macbeth  and  Banquo  are  not 
allied  in  a  guilty  silence  why  do  they  not  press  Ross  for  an  explanation  of  the  down- 
&11  of  so  prominent  a  noble  ?  If  Macbeth  were  an  honest  man  would  he  not  have 
queitimud  Ross  far  enough  to  allay  the  expressed  doubts  of  Angus  as  to  how  Cawdor 
had  been  a  rebel?  To  suppose  Cawdor  an  innocent  man — traduced  and  ruined  by 
Ross,  partly  to  curry  favor  with  Macbeth,  and  partly  from  a  natural  malignity — to 
suppose  this  most  probable  hypothesis  is  to  banish  every  difficulty  in  this  otherwise 
hopeless  scene :  to  reject  this  view  iis  to  leave  Scenes  ii.  and  iii.  in  a  confusion  much 
worse  than  annotators  have  admitted,  and  the  reasons  for  the  presence  of  Angus  in 
both  scenes,  and  in  fact  for  most  of  Scene  ii,  are  entirely  lost. — Ed.  ii. — Deigh- 
TON :  Shakespeare  has  here  been  charged  with  an  inconsistency  in  making  Macbeth 
speak  in  these  terms  of  one  who  in  I,  ii,  64-5,  is  said  to  have  *  assisted '  the  King 
of  Norway.  Assisted  does  not  necessarily  imply  assistance  in  person,  but  rather 
refers  to  the  '  new  supplies  of  men '  (I,  ii,  38)  sent  to  Norway's  aid  by  Cawdor,  who 
is  also  said  to  have  strengthened  the  rebel  Macdonwald  <With  hidden  help  and 
vantage'  (I,  iii,  125-6).  It  is  quite  possible  that  Macbeth,  having  left  the  field  of 
battle  as  soon  as  it  was  over  to  proceed  to  Forres,  and  not  having  yet  joined  the  king, 
was  ignorant  of  Cawdor's  treachexy  and  of  the  sentence  passed  upon  him.  If  so, 
there  is  nothing  strange  in  his  speaking  of  that  thane  as  a  prosperous  gentleman. 
That  Cawdor's  defection  was  the  result  of  sudden  impulse  may,  I  think,  be  inferred 
from  Duncan's  surprise  when  informed  of  it  by  Ross;  and  that  the  facts  were  not 
generally  known  is  shown  by  the  words  of  Angus  (I,  iii,  124-7),  though  he,  as  Ross's 
companion,  might  be  presumed  to  have  heard  them  so  far  as  they  had  been  ascer- 
tained.    Shakespeare  nowhere  states  that  Cawdor  had  taken  part  in  the  battle: 


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44  I^^E  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH      [act  i.  sc.  iii. 

Stands  not  within  the  profpeft  of  beleefe, 

No  more  then  to  be  Cawdor.    Say  from  whence  80 

You  owe  this  ftrange  Intelligence,  or  why 

Vpon  this  blafted  Heath  you  ftop  our  way 

With  fuch  Prophetique  greeting? 

Speake,  I  charge  you.  Witches  vanijh. 

Bang.    The  Earth  hath  bubbles,  as  the  Water  ha's,  85 

And  thefe  are  of  them  :  whither  are  they  vaniftiM  ? 

Macb.    Into  the  Ayre  :  and  what  feemM  corporall,  87 

83,84.  Wiih...I charge youlOnftXm^,  87-89.  Ititd  the  Ayre„Jtayd'\  Two 

Pope  et  seq.  lines,  ending  melted,  „ftayd  Cap.  et  seq.. 

while  Holinshed  merely  mentions  that,  shortly  after  peace  had  been  made  by  Duncan 
and  the  Danes,  <  The  Thane  of  Cawdor  being  condemned  at  Forres  of  treason  against  ' 
the  king  committed  ;  his  lands,  livings,  and  offices  were  given  of  the  king's  liberalitie 
to  Makbeth.'— Ed.  ii. 

78-^.  A  prosperouB  Gentleman  .  .  .  Cawdor]  Libby  (see  note  on  I,  ii,  53) : 
These  words  are  most  emphatic  and  are  used  to  render  the  possibility  of  [his]  being 
king  utterly  absurd.  Let  those  who  think  Cawdor  guilty  explain  these  words  away : 
they  will  find  that  it  is  a  question  not  of  a  new  hypothesis  against  an  old  one,  but 
^  of  a  new  hypothesis  against  none  whatever.  No  one  will  believe  that  Cawdor  was 
1  prisoner  through  Macbeth' s  exertions  and  that  Macbeth  was  unaware  of  the 

L  an  ancient  battle  such  a  thing  would  be  absolutely  impossible. — Ed.  ii. 
prospedt]  Clarendon  :  *  The  eye  of  honour,'  Mer.  of  Ven.  I,  i,  137,  is  a 
somewhat  similar  phrase.    Compare  also, '  scope  of  nature,'  King  John^  III,  iv,  154. 

84.  Witches  vanish]  Anonymous  [Sunday  Times,  London,  30  Dec.  1888) :  We 
make  bold  to  say  that  Mr  Irving  as  Macbeth  in  the  heath  scene  accomplished  what 
high  authority  has  pronounced  impossible.  His  whole  attitude  as  the  bewildering 
prophecy  strikes  upon  his  ear,  and  as  the  strange  prophets  vanish  into  thin  air,  is 
that  of  a  man  who  has  actually  held  converse  with  the  spirits  of  another  world.  He 
is  not  only  dazed,  but  scared  ;  and  when  Ross  and  Angus  bring  him  their  message 
from  the  king,  it  is  some  time  before  he  can  collect  himself  sufficiently  to  listen  to 
their  congratulations.  It  is  perhaps  because  Irving' s  Thane  of  Cawdor  is  essentially 
a  weaker  man  than  his  stage  predecessors — a  murderer  deliberately  robbed  of  all  air 
of  heroism  and  reduced  to  the  level  of  a  craven  criminal — that  this  particular  effect 
is  rendered  possible  and  that  the  witches'  superhuman  influence  over  him  becomes 
so  marked. — Ed.  ii. 

86.  of  them]  Clarendon:  For  an  instance  of  the  preposition  <of'  thus  used 
partitively  see  Bacon's  Essays^  *Of  Atheism,'  p.  65,  ed.  Wright:  *  You  shall  have 
of  them,  that  will  suffer  for  Atheisme,  and  not  recant' 

87.  corporall]  Clarendon  :  Shakespeare  always  uses  the  form  *  corporal,'  as  in 
I,  vii,  94.  Milton  has  both  forms,  as  in  Paradise  Lost,  iv,  585:  'To  exclude 
Spiritual  substance  with  corporeal  bar.'  And  in  Samson  Agonistes,  616:  'Though 
void  of  corporal  sense.'  In  Paradise  Lost,  v,  413,  the  original  edition,  1667,  has 
'corporeal,'  where,  clearly,  we  should  read  'corporal':  'And  corporeal  to  incor- 
poreal turn.'  Shakespeare  has '  incorporal '  once,  viz.,  in  Hamlet^  III,  iv,  1 18.  He 
never  uses  '  incorporeal.' 


I  of  a  new  1 
I  a  rebel  pri 
Lfact.  Ini 
^^9.  pre 


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ACT  I.  sc.  iu.]     •  THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH  •  45 

Melted^as  breath  into  the  Winde.  88 

Would  they  had  ftay'd. 

Banq.  Were  fuch  things  here^as  we  doe  fpeake about?  90 

Or  haue  we  eaten  on  the  infane  Root,  f"'  '' 
That  takes  the  Reafon  Prifoner  ? 

M(ub.    Your  Children  (hall  be  Kings.  93 

91.  on\  of¥^^  +  ^  Ran.  Steev.  Var.  '21,  Sing.  i.     o*  Cap. 

88.  Melted]  Elwin  :  The  emphasis  should  be  laid  upon  <  seem'd,'  and  the  divi- 
sion of  ideas  is  at  *  corporal/  and  there  the  rest  should  be  made  by  the  speaker,  for 
the  mind  dwells  first  on  the  seeming  materiality ^  and  then  turns  to  the  antithesis  of 
imvisiHlity,  *  Melted '  consequently  belongs  to  the  second  line,  which  is  uttered  in 
accents  of  wonder,  and  with  a  rapidity  illustrative  of  the  act  it  describes. 

91.  on]  Abbott  (§  138) :  It  would  be  hard  to  explain  why  we  still  say,  <I  live 
OH  bread,'  but  not '  have  we  eaten  on  the  insane  root ' ;  as  hard  as  to  explain  why  we 
talk  of  a '  high '  price  or  rate,  while  Beaumont  and  Fletcher  speak  of  a  <  deeper 
rate*  (§  181).  Compare  i  Hen.  IV:  V,  ii,  71 ;  Hamlet^  I»  i,  88  ;  Corio,  IV,  v,  203. 
Note  the  indifferent  use ojf  ^  and  'of  in  Hamlet^  IV,  v,  200. — Clarendon  :  See  V, 
i,  59,  and  also  Jul,  Ges,  I,  ii,  71,  and  Mid.  N,  D,  II,  i,  266. 

91.  insane  Root]  Stkevens:  Shakespeare  alludes  to  the  qualities  anciently 
ascribed  to  Hemlock.  In  Greene's  Never  too  Late^  1616 :  '  you  have  eaten  of  the 
roots  of  hemlock,  that  makes  men's  eyes  conceit  unseen  objects,'  [p.  195,  ed.  Grosart. 

— Ed.  ii.].   In  Jonson's  Sejanus  :  * they  lay  that  hold  upon  thy  senses.  As  thou 

hadst  snuft  up  hemlock,'  [III,  ii,  p.  86,  ed.  Gifford. — Ed.  ii.]. — Malone  :  In  Plu- 
tarch's Life  of  Antony  (North's  translation,  which  Shakespeare  must  have  diligently 
read)  the  Roman  soldiers  are  said  to  have  been  enforced,  through  want  of  provisions, 
in  the  Parthian  war,  to  <  taste  of  rootes  that  were  never  eaten  before ;  among  the 
which  there  was  one  that  killed  them,  and  made  them  out  of  their  wits^  for  he  that  had 
once  eaten  of  it,  his  memory e  was  gone  from  him^  and  he  knew  no  manner  of  things 
but  only  busied  himself  in  digging  and  hurling  of  stones  from  one  place  to  another,' 
etc — Douce  :  ^Henbane  ...  is  called  Insana,  mad,  for  the  use  thereof  is  perillous, 
for  if  it  be  eate  or  dronke,  it  breedeth  madnesse,  or  slow  lyknesse  of  sleepe.  There- 
fore this  hearb  is  called  commonly  Mirilidium^  for  it  taketh  away  wit  and  reason.' — 
Batman  Up^on  Bartholome  de  propriety  rerum,  xviii,  ch.  87. — Clarendon  :  Hector 
Boece  calls  it  [the  'Mekilwort  bene,'  see  Appendix],  Solatrum  amentiaU,  that 
is,  deadly  nightshade,  of  which  Gerarde,  in  his  Herball,  writes :  '  This  kinde  of 
Nightshade  causeth  sleepe,  troubleth  the  minde,  bringeth  madnes,  if  a  fewe  of  the 
berries  be  inwardly  taken.'  Perhaps  this  is  the  '  insane  root.' — Beislby  {Shake- 
spear^  s  Garden^  p.  85) :  It  is  difficult  to  decide  what  plant  Shakespeare  meant 
John  Bauhin,  in  his  Historia  Plantarum,  says:  *Hyoscyamus  was  called  herba 
insana?  In  some  of  our  recent  botanical  journals  it  is  stated  that  the  Atropa  belladonna 
(deadly  nightshade,  or  dwale)  is  the  plant  alluded  to. — [Paton  :  Buchanan  (Rerum 
Scoticarum  Historia,  1582)  says :  < . .  .  a  great  deal  of  Bread  and  Wine  was  sent 
fhem  (the  Norwegians),  both  Wine  pressed  out  of  the  grape  and  also  strong  Drink 
made  of  Bariey  Malt,  mixed  with  the  juice  of  a  poysonous  Herb, . . .  called  Sleepy 
Nightshade.  • . .  The  vertue  of  the  Fruit,  Root  and  especially  of  the  Seed,  is  soporifer- 
ous,  and  will  make  men  mad  if  taken  in  too  great  piantities,* — Ed.  ii.] 


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46  THE   TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH      [ACTi,sc.iiL 

Banq.    You  fhall  be  King. 

Macb.    And  Tliane  of  Cawdor  too :  went  it  not  fo  ?  95 

Banq.    Toth' felfe-fame  tune, and  words:  who's  here? 

Enter  Rojfe  and  Angus. 

Rojfe.    The  King  hath  happily  roctm^d,  Macbeth^ 
The  newes  of  thy  fucceffe  :  and  when  he  reades 
Thy  perfonall  Venture  in  the  Rebels  fight,  100 

His  Wonders  and  his  Prayfes  doe  contend, 
Which  (hould  be  thine,  or  his :  filenc'd  with  that,  102 

96.  wh<^s^  but  who  is  Han.  loi,  102.  contend.  Which,,  Jhat'\  con- 

97.  Scene  V.   Pope,    Han.  Warb.        icnd.—Siien^ d  with  that  which  should 
Johns.  be  thine,  not  his  Becket    contend  What 

Roffe]  MacduE  D'Av.  '74.  „Jhat  Huds.  iii.   contend  Which  should 

and  Angus]  and  Macduff.  Booth.  be—thine  or  his— ...that.  Mull. 

100.   Venture']  'venture  Warb.  Johns.  102.  Jhould]  would  Pope. 

Rebels]    Ff.    Rowe.    Theob.    i.  thine,  or]  thine  or  F^. 

rebel's  Johns.  Sing,  ii,  Sta.  Del.  Ktly.  his:    fdened]     his.      Silenc'd 

rebels  Theob.  ii,  et  cet.  Pope,  +  ,  Coll.  Sing,  ii,  Wh.  i,  Ktly. 

97.  Rosse]  French  (p.  293) :  This  title  really  belonged  to  Macbeth,  who, 
y  long  before  the  action  of  the  play  begins,  was  Thane,  or  more  properly,  Maor- 
mor  of  Ross>  by  the  death  of  his  father,  Finley.  In  line  76  of  this  scene,  <Sinel ' 
(fix>m  Holinshed)  is  put  for  Finley,  and  '  Glamis '  for  Ross.  This  title  should  not 
be  confounded  with  one  similar  in  sound,  which  is  spelt  Rosse,  and  is  an  Irish 
dignity. 

r  98-109.  LiBBY  :  What  are  the  facts  about  these  inconsistent  speeches,  the  one  to 
\  *  Duncan  in  the  second  scene  and  this  one  to  Macbeth  ?  Angus  heard  Ross  deliver  a 
confused  and  ambiguous  account  of  the  battle  to  Duncan  and  heard  Duncan  pro- 
nounce the  fate  of  Cawdor.  Angus  must  have  enquired  of  Ross  what  Cawdor  had 
done  that  he  should  have  been  alluded  to  as  a  traitor.  Ross  had  evidently  not  satis- 
fied him,  for  Angus  tells  Macbeth  that  he  does  not  know  what  wrong  Cawdor  had 
done.  It  is  before  Angus  that  Ross  must  now  give  an  account  of  that  speech  to 
Duncan,  and  in  such  words  as  shall  not  make  Macbeth  and  Banquo  exclaim  that 
Cawdor  is  innocent.  Here  are  some  of  the  ambiguities  of  his  words :  (a)  He  gives 
Macbe^  the  impression  that  he  was  not  himself  the  messenger  to  Duncan,  but  so 
carefully  that  Angus  does  not  suspect  it.  (^)  <  Thy  personal  venture  in  the  rebel's 
fight'  alludes  to  Macdonwald  as  Macbeth  and  Banquo  understand  it  (and  as  the 
sergeant  would  have  also  understood  it),  while  to  Angus  it  brings  a  confused  notion 
of  Norway  and  Cawdor,  (r)  <Silenc'd  with  that*  to  Macbeth  means  that  Duncan 
was  overcome  with  wonder  and  admiration  of  the  awful  duel  with  Macdonwald : 
I  To  Angus  it  means  that  Duncan  was  so  taken  up  with  anger  at  Cawdor's  treachery 
I  that  he  paid  no  attention  to  the  news  of  the  battle. — Ed.  ii. 

100.  Rebels]  Deli  us:  *  Personal  venture*  evidently  refers  to  Macbeth*  s  duel 
with  Macdonwald,  and  therefore  rebel's  is  better  than  rebels'  of  other  editors. 

102.  his]  Steevens  :  That  is,  private  admiration  of  your  deeds,  and  a  desire  to 


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ACT  I,  sc.  iiij        THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH  47 

In  viewing  oVe  the  reft  o'th'felfe-fame  day,  103 

He  findes  thee  in  the  ftout  Norweyan  Rankes, 
Nothing  afeard  of  what  thy  felfe  didft  make  105 

Strange  Images  of  death,  as  thick  as  Tale 

105.  afeard'\  afraid  F  ,  + .  Cam.      ta/e.   Came  Johns,   conj.   Mai. 

106.  deathyosl  Ff,  Knt  i.  death;  as  Steev.  Var.  '21,  Sing.  Coll.  Sta.  Wh. 
Rowe.     death.    As  Pope,  et  cet  Ktly,  Huds.     bale  Came  Becket.    haii 

106,  107.  Tale  Can]  hail  Came  Rowe,         Ran  Del.  conj. 

do  them  public  justice  by  commendation,  contend  in  his  mind  for  pre-eminence. — 
Elwin  :  His  tuonders  and  his  praises  maintain  a  contention  whether  he  should  be 
more  actuated  by^  or  you  more  the  object  of^  his  wonders  or  his  commendations. 
That  is,  which  of  the  two  it  most  befits  him  to  grue^  or  you  to  excite.  The  two  words 
are  used  in  the  plural  to  indicate  more  strongly  the  repeated  excitation  of  the  sepa- 
rate sensations  of  astonishment  and  approbation, — Halliwell  :  That  is,  the  king's 
wonder  and  commendation  of  your  deeds  are  so  nearly  balanced,  they  contend 
whether  the  latter  should  be  prominently  thine,  or  the  wonder  remain  with  him  to 
the  exclusion  of  any  other  thought. — Bailey  :  I  suggest  thy  praises  for  *  his  praises,' 
and  that  in  the  next  line  *  silenced '  be  placed  before  '  thine.'  That  is,  the  king 
utters  exclamations  of  his  own  wonder  while  he  reads  thy  praises  in  the  despatches, 
and  these  two  utterances  seem  to  contend  which  shall  silence  the  other,  or,  in  differ- 
ent language,  which  shall  have  the  predominance.  Thy  praises  is  countenanced  by 
line  108.  Cla&endon  :  There  is  a  conflict  in  the  king's  mind  between  his  aston- 
ishment at  the  achievement  and  his  admiration  of  the  achiever ;  he  knows  not  how 
sufficiently  to  express  his  own  wonder  and  to  praise  Macbeth,  so  that  he  is  reduced 
to  silence. — [Sprague  :  There  is  no  need  of  changing  the  text  The  king  speaks, 
though  vaguely,  of  a  <  greater  honor,'  of  which  the  thaneship  of  Cawdor  is  but  *  an 
earnest'  That  'greater  honor'  can  hardly  be  anything  less  than  the  crown  itself. 
Originally  the  claim  of  Macbeth  to  the  throne  was  better  than  Duncan's,  and  now 
Macbeth  has  by  his  valor  saved  Scotland,  while  old  Duncan  has  done  nothing. 
Duncan  is  conscious  of  ingratitude  in  bestowing  nothing  but  the  petty  Thanedom  of 
Cawdor  as  a  reward  for  Macbeth' s  brilliant  services ;  wishes  *  that  the  proportion 
both  of  thanks  and  payment'  might  have  been  in  his  power  to  bestow,  but  feels  that 
mofe  is  due  Macbeth  than  the  entire  kingdom  can  pay.  The  kingdom  is  Macbeth' s 
by  right,  Duncan's  by  possession.  Whose  shall  it  be  ?  He  is  in  doubt  which  thing 
to  give  Macbeth,  which  thing  to  retain  as  his  own.  In  this  mood  *  his  wonders  and 
his  praises  do  contend  (as  to)  which  (».  e.  dignity,  wealth  or  the  kingdom  itself ) 
should  (ought  to)  be  thine  (Macbeth' s)  or  his.'  Ross  and  Angus  evidently  think 
the  magnanimous  king  is  on  the  point  of  abdicating  in  favor  of  his  heroic  cousin. 
But  the  king,  after  hinting  at  such  abdication,  prudently  checks  himself,  '  silenced 
with  that.'— Ed.  ii.] 

102.  that]  Capell  :  « That  *  can  refer  to  no  other  substantive  but  one  implied  in 
*  contend,'  with  contention  ;  contention  which  became  him  most  of  these  duties  hin- 
dered his  farther  process  in  either,  '  silenced  *  Duncan. 

106.  Images  of  death]  Sprague  :  A  recollection  of  plurima  mortis  imago 
(AEneid,  II,  369)?  This  is  usually  interpreted  as  corpses/  Is  it  not  rather  the 
shapes  in  which  Death  presents  itself?  Or  should  we  pause  after  *  of,'  and  interpret, 
'Nothing  afraid  of  death,  which  thou  didst  make  strange  images  of  ?— Ed.  ii. 


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48  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH       [act  i,  sc.  liL 

Can  poft  with  poft,  and  euery  one  did  beare  107 

107.  with'\  on  Pope,  + . 

106.  Tale]  Johnson  :  That  is,  posts  arrived  as  dut  as  they  could  be  oouDted. — 
Steevens  :  As  thick  anciently  signified  as  fast  To  speak  thick,  in  Shake^>eare, 
does  not  mean  to  have  a  cloudy,  indistinct  utterance,  but  to  deliver  wards  with 
rapidity.     So  in  Cymb.  Ill,  ii,  58,  and  in  2  Hen,  /F.-   II,  iii,  24.— Malone: 

* breathe  out  damned  orisons  As  thicke  as  haHe-stanes  'fore  the  Spring's 

approach.' — First  Fart  of  the  Troublesome  Faigne  of  King  John,  1591,  [p.  62,  ed. 
Bowie.— Ed.  ii.]. — Harry  Rowe:  'Tale*  means  'Counters,'  used  formerly  in 
summing  up  money.  Shakespeare  very  justly  compares  his  posts  to  the  rapid 
manner  that  counters  are  shifted  by  the  fingers.  For  this  reading  I  am  obliged  to 
the  mistress  of  a  post-house,  who  happened  to  be  present  when  my  company  acted 
this  play. — Singer  :  *  Thicke^  says  Baret,  '  that  cometh  often  and  thicke  together ; 
creber,  frequens,  frequent,  souvent  venant.*  And  again,  *Crebritas  literarum,  the 
often  sending,  or  thicke  coming  of  letters.  Thicke  breathing,  anhelitus  creber.'  To 
tale  or  tell  is  to  score  or  number.  Thus  also  ip  Foibes's  State  Fapers,  i,  475  :  '  Per- 
aventure  the  often  and  thick  sending,  with  words  only,  that  this  prince  hath  lately 
usyd,'  etc. — ^Knight:  The  passage  is  somewhat  obscure,  but  the  meaning  is  as 
evident  under  the  old  reading  as  the  new. — Collier  (ed.  i.) :  The  meaning  is  evi- 
dent, when  we  take  tale  in  the  sense,  not  of  a  narrative,  but  of  an  enumeration,  from 
Sax.  telan,  to  count.  Rowe's  alteration  may  be  considered  needless. — Hunter  : 
The  defences  of  '  tale '  appear  to  me  weak,  while  '  hail '  is  the  common  stock-com- 
parison of  our  popular  language,  which  has  subjects  for  comparison  for  everything, 
for  that  which  comes  in  rapid  succession,  and  is  used  by  some  of  our  best  authors,  as 
by  Googe  and  Stowe,  and  among  the  poets  by  Harington  and  Sylvester.  It  was 
probably  'Hail'  with  the  article  'the'  prefixed,  originally  written  ' I' hail. '—The 
vexy  next  word  is  misprinted  '  can '  for  '  came,'  showing  that  the  manuscript  was 
blurred  in  this  place. — ^Elwin  :  The  word  *  tale '  being  a  noun,  the  phrase  would 
consequently  be  Posts  arrived  as  fast  as  account ;  and  nothing  more  is  needed  for  the 
overthrow  of  Johnson's  interpretation.  To  those  who  have  noted  Shakespeare's 
habit  of  continuing  the  mode  of  expression  suggested  by  his  metaphors  or  similes, 
even  to  a  considerable  distance  from  those  figures  of  speech,  there  is  in  line  109  a 
complete  proof  that  Rowe's  emendation  is  correct.  The  connection  of  thought  is 
here  obvious.  The  messengers  arrived  at  their  goal,  discharged  themselves  of  their 
news,  as  melting  hail  pours  forth  its  water. — Hudson  :  Thus  in  Exodus,  v,  18 :  <  the 
tale  of  bricks.'  And  in  L' Allegro  it  is  used  for  the  numbering  of  sheep :  'And  every 
shepherd  tells  his  tale.*  And  we  still  say,  to  keep  tally  for  to  keep  count. — Dyce 
(ed.  i.) :  Was  such  an  expression  as  <  thick  as  tale'  ever  employed  by  any  writer 
whatsoever?  I  more  than  doubt  it  Now,  ^  thick  as  hail*  is  of  the  commonest 
occurrence  : — 'Out  of  the  towne  came  quarries  thick  as  hcdle. — Drayton's  BattaUe 
of  Agincourt,  p.  20,  ed.  1627.  [But  a  shcwer  of  arrows  and  a  rapid  succession  of 
messengers  are  very  distinct  things.  Singer,  ed.  ii.]  <The  English  archers  shoot 
9&  thick  as  haile* — Harington' s  Orlando  Furioso,  b.  xvi,  st.  51.  'Rayning  down 
bullets  from  a  stormy  cloud.  As  thick  as  hail,  upon  their  armies  proud.' — Sylvester's 
Du  Bartas,^Fourth  Day  of  the  First  Week,  p.  38,  ed,  1641.  -More  thick  they 
fall  then  haUe^-^A  Herrings  Tayle,  1598.  « Darte  thick  as  haile  their  backs  behinde 
did  smite.'— Niccols's  Kh^  Arthur,— A  Winter  Night^s  Vision,  1610,  p.  583. — 
Collier  (ed.  ii.) :  The  MS  Corrector  presents  us  with  no  emendation  of  'tale'; 


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ACT  I.  sc.  iii.]        THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  49 

Thy  prayfes  in  his  Kingdomes  great  defence,  108 

And  powr'd  them  downe  before  him, 

Ang.    Wee  are  sent,  1 10 

To  giue  thee  from  our  Royall  Mafter  thanks, 
Onely  to  harrold  thee  into  his  fight, 
Not  pay  thee. 

Rojfe.    And  for  an  eameft  of  a  greater  Honor, 
He  bad  me,  from  him,  call  thee  Thane  of  Cawdor :  115 

110.  Ang.]  Rosse.  Booth.  Sing.  Knt,  Del.  Ktly. 

112,  Onely\  Om.  (reading  to, .  .pay  thee  112.  harrotd'\  kerrald  F^y    herald 

as  one  line)  Steev.  Var.  *03, '  13.  F^  et  seq. 

1x2,  113,  Onely.,. pay  thee'\  One  line,  11$.  bacf^  bade  Theob.  ii.  et  seq. 

nevertheless,  hail  may  be  the  right  word,  though  the  simile  is  vexy  trite.— R.  G. 
White  :  To  say  that  men  arriTed  as  thick  as  tale,  u  e.  as  fast  as  they  could  be  told, 
is  an  admissible  hyperi>ole ;  to  say  that  men  arrived  as  thick  as  haily  i.  e.  as  close 
together  as  hailstones  in  a  storm,  is  equally  absurd  and  extravagant.  The  expression 
*  as  thick  as  hail '  is  never  applied,  either  in  conmion  talk  or  in  literature,  I  believe, 
except  to  inanimate  objects  which  fall  or  fly,  or  have  fallen  or  flown,  with  unsucces- 
sive  multitudinous  rapidity.— Staunton  :  Rowe's  change  was  unwarrantable,  and 
has  been  adopted  by  many  editors  for  no  other  reason,  it  would  appear,  than  that 
the  former  simile  was  unusual  and  the  latter  commonplace. — Halliwell:  <Ta]e'  is 
an  obvious  blunder.  The  expression  thick  as  hail  is  found  in  nearly  evexy  writer  of 
the  time. — Dyce  (ed.  ii. )  :  <  yidhil^a  .  . .  hail  . . .  words  poured  forth  hastily  and 
vehemently  are  termed  ;if(iAaCai.' — Maltby*s  Greek  Gradus^  1830.  *  ;^o^C^7n^,  hurl- 
ing abuse  as  thick  as  hail.^ — Liddell  and  Scott's  Greek  Lex,  Clarendon  :  No 
parallel  instance  can  be  given  for  '  as  thick  as  tale.' 

no.  sent]  Hunter:  It  appears  that  we  ought  to  read  'we  are  not  sent' — 
Clarendon  :  The  sense  is  quite  dear  as  the  text  stands,  for  thanks  are  not  pay- 
ment, and  Angus's  speech  thus  suits  much  better  with  the  one  which  follows. 

112.  Onely  . .  .  thee]  Mitford:  The  redundancy  of  ^Only*  has  arisen  from 
forcing  the  two  readings  into  one  line  ;  one  must  be  selected  and  the  other  put  aside. 
•Only  to  herald  thee  into  his  sight,'  or  *To  herald  thee  into  his  sight,  not  pay 
thee.'     [The  latter  is  the  reading  of  Steevens,  1793,  1803,  and  1813.]— Walker 

(iii,  251)  :    Qu,  *Only  to  herald  thee  to's  (or  in's)  sight,  not  pay  thee?' 

Abbott  (§  511) :  Such  a  short  line  as  113  is  vexy  doubtful.  Read  (though  some- 
what harshly),  ' On^y  |  to  h^r(a)ld  |  thee  fn  |  to'j  sfght  |  not  piy  thee.'  '  Herald' 
is  here  a  monosyllable  ;  according  to  §  463,  r  frequently  softens  or  destroys  a  follow- 
ing vowel  (the  vowel  being  nearly  lost  in  the  burr  which  follows  the  effort  to  pro- 
nounce the  r).     See  IV,  iii,  154. 

114.  earnest]  Clarendon:  Cotgrave  gives  'Arres.  Earnest;  money  giuen  for 
the  conclusion,  or  striking  vp  of  a  baigaine.'  The  *  earnest  penny '  is  still  given  in 
the  North  of  England  on  the  hiring  of  servants. 

t    114-117.  LiBBY  :  Ross  allows  Macbeth  to  feel  the  sweetness  of  being  called  Thane 

I  of  Cawdor.     When  Macbeth  has  got  this  new  title  Ross  lets  Angus  explain  that  it 

involves  the  ruin  of  Cawdor.     Will  Macbeth  save  Cawdor  and  drop  the  new  title  ? 

I   No,  he  is  only  anxious  now  that  Banquo  shall  say  nothing  to  save  Cawdor  I — Ed.  iL 

* 4 


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so  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH      [act  I.  sc.  iii. 

In  which  addition^  haile  mod  worthy  Thane^  1 16 

For  it  is  thine. 

Banq.     What,  can  the  Deuill  fpeake  true  ? 

Macb.    The  Thane  of  Cawdor  hues  : 
Why  doe  you  dreffe  me  in  borrowed  Robes  ?  120 

Ang.    Who  was  the  Thane ^  Hues  yet, 
But  vnder  heauie  Judgement  beares  that  Life, 
Which  he  deferues  to  loofe. 
Whether  he  was  combined  with  thofe  of  Norway,  124 

118.  ff%<j/.../nftr/']AsanAside,Cap.  123-127.   Which  .„  not  :'\  Ff,  Rowc, 

Huds.  i,  ii,  Dyce  ii,  iii,  Sta.  Ktly,  Wb.  Knt.    Four  lines,  ending:  was,„ReheU 

ii,  Coll.  iiL  .,Mth,,.not ;  Pope,  +  ,  Cap.  Var.  *73, 

119-121.  The  Than^.., lines yet'^T^o  '78, '85,  Steev.  Var.    Four  lines,  ending 

lines,  the  first  ending  dreffe  me  Cap.  et  combined  >,,  Retell ,,^  both  ...  not;   Mai. 

seq.  et  ceL 

120.  borrowed 'j^  his  borrowed  Ff.    his  124.   Whether"]  Whe*r  Mai.  Sta. 

borrow' d  Pope,  +  .     borrowed  Var.  '73  tho/e  0/}   Om.    Pope,  +  ,   Ci^. 

et  seq.  Var.  Mai.  Ran.  Steev.  Var.  '03,  '13. 

116.  addition]  Clarendon:  Cowel  (Law  Diet.  s.  v.)  sa3rs  it  signifies  <a  title 
given  to  a  man  besides  his  Christian  and  surname,  showing  his  estate,  degree,  mys- 
teiy,  trade,  place  of  dwelling,  &c.*    Compare  Coriol.  I,  iz,  66  ;  Hen.  V:  V,  ii,  467. 

118.  Deuill]  Abbott  (  §  466) :  The  v  is  dropped  in  evil  and  deidl  (Scotch 
•de'ir). 

119.  The  .  .  .  liues]  Elwin  :  The  original  metre  denotes  the  pause  which  the 
speaker  would  naturally  make  upon  an  assertion  of  surprise,  as  upon  it  he  would 
necessarily  dwell  impressively,  and  it  is  by  this  that  the  rhythm  is  perfected.  '  Why 
. . .  robes  V  should  be  spoken  in  the  rapid  accents  due  to  an  expostulation  of  wonder. 
— [LiBBY  :  Some  readers  may  ai^e  that  when  Macbeth  said  to  the  witches :  *  The 
thane  of  Cawdor  lives,  a  prosperous  gentleman,*  he  was  merely  trying  to  draw  than 
out ;  Banquo  might  have  understood  him  in  that  way.  But  here  he  protests  more 
feebly  that  Cawdor  lives,  not  that  he  wishes  him  prosperous,  but  that  he  wants  proof 
of  his  downfall,  which  thus  makes  the  former  view  utterly  untenable. — Ed.  ii.] 

^20.  dresse]  See  Appendix^  Date  of  the  Flay. 
j      1 21-129.  Libby:  Angus  really  knew  nothing  about  the  matter  except  what  Ross 
'  had  told  him :  it  is  like  Shakespeare  to  say  to  the  reader  between  the  lines  with  grim 
irony,  <  Treason's  capital  have  overthrown  him.'     Macbeth  does  not  clear  up  the 
doubts  of  Angus,  or  ask  for  the  confession  of  Cawdor,  but  turns  to  dangle  the  allure- 
ments of  royal  offspring  before  the  eyes  of  Banquo,  for  fear  he  may  fail  to  connive 
with  Ross  and  himself  in  their  guilty  and  silent  partnership.     He  puts  this  in  its 
most  favourable  light  and  Banquo  is  corrupted.    Ross,  in  the  acting,  warns  Macbeth 
not  to  ruin  his  excellent  plot.     Is  it  too  much  to  say  that  the  subtle  underplay  of  this 
scene  by  which  Ross  silences  Macbeth^  and  Macbeth  Banquo^  is  the  centred  idea  ofii^ 
f    that  that  alone  makes  it  intelligible  and  gives  proper  weight  to  every  line  and  word  ? 
—Ed.  ii. 

124.  Whether]  Walker  ( Vers.  p.  103) :  Either,  Neither,  Whether,  Mother, 
Brother,  and  some  other  disyllables  in  which  the  final  -ther  is  preceded  by  a 


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ACT  I.  sc  iii.]        THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  5 1 

Or  did  l3nie  the  Rebell  with  hidden  helpe,  125 

And  vantage  ;  or  that  with  both  he  laboured 
In  his  Countreyes  wracke,  I  know  not : 
But  Treafons  Capitall,  confefsM,and  prouM, 
Haue  ouerthrowne  him. 

Macb.     Glamys,and  Thane  of  Cawdor :       '  130 

The  greateft  is  behinde.     Thankes  for  your  paines, 
Doe  you  not  hope  your  Children  (hall  be  Kings, 
When  thofe  that  gaue  the  Thane  o{  Cawdor  to  me, 
PromisM  no  lefle  to  them, 

/   Bang.    That  trufted  home,  135 

^ght  yet  enkindle  you  vnto  the  Crowne, 
Befides  the  Thane  of  Cawdor.     But  'tis  ftrange  : 
And  oftentimes,  to  winne  vs  to  our  harme,  138 

125.  did}  elfe  did  Ff,  Rowe.  132.  Doe\  [To  Banqao.]  Do  Rowe, 

126.  thai\  Om.  Pope,  Han.  + ,  Cap.  Wh.  Glo.  Dyce  ii,  iii,  Huds. 

127.  wracke\  wreck  Theob.  ii.  135-141.  Thai.,.confequmce  [Aside.] 
13a  [Aside.]  Rowe.  Cap.    Aside  to  Macbeth.  Dyce  ii. 

Glamys]  Ciamis  Ff  et  seq.  135-  trufted'\  thrusted  Mai.  Col.  iii. 

131.  behinde.'\  behind.  [To  Angus.]  (MS)  conj.  Ktly. 

Rowe,+.    behind.    [To  Ross  and  An-  136.  vnto\  intoY^  Rowe. 
gus.]  Wh.  Glo.  Dyce  ii,  iii. 

Towel — ^perhaps,  in  some  measure,  all  words  in  -ther — are  frequently  used,  either 
as  monosyllables,  or  as  so  nearly  such  that  in  a  metrical  point  of  view  they  may  be 
regarded  as  monosyllables.  Some,  as  u/^^'M^,  were  undoubtedly  contracted  {wh^r). 
This  usage  is  more  frequent  in  some  words  than  in  others ;  e,  g,  in  whether  than  in 
hither^  whither^  etc. — ^Abbott  (§  466)  :  «  Whether  he  was,'  in  this  instance,  consti- 
tutes one  foot,  '  he  was '  being  contracted  in  pronunciation  (§  461 )  to  h*was, — Clar- 
endon :  Even  counting  <  Whether '  as  a  monosyllable,  the  line  is  redundant,  as  are 
so  many  where  a  new  sentence  begins  in  the  middle. 

125.  lyne]  That  is,  to  fortify  ^  to  strengthen.  For  other  examples,  see  Sdunidt  {Lex,), 
132-134.  Hunter  ;  The  delivery  of  predictions  of  this  kind  was  not  peculiar  to 
the  wayward  sisters  of  Scotland,  nor  was  an  attention  to  them  wholly  extinct  in  Shake- 
speare* s  time.  Aubrey  relates  that  a  prophet  or  bard  in  Carmarthenshire  predicted 
of  the  first  Vaughan  who  was  made  a  peer,  that  he  would  live  to  be  a  lord,  and  that 
his  son  would  be  a  lord  after  him.  It  was  in  an  interview  with  Mr  Vaughan,  and 
be,  like  Macbeth,  was  desirous  to  know  further,  but  the  prophet  could  say  no  more. 

135.  home]  Dyce  (Gloss.)  :  That  is,  to  the  utmost  Compare  AiTs  Well^  V,  iii, 
4;  Temp.  V,  i,  71  ;  Meas.  for  Meas,  IV,  iii,  148,  and  Cym,  IV,  ii,  328.— Abbott 
(f  45)  •  ^^  ^U  ^7  '  ^  come  home^  *  to  strike  honuy  using  the  word  abverbially 
with  verbs  of  motion. 

136.  enkindle]  Coleridge:  I  doubt  whether  this  has  not  another  sense  than 
that  of  sHmuhUing:  I  mean  of  kind  and  kin^  as  when  rabbits  are  said  to  kindle. 

138--141.  And . . .  consequence]  Corson  (p.  234) :  The  entire  moral  of  the  trag- 
edy is  expressed  in  this  speech.    Banquo  appears  to  have  been  specially  designed  by 


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52 


THE  TR AGED  IE  OF  MACBETH       [act  i.  sc.  iii. 


The  Inftruments  of  Darknefle  tell  vs  Truths, 
Winne  vs  with  honeft  Trifles,  to  betray's 
In  deepeft  confequence. 
Coufins,  a  word,  I  pray  you. 

Macb.    Two  Truths  are  told. 
As  happy  Prologues  to  the  fwelling  Aft 
Of  the  Imperiall  Theame.    I  thanke  you  Gentlemen : 
This  itipernaturall  folliciting 
Cannot  be  ill  ;  cannot  be  good. 
If  ill  ?  why  hath  it  giuen  me  eameft  of  fuccefle. 
Commencing  in  a  Truth?  I  am  Tliane  of  Cawdor. 
If  good?  why  doe  I  yeeld  to  that  fuggeftion, 


140 


14s 


150 


140.  betrays]  betrays  F^.  betray  us 
Rowe  ii.  et  seq. 

141.  142.  In,„you\  One  line,  Cap. 
Var.  Ss,  *85,  Ran.  Mai.  Jen.  KUy. 

142.  [To  Rosse  and  Angus.]  Rowe, 
+ .  talks  with  Rosse  and  Angus  apart. 
Cap.  They  retire.  Ktly.  Talk  apart. 
Coll.  iii. 

143.  [Aside.]  Rowe,+,  Jen.  Dyce, 
Sta.  Cam.  Huds.  iii.  Wh.  ii,  Coll.  iii. 

145.  /...  Gentlemen]  /...  Gentlemen 
[To  Rosse  and  Angus.]  Johns. 


146-158.  This.„noi]  As  an  Aside. 
Cap.  Han.  ii,  Dyce,  Sta.  Cam.  Huds. 
iii,  Wh.  ii.  Coll.  iii. 

147.  Cannot, ..cannot]  Can  it,.. can  it 
Anon.  ap.  Cam. 

cannot  be  good.]  can  it  be  good 
Jackson. 

good.]   good —    Rowe    et    seq. 
(subs. ) 

147,  148.  Cannot. ..If  ill?]  One  line, 
Rowe  et  seq. 

149.  I  am]  Pm  Pope,  +  ,  Huds.  iii. 


the  Poet  as  a  counter-agency  to  that  of  the  witches  (if  that  can  be  called  a  counter- 
agency  which  proves  entirely  ineffective) ;  or,  as  a  support  or  encouragement  to  Mac- 
beth's  free  agency,  if  he  choose  to  assert  it — Ed.  ii. 

144.  sweUing]  Steevens  :  Compare  the  Prologue  to  Henry  Vy  1.  4.— Claren- 
don :  Shakespeare  borrows  here,  as  he  frequently  does,  the  language  of  the  stage. 
Compare  II,  iv,  8,  9. 

145.  I  thanke  3rou  Gentlemen]  J.  S.  Knowles  (p.  10) :  What  business  has 
this  line  here  if  Macbeth  is  aware  of  what  has  just  been  passing?  He  has  not  heard 
a  word  of  Banquo's  speech.  He  is  not  conscious  that  his  friend  has  taken  Rosse 
and  Angus  apart  to  confer  with  them.  Yet  I  have  seen  some  of  our  first-rate  actors 
leisurely  turn  round  and  address  their  thanks  to  Rosse  and  Angus  standing  at  the 
back  of  the  stage,  thus  obliterating  as  it  were  one  of  the  finest  traits  of  the  scenic 
picture.  No,  Macbeth  believes  Ross  and  Angus  to  be  still  standing  where  first  he 
saw  them ;  he  has  become  thoroughly  abstracted  again  ;  he  recovers  his  recollection ; 
hastens  to  repair  a  breach  of  decorum,  of  which  he  suspects  himself  to  have  been 
guilty  ;  turns  to  do  it ;  finds  they  have  removed  to  a  distance  with  Banquo,  and  then 
resumes  the  former  train  of  his  thought — Ed.  ii. 

145.  Gentlemen]  Walker  (  Vers.  p.  189) :     This  is  vexy  often  a  disyllabic. 

146.  solliciting]  Johnson  :  That  is,  incitement, 

150.  suggestion]  Hunter  :  It  must  have  been  the  necessity  which  the  Poet  felt 
of  being  rapid  in  the  production  of  the  events,  when  so  much  was  to  be  crowded 


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ACT  I,  sc.  iii.]        THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH  53 

Whofe  horrid  Image  doth  vnfixe  my  Heire,  151 

And  make  my  feated  Heart  knock  at  my  Ribbes, 

Againft  the  vfe  of  Nature  ?     Prefent  Feares 

Are  lefle  then  horrible  Imaginings :  154 

151.  wj^-Ttf]  upfix  Warb.  153.  Feares]    feats    Warb.    Theob. 

Heire]  heir  F^.     hair  Rowe  et        Han. 

^ 

into  five  acts,  that  induced  him  to  represent  Macbeth  as  thus  early  seeing  no  other 
way  for  the  fulfilment  of  the  prophetic  word  than  that  he  should  embrue  his  hands 
in  the  blood  of  Duncan.  The  conception,  the  very  thought  of  such  a  course,  should 
have  been  reserved,  at  least,  till  after  Duncan  had  settled  the  succession  in  his  sons. 
*  Suggestion '  is  a  theological  word,  one  of  the  three  '  procurators  or  tempters  *  of  Sin, 
Delight  and  Consent  being  the  others.  Thus,  John  Johnes,  M.  D.,  in  his  Arte  and 
Science  of  preserving  bodie  and  soul  in  healthy  wisdom  and  Catholic  religion^  I579> — 
Fletchbr  (p.  112)  :  This  supernatural  soliciting  is  only  made  such  to  the  mind  of 
Macbeth  by  the  fact  that  he  is  already  occupied  with  a  purpose  of  assassination. 
This  is  the  true  answer  to  the  question  which  he  here  puts  to  himself. — [Werder 
(p.  ao)  :  This  is  the  critical  point.  Can  there  any  longer  remain  a  doubt  that  the 
incitement  through  the  witches  is  only  of  secondary  importance  ?  As  the  primal 
cause  towards  such  an  effect,  it  was  far  too  slight.  Their  prediction  was  only  one 
impulse  and,  in  fact,  such  a  one  as  alone  comes  from  without,  because  his  own 
thoughts  had  already  drawn  him  thus  far.  A  desire,  which  converts  the  '  will  be ' 
of  the  prophecy  into  the  present,  by  means  of  his  agency  alone,  even  through  the 
dreadful  means  of  murder,  seizes  upon  his  thoughts ;  this  desire,  in  fact,  is  already 
there  in  his  inmost  being, — whence  it  sprung, — and,  only  too  apparently  to  him, 
must  coincide  with  the  external  motive. — Ed.  ii.] 

151.  vnfixe]  Mason  :  Compare  V,  v,  15-17. — Harry  Rowe;  The  hair  may  be 
uplifted^  but  no  horrid  image  can  < unfix'  it. — Clarendon:  Stir  my  hair  from  its 
position,  make  it  stand  on  end.  See  Temp,  I,  ii,  213 ;  Hamlet^  III,  iv,  151 ;  in  a 
Henry  VI:  III,  ii,  318,  it  is  a  sign  of  madness. 

152.  seated]  Steevens  :  That  is,  fixed,  firmly  placed.  So  in  Paradise  Losty 
vi,  643:  'From  foundations,  loosening  to  and  fro,  They  pluck' d  the  seated 
hills.' 

153.  Feares]  Harry  Rowe  :  I  read  acts  for  *  fears,'  conceiving  that  *  present 
fears'  and  'horrible  imaginings'  are  nearly  the  same  thing. — Clarendon:  The 
presence  of  actual  danger  moves  one  less  than  the  terrible  forebodings  ot  the  imagina- 
tion.     [For  *fcar,'  in  the  sense  of  object  of  fear ^  see  Schmidt,  LexJ] 

153-158.  Present  Feares  ...  is  not]  Corson  :  Here  we  have  the  first  indica- 
tion of  that  keenly  imaginative  temperament  of  Macbeth  which  will  play  so  important 
a  part  in  his  murderous  career,  which  will  deceive  his  wife  as  to  its  true  character, 
and  which  has  deceived  many  commentators.  It  will,  at  first,  shake  his  fell  purpose 
and  may  be  easily  mistaken  for  what  Lady  Macbeth  calls  <  compunctious  visitings  of 
nature '  ;  but  a  genuine  compunction  there  is  no  evidence  that  he  experiences :  and 
his  <  horrible  imaginings '  are,  in  fact,  only  one  mode  in  which  his  selfishness  mani- 
fests itself.  He  has  selfish  fears  from  external  dangers,  intensified  by  a  morbidly 
active  imagination.  This  is  also  shown  in  his  soliloquy  at  the  commencement  of 
Scene  vii. — ^Ed.  ii. 


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54  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH       [ACTi.sciiL 

My  Thought,  whofe  Murther  yet  is  but  fantafticall,  155 

Shakes  fo  my  fmgle  ftate  of  Man, 

155.  whofe\  where  Coll.  MS.  156-159.  Shakes, „rapL'\  Lines  end, 

Murther\  matter  Gould.  Function  ...  nothing  is  ...  ra^.  Pope  et 

Afurther  ..,  fantq/iiialll  ^^^'         ^• 
therms  yet  but  fantasy  Han. 

155.  whose  .  .  .  fantasticaU]  Dsighton  :  In  which  murder  has  not  taken  any 
definite  shape  as  to  its  execution ;  in  which  murder  has  not  yet  got  beyond  the  stage 
of  mere  imagination. — Ed.  ii. 

155.  Murther]  Maginn  (p.  173)  :  To  a  mind  thus  disposed,  temptation  is  unneces- 
sary. The  thing  was  done.  Duncan  was  marked  out  for  murder  before  the  letter  was 
written  to  Lady  Macbeth,  and  she  only  followed  the  thought  of  her  husband. 

155.  fantasticaU]  Abbott  (§  467) :  /  in  the  middle  of  a  trisyllable,  if  unac- 
cented, is  frequently  dropped,  or  so  nearly  dropped  as  to  make  it  a  favourite  syllable 
in  trisyllabic  feet 

155-15^*  BucKNiLL  (p.  13) :  Let  not  this  early  and  important  testimony  be  over- 
looked which  Macbeth  gives  to  the  extreme  excitability  of  his  imagination.  This 
passage  was  scarcely  intended  to  describe  an  actual  hallucination,  but  rather  that 
excessive  predominance  of  the  imaginative  faculty  which  enables  some  men  to  call  at 
will  before  the  mind's  eye  the  very  appearance  of  the  object  of  thought.  It  is  a 
faculty  bordering  on  a  morbid  state,  and  apt  to  pass  the  limit,  when  judgment  swal- 
lowed in  surmise  yields  her  function  and  the  imaginaxy  becomes  as  real  to  the  mind 
as  the  true,  *  and  nothing  is  but  what  is  not.'  This  early  indication  of  Macbeth's 
tendency  to  hallucination  is  most  important  in  the  psycholc^cal  development  of  his 
character. 

156.  my  single  state  of  Man]  Fitzgerald  (ii,  p.  74) :  [Gairick  made  a  long 
pause  between  'single'  and  *  state,'  to  which  the  critics  objected]  'If  I  do  so,' 
said  Garrick,  '  it  is  a  glaring  fault ;  for  the  sense  is  imperfect  But  my  idea  is  this : 
Macbeth  is  absorbed  in  thought,  and  struck  with  horror  of  the  murder,  though  but  in 
idea ;  and  it  naturally  gives  him  a  slow  undertone  of  voice.  And  though  it  might 
appear  that  I  stopped  at  every  word  in  the  line,  more  than  usual,  my  intention  was 
but  to  paint  the  honor  of  Macbeth' s  mind,  and  keep  the  voice  suspended  a  little.' 
—Ed.  ii. 

156.  single  state  of  Man]  Johnson  :  This  phrase  seems  to  be  used  by  Shake- 
speare for  an  individual  in  opposition  to  a  commonwealth,  or  conjunct  body. — 
Steevens  :  It  should  be  observed,  however,  that  dtmble  and  single  anciently  signi- 
fied strong  and  weaky  when  applied  to  liquors,  and  to  other  objects.  In  this  sense 
the  former  word  may  be  employed  by  lago  in  0th.  I,  ii,  14  :  '  a  voice  potential  As 
double  as  the  duke's.'  And  the  latter,  by  the  Chief  Justice,  speaking  to  Falstaff,  in 
2  Hen,  IV:  I,  ii,  207,  *  Is  not  your  wit  single  ?'  The  single  state  of  Macbeth  may 
therefore  mean  his  weak  and  debile  state  of  mind.  Seymour  :  Milton,  Paradise 
Lost^  Bk,  xi,  [1.  496],  <  Compassion  quell'd  His  best  of  man.'  [See  also  V,  viii,  24: 
*For  it  hath  cow'd  my  better  part  of  man.*— -Ed.  ii.]— Boswell  :  So  in  Jonson's 

Every  Man  Out  of  His  Humour:  • he  might  have  altered  the  shape  of  his 

a^ument,  and  explicated  them  better  in  single  scenes — ^That  had  been  single  indeed,' 
[II,  i;  p.  74,  ed.  Gifford. — Ed.  ii.]. — Singer:  Macbeth  means  his  simple  condition 
of  human  nature.     Single  soul^  for  a  simple  or  weak,  guileless  person,  was  the 


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ACT  I.  sc.  iiL]        THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  55 

That  Funffion  is  fmother'd  in  furmife,  157 

And  nothing  is  ^  but  what  is  not. 

Bang.    Looke  how  our  Partner's  rapt.  1 59 

159.  Partner' s}  partners  FJF^  159.  [To  Rosse.  Coll.  iii. 

phraseology  of  the  Poet's  time.  Simplidty  and  singleness  were  synonymous. — 
Elwin  :  Macbeth  calls  his  existence  at  this  moment  his  single  state  of  man,  because 
of  the  two  faculties,  thought  and  action^  by  which  the  life  of  man  expresses  itself, 
the  primitive  or  essential  quality  alone  is  recognised  by  him ;  action,  or  function, 
being,  as  he  says,  extinguished  by  the  violent  agitation  of  the  other  power. — Staun- 
ton :  *  Single '  here  bears  the  sense  of  wtak  ;  my  feeble  government  (or  body  politic) 
oi  man.  Shakespeare's  affluence  of  thought  and  language  is  so  unbounded  that  he 
rarely  repeats  himself,  but  there  is  a  remarkable  affinity  both  in  idea  and  expression 
between  the  present  passage  and  one  in  Jul.  Cces,  II,  i,  63-69 :  *  Between  the  acting 
of  a  dreadful  thing  And  the  first  motion,  all  the  interim  is  Like  a  phantasma,  or  a 
hideous  dream :  The  Genius  and  the  mortal  instruments  Are  then  in  council ;  and 
the  state  of  man.  Like  to  a  little  kingdom,  suffers  then  The  nature  of  an  insurrection.' 
— R.  G.  White  :  That  is,  my  inadequate,  unsupported  manhood. — Clarendon  : 
Man  is  compared  to  a  kingdom  or  state,  which  may  be  described  as  '  single '  when 
all  faculties  are  at  one,  or  act  in  unison,  undisturbed  by  conflicting  emotions.  Or 
is  *  ^ngle '  used  in  a  depreciatory  sense,  as  in  I,  vi,  23  ? 

157.  Fan«5tion]  Johnson  :  All  powers  of  action  are  oppressed  and  crushed  by 
one  overwhelming  image  in  the  mind,  and  nothing  is  present  to  me  but  that  which 
is  really  future.  Of  things  now  about  me  I  have  no  perception,  being  intent  wholly 
on  that  which  has  yet  no  existence. 

158.  not]  Steevens  :  Compare  a  sentiment  somewhat  like  this  in  Mer.  of  Ven, 
III,  ii,  1S4,  and  in  Pich,  //.*  II,  ii,  23. — Coleridge  :  So  surely  is  the  guilt  in  its 
germ  anterior  to  the  supposed  cause  and  immediate  temptation  !  Before  he  can  cool, 
the  confirmation  of  the  tempting  half  of  the  prophecy  arrives,  and  the  concatenating 
tendency  of  the  imagination  is  fostered  by  the  coincidence. . . .  Every  word  of  his  solil- 
oquy shows  the  early  birth-date  of  his  guilt. — ^HuDSON :  That  is,  facts  are  lost  sight 
of.  I  see  nothing  but  what  is  unreal,  nothing  but  the  spectres  of  my  own  fancy. 
So,  likewise,  in  the  preceding  clause :  the  mind  is  crippled,  disabled  for  its  proper 
function  or  ofl^ce  by  the  apprehensions  and  surmises  that  throng  upon  him.  Mac- 
beth's  conscience  here  acts  through  his  imagination,  sets  it  all  on  fire,  and  he  is 
terror-stricken  and  lost  to  the  things  before  him,  as  the  elements  of  evil,  hitherto 
latent  within  him,  gather  and  fashion  themselves  into  the  wicked  purpose.  His 
mind  has  all  along  been  grasping  and  reaching  forward  for  grounds  to  build  criminal 
designs  upon ;  yet  he  no  sooner  begins  to  build  them  than  he  is  seized  and  shaken 
with  horrors  which  he  knows  to  be  imaginary,  yet  cannot  allay. 

159.  Looke  how  our  Partner's  rapt]  C.  S.  Buell  {Poet- Lore,  Vol,  xi,  18S9, 
p.  87) :  Two  possible  explanations  present  themselves  as  to  why  Banquo  should  call 
attention  to  Macbeth' s  condition.  The  first  is  that  Banquo,  in  his  innocence,  really 
meant  what  he  said ;  the  second,  that  Ross  and  Angus  showed  surprise  at  Macbeth' s 
absent-mindedness,  and  that  Banquo' s  first  impulse  was  to  tell  them  what  had  hap- 
pened. When  he  had  called  special  attention  to  Macbeth' s  rapt  state,  he  changed 
his  mind,  and  was  obliged  to  tell  what  he  knew  to  be  a  falsehood  in  order  to  escape 
from  his  dilemma.     The  former  of  these  explanations  is  precluded  if  Banquo  was  an 


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56  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH      [act  i,  sa  iu. 

Macb.     If  Chance  will  haue  me  King,  i6o 

Why  Chance  may  Crowne  me, 
Without  my  ftirre. 

Banq.     New  Honors  come  vpon  him 
Like  our  ftrange  Garments,  cleaue  not  to  their  mould, 
But  with  the  aid  of  vfe.  165 

Macb.     Come  what  come  may. 
Time,  and  the  Houre,runs  through  the  rougheft  Day.  167 

160,  161.  If  Chance, „me\  One  line,  Han.  Johns.  Cap.  Dyce,Sta.  Cam.  Huds. 

Rowe  et  seq.  iii,  Wh.  ii,  Coll.  iii. 

160-162.  If...ftirre\   As   an    Aside.  167.   TinUy  and  the  Houre]    Time! 

Rowe,  + ,    Dyce,    Sta.    Cam.    Wh.    ii,  on ! — the  hour  Johns,  conj.     Ti$ne  and 

Coll.  iii.  the  honour  Jackson. 

163.  hini^  him^  F^.  runs']  run  Hal. 

166,  167.  Come,., Day]  As  an  Aside. 


acute  observer.  The  second  seems  the  truer  explanation.  Call  it  what  you  will, 
natural  reserve,  secretiveness,  disinclination  to  meddle  in  other  people's  affairs,  or  a 
direct  temptation  of  the  '  instruments  of  darkness,'  one  thing  is  certain  :  had  Banquo 
told  Ross  and  Angus  what  he  alone  could  tell,  Duncan  would  never  have  been 
murdered  by  the  hand  of  Macbeth. — Ed.  ii. 

162.  Without  my  stirre]  Libby  (see  note  on  I,  ii,  53) :  Just  as  in  the  case  of 
Cawdor,  where  mere  silence  had  been  the  only  requirement.  Even  Duncan  ex- 
presses surprise  that  Cawdor  proved  a  traitor ;  Macbeth  and  Banquo  say  nothings 
beyond  asking  how  it  was  possible  for  Macbeth  to  succeed  a  prosperous  nobleman 
still  living.  Yet  the  editors  ask  us  to  believe  that  Cawdor  was  guilty  and  that  Mac- 
beth had  defeated  him  in  open  rebellion. — Ed.  ii. 

167.  Time]  Mrs  Montagu  :  That  is,  tempus  et  hora,  time  and  occasion,  will 
carry  the  thing  through  and  bring  it  to  some  determined  point  and  end,  let  its  nature 
be  what  it  will. — Hunter  :  We  feel  the  meaning  of  this,  and  perhaps  every  reader 
of  Shakespeare  feels  it  alike.  It  is  a  conventional  expression.  We  need  not,  there- 
fore, be  solicitous  to  scan  every  element  of  the  general  idea,  to  weigh  the  particular 
force  and  effect  of  every  word.  Alas  for  much  of  our  finest  poetry  if  we  are  to  deal 
with  it  thus !  The  phrase  is  used  by  good  writers.  As  by  Bishop  Hacket  in  his 
Life  of  Archbishop  IVilliams  :  *  Time  and  long  day  will  mitigate  sad  accidents,' 
Part  ii,  20.  Marlowe  places  at  the  end  of  his  Doctor  Faustus  a  line  which  contains 
a  sentiment  resembling  this:  ^Terminat  hora  diem;  teraiinat  auctor  opus.' — Dyce 
{^Few  NoteSf*  p.  119)  :  This  expression  is  not  unfrequent  in  Italian :  *  Ma  perch'  e' 
ftigge  U  tempOy  ecosi  ^ora,  La  nostra  storia  ci  convien  seguire,'  Pulci,  Mo?g.  Mag, 
c.  XV.  *  Ferminsi  in  un  momento  il tempo  e  /'  ore^  Michelagnolo,  Son,  xix. — Elwin  : 
That  is,  to  every  difficulty  there  comes  its  hour  of  solution.  The  hour  signifies  the 
appropriate  hour;  it  is  identified  in  time,  of  which  it  constitutes  a  part,  as  having 
the  natural  distinction  of  containing  the  issue  of  the  event,  the  finish  of  the  day. — 
Bailey  (i,  89):  I  propose  to  read,  'Time's  sandy  hour  runs,'  etc.  It  will  be 
allowed,  I  think,  that  this  alteration  remedies  the  tautolc^  and  the  incongruity  of 
ideas  in  the  received  text,  and  it  will  not  be  difficult  to  show  that  it  is  Shakespearian 
both  in  cast  of  thought  and  in  expression.     Compare  i  Hen,  VI:  IV,  ii,  36,  and 


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ACT  I.  sc.  iii.]        THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  57 

Bang,  Worthy  Macbeth  ^  wee  flay  vpon  your  ley-  168 
fure. 

Macb.     Giue  me  your  fauour  :  170 

My  dull  Braine  was  wrought  with  things  forgotten. 
Kinde  Gentlemen,  your  paines  are  regiftred, 
Where  euery  day  I  turne  the  Leafe, 
To  reade  them. 

Let  vs  toward  the  King  :  thinke  vpon  175 

What  hath  chanc'd  :  and  at  more  time, 
The  Interim  hauing  weighed  it,  let  vs  fpeake  177 

170-174.   GiMU„Jkan.'\  Giue.,Jhem,  172.  regiftred'^     registered    Cap.    el 

[To  Rosse  and  Angus.  Johns.  seq. 

170-176.  Giue  nte..,more  time']  Five  175.  King:  thinkel  king.  Think  Cai^. 

lines,  ending  wrought,,. paines.., turne,.,  et  seq. 

King^.„time  Pope,  +  ,  Cap.  Var.  Mai.  175-178.  thinke ..,  other,"]    thinke,,. 

Ran.    Steev.    Var.    Coll.   Dyce,   Cam.  other  [To  Banquo.  Rowe,+,  Dyce  ii, 

Hods.  Wh.  Six  Unes,  ending /auour:,,.  Coll.  iii. 

forgotten.  ...regiftred „.them„„KiHg.,„  ly $-180.  thinke „,enough .'1    Marked 

time  Knty  Sing,  ii,  Sta.  as  Aside.  Cap.  Huds.  i,  Dyce  ii,  iii. 

17a  me'\  Om.  Coll.  i.  177.   The]  Pth'  Steev.  conj.     In  the 

'7'-  forgotten]  forgot  Pope,  + .  Ktly. 

Mer,  of  Ven,  I,  i,  25.  The  emendation  has  also  in  its  favour  the  ductus  literarum  : 
*  Timers  sandy  hour  *  and  *  Time  and  ye  hour.* — Halliwell  :  Compare  the  similar 
phiBseolc^  :  *Day  and  time  discovering  these  murders,  the  woman  . . .  confessed 
the  foot* — ^Lodge's  Wits  Miserie,  1596. — Clarendon  :  •  Time  and  the  hour,*  in  the 
sense  of  time  with  its  successive  incidents,  or  in  its  measured  course,  forms  but  one 
idea.  The  expression  seems  to  have  been  proverbial.  Another  form  of  it  is :  *  Be 
the  day  weary,  be  the  day  long,  At  length  it  ringeth  to  evensong.' — R.  G.  White 
(  Words  and  their  Uses^  p.  237)  :  The  use  of  tide  in  its  sense  of  hour,  the  hour,  led 
natnndly  to  a  use  of  hour  for  tide.  *  Time  and  the  hour '  in  this  passage  is  merely 
an  equivalent  of  time  and  tide — ^the  time  and  tide  that  wait  for  no  man.  Time  and 
opportunity,  time  and  tide,  run  through  the  roughest  day ;  the  day  most  thickly 
bestead  with  trouble  is  long  enough  and  has  occasions  enough  for  the  service  and 
the  safety  of  a  ready,  quick-witted  man.  But  for  the  rhythm,  Shakespeare  would 
probably  have  written.  Time  and  tide  run  through  the  roughest  day ;  but  as  the 
adage  in  that  fonn  was  not  well  suited  to  his  verse,  he  used  the  equivalent  phrase, 
time  and  the  hour  (not  time  and  an  hour,  or  time  and  the  hours). 

167.  runs]  See  Abbott  (§  336)  for  instances  of  the  inflection  in  s  with  two  sin- 
gular nouns  as  subject. 

170.  fauour]  Steevens  :  That  is,  indulgence,  pardon. — Collier  (ed.  ii. )  :  Here 
we  are  told  in  the  MS  that  the  actor  of  the  part  of  the  hero  was  to  start,  on  being 
suddenly  roused  from  his  ambitious  dream. 

171.  wrought]  Steevens  :  That  is,  agitated. 

172.  registrod]  Clarendon  :  That  is,  in  the  Ubiets  of  his  memory,  like  the 
fiv^uovec  dkWroi  ^pedv  (-/Eschylus,  Prometheus,  789).     Compare  Hamlet,  I,  v,  98. 

177.  The  Interim]  Steevens  :  This  intervening  portion  of  time  is  personified ; 


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58  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH      [act  i,  sc.  iv. 

Our  free  Hearts  each  to  other.  178 

Bang.    Very  gladly. 

Macb,    Till  then  enough  :  180 

Come  friends.  Exeunt. 


Scena  Quarta. 


Flourijh.    Enter  King  ^  Lenox  ^Malcoltne  ^    •  2 

Doncdbcdney  and  Attendants . 

King.     Is  execution  done  on  Cawdor"^ 
Or  not  thofe  in  Commiflion  yet  retum'd  ?  5 

179.  Aside  to  Macb.  Dyce  ii.  2^  3.  Lenox... Donalbaine,]  Maloolm, 

180.  Aside  to  Ban.  Dyce  ii.  Donalbain,  Lennox,  Rowe  et  seq. 
180,  181.  One  line,  Pope  et  seq.  4.  King.]  Dun.  Cap.  etseq.  (through- 

1.  Scene  VL  Pope, +  ,  Jen.  out) 

Foris.     A  Room  in  the  Palace.  4,  5.  h,,.not'\  One  line.  Cap.  et  seq. 

Cap.  Mai.  Var.  (etseq.  subs.)    A  Camp  4.  Cawdor?]  Cawdor  yet?  Pope,  +  . 

near  Forres.  Booth.  5.  Or\  Theob.  Warb.  Johns.  Coll.  i, 

2.  King]  Duncan,  Cap.  et  seq.  Del.     Are  Ff,  et  cet 

it  is  represented  as  a  cool  impartial  judge;  as  the  pauser  Reason, — M alone  :  I 
believe  it  is  used  abverbially.  [For  instances  of  the  omission  of  prepositions  in 
adverbial  expressions  of  time,  manner,  etc.  see  Abbott,  §  202.  See  also  IV,  iii.  57. 
— Sherman  remarks  that  <  in  the  Folio,  terms  of  importance  are  capitalized,  or  itali- 
cized, or  both.  This  word,  in  the  present  instance,  is  both  capitalized  and  italicized. 
Except  "  (My)  Genius"  (III,  i,  67),  there  is  no  other  example  of  an  italicized  com- 
mon noun  in  the  whole  play.'  In  six  of  the  thirteen  passages  wherein  this  word 
occurs  in  F,,  it  is  printed  in  italics,  and  in  Jul,  Qesar,  II,  i,  64,  it  is  both  in  italics 
and  with  a  capital. — Ed.  ii.] 

I.  Scena  Quarta]  Manly  :  It  is  now  pretty  well  agreed  that  this  scene  is  to  be 
regarded  as  taking  place  on  the  day  after  the  previous  scenes.  In  regard  to  the 
incidents,  it  is  to  be  noted  that  the  dramatist  was  under  no  obligations  to  present 
a  report  upon  the  death  of  Cawdor.  In  life  there  would  be  such  a  report,  but  upon 
the  stage  not  necessarily.  The  presentation  of  it  here  serves  as  a  subject  for  con- 
versation before  the  entrance  of  Banquo  and  Macbeth  ;  and,  as  it  were,  furnishes  an 
introduction  to  the  important  announcement  in  regard  to  Malcolm.  A  good  deal 
has  been  made  of  the  *  tragic  irony '  of  many  passages  in  this  scene, — ^perhaps  not 
too  much ;  but  it  is  well  to  bear  in  mind  that  there  is  less  scope  for  speeches  which 
palter  with  us  in  a  double  sense  in  the  Romantic  Drama,  which  undertakes  to  tell 
the  audience  a  new  story,  than  in  the  Classic  Drama,  which  presents  a  new  setting 
of  an  old  theme.  We  who  read  one  of  Shakespeare's  plays  for  the  hundredth  time 
may  occasionally  discover  a  subtlety  which  the  most  responsive  audience  would  miss, 
and  which — alackaday  !  was  not  intended  by  Shakespeare. — Ed.  ii. 

5.  Or]  CoLUER  (ed.  i.) :   Duncan  asks  whether  execution  has  been  done  on 


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ACT  I,  sc.  iv.]        THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH  59 

Mai.     My  liege,  they  are  not  yet  come  back.  6 

But  I  haue  fpoke  with  one  that  faw  him  die  : 
Who  did  report,  that  very  frankly  hee 
Confefs'd  his  Treafons,  implor'd  your  Highneffe  Pardon,  9 

6-12.  MyLuge,,.dyde^^vtJk\vaK&^         ,.,forth„,Life,.,dyde^Va^tX^it\, 
endiog  Liege,,. /poke, ».report.„Treaf ens  9.  Highneffe']  highnes^  Pope  et  seq. 

Cawdor,  or  whether  the  tidings  had  not  yet  been  received  by  the  return  of  those 
oommissioned  for  the  purpose. — Dyce  (IdemarJb,  etc.) :  Could  any  boarding-school 
girl  read  over  the  speech  of  Duncan,  and  not  immediately  perceive  from  the  arrange- 
ment of  the  words  that  'or*  is  a  misprint  for  are? — [Allen  (/iom,&*Ju/,p.  430, 
of  this  ed.)  :  Shakespeare,  in  certain  cases,  wrote  as  he  pronounced.  He  wrote  pAo- 
neHcally,  He  took  no  pains  to  indicate  to  the  eye  that  of  which  he  gave  no  notice 
to  the  ear.  He  wrote  with  the  hearer,  and  not  the  reader,  in  his  mind's  eye.  But 
the  reader  of  that  day  read  as  he  would  have  heard,  and  drew  the  same  sense  from 
the  page,  printed  without  interpretive  marks  addressed  to  the  eye,  as  he  would  have 
drawn  from  the  same  matter  addressed  to  the  ear.  We  are  trained  to  deal  with  the 
printed  page  so  entirely  otherwise,  that  we  see  defects  in  the  original  text  where  none 
exist,  and  proceed  to  amend  them  by  thrusting  words  into  the  supposed  gaps,  when 
we  should  fully  meet  all  the  demands  even  of  the  modem  eye  by  merely  indicating 
the  actual  presence  of  what  had  been  treated  as  absent.  Thus  :  *  Is  execution  done 
on  Cawdor?  or  (  =  or  are)  not  those  in  Commission  yet  returned  ?' — Ed.  ii.] 

5.  those  in  Commission]  Sherman  :  The  use  of  the  plural  here  would  seem 
to  confirm  the  stage-direction  (I,  ii,  53),  '  Enter  Rosse  and  Angus.'  Summed  up, 
the  evidence  is  this :  *  Those  in  commission,'  when  they  do  come  back,  tum  out  to 
be  the  men  just  named ;  and  they  have  greeted  Macbeth,  as  Duncan  directed,  upon 
the  way.  Also,  Angus  claims  (I,  iii,  no)  a  share  in  Ross's  responsibility  here. 
On  the  other  hand,  Duncan  does  not  recognize  the  presence  of  Angus  in  I,  ii,  and 
refers  to  the  approach  of  Ross  and  his  companions — if  he  has  any — by  '  comes.'  Also 
Ross  saySj  in  the  same  scene,  *1'11,'  and  later  (I,  iii,  115),  'me.'  Some  critics  ex- 
plain the  inconsistency  by  supposing  that  Ross,  in  spite  of  his  promise  to  the  King 
('I'll  see  it  done'),  executed  his  commission  by  deputies.  It  is  easier  to  assume 
that  the  editors  of  the  Folio  blundered  at  1.  53,  in  the  second  scene,  than  that  Shake- 
^>eare  meant  to  perplex  his  audience,  in  this  of  all  plays,  with  the  unaccountable 
disobedience  or  indifference  of  a  royal  servant. — Ed.  ii. 

7.  die]  Steevens  :  The  behaviour  of  the  thane  of  Cawdor  corresponds  in  almost 
every  circumstance  with  that  of  the  unfortunate  Earl  of  Essex,  as  related  by  Stowe, 
p.  793.  His  asking  the  Queen's  forgiveness,  his  confession,  repentance,  and  concern 
about  behaving  with  propriety  on  the  scaffold,  are  minutely  described.  Such  an 
allusion  could  not  fail  of  having  the  desired  effect  on  an  audiance,  many  of  whom 
were  eye-witnesses  to  the  severity  of  that  justice  which  deprived  the  age  of  one  of  its 
greatest  ornaments,  and  Southampton,  Shakespeare's  patron,  of  his  dearest  friend. — 
Singer  (ed.  ii.) .-  Montaigne,  with  whom  Shakespeare  was  familiar,  says,  *In  my 
time,  three  of  the  most  execrable  persons  I  ever  knew,  in  all  abominations  of  life, 
and  the  most  infamous,  have  been  seen  to  die  very  orderly  and  quietly,  and  in 

every  circumstance  composed  even  unto  perfection,'  [ ,  Bk.  I,  ch.  xviii ;  p.  30, 

ed.  1632.     In  the  Essay  entitled:   TTiat  we  are  not  to  judge  of  Man* t  Happiness 
before  his  Death, — Ed.  ii.] 


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6o  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH      [act  i.  sc.  iv. 

And  fet  forth  a  deepe  Repentance :  lO 

Nothing  in  his  Life  became  him, 

Like  the  leauing  it.     Hee  dy'de,,      ^ 

As  one  that  had  beene  ftudied  in  his  death, 

To  throw  awav  the  deareft  thing  he  oVd, 

As  'twere  a  careleffe  Trifle.  15 

12.  dyde\  dyd  FjF^.  14.  ov^d^  own'd  Johns.  (Obs.)  conj. 

Warb. 

12.  the  leauing]  For  other  examples  where  *  the'  precedes  a  verbal  that  is  fol- 
lowed by  an  object,  see  Abbott,  §  93. 

13.  studied]  Johnson:  Instructed  in  the  ait  of  dying. — ^Malone:  His  own 
profession  furnished  Shakespeare  with  this  phrase.  To  be  *  studied '  in  a  part,  or  to 
have  studied  it,  is  yet  the  technical  term  of  the  theatre. — Harry  Rows  :  An  allu- 
sion to  the  death  of  Socrates  and  Seneca,  who  with  great  propriety  may  be  considered 
as  men  *  studied  in  their  4eath,' — [Butler  (p.  173)  :  Johnson  says  thtX studied  means 

*  instructed  in  the  art  of  djring.'  Here  what  is  plain  enough  is  rendered  unintelligi- 
ble by  the  explanation.  The  meaning  is  that  he  died  as  if  he  had  studied  to  throw 
away  his  life  as  a  careless  trifle.  The  comma  after  '  death  *  should  be  omitted.  The 
participial  form  is  often  employed  for  an  adjective  form,  as  in  *  the  guiled  shore  To  a 
most  dangerous  sea'  (J/^rr.  of  Ven.  Ill,  ii,  97),  where  guiled  —  guileful.  In  Act 
IV,  sc.  i,  [1.  26],  '  the  ravined  salt-sea  shark '  means  the  ravenous  salt-sea  shark. — 
Manly  :  Not  a  past  participle,  but  one  of  those  adjectives  in  -ed^  of  which  numerous 
examples  maybe  found  in  Schmidt  (pp.  14 17,  141 8),  meaning  'possessed  of,  en- 
dowed with,  the  thing  expressed  by  tbe  corresponding  noun ' ;  compare  Lear  III, 
vii,  43  :  'Be  simple  answered '  =  provided  with  a  simple  answer ;  also  such  modem 
phrases  as  *  a  hard-hearted  man,'  *  a  wrong-intentioned  man,'  etc.  No  proof  of  its 
technical  use,  as  suggested  by  Malone,  has  been  adduced. — Schmidt  ( Lex, )  inter- 
prets the  present  passage  as  <  well  versed,  practised,'  but  does  not  anywhere  specify 
study  as  used  in  a  technical  sense.     As  meaning  to  learn  by  heart,  he  quotes: 

*  Painted  cloth,  whence  you  have  studied  your  questions.' — As  You  Like  It^  III,  ii, 
291.  'Where  did  you  study  all  this  goodly  speech?' — Tarn,  of  Shr,  II,  i,  264.  *I 
can  say  little  more  than  I  have  studied.' — Tkvelfth  Night,  I,  v,  190.  *  You  could, 
for  a  need,  study  a  speech  of  some  dozen  or  sixteen  lines.' — ffamiet,  II,  ii,  565. 
Under  '  study,'  as  a  noun,  Schmidt  gives  :  '  Have  you  the  lion's  part  written  ?  pray 
3rou,  if  it  be,  give  it  me,  for  I  am  slow  of  study.' — Afid,  M  D,  I,  ii,  68.  In  three 
of  these  examples,  viz.  that  from  Hamlet,  Mid.  N,  D.  and  the  present  passage, 
Malone  and  Steevens  assert  that  '  study '  or  *  studied '  is  used  in  a  technical,  theat- 
rical sense,  and  appeal  to  the  present  usage  of  the  stage.  When,  therefore,  it  is  said 
that  <  no  proof  of  its  technical  use  has  been  adduced,'  we  must  weigh  Schmidt's 
classification  against  the  assertions  of  Steevens  and  Malone. — ^Ed.  ii.] 

15.  As]  Abbott  (§  107) :  'As,'  like  an,  appears  to  be  (though  it  is  not)  used 
by  Shakespeare  for  as  if  The  'if  is  implied  in  the  subjunctive ;  that  is  [in  the 
present  line],  *  in  the  way  in  which  (he  would  throw  it  away)  were  it  a  careless 
trifle.'  Often  the  subjunctive  is  not  represented  by  any  inflection,  as  in  II,  i,  38, 
*As  they  had  seen  me,'  etc. 

15.  carelesse]  For  instances  of  adjectives  in  -ful,  -less,  -ble,  and  -ive,  with  both  an 


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ACT  I,  sc.  iv.]        THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH  6 1 

King.    There's  no  Art,  i6 

To  finde  the  Mindes  conftruftion  in  the  Face  : 
He  was  a  Gentleman,  on  whom  I  built 
An  abfolute  Truft. 

Enter  Macbeth ,  Banquo ,  Rojfe^  and  Angus  20 

O  worthyeft  Coufin, 
The  finne  of  my  Ingratitude  euen  now  22 

20.  Enter,...]  After  Coufin  (line  21),  21.  wifrtAyefil^  my  most  worthy  Han. 

Cap.   Mai.    Steev.  Var.  Sing,  i,   Knt,  [Embracing  Macb.  Coll.  ii. 

Huds.  22.  euen\   ev'n  Pope  i,  Han.     e'en 

Angus]  Macduff.  Booth.  Pope  ii,-f . 

actiTe  and  a  passive  meaning,  see  Walker  (CW/.  ii,  82)  and  Abbo'it,  §  3. — Clar- 
endon: Compare,  for  the  sentiment,  Euripedes,  Medea,  516-520:  [O  Jove,  why  I 
pray,  hast  thou  given  to  men  certain  proofs  of  the  gold  which  is  adulterate,  but  no 
mark  is  set  by  nature  on  the  person  of  men  by  which  one  may  distinguish  the  bad 
man. — Trans.  F.  A.  Buckley.— Ed.  ii.] 

16,  17.  There's  no  Art .  .  .  Face]  Darmesteter  :  For  the  sentiment  herein 
expressed,  compare  Racine,  Phedre,  II,  4  (following  Euripides,  Medea,  516-520), 
•  Faut-il  que  sur  le  front  d'  un  profane  adiilt^re  Brille  de  la  vertu  le  sacr6  caract^re  ? 
Et  pourquoi  ne  peut-on,  \  des  signes  curtains,  Reconnaltre  le  coeur  des  perfides 
humains.'  The  arrival  of  Macbeth  at  these  words,  which  he  hears  on  entering,  and 
the  truth  of  which  he  is  shortly  to  verify  by  his  acts,  fonns  a  dramatic  contrast  to  the 
elation  of  Duncan.  This  seems  condemnatory  of  Garrick's  conception  (that  Mac- 
beth's  face  was  always  '  as  a  book  where  men  might  read  strange  matters ');  Macbeth 
had  had  ample  time  to  recompose  his  face.  Talma  here  gave  him  the  smile  of  his 
Nero  in  the  interview  with  Agrippina. — Ed.  ii. — Libby:  This  speech  is  Duncan's 
death-warrant.  It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  in  this  play  Shakespeare  is  most  careful 
to  preserve  an  exalted  conception  of  retributive  justice.  Even  Lady  Macduff  is  most 
untrue  to  her  noble  husband  before  the  murderers  enter ;  Banquo  forfeits  his  life 
(not  to  Macbeth,  but  to  poetic  justice)  by  his  failure  to  warn  Duncan  and  to  defend 
Ca^rdor.  Duncan  forfeits  his  life  by  weakly  condemning,  on  the  parenthetical  accu- 
sation of  the  thane  of  Ross,  a  nobleman  who  ha4  been  trusted  with  the  <  bosom 
interest '  of  the  king,  *  a  gentleman  on  whom  I  built  an  absolute  trust ;'  one  clearly, 
who  had  rivalled  Macbeth  and  Banquo  in  his  counsels.  Though  the  lines,  *  The 
sin  of  my  ingratitude,'  apply  to  Macbeth,  yet  they  seem  an  echo  of  his  feelings  for 
the  murdered  Cawdor. — Ed.  ii. 

17.  conatrudtion]  Heath  :  That  is,  construe  or  collect  the  disposition  of  the 
mind  from  the  countenance.  The  metaphor  is  taken  from  granunatical  construction, 
not  from  astrological,  as  Warburton,  nor  from  physical,  as  Johnson,  interprets  it — 
Malone  :  In  the  93d  Sonnet,  however,  we  find  a  contrary  sentiment :  *  In  many's 
looks  iht  false  hearfs  history  Is  writ.' — Clarendon:  Duncan's  reflections  on  the 
conduct  of  Cawdor  are  suddenly  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  one  whose  face  gave 
as  little  indication  of  the  construction  of  his  mind,  upon  whom  he  had  built  as  abso- 
lute a  trust,  and  who  was  about  to  requite  that  trust  by  an  act  of  still  more  signal 
and  more  fatal  treachery. 


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62 


THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH       [act  i,  sc.  iv. 


Was  heauie  on  me.    Thou  art  fo  farre  before, 
That  fwifteft  Wing  of  Recompence  is  flow, 
To  ouertake  thee.  Would  thou  hadft  lefle  deferuM, 
That  the  proportion  both  of  thanks,  and  payment, 
Might  haue  beene  mine  :  onely  I  haue  left  to  fay. 
More  is  thy  due,  then  more  then  all  can  pay. 
Macb.    The  feruice,and  the  loyaltie  I  owe. 
In  doing  it,payes  it  felfe. 
Your  Highnefle  part,  is  to  receiue  our  Duties : 
And  our  Duties  are  to  your  Throne,  and  State, 
Children,  and  Seruants;  which  doe  but  what  they  (hould, 


23 


25 


30 


33 


23.  Thouarti  TAcu'rt  ?ope,-^fI>yce 
a,  iii,  Huds.  i. 

24.  Tka/I  The  Jen. 

Wing\  Witu  Ff.  Wind  Rowe, 
Pope,  Coll.  and  Sing.  MSS. 

is  Jl<nv\  must  flow  Wilson  MS 
(reading  Wine),  ap.  Cam.  ii. 

25.  M^/.]  fAee:  Coll.  Sing,  ii,  Huds. 
Wh.  i. 

fVou/d}  *  Would  Theob.  ii,+, 
Var.  Mai.  Ran.  Steev.  Var.  Knt,  Huds. 
KUy,  Coll.  iii. 

thou  hadfl^  thou'dst  Pope,  +  . 
27.  mine]  more  Coll.  ii  (MS). 


27.  I  haue]  Pve  Pope, + ,  Dyce  ii,  iii, 
Huds.  iii. 

28.  then]  than  F^. 

then  more]  ei/'n  more  Han. 

50-35.  Lines  end :  part ...  Duties ... 
Seruants  ...  thing  ...  Honor.  Pope  et 
seq. 

32,  33.  are  to  your  Throne^  and  Siate^ 
Children^]  Are  to  your  throne  and 
state^  children  Knt,  Cam.  i,  Coll.  iii. 
Are  to  your  throne  and  state  children 
Glo.  Dyce  ii,  iii,  Wh.  ii,  Cam.  ii.  Are^ 
to  your  throne  and  state^  children  Fur- 
ness. 


26.  proportion]  Clarendon:  That  is,  due  proportion.  See  Tro.  &*  Cres,  I, 
iii,  87. 

27.  mine]  Coluer  {Holes,  etc.)  :  More  says  the  MS  Corrector.  Duncan  wishes 
that  his  thanks  could  have  been  more  in  proportion  to  the  deserts  of  Macbeth.  This 
diange  is  doubtful. — Singer  (Shakespeare  Vindicated,  etc.)  :  I  confess  it  seems  to 
me  much  more  plausible  than  many  that  Collier  considers  undoubted. — Staun- 
ton :  For  '  mine,'  which  no  one  can  for  a  moment  doubt  to  be  a  corruption,  we 
would  suggest  that  Shakespeare  wrote  mean,  i.  e.  equivalent.  Just,  and  the  like  ;  the 
sense  then  being,  That  the  proportion  both  of  thanks  and  payment  might  have  been 
equal  to  your  deserts. 

29.  owe]  Clarendon  :  The  loyal  service  which  I  owe  recompenses  itself  in  the 
very  performance.  The  singular  is  used  as  in  I,  iii,  167,  '  service  and  loyalty ' 
representing  but  one  idea. 

32.  Duties]  Hudson  (ed.  iii,  p.  64) :  *  Duties  *  is  here  put,  apparenUy,  for  the 
faculties  and  labours  of  duty ;  the  meaning  being,  'All  our  works  and  forces  of  duty 
are  children  and  servants  to  your  throne  and  state.'  Hypocrisy  and  hjrperbole  are 
apt  to  go  together ;  and  so  here  Macbeth  overacts  the  part  of  loyalty,  and  tries  how 
high  he  can  strain  up  his  expression  of  it  We  have  a  parallel  instance  in  Goneril 
and  Regan's  finely-worded  professions  of  love.  Such  high-pressure  rhetoric  is  the 
right  vernacular  of  hollowness. — Ed.  ii. 


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ACTi,  sc.iv.]        THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  63 

By  doing  eueiy  thing  fafe  toward  your  Loue 

And  Honor.  35 

King.    Welcome  hither : 
I  haue  begun  to  plant  thee,  and  will  labour 
To  make  thee  full  of  growing.    Noble  BanquOy 
That  haft  no  leffe  deferu'd,nor  muft  be  knowne 
No  lefle  to  haue  done  fo :  Let  me  enfold  thee,  40 

34.  By. ../aft  tcward'\  in  doing  notk-  -guards  Becket. 

ing^  save  iaufrd  Johns,  conj.  34.  /award'}  tatu'rd  Pope,  +  . 

/a/e}  Shafd  Han.  Fiefd  Warb.  Loue\  Life  Warb. 

Fiefs  Id.  conj.     Serves  Heath.     Safd  39.  That}  7»w  Pope,  + ,  Var.  *  73. 

Mai.  conj.  nor}  and  Rowe,-!-,  Var.  '73. 

fafe   toward  your}    Your  safe-  40.   [Embracing  Banquo  Coll.  ii. 

34.  safe]  Blackstone  :  Read,  *  Safe  (f.  e.  saved)  toward  you  love  and  honour,' 
and  then  the  sense  will  be,  '  Our  duties  are  your  children,  and  servants  or  vassals  to 
your  throne  and  state ;  who  do  but  what  they  should,  by  doing  everything  with  a 
saving  of  their  love  and  honour  toward  you  '—an  allusion  to  the  forms  of  doing 
homage  in  the  feudal  times.  The  oath  of  allegiance,  or  liege  homage^  to  the  king, 
was  absolute,  and  without  any  exception ;  but  simple  homage^  when  done  to  a  subject 
for  lands  holden  of  him,  was  always  with  a  saving  of  the  allegiance  (the  love  and 
hotuner)  due  to  the  sovereign.  '  Saufla  foy  quejeo  doy  a  nostre  seignor  le  roy^  as 
it  is  in  Littleton. — As  You  Like  It  (  Gent,  Mag,  lix,  713)  :  Enclose  *  children . .  . 
everything^  in  parenthesis,  and  read,  *Safe  to  ward^  etc. — Seymour:  'Safe  to- 
ward.' That  is,  with  sure  tendency,  with  certain  direction.  It  ought  to  be  marked  as 
a  compound — '  safe- toward.' — Singer  (ed.  i. )  ^  '  ^^^ '  ^^^y  merely  mean  respectful^ 
loyal;  like  the  old  French  word  sauf — Knight  :  Surely  it  is  easier  to  receive  the 
words  in  their  plain  acceptation — our  duties  are  called  upon  to  do  everything  which 
they  can  do  safely ^  as  regards  the  love  and  honour  we  bear  you. — Coleridge  (p. 
245)  :  Here,  in  contrast  with  Duncan's  '  plenteous  joys,'  Macbeth  has  nothing  but 
the  commonplaces  of  loyalty,  in  which  he  hides  himself  with  'our  duties.'  Note 
the  exceeding  effort  of  Macbeth' s  addresses  to  the  king,  his  reasoning  on  his  alle- 
giance, and  then  especially  when  a  new  diffiadty,  the  designation  of  a  successor, 
suggests  a  new  crime.  This,  however,  seems  the  first  distinct  notion  as  to  the  plan 
of  realizing  his  wishes;  and  here,  therefore,  with  great  propriety,  Macbeth' s  cow- 
ardice of  his  own  conscience  discloses  itself. — Elwin  :  Macbeth  is  speaking  with 
reference  to  his  late  defence  of  Duncan  from  the  enmity  that  would  have  robbed  him 
of  M^  affection  ctnd  reverence  of  his  subjects;  and  the  meaning  is,  who  do  but  what 
they  should,  by  doing  everything  that  can  be  done,  which  secures  to  you  the  love  and 
honour  that  is  your  due. — Clarendon  :  '  Safe '  is  used  provincially  for  sure^  certain. 

37.  plant]  Elwin  :  Thus  in  Beaumont  &  Fletcher,  The  Island  Princess,  III,  i, 
'  So  is  my  stndy  still  to  plant  thy  person.'  And  the  word  grottnng  was  formerly 
used  to  signify  accruing  wealth  or  income.  Thus  in  the  Letters  of  Cranmer,  *  I  know 
he  hath  very  WxAe  growing  towards  the  supporting  of  his  necessaries.' 

40.  No]  Clarendon  :  We  should  now  say,  '  and  must  be  no  less  known.'  For 
inshinces  of  this  double  negative,  which  is  of  frequent  occurrence,  see  Mer.  of  Fen, 
III,  iv,  ii.     [See  Abbott,  §  406.] 


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64  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH      [act  i,  sc.  iv. 

And  hold  thee  to  iny  Heart.  41 

Bang.    There  if  I  grow, 
The  Harueft  is  your  owne. 

King.     My  plenteous  loyes, 
Wanton  in  fulneffe,feeke  to  hide  themfelues  45 

In  drops  of  forrow.   Sonnes,  Kinfmen,  Thanes^ 
And  you  whofe  places  are  the  neareft,  know, 
We  will  eftablifli  our  Eftate  vpon 
Our  eldeft,-A&^^/w^,  whom  we  name  hereafter. 
The  Prince  of  Cumberland  :  which  Honor  muft  50 

Not  vnaccompanied,  mueft  him  onely, 
But  fignes  of  Nobleneffe,like  Starres ,  fhall  fhine  52 

44.  plenieous\  plentious  F,.  1885). 

46.  Kin/men^  kin/man  Ff.  Rowe  i.  51.  vnaccompanied "[        accompanied 

Thanes  J  and  ThaneSy  Han.  nobU  Warb.  Johns. 
Thanes  B.  Nicholson  (N.  &  Qu.  6  June, 

42.  grow]  Clarendon  :  Here  used  in  the  double  sense  of  '  to  cling  close '  and 
*tD  increase.'  For  the  fonner,  see  Henry  VUI:  V,  v,  50.  For  the  latter,  see  AlTs 
Well,  II,  iii,  163. 

46.  Walker  {Vers.  28)  :  This  line  is  suspicious.-  It  seems  scarcely  possible  that 
<  sorrow '  should  ever  have  been  a  trisyllable. 

46.  drops]  Malone  :  < lacrymas  non  sponte  cadentes  Effudit,  gemitusque 

expressit  pectore  laeto ;  Non  aliter  manifesta  potens  abscondere  mentis  Gaudia, 
quam  lacrymis,'  Lucan,  Lib.  ix,  1038.  There  was  no  English  translation  of  Lucan 
before  1614.  We  meet  with  the  same  sentiment  again  in  Winter's  Tale,  V,  ii,  50; 
Much  Ado,  J,  i,  26-28. 

46.  Kinsmen]  Hunter  :  Perhaps  the  reading  of  F,  should  have  been  preferred, 
meaning  Macbeth.     But  compare  V,  viii,  18. 

50.  The  Prince  of  Cumberland]  [<  But  shortlie  after  it  chanced  that  king  Dun- 
cane  hauing  two  sonnes  by  his  wife  which  was  the  daughter  of  Siward  earle  of  North- 
umberland, he  made  the  elder  of  them  called  Malcolme  prince  of  Cumberland,  as  it 
were  thereby  to  appoint  him  his  successor  in  the  kingdome,  immediatlie  after  his 
deceasse.  Mackbeth  sore  troubled  herewith,  for  that  he  saw  by  this  his  hope  sore 
hindered  (where,  by  the  old  lawes  of  the  realme,  the  ordnance  was,  that  if  he  that 
should  succeed  were  not  of  able  age  to  take  the  charge  vpon  himselfe,  he  that  was 
next  of  bloud  vnto  him  should  be  admitted)  he  began  to  take  counsell  how  he  might 
vsurpe  the  kingdome  by  force,  hauing  a  just  quarrell  so  to  doo  (as  he  tooke  the  matter) 
for  that  Duncane  did  what  in  him  lay  to  defraud  him  of  all  maner  of  title  and  daime, 
which  he  might  in  time  to  come,  pretend  vnto  the  crowne.' — Holinshed. — ^£d.  ii.] 
— Steevens  :  The  crown  of  Scotland  was  originally  not  hereditary.  When  a  suc- 
cessor was  declared  in  the  lifetime  of  a  king  (as  was  often  the  case),  the  title  of  Prince 
of  Cumberland  \t9A  immediately  bestowed  on  him  as  the  mark  of  his  designation. 
Cumberland  was  at  that  time  held  by  Scodand  of  the  crown  of  England,  as  a  fief. — 
Clarendon  :  The  district  called  by  this  name  included,  besides  the  counties  of  Cum- 
berland and  Westmoreland,  Northern  Strathclyde. 


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ACT  I,  sc.  iv.]        THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH  65 

On  all  deferuers.   From  hence  to  Envemes,  53 

And  binde  vs  further  to  you. 

Macb.    The  Reft  is  Labor,  which  is  not  vs'd  for  you :  55 

He  be  my  felfe  the  Herbenger,and  make  ioyfuU 
The  hearing  of  my  Wife,  with  your  approach  : 
So  humbly  take  my  leaue. 

King.  My  worthy  Cawdor. 

Maci.The  Prince  of  Cumberland:  that  is  a  ftep,  60 

On  which  I  muft  fall  downe,or  elfe  o're-leape, 

53.  /riww]  Om.  Popc,  +  .    [ToMacb.  59.  Cawdor.]  Cawdor.     [Exeunt  all 

Ktly.  but  Macbeth]  Booth,  Irving. 

Efwtmes'i/nv^rmss  Tope  etseq.  60-65.  TAe..,/(ee.}  Tk€,..s^£  lAside,] 

56.  Herbenger^'\  Harbenger,  F^.   har-  Rowe  et  seq. 
Innger^  Rowe  et  seq. 

53.  Envemes]  Hunter  :  It  may  seem  hypercritical  to  remark  that  the  Ff  have 
•  Envemes ' ;  and  yet  a  nice  ear  will  perceive  that  the  absolute  melody  of  Shake- 
speare's verse  is  better  preserved  by  the  old  reading  than  the  new.  In  a  picture  by  a 
great  master  the  least  touch  of  an  inferior  hand  is  perceived. 

55.  This  line  Walker  (OxT.  iii,  252)  divides  at  'labour/  making  <  which  is  not 
used  for  you '  a  separate  line. — Hunter  :  The  word  *  rest '  is  printed  with  a  capital 
letter  in  F,,  thus  leaving  no  doubt  in  this  somewhat  ambiguous  line  that  the  Poet's 
intention  was  to  make  Macbeth  use  a  complimentary  expression  similar  to  what  he 
had  before  said.  The  rest  which  is  not  spent  in  the  king's  service  is  like  severe 
labour. 

56.  Herbenger]  Clarendon  :  An  officer  of  the  royal  household,  whose  duty  it 
was  to  ride  in  advance  of  the  king  and  procure  lodgings  for  him  and  his  attendants 
on  their  arrival  at  any  place.  It  is  a  corruption  of  herberger.  Cotgrave  gives 
'Maieschal  du  corps  du  Roy.  The  King's  chiefe  Harbinger.'  In  the  sense  of 
'herald,'  or  'forerunner,'  it  occurs  in  V,  vi,  16. 

57.  The  hearing  of  my  Wife]  Fletcher  (p.  183) :  It  is  not  that  Macbeth 
wavers  either  in  his  desire  of  the  object  or  in  his  liking  for  the  means ;  but  that,  the 
more  imminent  he  feels  the  execution  to  be,  the  more  he  shrinks  from  the  worldly 
responsibility  that  may  follow,  and  the  more  he  is  driven  to  lean  for  support  on  the 
moral  resolution  of  his  wife.  At  his  parting  with  the  king,  after  saying :  'I'll  be 
myself  the  harbinger,'  etc.,  immediately  follows  his  eager  exclamation  which  the 
inveterate  misapprehension  on  the  subject  compels  us  to  repeat  again  and  again  : — 
*yet  let  that  be  Which  the  eye  fears,  when  it  is  done  to  see.'  After  this  it  seems 
tnily  strange  that  any  critic  should  suppose  for  a  moment  that  Macbeth' s  very  next 
words,  '  My  dearest  love,  Duncan  comes  here  to-night,'  may  imply  a  relenting  from 
his  purpose — how  much  soever  they  may  indicate  a  fluttering  in  its  execution.  His 
selfish  pusillanimity  is  simply  seeking  to  cast  upon  her  the  burden  of  the  final 
decision  as  to  the  act  of  murder.  When  to  her  own  suggestive  query,  'And  when 
goes  hence  V  he  answers,  '  To-morrow — as  he  purposes,'  is  it  not  most  dear  that, 
still  avoiding  an  explicit  declaration  of  his  immediate  wish,  he  persists  in  uxging  the 
first  utterance  of  it  from  her  own  lips? — Ed.  ii. 

60,  61.  Heraud  (p.  343) :  Shakespeare  only  hints  at  Macbeth' s  political  motives ; 
5 


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66  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH       [act  i.  sc  iv. 

For  in  my  way  it  lyes .   Starres  hide  your  fires,  62 

Let  not  Light  fee  my  black  and  deepe  defires : 

The  Eye  winke  at  the  Hand ;  yet  let  thatlSee, 

Which  the  Eye  feares,  when  it  is  done  to  fee.  Exit.  65 

63.  not  Lig^Af]  no  light  Han.  not  night  Warb. 

and  his  reason  was  that  these  in  some  degree  justified  the  Thane's  aspirations ;  but 
Shakespeare  was  unwilling  to  permit  them  to  appear  to  justify  murder  as  the  means 
of  their  accomplishment.  He  would  not  lend  his  countenance  to  the  unreformed 
doctrine,  still  held  by  the  Romanist,  that  *  the  end  justifies  the  means.'  He  does, 
however,  provide  Macbeth  with  an  external  determining  cause,  in  the  elevation  of 
Malcolm  to  the  princedom  of  Cumberland,  which  made  him  direct  heir  to  the  throne. 
We  may  imagine,  if  we  please,  that  there  had  been  some  implied  contract  between 
Duncan  and  himself,  that  Macbeth  should  be  his  successor,  and  that  this  condition 
was  violated  by  Dtmcan's  present  act.  We  see  that  the  king,  to  conciliate  Macbeth, 
heaps  up  honours  to  him,  and,  it  may  be,  regarded  these  as  an  equivalent  substitute 
for  the  privilege  of  which  at  the  same  time  he  deprived  him ;  and  further  makes 
amends  by  speaking  of  him  in  hypocritical  terms  of  esteem,  which  are  conceived  in 
that  exaggerated  strain  of  compliment  adopted  by  people  when  they  are  not  sincere. 
Duncan  pays  deeply  for  this  weakness,  though  otherwise  a  respectable  person 
enough. — Ed.  ii. 

60.  The  Prince  of  Cumberland]  Irving  (Character  of  Macbeth^  p.  10):  It 
should  always  be  borne  in  mind  that  this  point  is  the  pivotal  one  in  the  action  of  the 
play.  Macbeth  has  his  former  inchoate  intention  of  murder  crystallized  into  an 
immediate  and  determined  resolve  to  do  the  deed,  for  he  realizes  that  the  king's 
unconstitutional  action  will  day  by  day  raise  an  everheightening  barrier  between  him 
and  the  throne.  Up  to  this  moment  there  was,  constitutionally — in  the  present  and 
in  the  immediate  future — but  one  life  between  him  and  the  golden  circlet.  Now  there 
are  two  and  possibly  three,  for  what  was  done  in  case  of  Malcolm  may  yet  be  done 
in  case  of  Donalbain,  and  so  Macbeth,  who  is  all  resolute  when  his  mind  is  made  up 
for  action,  has  already  decided  that  the  overleaping  of  the  barrier  must  be  done  this 
very  night.  When  the  murder  is  accomplished,  Macbeth  is  spared  the  further  exer- 
cise of  his  craft,  [owing  to  the  escape  of  the  twO  princes],  and  he  has  only  to  point 
to  their  flight  as  an  evidence  of  their  guilt,  and  at  once  steps  into  his  place  as  King 
of  Scotland. — ^Ed.  ii. 

62.  Starres]  Clarendon  :  Macbeth  apparently  appeals  to  the  stars,  because  he 
is  contemplating  night  as  the  time  for  the  perpetration  of  the  deed.  There  is  nothing 
to  indicate  that  this  scene  took  place  at  night— [R.  M.  Theobald  (p.  236)  sees 
in  this  phrase  an  indication  of  Bacon's  authorship,  since  'Bacon  in  several  places 
expresses  his  opinion  that  the  stars  are  true  fires '  ( IVorhs,  v,  538 ;  476  Sj^/,  SyL 
31).— -Ed.  ii.] 

63.  Let]  Delius  :  *  The  eye '  is  the  subject  to  « let.'  The  eye,  in  silent  collu- 
sion with  the  executing  hand,  is  to  let  that  take  place  which  it  fears  to  see  after  the 
hand  has  executed  it  *  When  it  is  done '  is  equivalent  to  when  it  happens^  or  shall 
be  done — not,  when  ii  has  happened^  or  has  been  done, 

64.  The  Eye  winke]  Hudson  (ed.  iii.) :  *  Let  the  eye  wink'  is  the  meaning. 
*  Wink  at*  is  encourage  ox  prompt, — Ed.  ii. 


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ACT  I,  sc.  v.]         THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  67 

King.     True,  worthy  Banquo:  he  is  full  fo  valiant,  66 

And  in  his  commendations,  I  am  fed  : 
It  is  a  Banquet  to  me.     Let's  after  him, 
Whofe  care  is  gone  before,  to  bid  vs  welcome  : 
It  is  a  peereleffe  Kinfman,  Flourijh.  Exeunt.  70 


Scena  Quinta. 


Enter  Macbetlts  Wife  alone  with  a  Letter.  2 

Lady.   They  met  me  in  the  day  of  fuccejfe :  and  I  haue 

66.  fo  va/ian/]  of  valour  Han.  Inverness.    A  room  in  Macbeth' s 

68.  Let''s\  Let  us  Pope,  +  ,  Cap.  Var.  Castle.  Cap.  et  seq.  (subs.) 

Mai.  Steev.  Var.  Sing,  i,  Coll.  Dyce,  2.  Enter...]    Enter   Lady  Macbeth, 

Huds.  Hal.  Wh.  i.  reading.     Cap.  et  seq.  (subs.) 

70.  Flourifli]Om.Ff,  Pope,  Han.  Cap.  3.  Lady,'\  Lady  M.  Mai.  et  seq. 
I.  Scene  Vn.  Pope,  4-. 

66.  True]  Steevens  :  We  must  imagine  that,  while  Macbeth  was  uttering  the 
six  preceding  lines,  Duncan  and  Banquo  had  been  conferring  apart.  Macbeth' s 
condnct  appears  to  have  been  their  subject ;  and  to  some  encomium  bestowed  on 
him  by  Banquo,  the  reply  of  Duncan  refers. — R.  G.  White  :  A  touch  of  dramatic 
art  common  with  Shakespeare,  which  shows  how  constandy  he  kept  the  stage  and 
the  aadience  in  mind. — Coleridge  (p.  245) :  I  always  think  there  is  something 
especially  Shakespearian  in  Duncan's  speeches  throughout  this  scene,  such  pourings- 
forth«  such  abandonments,  compared  with  the  language  of  vulgar  dramatists,  whose 
characters  seem  to  have  made  their  speeches  as  the  actors  learn  them. 

68.  Banquet]  Clarendon:  As  Archbishop  Trench  has  pointed  out  {Select 
Glossary)^  *  banquet  used  generally  to  be  restrained  to  the  lighter  and  ornamental 
dessert  or  confection  with  wine  which  followed  the  more  substantial  repast,'  whether 
dinner  or  supper.  But  in  this  passage  the  sense  is  not  so  restricted.  For  a  similar 
sentiment,  see  PVint.  Ta/e,  IV,  iv,  529. — [Skeat  {Diet,)  :  The  more  usual  form  in 
old  authors  is  banket — French,  banquet,  which  Cotgrave  explains  as  <  a  banket ' ; 
also  a  feast,  etc.  The  word  has  reference  to  the  table  on  which  the  feast  is  spread 
(or,  as  some  say,  with  less  likelihood,  to  the  benches  of  the  guests),  and  is  a  diminu- 
tive of  French  banc,  a  bench,  a  table,  with  diminutive  sufBz  -et, — Ed.  ii.] 

70.  It  is]  Clarendon  :  There  is  a  touch  of  aifectionate  familiarity  in  the  *  It  is.' 

70.  Kinsman]   French  (p.  290)  :  Duncan  and  Macbeth,  as  the  sons  of  two ' 
sisters,  were  first-cousins ;  whilst  Duncan  and  Lady  Macbeth  were  third-cousins. 

I.  Scena  Quinta]  Manly  (p.  loi)  :  The  site  of  the  castle  to  which  one  tradi- 
tkm  assigns  the  murder  of  Duncan  is  in  Inverness,  a  few  hundred  yards  from  the 
rulway  station,  and  is  now  occupied  by  a  prison.  Other  traditions  assign  the  murder 
to  Glamis  (or  Glammiss)  Castle  and  to  Cawdor  Castle,  but  these  traditions  are  not 
even  in  harmony  with  the  play,  much  less  with  history ;  and  although  [Cawdor]  is 
perhaps  near  enough  to  Inverness  (about  eighteen  miles)  to  satisfy  the  conditions. 


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68  THE   TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH       [acti.sc.v. 

leartfd  by  the  petfeSVJl  report^  they  haue  more  in  tfufrtj  then  4 

4.  perfe<5l*ft]   perfectftF,.    perfected  4.  then]  than  F^. 

Warb.    perfectest  Rowe  ii,  et  cet 

Lady  Macbeth  could  hardly  have  been  so  expeditious  as  to  have  moved  into  it  since 
Macbeth' s  accession  to  the  Thaneship  of  Cawdor.  Of  course,  the  location  of  the 
castle  is  of  no  significance  in  the  play. — Ed.  ii. 

2.  Enter  Macbeths  Wife  alone  with  a  Letter]  Anonymous  {Blackwood^ s 
Maga,  June,  1843,  p.  710)  :  Mrs  Siddons'  entrance  was  hurried,  as  if  she  had  but 
just  glanced  over  the  letter,  and  had  been  eager  to  escape  from  the  crowd  of  attend- 
ants to  reperuse  it  alone.  She  then  read  on,  in  a  strong  calm  voice,  until  she  came 
to  the  passage  which  proved  the  supernatural  character  of  the  prediction.  ...  As  she 
was  about  to  pronounce  the  word  *■  vanish' d,'  she  paused,  drew  a  short  breath,  her 
whole  frame  was  disturbed,  she  threw  her  fine  eyes  upwards,  and  exclaimed  <  Van- 
ished !^  with  a  wild  force,  which  showed  that  the  whole  spirit  of  the  temptation  had 
shrunk  into  her  soul.  The  <  Hail,  King  that  sbalt  be  ! '  was  the  winding  up  of  the 
spell.  It  was  pronounced  with  the  grandeur  of  one  already  by  anticipation  a  Queen. 
— Ed.  ii. — Clarendon  :  She  reads  the  letter,  not  now  for  the  first  time. — [Anony- 
mous {Sunday  Times^  London,  50  Dec.  18S8) :  On  her  first  entrance  as  Lady  Macbeth 
Miss  Ellen  Terry  appears  in  a  gown  of  peacock  green  and  beetles  wings,  with  a  man- 
tle of  a  kind  of  dull  claret  colour,  a  most  picturesque  figure,  with  rich  red  hair  falling 
over  her  shoulders  in  two  very  long  locks.  Her  reading  of  Macbeth' s  letter  is  conse- 
quently very  intent  and  full  of  terrible  significance,  for  we  see  the  wife' s  mind  absorbing 
itself  in  that  of  her  beloved  husband,  and  interpreting  the  suggestion  of  his  written 
words.  Miss  Terry  at  once  shows  us  that  Lady  Macbeth  is,  according  to  her  reading, 
a  very  woman  whose  love  for  her  husband  subordinates  to  it  every  other  considera- 
tion, so  that  the  achieving  of  this  ambition  must  be  her  first  thought.  She  knows 
his  nature,  and  as  she  takes  up  his  miniature  tenderly  and  talks  to  it  in  loving  tones 
she  reviews  his  kindliness  of  heart,  and  indicates  that  she  must  assume  masculine 
strength  to  support  him  in  the  fatal  purpose  that  he  has  revealed  to  her,  and  which 
she  knows  involves  the  ambition  of  his  life.  When  Macbeth  comes  she  rushes  lov- 
ingly to  his  arms,  and,  with  her  woman's  instinct,  at  once  commences  to  read  his 
thoughts,  and  attempts  to  lum  them  to  action. — Manly:  The  Clarendon  Editors 
think  she  had  read  the  letter  before ;  perhaps  so.  But  perhaps  it  is  just  as  well 
to  suppose  she  is  now  reading  it  for  the  first  time,  but  has  already  read  several 
sentences  when  she  comes  upon  the  stage.  It  is  to  be  remembered,  however,  that 
stage  letters  are  not  constructed  on  the  principles  followed  in  life.  They  contain 
merely  what  furnishes  to  the  audience  a  plausible  excuse  for  the  possession  by  the 
recipient  of  certain  information  ;  they  are,  as  it  were,  mere  symbols  of  the  transmis- 
sion of  information.  Hence  it  is  that  in  a  play  we  often  find  a  person  in  possession 
of  facts  not  contained  in  a  letter,  although  that  letter  was  the  only  source  of  informa- 
'  tion. — Ed.  ii.] 

2.  Macbeths  Wife]  Knowles  (p.  17) :  The  Lady  Macbeth  of  Mrs  Siddons 
was  the  Genius  of  guilty  ambition  personified ; — express  in  form,  in  feature,  motion, 
speech.  An  awe  invested  her.  You  felt  as  if  there  was  a  consciousness  in  the  very 
atmosphere  that  surrounded  her,  which  communicated  its  thrill  to  you.  There  was 
something  absolutely  subduing  in  her  presence — an  overpowering  something  that 
commanded  silence;  or  if  you  spoke,  prevented  you  from  speaking  above  your 
breath.     It  was  a  thing  once  witnessed  never  to  be  forgotten,  more  to  be  remembered 


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ACT  I.  sc.  v.]         THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH  69 

mortall  knowledge.    When  I  burnt  in  dejire  to  quejlion  them  5 

further y  they  madethem/eluesAyrey  into  which  theyvanijh^d. 
Whiles  I  Jlood  rapt  in  the  wonder  of  ity  came  Mijftuesfrom 
the  KingyWho  all-hail^  dmeThaxit  of  Cawdor  J  by  which  Title  8 

6.  themfelaes  Ayre,  into]  themfelues  8.  all -hair  d]  Pope,  +  ,  Var.  Mai. 
Air  Into  F^.  themsdvei — air^  into  Var.  Ran.  Steev.  Sing,  ii,  Huds.  Wh.  i,  Ktly. 
Mai.  Steev.  Var.  Sing.  ii.  all   haiPd   Ff,   Rowe   ii.      aU^   haWd 

7.  Whiles]  While  Pope,  +  .  Rowe  i.     all-hailed  Var.  '03,  et  cet. 

than  the  most  gorgeous  pageant  that  ever  signalized  the  triumph  of  human  pride,  or 
fulfilled  the  imaginings  of  human  admiration. — Ed.  ii. — Chambers  (p.  loi)  :  Lady 
Macbeth  is  strong  just  where  her  husband  is  weak,  in  self-conquest,  singleness  of 
wfll,  and  tenacity  of  purpose.  Superstition  and  the  strain  of  expectation  will  make 
him  swerve  from  his  course,  but  they  have  no  power  over  her.  She  is  the  nobler 
character  of  the  two ;  her  ambition  is  for  him,  not  for  herself ;  it  is  for  him  that  she 
divests  herself  of  conscience,  and,  so  far  as  may  be,  even  of  womanhood. — £d.  ii. 

3.  successe]  Staunton  :  In  this  place,  as  in  I,  iii,  99,  Shakespeare  employs 
'success*  in  the  sense  it  bears  at  this  day;  but  its  ordinary  signification,  when 
unaccompanied  by  an  adjective  of  quality,  was  evenly  issue,  etc. 

4.  report]  Johnson  :  By  the  best  intelligence. — Clarendon  :  That  is,  by  my 
own  experience. — [W.  Leighton  (Robinson's  Epit  of  LU,  15  April,  1879):  *The 
peifectest  report,'  which  convinces  the  ambitious  thane  of  the  supernatural  wisdom 
of  the  sisters,  is  very  evidently,  I  think,  to  general  readers,  the  report  made  by  Ross 
of  the  king's  intention  to  invest  him  with  the  dignity  of  Thane  of  Cawdor,  which 
agrees,  in  the  '  periectest '  manner  with  the  prediction  of  the  sisters.  The  inquiring 
out  of  the  witches  at  Forres,  would  be  a  piece  of  prosaic  investigation  very  natural 
if  the  incident  occurred  in  this  sceptical  age ;  but  I  do  not  find  that  it  is  in  any  way 
intimated  in  the  play. — Chambers  (p.  102) :  The  profound  impression  made  upon 
Blacbeth's  guilty  mind  by  the  witches  is  shown  by  the  immediate  enquiry  which 
he  made  as  to  their  supernatural  powers  of  knowledge.  This  can  only  have  taken 
I^ace  during  the  brief  interval  between  Scenes  iii.  and  iv. ;  and  it  must  have  been  at 
the  same  period  that  he  sent  the  letter  to  his  wife. — Ed.  ii.] 

6.  made  themselues  A3rre]  Sherman  :  The  second  word  here  is  perhaps  the 
indirect  object— ^^r  themselves ;  otherwise  the  following  clause,  *  into  which  they 
vanished,'  is  tautologic  and  gratuitous.  '  They  nmde  for  themselves  an  enveloping, 
obscuring  atmosphere,  and  into  it  and  with  it  they  disappeared.'  The  factitive  pred- 
icate, in  such  expresaons,  is  of  course  more  usual ;  as,  <  I  made  him  an  example.' 
But  compare  Genesis,  iii,  7,  'they  made  themselves  aprons.' — Ed.  ii. 

6.  Ayre]  Knowles  (p.  20):  In  the  look  and  tone  with  which  Mrs  Siddons 
delivered  that  word,  you  recognised  ten  times  the  wonder  with  which  Macbeth  and 
Banquo  beheld  the  vanishing  of  the  witches. — Ed.  ii. 

7.  Whiles]  Clarendon:  While  and  whilst  are  used  indifferently  by  Shake- 
speare. The  first  has  frequently  been  altered  by  editors  to  one  of  the  forms  still  in 
vse.     Sttjul.  Cos,  I,  ii,  209. 

7.  of  it]  Clarendon  :  For  a  similar  use  of  the  preposition,  see  0th.  IV,  i,  207. 

8.  all-hail'd]  Clarendon  :  The  hyphen  is  doubtless  right.  Florio  [New  World 
of  Words']  gives  :  *  Salutare,  to  salute,  to  greet,  to  alhaile.' 


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70  THE  TRACE  DIE  OF  MACBETH       [act  i,  sa  v. 

before y  thefe  weyward  Sijlers  fainted  me^  and  refert^d  me  to 

the  comming  on  of  timej  with  haile  King  thatfhalt  be.    This  i  o 

haue  I  thought  good  to  deliuer  thee  (my  dearefl  Partner  of 

Greatneffe)  that  thou  mighfst  not  loofe  the  dues  ofreioydng 

by  being  ignorant  of  what  Greatnejfe  is  promised  thee.  Lay 

it  to  thy  hearty  and  farewell. 

Glamys  thou  art,  and  Cawdor,  and  flialt  be  15 

What  thou  art  promised:  yet  doe  I  feare  thy  Nature, 

It  is  too  full  o'th'  Milke  of  humane  kindneffe,  17 

9.  weyward]  Ff.     wayward  Rowe,  15.  Cawdor^    and']    Cawdor — a$ul 

Pope,     weyard  Ktly.     weird  Theob.  Rowe,  +  . 

et  cet  16-20.  Mnemonic,  Warb. 

10.  be]  be  hereafter  Upton.  16.  doe  I]  I  do  F^,  Rowe.     /  Pope, 

12.  the  dues]  thy  dues  Cap.  conj.  Han. 

14.  farewell]  farewel  Rowe,  +  ,  Var.  17.  o'th']  Ff,  Rowe,+,  Wh.  of  the 
Mai.  Ran.  Ktly.     d  the  Cap.  et  cet 

15.  Glamys\  Glamis  Ff.  humane']  human  Rowe  et  seq. 

15.  Glamys  thou  art,  etc.]  John  Coleman  {Gentleman* s  Maga.  March,  1889)  : 
Unqaestionably  the  Lady  Macbeth  of  the  last  two  decades  is  Adelaide  Ristori. 
When  she  came  on  the  stage  she  seemed  to  fill  it  with  her  majestic  presence.  When 
she  had  finished  reading  the  letter  and  commenced  her  invocation  to  the  spirits  of 
evil,  she  crooned  forth  the  opening  words,  until  the  voice  changed  almost  to  the 
hiss  of  a  serpent;  anon  it  rose  to  the  swelling  diapason  of  an  organ,  her  eyes 
became  luminous  with  infernal  fire,  the  stately  figure  expanded,  her  white  hands 
clutched  her  ample  bosom,  as  if  she  would  there  and  then  have  unsexed  herself,  and 
turned  'her  woman's  milk  to  gall,'  and  it  really  required  but  little  stretch  of  imagi- 
nation to  conceive  that  the  '  dunnest  smoke  of  hell '  would  burst  forth  and  environ 
her  there  and  then. — Ed.  ii. — Libby:  It  seems  from  the  way  of  receiving  these 
tidings  that  these  ambitions  were  common  domestic  topics  between  Macbeth  and  his 
wife.  Had  they  not  discussed  the  death  of  Sinel  and  the  title  of  Cawdor  many  a 
time? — Ed.  ii. 

15, 16.  Glamys  . .  .  promis'd]  Bell  (p.  301)  :  [Mrs  Siddons  uttered  this  in  an] 
exalted  prophetic  tone,  as  if  the  whole  future  were  present  to  her  soul. — Ed.  ii. 

16.  feare]  Delius  :  To  fear  with  the  accusative  is  equivalent  to  be  in  fear  for 
something.     So  in  Meas,  for  Meas.  Ill,  i.  74. 

16,  17.  yet .  .  .  Idndnesse]  Bell  (p.  301) :  [Mrs  Siddons  uttered  this  with]  a 
slight  tincture  of  contempt  throughout — Ed.  ii. 

17.  Milke]  Delius:  For  this  metaphor,  see  IV,  iii,  no,  and  Rom,  and  Jul.  Ill, 
iii,  55. — [BOttner  (p.  24) :  According  to  BQchmann,  Geflugelte  IVorte,  ch.  16,  p. 
222,  Shakespeare  here  had  in  mind  /  Peter,  ii,  2,  <As  newborn  babes,  desire  the 
sincere  milk  of  the  word,  that  ye  may  grow  thereby.' — Ed.  ii.] 

17.  Milke  of  humane  kindnesse]  Moulton  (p.  149)  :  I  believe  that  this 
phrase,  <  the  milk  of  human  kindness,'  divorced  from  its  context  and  become  the 
most  familiar  of  all  commonplaces,  has  done  more  than  anything  else  towards  giving 
a  false  twist  to  the  general  conception  of  Macbeth' s  character.  The  words  hind^ 
hindnesSf  are  amongst  the  most  difficult  words  in  Shakespeare.     The  wide  original 


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ACT  I,  sc.  v.]         THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH  71 

To  catch  the  neereft  way.     Thou  would^ft  be  great,  18 

Art  not  without  Ambition,  but  without 

The  illneffe  fliould  attend  it  What  thou  would'ft  highly,  20 


sagnification  of  the  root,  natural,  nature,  still  retained  in  the  noun  JUm/y  has  been 
lo6t  in  the  adjective,  which  has  been  narrowed  by  modem  usage  to  one  sort  of  natu- 
ralness, tender-heartedness ;  though  in  a  derivative  form  the  original  sense  is  still 
familiar  to  modem  ears  in  the  expression,  'the  kindly  fraits  of  the  earth.'  In 
Elizabethan  English,  however,  the  root  signification  still  remained  in  all  usages  of 
Hnd  and  its  derivatives.  In  Schmidt's  analysis  of  the  adjective,  two  of  its  four 
significations  agree  with  the  modem  use,  the  other  two  are  <  keeping  to  nature, 
natural,'  and  *  not  degenerate  and  corrupt,  but  such  as  a  thing  or  person  ought  to  be.' 
Shakespeare  delights  to  play  upon  the  two  senses  of  this  family  of  words :  tears  of  joy 
are  described  as  a  '  kind  overflow  of  kindness '  {Much  Ado^  I,  i,  26)  ;  the  Fool  says 
of  Regan  that  she  will  use  Lear '  kindl^r,'  t.  e,  according  to  her  nature  {Lear  I,  v,  15) ; 
« the  worm  will  do  his  kind,'  t.  e.  bite  (Ant.  &*  Cleo.  V,  ii,  264).  How  far  the  word 
can  wander  from  its  modem  sense  is  seen  in  a  phrase  of  the  present  play,  'At  your 
kind' St  leisure '  (II,  i,  35),  where  it  is  simply  equivalent  to  '  convenient'  Still  more 
will  the  wider  signification  of  the  word  obtain,  when  it  is  associated  with  the  word 
Auman ;  *  humankind '  is  still  an  expression  for  human  nature,  and  the  sense  of  the 
passage  we  are  considering  would  be  more  obvious  if  the  whole  phrase  were  printed 
as  one  word,  not  *  human  kindness,'  but  <  humankind-ness ' : — that  shrinking  from  ' 
what  is  not  natural,  which  is  a  marked  feature  of  the  practical  nature.  The  other  part 
of  the  clause,  milJi  of  humankind-ness,  no  doubt  suggests  absence  of  hardness :  but 
it  equaUy  connotes  natural,  inherited,  traditional  feelings,  imbibed  at  the  mother's 
breast  The  whole  expression  of  Lady  Macbeth,  then,  I  take  to  attribute  to  her 
husband  an  instinctive  tendency  to  shrink  from  whatever  is  in  any  way  unnatural. 
That  this  is  the  trae  sense  further  appears,  not  only  from  the  facts — for  nothing  in 
the  play  suggests  that  Macbeth,  '  Bellona's  bridegroom,'  was  distinguished  for  kind- 
ness in  the  modem  sense — ^but  from  the  context.  The  form  of  Lady  Macbeth' s 
speech  makes  the  phrase  under  discussion  a  summing  up  of  the  rest  of  her  analysis, 
or  nther  a  general  text  which  she  proceeds  to  expand  into  details.  Not  one  of 
these  details  has  any  connection  with  tender-heartedness :  on  the  other  hand,  if  put 
together,  the  details  do  amount  to  the  sense  for  which  I  am  contending,  that  Mac- 
beth's  character  is  a  type  of  commonplace  morality,  the  shallow  unthinking  man's 
lifelong  hesitation  between  God  and  Manmion. — Ed.  ii. — Chambers  comments 
upon  the  foregoing  interpretation  of  Moulton,  but  suggests  that  abnormal^  uncon- 
diHonal^  is  perhaps  the  more  fitting  word  to  describe  Lady  Macbeth' s  estimate  of 
her  husband's  character,  rather  than  un-neUural,  as  given  by  Moulton.  Chambers 
also  calls  attention  to  the  fact  that '  there  are  several  closely  parallel  passages,  in 
which  milk  connotes  <<  absence  of  hardness."  '  He  quotes  the  two  passages  cited 
by  Delius  [see  note,  line  17]  and  that  cited  by  Clarendon. — Ed.  ii. 

17.  hrnnane  kindnesse]  Bodenstedt  :  We  are  somewhat  astonished  to  leam 
this  about  Macbeth,  for  throughout  the  drama  we  find  no  trace  of  this  *  milk  of 
human  kindness.'  We  must  presume  that  the  Lady  has  too  high  an  opinion  of  her 
husband — an  opinion,  however,  which  will  be  soon  enough  lowered.  We  already 
know  him  as  a  quickly-determined  <  murderer  in  thought,'  and  as  an  accomplished 
hypocrite ;  and  this  nature  of  his  is  not  belied  by  the  present  letter :  it  appears  only 


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72  THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH        [act  i,  sc.  v. 

That  would'ft  thou  holily :  would'ft  not  play  falfe,  21 

thinly  disguised.  The  Lady  knows  at  once  what  he  is  after:  she  knows  and  openly 
acknowledges  that  his  <  milk  of  human  kindness '  will  not  deter  him  from  attempt- 
ing the  life  of  old  King  Duncan,  but  only  from  *■  catching  the  nearest  way ' ;  that  is, 
from  laying  his  own  hand  to  it — Clarendon  :  Compare  Lear^  I,  iv,  364. 

20.  illnesse]  R.  G.  White  (ed.  i.) :  The  evil  nature,  '  the  evil  conditions,'  as 
the  old  phrase  went  Clarendon  :  Not  used  elsewhere  by  Shakespeare  in  this 
sense. — [Sherman  :  Defined  by  Schmidt  as  iniquity^  wickedness^  but  these  meanings 
seem  too  strong.  Lady  Macbeth  would  not  have  her  husband's  nature  eidl^  which 
means  nuUiciously  and  aggressively  wicked,  but  only  in  the  given  aspect  ill,  which 
means  in  a  less  active  way  the  absence  of  good  or  goodness.  This  distinction  may  be 
discerned  in  good  and  evil  as  contrasted  with  good  and  ill. — Ed.  ii.] 

20-22.  What  thou  .  .  .  winne]  Allen  (MS) :  *  Highly  *  is  an  abverb  substi- 
tuted for  an  adjective  (What  thou  wouldst,  that  is  high,  that  thou  wouldst  [attain]  in 
a  holy  manner.  Thou  wouldst  not  play  in-a-false-manner  [or  logical  accusative], 
but  thou  wouldst  win  that  which  it  is  wrong  to  win  (for  wrongly  is  not  [logically] 
an  Adverb  here). — Ed.  ii. 

20-22.  What .  . .  winne]  Bell  (p.  302) :  Here  and  in  the  night  scenes  [Mrs 
^^  Siddons  made]  it  plain  that  he  had  imparted  to  her  his  ambitious  thoughts  and 
wishes. — Ed.  ii. — ^W.  W.  Story  (p.  244) :  The  secretive  nature  is  always  a  puzzle 
to  the  frank  nature.  Accustomed  to  go  straight  to  her  object,  whether  good  or  bad. 
Lady  Macbeth  was  completely  deceived  by  his  h3rpocritical  and  sentimental  pre- 
tences, and  supposed  his  nature  to  be  *full  of  the  milk  of  human  kindness.'  But 
time  opened  her  eyes,  though,  perhaps,  never,  even  to  the  last,  did  she  folly  com- 
prehend him.  'What  thou  wouldst  highly,  that  wouldst  thou  holily,*  she  would 
never  have  said  after  the  murder  of  the  king.  But  however  this  may  be,  that  her 
view  of  his  character  is  false  is  proved  by  the  whole  play. — Ed.  ii. 

21.  would'st]  Abbott  (§  329)  :  'Would/  like  should,  could,  oughl (Lsitin, polui, 
'"  debui),  is  frequently  used  conditionally.      Hence,  *I  would  be  great'  comes  to 

mean,  not  *I  wished  to  be  great,*  but  *I  wished  (subjunctive),*  1.  e,  *I  should 
wish.*  There  is,  however,  very  little  difference  between  'thou  wouldest  wish* 
and  <  thou  wishest,*  as  is  seen  in  the  present  passage.  It  is  a  natural  and  com- 
mon mistake  to  say  ^  would  is  used  for  should  by  Elizabethan  writers.*  [See  also 
I,  vii.  40.] 

21-26.  would'st  not .  . .  vndone]  Johnson  :  As  the  object  of  Macbeth*  s  desire 
is  here  introduced  speaking  of  itself,  it  is  necessary  to  read :  <  Thus  thou  must  do  if 
thou  have  m^.* — M alone:  The  construction  is:  thou  would* st  have  that  [t.^.  the 
crown]  which  cries  unto  thee,  *  thou  must  do  thus,  if  thou  would'st  have  it,  and 
thou  must  do  that  which  rather,*  etc.  The  difficulty  of  this  line  and  the  succeeding 
hemistich  seems  to  have  arisen  from  their  not  being  considered  as  part  of  the  ^>eech 
uttered  by  the  object  of  Macbeth*  s  ambition. — Clarendon  :  But  this  interpretation 
[Malone*s]  seems  to  require  *  would'st  have  it  *  for  *  have  it,*  or,  at  least,  as  Johnson 
proposed,  <  have  me.' — Seymour  :  The  difficulty  here  arises  from  the  accumulative 
conjunction,  which  leads  us  to  expect  new  matter,  whereas  that  which  follows  [line 
26]  is  only  amplification.  *  Thou  would*  st  have  the  crown ;  which  cries,  thou  must 
kill  Duncan,  if  thou  have  it.*  This  is*an  act  which  thou  must  do,  if  thou  have  the 
crown.  <And '  (adds  the  Lady)  <  what  thou  art  not  disinclined  to  do,  but  art  rather 
fearful  Xo perform,  than  unwilling  to  have  executed.* — HimTER:  'Thus  thou  must 


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ACT  I,  sc.  v.]  THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH  73 


[21-26.  would'st  not .  .  .  vndone] 
do'  seems  to  me  all  that  answers  to  *•  that  which  cries';  that  is,  Duncan  must  be 
taken  off.  The  line  halts,  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  Shakespeare  wrote,  '  if  thou 
would'st  have  it'  There  should  be  a  pause  at  *  that '  in  line  22,  the  mind  supply- 
ing '  is  a  thing.'  'What  he  must  do,'  the  murder,  to  secure  the  fulfilment  of  the 
witches'  prediction,  is  a  something,  which,  according  to  his  character  as  previously 
(irawn  by  her,  he  would  rather  have  done  than  do  it  Perhaps  there  is  a  litde  want 
of  art  in  making  both  the  Thane  and  his  lady  fall  at  once  into  the  intention  of  perpe- 
trating a  deed  so  atrocious. — Elwin  :  This  passage  [*And  .  .  .  undone']  by  being 
printed  as  part  of  the  figiured  exclamation  has  been  perverted  from  all  sense.  The 
object  of  Macbeth's  ambition  is  not  a  voluntary  agent  or  rational  existence,  and, 
*Thus  thou  must  do,  if  thou  have  it,'  is  expressed  simply  by  its  nature,  which  cannot 
be  supposed  also  to  comment  upon  the  disposition  of  Macbeth.  The  reflections  on 
his  sensations  in  connection  with  it,  are  made  by  Lady  Macbeth  as  in  her  own  person ; 
and  mean,  'And  it  is  that  which,'  etc.— Delius  :  Might  not  Shakespeare  have  in- 
tended, by  the  words  *  that  which  cries,'  something  other  than  the  crown,  the  cold- 
blooded instinct  to  murder,  which  Macbeth  might  have  possessed  ? — Clarendon  : 
But  if  it  [be  as  Delius  suggests],  *thould'st  have'  must  be  used  in  the  sense  of 
*  thou  should' St  have.'  This  is  quite  in  accordance  with  Shakespeare's  usage,  but  is 
not  probable  in  this  case,  where  'would'st*  has  just  preceded,  four  times  over,  in  the 
other  sense.  If  we  put  the  words  '  Thus  .  .  .  have  it '  in  inverted  commas,  we  may 
interpret :  Thou  would'st  have  Duncan's  murder,  which  cries,  *  Thus  thou  must  do 
if  thou  would'st  have  the  crown,*  and  which  thou  rather,  etc.  Coleridge:  Mac- 
beth is  described  by  Lady  Macbeth  so  as  at  the  same  time  to  reveal  her  own  char- 
acter. Could  he  have  everything  he  wanted,  he  would  rather  have  it  innocently ; — 
ignorant,  as,  alas !  how  many  of  us  are,  that  he  who  wishes  a  temporal  end  for  itself 
does  in  truth  will  the  means ;  and  hence  the  danger  of  indulging  fancies. — [Hudson 
(ed.  iii,  p.  187) :  The  original  [line  25]  has  *  and  that  which,'  This  defeats  the 
right  sense  of  the  passage,  as  it  naturally  makes  <  which '  refer  to  the  same  thing  as 
'which'  in  the  preceding  line;  whereas  it  should  clearly  be  taken  as  referring 
to  the  words  'Thus  thou  must  do.'  I  prefer  ^An  act  which,'  and  have  little  doubt 
(hat  the  original  crept  in  by  mistake  from  the  line  before. — R.  F.  Cholmley(A^.  6* 
Qu.  9  June,  1894) :  No  editor  that  I  can  find  gives  what  appears  to  me  the  right  in- 
terpretation of  these  lines.  Lady  Macbeth  is  harping  upon  the  inconsistency  of  her 
husband's  character,  and  ends,  as  she  began,  by  saying:  'You  want  to  satisfy  your 
conscience  and  your  ambition  at  the  same  time.'  The  first  'That'  is  virtue,  with 
its  categorical  'imperative*;  the  second  is,  of  course,  Duncan's  removal.  'And,' 
then,  will  exactly  correspond  to  'And  yet'  above:  'would'st  not  play  false, 
And  yet  would'st  wrongly  win';  and  the  words:  'if  thou  have  it,'  fall  into  their 
proper  places  as  protasis  to  '  cries.'  But  the  key  to  the  passage  is  'And.' — Deigh- 
TON  (p.  97):  Interpretations  of  this  passage  will  vary  according  as  the  inverted 
commas  extend  to  '  do,'  to  '  it,'  or  to  '  undone.'  ...  If  the  inverted  commas  extend 
to  •  it,'  the  meaning  will  probably  be,  you  desire  that  {sc.  the  crown)  which  bids 
yon  to  act  in  a  certain  way  (sc,  to  murder  Duncan)  if  you  wish  to  secure  it.  In  this 
case  the  succeeding  words,  'And  that .  .  .  undone,'  are  Lady  Macbeth's  comment 
and  mean.  And  that  {sc,  the  murder)  is  a  thing  which  you  rather  hesitate  to  do  than 
wish  should  not  be  done.  If  the  inverted  commas  extend  to  '  undone,'  the  meaning 
will  be,  you  desire  that  {sc.  the  crown)  which  cries,  '  Thus  thou  must  do  {sc,  murder 
Duncan)  if  thou  wouldst  have  it  and  thou  must  do  that  which  rather/  etc.     The 


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74  THE   TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH       [act  i,  sc.  v. 

And  yet  would'ft  wrongly  winne.  22 

Thould'ft  haue,  great  Glamys,  that  which  cryes, 

Thus  thou  muft  doe,  if  thou  haue  it ; 

And  that  which  rather  thou  do'ft  feare  to  doe,  25 

Then  wiflieft  fhould  be  vndone.  High  thee  hither, 

22-24.  And..M;'\  Two  lines,  ending  i,  Dyce,  Wh.  i,  Cam.  Hal. 
Glamys., .it;  Pope  et  seq.  24.  thou  haue\  tJunCdst  haue  Ktly. 

24.  Thu5\  This  Yi2Si.  ^a«^t/]^v^m^Cap.conj.  Johns. 
Thus..,it'\  As  a  quotation,  Han.  oonj. 

Cap.  Var.  '78,  '85,  Sing,  ii,  Sta.  Del.  25.  that  which}   that's   what  Han. 

KUy,  Cla.  Huds.  ii,  Wh.  ii.  Cap. 

24-26.   Thus...vndotu\  As  a  quota-  do'ft}  F„  Wh.  i.    do/t  F^,  et  cet. 

tion.  Pope,  Thcob.  Warb.  Johns.  Var.  26.  thm}  than  F^. 

'73,  Mai.  Var.  Ran.  Knt,  Coll.  Huds.  High']  Hie  F^. 

former  interpretation  seems  much  the  better  one;  for  the  comment  -which  would  be 
natural  in  Lady  Macbeth' s  mouth,  and  is  but  an  amplification  of  the  words  <  would' st 
not  play  false  And  yet  would' st  wrongly  win,'  looks  odd  if  put  into  the  mouth  of  the 
personified  crown.  The  only  thing  gained  by  limiting  the  inverted  conmias  to  the 
words  *  Thus  thou  must  do,'  is  that  we  get  rid  of  the  difficulty  in  *  it,'  where  we 
should  expect  me;  but  the  irregularity  is  hardly  greater  than  \njul.  Qes.  Ill,  i,  30, 
*  Casca,  you  are  the  first  that  rears  your  hand/  where  we  should  now  write  *  rears 
his '  or  *  rear  yours.' — Ed.  ii.] 

25.  26.  And  .  .  .  vndone]  Moulton  (p.  150)  :  It  is  striking  that  at  the  very 
moment  Lady  Macbeth  is  so  meditating,  her  husband  is  giving  a  practical  confirma- 
tion of  her  description  in  its  details  as  well  as  its  general  purport.  He  had  resolved 
to  take  no  steps  himself  towards  the  fulfilment  of  the  Witches '  prophecy,  but  to 
leave  all  to  chance;  then  the  proclamation  of  Malcolm,  removing  all  apparent 
chance  of  succession,  led  him  to  change  his  mind  and  entertain  the  scheme  of 
treason  and  murder :  the  words  with  which  he  surrenders  himself  seems  like  an 
echo  of  his  wife's  analysis,  *  yet  let  that  be  Which  the  eye  fears,  when  it  is  done,  to 

^ee'  (I,  iv,  64,  65). — Ed.  ii. 

I  23.  Thould'st  haue,  great  Glamys]  Libby  :  She  knows  his  nature  in  reference 
to  such  matters,  not  by  analogy  but  by  his  words  in  reference  to  his  two  former 
ambitions.  When  he  was  Glamis  he  wished  to  be  Cawdor  ;  when  his  father  was 
alive  he  wished  to  inherit.  Had  his  father  died  or  Cawdor  been  ruined  he  would 
have  been  pleased,  though  he  would  have  feared  to  cause  the  death  of  either.  Upon 
hearing  of  Duncan's  death  Banquo  expressed  repentance  (II,  iii,  108, 109),  he  wished 
he  had  warned  and  protected  Duncan ;  Macbeth  felt  only  remorse,  he  would  have 
I    committed  the  crime  again. — Ed.  ii. 

26.  High  thee]  Abbott  (§  212)  :  Verbs  followed  by  thee  instead  of  thou  have 
been  called  reflexive.  But  though  '  haste  thee^'  and  some  other  phrases  with  verbs 
of  motion,  may  be  thus  explained,  and  verbs  were  often  thus  used  in  Early  English, 
it  is  probable  that « look  thee^'  *  haste  thee,'  are  to  be  explained  by  euphonic  reasons. 
Thee,  thus  used,  follows  imperatives,  which,  being  themselves  emphatic,  require  an 
unemphatic  pronoun.  The  Elizabethans  reduced  thou  to  thee.  We  have  gone 
further,  and  rejected  it  altogether. — [Bell  (p.  302) :  [Mrs  Siddons  here]  starts  into 
higher  animation. — Ed.  ii.] 


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ACT  I.  sc.  v.]         THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  75 

That  I  may  powre  my  Spirits  in  thine  Eare,  27 

And  chaftife  with  the  valour  of  my  Tongue 

All  that  impeides  thee  from  the  Golden  Round, 

Which  Fate  and  Metaphyficall  ayde  doth  feeme  30 

To  haue  thee  crownM  withall.  Enter  Mejfenger. 

27.  powre\  pour  F..  30^  dM  feeme]  do  strive  Anon.  ap. 

29.  impeides  thee]   thee  hinders  Ff,        Cam.     both  seem  Allen  MS. 

Rowe.     impedes  thee  Pope  et  seq.  31.  Meflenger.]  Attendant  (after  line 

3a  Metaphyficall]  metaphysic  Pope,         30),  Cap. 
Han. 

28.  chastise]  Clarendon  :  Used  by  Shakespeare  with  the  accent  on  the  first 
syllable.  Compare  Rich,  II:  II,  iii,  104.  The  only  exception,  and  that  somewhat 
doubtful,  is  in  Temp,  V,  i,  263.  [See  Walker  (CnV.  iii,  8),  or  Temp,  V,  i,  312, 
of  this  ed.] 

29.  Round]  Steevens:  So  in  IV,  i,  105.— Dyce  {Notes^  p.  120):  Compare: 
'Wedding  ring  farewell !  ...  full  well  did  I  cause  to  be  grauen  In  thy  golden  round 
those  words,'  etc. — Abraham  Fraunce,  Countess  of  Pembroke s  Yuychurch,  Sec.  Part, 
1591. 

30.  Metaphysical!]  Malonb:  In  Shakespeare's  time  < metaphysical'  seems  to 
have  had  no  other  meaning  than  supernatural.  In  the  English  Dictionary^  by 
H-  C,  1655,  metaphysicks  are  thus  explained:  'Supernatural  arts  I'— Walker 
{Crit,  iii,  252)  :  Metaphysics  are  magic,  Marlowe,  Famtus,  ed.  Dyce,  ii,  8 :  'These 
metaphysics  of  magicians.  And  necromantic  books,  are  heavenly.'  Ford,  Broken 
Heart,  I,  iii,  Dyce,  i,  233 :  *  The  metaphysics  are  but  speculations  Of  the  celestial 
bodies,'  etc. — Delius  :  We  also  find  *  metaphysical '  used  adverbially,  and  as  equiv- 
alent to  supernatural,  in  the  pseudo-Shakespearian  Drama,  The  Puritan,  II,  i, 
'metaphysically  and  by  supernatural  intelligence.' — Clarendon:  In  Minsheu's 
SpanisA  Dictionary,  1599,  we  have  'Metafisica,  things  supematurall,  the  Meta- 
phisickes';  and  in  Florio's  World  of  Wordes,  1598,  <  Metafisico,  one  that  professeth 
things  supematurall.' 

30,  31.  seeme  To  haue]  Johnson  :  The  sense  evidently  directs  us  to  read  seek. 
The  crown  to  which  fate  destines  thee,  and  which  preternatural  agents  endeavour  to 
bestow  upon  thee. — Warburton  :  This  is  not  sense.  To  make  it  so,  it  should  be 
supplied  thus:  doth  seem  desirous  to  have.  An  easy  alteration  will  restore  the  Poet's 
true  reading :  '  doth  seem  To  have  crown' d  thee  withal,'  i.  e,  they  seem  already  to 
have  crowned  thee,  and  yet  thy  disposition  at  present  hinders  it  from  taking  effect — 
M alone;  For  'seem  to  have'  compare  All's  Well,  I,  ii,  8,  9.— Boswell:  That 
is,  to  cUsire  that  you  should  be  crowned. — Delius  :  '  Seem '  is  not  equivalent  here 
to  appear,  but  to  reveal, — Bailey  (ii,  21) :  There  are  many  other  plausible  ways 
of  amending  the  defect;  e,  g„  deem,  aim,  mean — any  of  them  better  than  'seem.' 
Another  is  to  substitute  design  in  place  of  'doth  seem.'  In  favour  of  mean  may 
be  cited  King  John,  III,  iv,  119.  These  readings,  however,  are  none  of  them  con- 
clusive, and  the  same  may  be  said  of  another  which  has  occurred  to  me :  to  replace 
*  seem '  by  frame  in  the  sense  of  fabricate,  I  have  been  struck  by  a  somewhat  par- 
allel passage  in  /  Hen,  VI:  II,  v,  88 :  '  Levied  an  army,  weening  to  redeem.  And 
have  install' d  me  in  the  diadem.^  This  suggests  ween,  which  I  am  inclined  to  regard 
as  the  likeliest  of  all. 


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76  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH       [act  i.  sc.  v. 

What  is  your  tidings  ?  32 

Mejf.    The  King  comes  here  to  Night. 

Lady.     Thou'rt  mad  to  fay  it. 
Is  not  thy  Mafter  with  him  ?  who,  wer't  fo,  35 

Would  haue  informM  for  preparation. 

MeJfSo  pleafe  you,  it  is  true :  our  Thane  is  comming : 
One  of  my  fellowes  had  the  fpeed  of  him  ; 
Who  almofl  dead  for  breath,  had  fcarcely  more 
Then  would  make  vp  his  Meflage.  40 

Lady,     Giue  him  tending, 
He  brings  great  newes.  Exit  Mejfenger. 

The  Rauen  himfelfe  is  hoarfe,  43 

40.  Then\  Than  F^.  43.  himfelfe  ij]  himself  5  not  Warb. 
42,  43.  He.,.hoarfe'\  One  line,  Rowe  43-59'  Mnemonic,  Pope,  Warb. 

et  seq. 

32.  tidings]  Clarendon:  See  Ant,  and  Cleo,  IV,  xiv,  112,  *this  tidings,'  and 
As  You  Like  It,  V,  iv,  159,  'these  tidings.' 

34-36.  Thou'rt . . .  preparation]  Hunter  (ii,  173)  :  Here  is  a  stroke  of  nature. 
Lady  Macbeth  had  been  meditating  on  what  she  considered  the  nearest  way  to  the 
honour  which  was  offered  to  them,  and,  when  she  hears  that  the  king  was  about  to 
put  himself  in  her  power,  she  speaks  in  reference  to  the  ideas  which  had  passed 
through  her  own  mind.  It  then  occurs  to  her  that  she  might  have  disclosed  too 
much ;  and  she  seeks  to  divert  the  mind  of  the  attendant  from  any  too  strict  scrutiny 
of  the  meaning  of  what  she  had  uttered,  by  explaining  it  as  having  no  other  mean- 
ing than  as  referring  to  the  want  of  sufficient  notice  to  make  preparation  for  the 
reception  of  so  illustrious  a  guest. — [Bell  (p.  302) :  [Mrs  Siddons  spoke]  this  first 
loud ;  then  soft  as  if  correcting  herself,  and,  under  the  tone  of  reasoning,  concealing 
sentiments  almost  disclosed. — Ed.  ii.] 

36.  inform'd]  Clarendon  :  This  is  here  used  absolutely,  as  in  II,  i,  60.  It  is 
found  without  the  object  of  the  person  in  Rich.  II:  II,  i,  242 ;  Coriol,  I,  vi,  42. 

38.  the  speed]  Clarendon  :  The  phrase  *  had  the  speed  of  him '  is  remarkable. 

41.  tending]  Clarendon  :  Used  as  a  substantive  here  only  in  Shakespeare. 
43-45.  The  Rauen  .  .  .  Battlements]  Edwards  (p.  153) :   She  calls  this 

messenger  the  raven,  and  from  line  39,  well  might  she  call  this  raven  hoarse. — 
Johnson:  The  messenger,  says  the  servant,  had  hardly  breath  'to  make  up  his 
message ' ;  to  which  the  lady  answers,  mentally,  that  he  may  well  want  breath :  such 
a  message  would  add  hoarseness  to  the  raven.  That  even  the  bird,  whose  harsh  voice 
is  accustomed  to  predict  calamities,  could  not  croak  the  entrance  of  Duncan  but  in 
a  note  of  unwonted  harshness. — Fuseli  :  <  'Tis  certain,  now — the  raven  himself  is 
spent,  is  hoarse  by  croaking  this  very  message,  the  fatal  entrance  of  Duncan  under  my 
battlements.* — CoLLiER  (ed.  i.)  :  Lady  Macbeth  considers  the  fate  of  Duncan  so  cer- 
tain that  the  ominous  raven  is  hoarse  with  proclaiming  it  Warburton's  emendation 
appears  to  be  the  direct  opposite  of  what  was  intended  by  Shakespeare.  Drayton, 
in  his  Baron* s  Wars,  1603,  Bk.  V,  st.  42,  has  these  lines :  *The  ominous  raven  with 
a  dismal  cheer,  Through  his  hoarse  beak  of  following  horror  tells.' — Hunter  (ii, 


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ACT  I,  sc.  v.]         THE  TR AGED  IE  OF  MACBETH  yj 

That  croakes  the  fatall  entrance  of  Duncan 

Vnder  my  Battlements.     Come  you  Spirits,  45 

44.  entran€e\  enteranceOK^*  Var.  '73,  spirits  D'Av.  '74,  Pope,  + ,  Cap.  Omu^ 
Ktly.  you  spirits  Var.  '73,  et  cet. 

Duncan]  Duncane  Ff.  45.  Spirits']  spirits  of  evil  Ktly. 

45.  C4>me  you  Spirits]  Come  all  you 

174)  :  There  are  probably  few  readers  who  do  not  understand  this  phrase  in  its  plain 
and  I  should  say  obvious  sense,  that  even  the  raven  which  croaks  the  fatal  entrance 
has  more  than  its  usual  hoarseness.  Nothing  is  more  common  than  to  speak  of  the 
raven  croaking  ominously. — [Manly  (p.  102) :  Some  of  the  editors  strangely  suppose 
that  by  '  the  raven '  is  meant  the  messenger  who  is  almost  dead  for  breath.  To  say 
nothing  of  the  remarkable  assumption  that  scantness  of  breath  causes  hoarseness, 
this  shows  lack  of  acquaintance  with  the  superstition  of  the  time.  Scot,  Discaverie 
of  Witchcraft :  '  [It  is  most  impious]  to  prognosticate  that  ghests  approch  to  your 
house,  upon  the  chattering  of  pies  or  haggisters,'  [p.  170,  ed.  1584].  The  approach 
ti  an  ordinary  guest  might  be  announced  by  a  magpie,  but  for  such  a  visit  as  Dun- 
can's the  hoarse  croaking  of  a  raven  would  alone  be  appropriate.  This  is  practically 
the  opinion  of  Nicholson,  the  editor  of  Scot,  who  adds  from  W.  Perkins,  Witchcrafts 
1 613  :  *  When  a  raven  stands  on  a  high  place  and  looks  a  particular  way  and  cries,  a 
corse  comes  thence  soon.' — Bell  (p.  302)  :  [Mrs  Siddons  uttered  this]  after  a  long 
pause  when  the  messenger  has  retired.  Indicating  her  fell  purpose  settled  and  about 
to  be  accomplished. — Ed.  ii.] 

44.  entrance]  Abbott  ({  477)  :  R,  and  liquids  in  disyllables,  are  frequently 
pronounced  as  though  an  extra  vowel  were  introduced  between  them  and  the  pre- 
ceding consonant     [See  also  Walker,  Vers.  p.  57.] 

45.  my]  Hunter  :  The  word  '  my '  is  purposely  used  by  Shakespeare  to  let  the 
audience  into  the  spirit  of  the  character  intended  for  the  wife  of  the  Thane ;  nihil 
non  arrogat;  the  castle  is  hers — not  Macbeth' s,  not  theirs  jointly.  It  prepares  for 
that  overbearing  of  the  milder  and  gentler  spirit  of  the  Thane  which  follows. 

45.  Battlements]  Knight  :  If  there  be  any  one  who  does  not  feel  the  sublimity 
of  the  pause  after  *  battlements,'  we  can  only  say  that  he  has  yet  to  study  Shake- 
speare.— Hudson:  This  passage  is  often  sadly  marred  in  the  reading  by  laying 
peculiar  stress  upon  <  my ' ;  as  the  next  sentence  also  is  in  the  printing  by  repeating 
'  Come,'  thus  suppressing  the  pause  wherein  the  speaker  gathers  and  nerves  herself 
np  to  the  terrible  strain  that  follows. 

45.  Come  you  Spirits]  Malone  :  In  Pierce  Pennilesse  his  Supplication  to  the 
IHueUy  by  Nashe,  1592,  Shakespeare  might  have  found  a  particular  description  of  these 
spirits  and  of  their  office :  '  The  second  kind  of  Diuels,  which  he  most  imployeth,  are 
those  northeme  Marcijy  called  the  spirits  of  reuenge,  &  the  authors  of  massacres,  & 
seedsmen  of  mischiefe  :  for  they  haue  commission  to  incense  men  to  rapines,  sacri- 
ledge,  theft,  murther  wrath,  furie,  and  all  manner  of  cruelties,  &  they  commaund  cer- 
taine  of  the  Southern  spirits  (as  slaues)  to  wa3rt  vpon  them,  as  also  great  Arioch,  that 
is  tearmed  the  spirite  of  reuenge,*  [p.  114,  ed.  Grosart. — ^J.  F.  ILikky.  {Atlantic 
Monthly f  April,  1895)  :  The  impious  prayer  is  heard ;  the  consecration  is  perfected  ; 
her  perceptions  are  sealed  to  all  impressions  that  might  divert  her  from  the  object  or 
nn6t  her  for  its  accomplishment;  she  passes  through  the  ordeal  with  the  steady 
nerve  and  self-command  with  which  she  is  wont  to  perform  the  commonest  duties. 
She  is  the  same  as  before,  but  in  a  transformed  condition.     Every  characteristic  is 


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78  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH       [act  i.  sc.  v. 

That  tend  on  mortall  thoughts,  vnfex  me  here,  46 

And  fill  me  from  the  Crowne  to  the  Toe,  top-full 

Of  direft  Crueltie  :  make  thick  my  blood, 

Stop  vp  th*accefle,and  paflage  to  Remorfe, 

That  no  compunflious  vifitings  of  Nature  50 

46.  me  here\  me  here  [Touching  her  48.  direjf^  direct  Waib.  Johns. 

Heart  Booth. 

projected  m  gigantic  proportions  on  a  screen  that  rises  behind  the  illuminating 
flames  of  hell.  She  is  in  a  moral  trance,  in  a  sleep  not  less,  but  more  profound  than 
that  in  which  she  will  appear  to  us  again,  when  she  will  rehearse  every  act  of  the 
present,  but  not  with  the  same  deadened  perceptions ;  no  longer  thinking  that  a 
little  water  clears  us  of  this  deed,  but  knowing  that  all  the  perfumes  of  Arabia 
cannot  sweeten  this  little  hand. — Darmesteter  :  Compare  Misfortunes  of  Arthur 
(Thomas  Hughes,  1587)  :  'Come  spiteful  fiends,  come  heaps  of  furies  fell,  Not  one 
by  one,  but  all  at  once !  my  heart  Raves  not  enough :  it  likes  me  to  be  filled  With 
greater  monsters  yet,*  I,  ii.  ed.  Dodsley. — Ed.  ii.] 

46.  mortall]  Johnson  :  Not  the  thoughts  ofmortalsy  but  murderous,  deadly,  or 
destructive  designs.     See  III,  iv,  loi,  and  IV,  iii,  5. 

47.  And  .  .  .  Toe]  Snider  (i,  199) :  The  somewhat  prevalent  notion  of  mak- 
ing love  the  mainspring  of  Lady  Macbeth' s  actions,  and  of  seeing  in  her  the  tender, 
devoted  wife,  who  committed  the  most  horrible  crimes  merely  out  of  affection  for  her 
husband,  is  ridiculous,  and  is,  one  may  well  assert,  contradicted  by  the  whole  tenor 
of  the  play.  The  very  point  here  emphasized  is  that  she  abjured  womanhood,  with 
its  tenderness  and  love,  and  prayed  to  be  filled  with  *  direst  cruelty'  and  her  woman's 
breasts  to  be  milked  for  gall !  To  be  the  wife  is  clearly  not  her  highest  ambition — 
that  she  is  already ;  but  it  is  to  be  the  queen.  There  is  no  consistency  or  unity  in  her 
character  if  love  be  its  leading  principle.  To  this  passion  the  husband  may  justly 
lay  claim,  but  not  the  wife,  who  suppresses  her  emotional  nature. — Ed.  ii. 

49.  accesse]  Abbott  (§490)  :  Many  words,  such  as  edict,  outrage,  etc.,  are  ac- 
cented in  a  varying  manner.  The  key  to  this  inconsistency  is,  perhaps,  to  be  found 
in  Ben  Jonson's  remark  that  all  disyllabic  nouns,  if  they  be  simple,  are  accented  on 
the  first.  Hence  edict  and  outrage  would  generally  be  accented  on  the  first,  but, 
when  they  were  regarded  as  derived  from  verbs,  they  would  be  accented  on  the 
second.  And  so,  perhaps,  when  exile  is  regarded  as  a  person,  and  therefore  a 
*  simple '  noun,  the  accent  is  on  the  first ;  but  when  as  *  the  state  of  being  exiled,'  it 
is  on  the  last  But  naturally,  where  the  difference  is  so  slight,  much  variety  may  be 
expected.  Ben  Jonson  adds  that  '  all  verbs  coming  from  the  Latin,  either  of  the 
supine  or  otherwise,  hold  the  accent  as  it  is  found  in  the  first  person  present  of  those 
Latin  verbs ;  as  from  cilebro,  cilebrate,*  The  same  fluctuation  between  the  English 
and  French  accent  is  found  in  Chaucer  (Prof.  Child,  in  Ellis,  Early  English  Pro- 
nunciation, i,  369). — Clarendon  :  *  Access '  is  alwa3rs  accented  by  Shakespeare  on 
the  second  syllable,  except  in  Hamlet,  II,  i,  no. 

49.  Remorse]  Clarendon  :  Relenting,  used  anciently  to  signify  repentance  not 
only  for  a  deed  done,  but  also  for  a  thought  conceived.     See  Mer.  of  Ven»  IV,  i.  20. 

50.  compunctious]  Clarendon  :  Only  used  in  this  passage  in  Shakespeare, 
and  compunction  not  at  all.  <Compunct'  is  used  in  Wicklif's  Bible,  Acts,  ii,  37, 
and  *  compuncture '  by  Jeremy  Taylor. 


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ACT  I.  sc.  v.]  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  79 

Shake  my  fell  purpofe,  nor  keepe  peace  betweene  5 1 

Th'eflFe<5l,and  hit  Come  to  my  Womans  Brefts, 
And  take  my  Milke  for  Grail,  you  murth'ring  Minifters, 
Where-euer,in  your  fightleffe  fubftances,  54 

52.  TTk'effeO]  The  effect  Cap.  et  seq.  52.  hU^  it  F,. 

effect}  effea  F,.  54.  fVkere-euer]  Wherever  Cap.  Var. 

effetfi,  andhit^  effecting  it  Becket         '78  et  seq. 

51,  52.  peace  . . .  hit]  Johnson  :  The  intent  of  Lady  Macbeth  evidently  is  to 
wish  that  no  womanish  tenderness  or  conscientious  remorse  may  hinder  her  purpose 
from  proceeding  to  effect ;  but  neither  this,  nor  any  other  sense,  is  expressed  by  the 
present  reading ;  perhaps  Shakespeare  wrote  '  keep  pace  between,'  etc.,  which  may 
signify  to  pass  hetweeny  to  intervene, — Malone  :  A  similar  expression  is  found  in 

The  Tragicall  Hystorie  of  Romeus  and  Juliet^  1562 :  ' the  lady  no  way  could 

Kepe  trewse  betwene  her  greefes  and  her.'  D'Avenant's  version  sometimes  affords 
a  reasonably  good  comment  [See  Appendix.'] — Knight  :  If  fear,  compassion,  or 
any  other  compunctious  visitings,  stand  between  a  cruel  purpose  and  its  realiza- 
tion, they  may  be  said  to  keep  peace  between  them,  as  one  who  interferes  between 
a  violent  man  and  the  object  of  his  wrath  keeps  peace. — Hudson  (ed.  ii.) :  One 
might  naturally  think  this  should  read,  <nor  break  peace  between  the  effect  and 
it';  that  is,  nor  make  the  effect  contradict,  or  fall  at  strife  with,  the  purpose.  The 
sense,  however,  doubtless  is,  nor  make  any  delay,  any  rest,  any  pause  for  thought^ 
between  the  purpose  and  the  act. — [Hudson  (ed.  iii,  p.  x88) :  The  attempts  that 
have  been  made  to  explain  '  nor  keep  peace '  are,  it  seems  to  me,  either  absurdly 
ingenious  and  over-subtle  or  something  worse.  The  natural  sense  of  it  is  clearly 
just  the  reverse  of  what  was  intended.  To  be  sure,  almost  any  language  can  be 
tormented  into  yielding  almost  any  meaning.  And  we  have  too  many  instances  of 
what  may  be  called  a  fanaticism  of  ingenuity,  which  always  delights  especially  in  a 
reading  that  none  but  itself  can  explain,  and  in  an  explanation  that  none  but  itself 
can  understand.  The  other  error,  « hit,'  corrects  itself. — Ed.  ii.] — Bailey  (ii,  24)  : 
Let  us  read,  <  nor  keep  spcue  between,'  etc.  She  supplicates  that  no  compunctious 
feelings  may  keep  space  between  (i.  e,  interpose  between)  her  purpose  and  its 
execution. 

53.  take]  Johnson:  'Take  away  my  milk,  and  put  gall  into  the  place.'— 
Dklius:  It  rather  means  Nourish  yourselves  with  my  milk,  which,  through  my 
being  unsexed,  has  turned  to  gall. — Keightley  :  Perhaps  we  should  read  vfith  for 
'  for,*  taking  *  take '  in  the  sense  of  tinge,  infect,  a  sense  it  often  bears. — [Allen 
(MS),  after  quoting  this  note  of  Keightley,  adds:  '/had  suspected  that  "take" 
might  be  equivalent  to  make  (as  in  take  up  a  quarrel  -  make  up,  in  As  You  Like  It, 
[V,  iv,  104].  Then  "  for  "  would  be  equivalent  to  so  as  to  be  {e,g,  I  am  forging  this 
iron  for  a  hammer — 1.  e.  in  order  to  make  it  a  hammer).' — Ed.  ii.] 

53.  Ministers]  For  elisions  in  trisyllables,  see  Abbott,  §467.  Compare  I, 
iii,  155. 

54.  sightlesse]  Delius  :  This  means  perhaps  something  more  than  invisible, 
and  signifies,  in  connection  with  '  substances,'  a  quality  which  will  not  bear  the 
looking  at,  which  is  repulsive  to  behold.  As  in  King  John,  III,  i,  44. — Claren- 
don: Invisible  forms.    Compare  I,  vii,  23.     In  King  John,  III,  i,  44,  'sightless* 

\  unsightly,  but  the  sense  is  not  suitable  here.    So  we  have  in  Meas,  for  Meets, 


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8o  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH        [act  i.  sc.  v. 

You  wait  on  Natures  Mifchiefe.     Come  thick  Night,  55 

And  pall  thee  in  the  dunneft  fmoake  of  Hell, 

That  my  keene  Knife  fee  not  the  wound  it  makes, 

Nor  Heauen  peepe  through  the  Blanket  of  the  darke,  58 

III,  i,  124,  *the  viewless  winds.'  Somewhat  siniilar  is  the  use  of  'careless/  I,  iv, 
15,  in  this  play. 

55.  Mlschiefe]  Elwin  :  This  expresses  both  injury  engendered  in  human 
nature  and  done  to  it, — Clarendon  :  Ready  to  abet  any  evil  done  throughout  the 
world. 

56.  paU]  Warburton  :  That  is,  wrap  thyself  in  a  pall, — Singer  :  From  the 
Latin  pallioy  to  wrap,  to  invest,  to  cover  or  hide  as  with  a  mantle  or  cloak. — Col- 
lier (ed.  ii.)  :  We  believe  that  Shakespeare  alone  uses  '  pall '  as  a  verb. 

56.  dunnest]  Steevens  :  The  Rambler  (No.  i68)  criticises  the  epithet  <  dun '  as 
mean.  Milton,  however,  appears  to  have  been  of  a  different  opinion,  and  has  rep- 
resented Satan  as  flying  {^Par,  Lost,  iii,  7)  ' in  the  dun  air  sublime.'     So  also 

in  Comus,  ' sin  Which  these  dun  shades  will  ne'er  report,'  [1.  126]. — Claren- 
don :  To  our  ears  '  dun '  no  longer  sounds  mean.  As  Horace  says,  Ars  Poet.  70, 
71,  *  Multa  renascentur  quae  jam  cecidere,  cadentque  Quae  nunc  sunt  in  honore 
vocabula,  si  volet  usus.' — [The  passage  in  7^  Rambler  to  which  Steevens  refers  is 
as  follows :  *  What  can  be  more  dreadful  than  to  implore  the  presence  of  night, 
invested  not  in  common  obscurity,  but  in  the  smoke  of  hell  ?  Yet  the  efficacy  of  this 
innovation  is  destroyed  by  the  insertion  of  an  epithet,  now  seldom  heard  but  in  the 
stable,  and  **dun  night"  may  come  or  go  without  any  other  notice  than  contempt.' 
Johnson,  forgetting  that  it  was  Lady  Macbeth  who  is  here  the  speaker,  said  that 
these  lines  are  uttered  by  Macbeth  when  '  confirming  himself  in  the  horrid  purpose 
of  stabbing  his  king.'  In  his  Dictionary ^  three  years  later,  Dr  Johnson  no  longer 
considers  '  dun '  as  a  word  of  the  stable,  but  thus  defines  it :  '  (i)  A  colour  partaking 
of  brown  and  black.  (2)  Dark;  gloomy';  nor,  in  his  edition  of  this  play,  which 
appeared  ten  years  later,  is  any  slur  cast  on  its  respectability. — Ed.  ii.] 

57.  see  not]  Elwin  :  That  the  wound  may  not  be  reflected  in  the  brightness  of 
the  blade. 

58.  peepe]  Keightley  :  At  that  time  '  peep '  was  to  gaze  earnestly  and  steadily 
at  anything;  not  furtively,  as  now. — [Schmidt  (Lex,)i  To  look  as  through  a 
crevice,  or  by  stealth  :  *  Under  whose  brim  the  gaudy  sun  would  peep,'  Ven,  &*  Ad. 
1088.  [Also  present  line  in  Macbeth,"]  Sometimes,  to  look  with  a  tinge  of  con- 
tempt, 'and  peep  about  to  find  ourselves  dishonourable  graves,'  Jul.  Cces.  I,  ii,  137. 
(b. )  to  be  or  become  visible,  to  appear :  '  through  crystal  walls  each  little  mote  will 
peep,'  Rape  of  Luc,  1251. — Skeat  {Concise  Diet,) :  To  look  through  a  narrow  aper- 
ture. Palsgrave  has :  ' I  peke or  prie,  le  pipe hors ' ;  i.  e.  I  peep  out.  Thus  'peep' 
is  directly  from  French  piper^  literally  to  pipe,  but  also  used  in  the  sense  to  peep. 
(It  arose  from  the  exclamation  pipe  ! — Dutch  dialect  piep  !y  Molema — made  by  a 
hider  in  the  game  of  peep-bo^  bo-peep,  or  hide-and-seek ;  cf.  Dutch  dialect  piepen, 
(i)  to  ^y  piep  I  (2)  to  peep  out) — Ed.  ii.] 

56-58.  And  .  .  .  darke]  Steevens  :  Drayton,  Polyolbion,  26th  Song,  has  an 
expression  like  this :  *  Thick  vapours,  that,  like  ruggSy  still  hang  the  troubled  air.' — 
M  ALONE:  Polyolbion  was  not  published  till  16 12,  after  this  play  had  certainly  been 
exhibited;  but  in  an  earlier  piece  Drayton  has  the  same  expression,  'The  sullen 


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ACT  I.  sc.  v.]        THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  8l 

[56-58.  And  .  .  .  darke] 
night  in  mistie  rugge  is  wrapp'd/  MorHmeriades,  1596.  <  Blanket'  was  perhaps  sug- 
gested by  the  coarse  woollen  curtain  of  Shakespeare's  own  theatre,  through  which, 
probably,  while  the  house  was  yet  but  half-lighted,  he  had  himself  often  peeped. — 
Haluwell:  That  the  players  did  sometimes  *peep '  through  such  a  curtain  appears 
from  the  Prologue  to  751^  Unfortunate  Lovers^  1643,  [D'Avenant].— Whiter  (p 
155  et  seq.) :  Nothing  is  more  certain  than  that  all  the  images  in  this  passage 
are  borrowed  from  the  stage.  The  peculiar  and  appropriate  dress  of  Tragedy  is 
a  pall  and  a  knife.  When  Tragedies  were  represented,  the  stage  was  hung  with 
6laci^  which  Malone,  in  his  Theatrical  Memoirs  (p.  89),  says  was  *  no  more  than 
one  piece  of  black  baize  placed  at  the  back  of  the  stage,  in  the  room  of  the  tapes- 
try, which  was  the  common  decoration  when  Comedies  were  acted.'  I  am 
persuaded,  however,  that,  on  the  same  occasions,  the  Heavens^  or  the  Roof  of  the 
Stage,  underwent  likewise  some  gloomy  transformation.  This  might  be  done  by 
covering  with  black  those  decorations  about  the  roof  which  were  designed  to  imitate 
the  appearance  of  the  Heavens^  conveying  to  the  audience  the  idea  of  a  dark  and 
gloomy  nighty  in  which  every  luminary  was  hidden  from  the  view.  In  the  Rape  of 
Lmcrece  (764-770)  there  is  a  wonderful  coincidence  with  this  passage,  in  which  we 
have  not  only  ^  Black  stage  for  Tragedies  and  murders  fell,'  but  also  *  comfort-hilling 
Night,  image  of  Hell,'  corresponding  with  thick  Night,  and  the  dunnest  smoke 
of  Hell.  Again,  in  line  788,  we  have  *  Through  Night's  black  bosom  should  not 
peep  again.'  [The  author  quotes  many  parallel  passages  from  Shakespeare  and  con- 
temporary authors. — Ed.] — Collier  (Notes,  p.  408,  ed.  i.)  :  In  fact,  it  is  not  at  all 
known  whether  the  curtain,  separating  the  audience  from  the  actors,  was  woollen  or 
linen.  As  it  seems  to  us,  the  substitution  the  MS  Corrector  recommends  cannot  be 
doubted — '  the  blankness  of  the  dark.'  The  scribe  misheard  the  termination  of  blank- 
ness,  and  absurdly  wrote  *  blanket.' — ^C.  A.  Brown  (p.  178)  [After  ridiculing  Dr 
Johnson's  condemnation  in  this  passage  of  such  words  as  *  dun,'  and  'knife,'  and 
'  peep,'  and  supposing  that  it  would  be  mightier  in  Johnsonian  phrase :  '  direct  a 
glance  of  perquisition  through  the  fleecy-woven  integument  of  the  tenebrosity,'  the 
author  adds]  :  Lady  Macbeth  determines  on  murdering  the  King  in  his  bed.  '  Top- 
full of  direst  [jiV]  cruelty '  in  the  anticipation  of  the  deed,  her  thoughts  occupied  in 
the  very  act  of  stabbing  her  guest  in  his  bed,  she  naturally,  and  consequently  with 
piropriety,  takes  a  metaphor  from  it  in  the  word  blanket.  By  the  occasional  skilful 
application  of  a  common  every-day  expression,  the  application  of  a  household  word, 
the  mingling  of  the  conveniences  or  wants  of  life  with  deeds  of  death,  our  imagina- 
tion, while  reading  Shakespeare,  is  so  forcibly  enthralled.  Had  the  old  King  been 
described  as  reposing  on  a  stately  couch,  after  the  fatigue  of  his  journey,  we  could 
not  have  sympathised  with  his  fate  so  much  as  when  we  find  him,  like  ourselves, 
sleeping  in  a  bed,  with  sheets  and  blankets.  Such  is  at  least  a  portion  of  Shake- 
speare's magic.  To  find  fault  with  it  is  to  wish  to  be  disenchanted. — Dyce  :  Cole- 
ridge proposed  * the  blank  height  of  the  dark,'  etc.;  a  conjecture  which  appeared 

in  the  first  edition  of  his  Table  Talk  (ii,  296),  but  which,  on  my  urging  its  absurdity 
to  the  editor,  was  omitted  in  the  second  edition  of  that  valuable  miscellany.  The  old 
reading  is  thoroughly  confirmed  by  the  quotations  in  the  Variorum. — R.  G.  White  : 
The  man  who  does  not  apprehend  the  meaning  and  the  pertinence  of  the  figure, 
'  the  blanket  of  the  dark,'  had  better  shut  his  Shakespeare,  and  give  his  days 
and  nights  to  the  perusal  of — some  more  correct  and  classic  writer. — Knight 
(ed.  iL) :  The  phrase  in  Cymb.  Ill,  i,  43,  'If  Caesar  can  hide  the  sun  from  us 
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82  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH        [act  i,  sc  v. 

To  cry,  hold ,  hold.  Enter  Macbeth.  59 

59,  60.  To,.,Cawdor\  One  line,  Cap.  59.  Enter  Macbeth]  After  Cawdor  (1. 

Ran.  et  seq.  60),  Cap.  Ran.  Knt,  Sing. 

with  a  blankety^  gives  the  key  to  the  metaphor. — Collier  (ed.  ii.) :  This  pas- 
sage from  Cymb,  has  no  other  relation  to  the  line  in  Macbeth  than  that  <  blanket ' 
occurs  in  both  plays. — Bailey  (i,  92) :  Blackness  is  in  every  way  preferable  to 
blankness ;  and  we  must  bear  in  mind  that  <  the  dark '  is  here  a  synonyme  for  the 
night.  This  reading  is  supported  by  Ant,  and  Cleop.  I,  iv,  13.  And  it  may  also 
derive  indirect  support  horn  a  remarkable  expression  in  the  fcpistle  of  St,  Jude^ 
verse  xiii. :  '  Wandering  stars,  to  whom  is  reserved  the  blackness  of  darkness  for 
ever.* — Staunton  :  If  *  blanket '  is  a  word  too  coarse  for  the  delicacy  of  the  com- 
mentators, what  say  they  to  the  following  from  Middleton's  Blurt,  Master- Constable, 
III,  i.?— *  Blest  night,  wrap  Cynthia  in  a  sabU  sheet: — Clarendon  :  The  covering 
of  the  sleeping  world.  From  the  French  blanchet.  For  homeliness  of  expression 
we  may  compare  another  passage  from  Mortimeriados,  sig.  C  2  recto  :  *As  when  we 
see  the  spring-begetting  Sunne,  In  heauens  black  night-gowne  couered  from  our 
sight.' — Haluwell  :  There  is  no  reason  for  suspecting  any  corruption. — ^Jessopp 
(A^.  <Sr*  Qu,  3d  S.  VII,  21  Jan.  1865)  :  For  'blanket'  substitute  blankest,  which  con- 
veys the  idea  of  the  most  intense  darkness,  and,  being  a  word  such  as  Shakespeare 
would  use,  adds  to  the  power  of  the  passage.  [In  N,  6t*  Qu,  i  Apr.  1865,  *  B.  T.* 
proposed  *  blonket,*  with  the  meaning  given  to  it  in  old  dictionaries  of '  thunder- 
cloud.' But  on  ID  June,  1865,  he  admitted  his  error, '  as,  after  much  search,  no  con- 
firmation of  that  sense '  could  be  found. — ^Ed.]— [W.  Leighton  {/Robinson's  Epit, 
of  Lit,  I  Feb.  1879)  '  "^^  ^0x6.  'blanket'  seems  to  be  used  with  reference  to  the 
idea  that  a  person  may  be  so  enveloped  in  a  blanket  as  to  be  unrecognizable. 
The  figure  may  spring  from  this  thought  of  concealment  by  being  covered  with  dark- 
ness, blanketed  from  sight,  tc^ether  with  the  quickening  imaginings  of  her  restless 
fancy,  which  have  already  suggested  that  the  best  place  and  time  for  the  perpetration 
of  the  deed  will  be  the  king's  bed,  after  he  has  retired  for  the  night — the  king's  bed, 
hence,  blanket  There  appears  a  double  intent  or  suggestion  in  these  lines ;  one 
meaning  following  the  thought  of  security,  that  even  heaven  will  not  know  the  evil- 
doer so  blanketed  ;  and  the  other,  that  the  obscuring  shadow  of  images,  of  crime — 
'  the  dunnest  smoke  of  hell ' — shall  so  crowd  her  mind  and  inspire  her  acts  that  no 
glimpse  of  heaven — conscience — may  shine  through  to  call  upon  the  criminal  to  hold 
her  hand.  Both  of  these  meanings  are  so  naturally  suggested  by  the  train  of  thought 
and  images  that  fill  her  brain  that  they  mingle  and  find  expression  in  the  same  words, 
although  they  are,  in  their  natures,  separate  and  distinct.  Her  resolution  thus  sup- 
ported by  spirits  of  Ul — grim  imaginings — she  pushes  her  husband,  willing  and 
unwilling,  into  the  crime  which  brings  a  terrible  retribution  to  both. — ^Ed.  ii.] 

57-59.  That  my  keene  Knife  .  .  .  hold]  W.  W.  Story  (p.  267) :  In  this 
apostrophe,  in  which  Lady  Macbeth  goads  herself  on  to  crime,  the  woman's  nature 
is  plainly  seen.  Macbeth  never  prays  to  have  his  nature  altered,  to  have  any  pas- 
sages to  remorse  closed  up ;  never  fears  '  compunctious  visitings  of  nature.'  But 
she  knows  that  she  is  a  woman,  and  that  she  needs  to  be  unsexed,  and  feels  that  she 
is  doing  violence  to  her  own  nature ;  still  her  wOl  is  strong,  and  she  cries  down  her 
misgivings,  and  resolves  to  aid  Macbeth  in  his  design. — Ed.  ii. 

59.  To  .  .  .  hold]  Harry  Rows  :  Much  has  been  written  to  show  the  enormous 
wickedness  of  this  speech ;  but  my  Devil,  who  is  a  kind  of  short-hand  critic,  has 


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ACT  I,  sc.  v.]         THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  83 

Great  Glamys,  worthy  Cawdor,  60 

Greater  then  both,  by  the  all-haile  hereafter, 

Thy  Letters  haue  tranfported  me  beyond 

This  ignorant  prefent,and  I  feele  now  63 

60.  [Embracing  him.  Rowe,  + .  63,64.  7^^...yWMr^]  One  line,  KUy. 
worthy\  my  worthy  Seymour.                   63.  prefenf^   present  time    Pope,  + , 

61.  [They  embrace.  Coll.  il.  Cap.  Van  '73,  '78. 

tken\  than  F^.  feele'\  feel  me  Anon.  ap.  Cam. 

summed  it  up  in  one  word — Charming.— Tollet  :  The  thought  is  token  from  the 
old  military  laws  which  inflicted  capital  punishment  upon  <  whosoever  shall  strike 
stroke  at  his  adversary,  either  in  the  heat  or  otherwise,  if  a  third  do  cry  hold^  to  the 
intent  to  part  them ;  except  that  they  did  fight  a  combat  in  a  place  enclosed ;  and 
then  no  man  shall  be  so  hardy  as  to  bid  hold^  but  the  general/  p.  264  of  Bella/ s 
Instructions  for  the  ^Kirr,  translated  in  1589. — [Bell  (p.  303)  says  that  'Mrs  Sid- 
dons  spoke  this  in  a  voice  quite  supernatural,  as  in  a  horrible  dream.'  And  that 
be  was  *  chilled  with  horror  by  the  slow  hollow  whisper  of  this  wonderful  creature.' 
—Ed.  ii.] 

6a  Great . .  .  Cawdor]  Bell  (p.  303)  :  [Mrs  Siddons  was  here]  loud,  trium- 
phant, and  wild  in  her  air. — Ed.  ii. — Wilson  (p.  631) :  Talboys.  You  said,  a  little 
while  ago,  sir,  that  you  believed  Macbeth  and  his  wife  were  a  happy  couple.  North, 
Not  I.  I  said  she  was  attoched  to  him — and  I  say  now  that  the  wise  men  are  not 
of  the  Seven,  who  point  to  her  reception  of  her  husband,  on  his  arrival  at  homey  as 
a  proof  of  her  want  of  affection.  They  seem  to  think  she  ought  to  have  rushed  into 
his  anns — slobbered  upon  his  shoulder — and  so  forth.  For  had  he  not  been  to  the 
Wars  ?  Pshaw  !  The  most  tender-hearted  Thanesses  of  those  days— even  those  that 
kept  albums — would  have  been  ashamed  of  weeping  on  sending  their  Thanes  off  to 
battle — much  more  on  receiving  them  back  in  a  sound  skin — with  new  honours  nod- 
ding on  their  plumes.  Lady  Macbeth  was  not  one  of  the  turtle-doves — fit  mate  she 
for  the  King  of  the  Vultures.  I  am  too  good  an  ornithologist  to  call  them  Eagles. 
She  received  her  mate  fittingly — with  murder  in  her  soul ;  but  more  cruel — more  sel- 
fish than  he,  she  could  not  be — nor,  perhaps,  was  she  less ;  but  she  was  more  reso- 
lute— and  resolution  even  in  evil — in  such  drcumstonces  as  hers — seems  to  argue  a 
superior  nature  to  his,  who,  while  he  keeps  vacillating,  as  if  it  were  between  good 
and  evil,  betrays  all  the  time  the  bias  that  is  surely  inclining  him  to  evil,  into  which 
be  makes  a  sudden  and  sure  wheel  at  last. — Ed.  ii. 

61.  all-haile]  Clarendon  :  Lady  Macbeth  speaks  as  if  she  had  heard  the  words 
as  spoken  by  the  witch,  I,  iii,  55,  and  not  merely  read  them  as  reported  in  her  hus- 
band's letter,  I,  v,  10. 

61.  hereafter]  Mrs  Jameson  (ii,  324):  This  is  surely  the  very  rapture  of  ambi- 
tion I  and  those  who  have  heard  Mrs  Siddons  pronounce  the  word  hereafter^  cannot 
forget  the  look,  the  tone,  which  seemed  to  give  her  auditors  a  glimpse  of  that  awful 
fiOurey  which  she,  in  her  prophetic  fury,  beholds  upon  the  instant. 

63.  This  .  .  .  now]  Hunter  :  This  line  halts,  and  should,  I  think,  be  completed 
thus,  *  I  feel  [e*en]  now,'  rather  than  by  the  introduction  of  the  word  time.  Noth- 
ing is  more  plain  than  that,  in  considering  the  text  of  this  play,  great  license  is  to 
be  given  to  an  editor.  [Lettsom  proposed  the  same  emendation,  ap.  Dyce,  ed. 
ii.] — Dyce:    Steevens  remarks:  'The  sense  does  not  require  the  word  time^ — 


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84  THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH       [act  i,  sc.  v. 

The  future  in  the  inftant. 

Macb.     My  deareft  Loue,  65 

Duncan  comes  here  to  Night 

Lady.    And  when  goes  hence  t 

Macb.    To  morrow,  as  he  purpofes.  68 

65.  My\  Om.  Pope,  +  .  Dyce  ii,  iii. 

deareft"]  dearest  Cap.  Hads.  i,  ii,  66.  Duncan]  Duncane  Ff. 

which  is  trae ;  '  and  it  is  too  much  for  the  measure ' — which  is  nonsense. — ^Walker. 
(  Vers,  156)  :  Here  I  suspect  a  word  has  dropt  out — ^an  accident  which  seems  to  have 
happened  not  unfrequendy  in  the  Folio  Macbeth, 

63.  ignorant]  Johnson  :  This  has  here  the  signification  of  unknowing;  I  fed  by 
anticipation  those  future  honours,  of  which,  according  to  the  proces^of  nature,  the 
present  time  would  be  ignorant, — ^Capell  (ii,  8) :  Ignorant  of  either  honour  or 
greatness,  which  reside  in  nothing  but  royalty. — Deuus  :  It  seems  to  me  to  be  more 
Shakespearian  to  take  this  in  a  passive  sense,  like  so  many  other  adjectives  in  Shake- 
speare—our unknown,  obscure,  inglorious  present.  As  in  Wint,  Tale,  I,  ii,  397, 
•ignorant  concealment.*    [See  Wint,  Tale,  I,  ii,  458  ;  this  ed.] 

63.  feele]  For  monosyllables  containing  diphthongs  and  long  vowels,  see  Abbott, 
§  484.     Compare  I,  ii,  10. 

65.  My  dearest  Loue]  Fletcher  (p.  182)  :  It  is  not  Lady  Macbeth' s  need  of 
aid  or  comfort  that  ever  draws  these  marks  of  fondness  from  her  husband ;  we  find 
them  in  every  instance  produced  by  some  pressure  of  difficulty  or  perplexity  upon 
himself,  which  he  feels  his  own  resolution  unequal  to  meet,  and  so  flies  for  support 
to  her  superior  firmness :  he  does  not  consult  her  as  to  ^t  formation  of  his  purposes 
— ^he  is  too  selfish  and  headstrong  for  that ;  he  simply  uses  her  moral  courage,  as  he 
seeks  to  use  all  other  things,  as  an  indispensable  instrument  to  stay  his  own  falter- 
ing steps,  and  uige  on  his  hesitating  march  towards  the  fulfilment  of  a  purpose 
already  formed,     [See  note  by  D'Hugues,  III,  ii,  37. — Ed.  ii.] 

66.  See  note  by  Fletcher,  I,  iv,  57. 

68.  To  morrow  .  . .  purposes]  J.  Qoxxxlki^  (Gentleman^ s  Maga,  March,  1889) : 
As  Salvini  played  this,  Macbeth  was  not  one  likely  to  wait  for  his  better  half  to 
suggest  the  '  removal '  of  Duncan.  In  reply  to  the  enquiry,  <  and  when  goes  hence  ?* 
he  paused  one  moment,  looked  furtively  round  as  he  replied :  'Tomorrow,  as  he 
purposes ' ;  and  when  Lady  Macbeth  made  answer :  '  Never  shall  sun  that  morrow 
see !'  his  face  lighted  up  with  murder  written  on  every  line  of  it.  His  doubts  and 
fears  in  the  following  scenes  were  admirably  rendered. — Ed.  ii. — W.  W.  Story  (p. 
268)  :  'Tomorrow,'  he  answers,  and  pauses;  and  adds,  'as  he  purposes.'  But  in 
the  look  and  in  the  pause  Lady  Macbeth  has  read  his  whole  soul  and  intent.  There 
is  murder  in  that  look  ;  and  she  cries :  <  Your  face,  my  thane,  is  as  a  book,  where 
men  May  read  strange  matters.'  There  is  no  explanation  between  them.  He  has 
conveyed  all  hiTintention  by  a  look  and  a  gesture,  as  she  distinctly  says. ...  (p.  270): 
There  is  no  warrant  of  any  kind  that,  in  the  simple  words  'And  when  goes  hence  ?' 
she  meant  more  than  she  said.  It  was  the  most  natural  question  that  she  could 
possibly  ask.  Granting  that  she  intended  equally  with  him  to  commit  the  murder, 
what  is  more  natural  than  that  she  should  wish  to  know  how  soon  it  was  necessary 
to  carry  out  the  plan  of  murder,  and  what  time  there  was  to  make  all  the  arrange- 
ments?— Ed.  ii. 


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ACT  I,  sc.  v.]         THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  85 

iMdy,     O  neuer, 
Shall  Sunne  that  Morrow  fee.  70 

Your  Face,  my  Thane y  is  as  a  Booke,  where  men 
May  reade  (Irange  matters,  to  beguile  the  time. 
Looke  like  the  time,beare  welcome  in  your  Eye, 
Your  Hand,  your  Tongue:  looke  like  th'innocent  flower, 
But  be  the  Serpent  vnder't.     He  that's  comming,  75 

Muft  be  prouided  for  :  and  you  (hall  put 
This  Nights  great  Bufmeffe  into  my  difpatch,  7y 

70.  Sunne\  his  sun  Jackson.  ..Mme,  Theob.  Warb.  Johns.  Cam.  Wh. 

71.  tf]  Om.  F,.  ii.     matters:  to.,Aime  Han.  et  cet 

72.  matters^  to.,.time.'\  matters  to.,,  74.  thUnnocent']  the  innocent  Rowe 
tisne,  FjF^,  Rowe,  Pope,     matters.    To  et  seq. 

69.  For  single  lines  with  two  or  three  accents,  see  Abbott,  §  511.  [It  is,  how- 
ever, well  to  bear  in  mind  that,  of  the  numerous  instances  of  short  lines  in  Macbeth^ 
to  which  Abbott  refers,  many  are  due  to  the  editors,  and  are  not  short  lines  in  the 
Folio.— Ed.  ii.] 

69,  70.  O  neuer . . .  see]  Bell  (p.  303) :  [Mrs  Siddons  uttered]  <  O  never  •  with 
£dling  inflection  ;  the  last  word  slowly  repeated.  A  long  pause,  turned  from  him, 
her  eye  steadfast  Strong,  dwelling  emphasis  on  '  never  shall  sun  that  morrow  see.' 
Low,  very  slow  sustained  voice,  her  eye  and  her  mind  occupied  steadfastly  in  the 
contemplation  of  her  horrible  purpose,  pronunciation  almost  syllabic,  note  unvaried. 
Her  self-collected  solemn  energy,  her  fixed  posture,  her  detennined  eye,  and  full 
deep  voice  of  fixed  resolve  never  should  be  forgot,  cannot  be  conceived,  nor 
described. — Ed.  ii. 

71.  Your  Face]  Bell  (p.  303) :  [Mrs  Siddons  pronounced  these  words  while] 
observing  the  effect  of  what  she  has  said  on  him ;  now  for  the  first  time  turning  her 
eyes  npon  his  face. — Ed.  ii. 

71.  Booke]  Clarendon:  Compare  Rom.  ^  Jul.  I,  iii,  81. 

72.  time]  Dbuus:  Time  with  the  definite  article  means  in  Shakespeare  the 
present  time,  the  age  we  live  in.  In  order  to  b^^uile  men  you  must  assume  the 
same  expression  as  they  do.  See  I,  vii,  95. — Clarendon  :  Not  wile  away  the  time 
—though  Shakespeare  elsewhere  uses  the  phrase  in  this  sense  in  Twelfth  Nighty 
III,  iii,  41 — ^but  delude  all  observers.  Compare  Rich.  HI:  V,  iii,  92. — [Hudson 
(ed.  iii.)  :  <  Time '  is  here  put  for  its  contents,  or  what  occurs  in  time.  It  is  a  time 
of  full-hearted  welcome  and  hospitality  ;  and  such  are  the  looks  which  Macbeth  is 
urged  to  connteifeit. — Ed.  ii.] 

75.  But .  .  .  vnder't]  Bell  (p.  303)  :  [Mrs  Siddons's  delivery  was  here]  very 
slow  ;  severe  and  cruel  expression  ;  her  gesture  impressive. — Ed.  ii. 

77.  my  dispatch]  Fletcher  (p.  184) :  This  is  exactly  what  her  husband  has 
been  looking  for :  she  has  now  taken  the  actual  effort  and  immediate  responsibility 
of  the  deed  upon  herself.  Nevertheless,  the  selfishly  covetous  and  murderous  coward 
still  affects  to  hesitate— 'We  will  speak  further.'  She  knows  his  meaning  and 
rejoins :  '  Leave  all  the  rest  to  me.'  And  to  her,  well  understanding  her  intention, 
Macbeth  is  well  pleased,  at  that  moment,  so  to  leave  it. — Ed.  ii. 


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86  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH      [act  i,  sc.  vL 

Which  fhall  to  all  our  Nights,  and  Dayes  to  come,  78 

Giue  folely  foueraig^e  fway,and  Mafterdome. 

Macb.    We  will  fpeake  further*  80 

Lady.    Onely  looke  vp  cleare : 
To  alter  fauor,  euer  is  to  feare : 
Leaue  all  the  reft  to  me.  Exeunt.  83 


Scena  Sexta, 


Hoboyes ,  and  Torches.    Enter  King ,  Malcolme ,  2 

Donalbainey  BanquOj  Lenox  y  Macduff ^ 
RoffCy  Angus  J  and  Attendants. 
King.    This  Caftle  hath  a  pleafant  feat,  5 

82.  fauor ^  euer\  favor  ever  Var.  '78  2.  Hoboyes,  and  Torches]  Hautboys 

et  seq.  and  torches.  Rowe.     Hautboys.     Ser- 

to  feare"]  and  fear  Theob.  ii.  vants  of  Macbeth  with  Torches.  Cap. 
I.  Scene  Vni.  Pope  i,+.     Scene  Enter...]  Discover... Booth. 

II.  Pope  ii.     Scene  IV.  Rowe  i.  King,]  Duncan,  Cap.  et  seq. 

Before    Macbeth's    Castle-Gate.  5,6.  This   Caftie  ..^ayre]  One  line, 

Theob.  et  seq.  (subs.)  Rowe  et  seq. 

78,  79.  Which  .  . .  Masterdome]  Bell  (p.  303)  :  [Here  Mrs  Siddons's]  voice 
changes  to  assurance  and  gratulation. — Ed.  ii. 

82.  fauor]  Steevens  :  That  is,  Look,  countenance, 

82.  to  feare]  Seymour  :  To  change  countenance  is  always  a  dangerous  indica- 
tion of  what  is  passing  in  the  mind ;  to  fear  for,  to  give  cause  for  fear. — C.  Lofft  : 
If  you  change  your  countenance  thus,  your  fears  will  not  fail  to  be  known ;  since 
all  men  understand  this  Sjrmptom  by  which  fear  betrays  itself. — Clarendon  :  Lady 
Macbeth  detects  more  than  irresolution  in  her  husband's  last  speech. 

82,  83.  To.  ^ .  me]  Bell  (p.  303) :  [Mrs  Siddons  said  this]  leading  him  out,  her 
hand  on  his  shoulder,  clapping  him.  This,  vulgar — gives  a  mean  conception  of 
Macbeth,  unlike  the  high  mental  working,  by  which  he  is  turned  to  her  ambitions 
purpose. — ^Ed.  ii. 

2.  Hoboyes,  and  Torches]  Anonymous  {Sunday  Times,  London,  30  Dec.  1888) : 
[In  Irving's  production  at  the  Lyceum]  the  scene  outside  Macbeth' s  castle  is  nobly 
picturesque,  the  entrance-gates  being  approached  by  a  sloping  road,  up  which  Duncan 
and  his  followers  come,  being  greeted  by  Lady  Macbeth,  who,  with  her  maids  and 
torch-bearers,  comes  as  hostess  to  greet  the  king.  This  is  altogether  a  new  and  a 
very  impressive  rendering  of  this  scene. — Ed.  ii. 

5.  This  Castle  .  .  .  seat]  Forsyth  (p.  64) :  Action,  life,  passion — men  and 
women  in  every  possible  position — are  nearly  all  in  all  throughout  Shakespeare's 
works ;  external  nature  being  used  only  as  a  foil  to  show  off  the  lights  and  shades 
of  the  great  drama  of  human  existence.  .  .  .  Shakespeare  does  not  paint  landscapes  at 
all,  as  we  now  understand  that  word,  not  even  for  his  own  special  dramatic  purposes. 


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ACT  I,  sc.  vi.]        THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  87 

The  ayre  nimbly  and  fweetly  recommends  it  felfe  6 

In  observation  his  fkculty  is  microscopical ;  a  wide  and  extended  view  of  natural 
scenerj  he  will  not  pourtray.  With  unerring  accuracy  of  eye  he  seizes  on  particular 
objects,  investing  them  with  the  lively  hues  of  his  exuberant  imagination ;  he  does 
not  see,  he  does  not  choose  to  describe,  an  entire  landscape.  .  . .  What  is  perhaps 
the  most  noticeable  of  all  is,  that  in  his  sketches,  incomplete  as  they  are,  of  natural 
scenery,  he  scarcely  ever  mentions  that  form  of  it  which  is  now  held  as  the  most 
enchanting,  sublime,  and  attractive  to  cultivated  minds — the  scenery,  namely,  of 
mountainous  regions.  . . .  Whatever  else  the  great  poet  saw  in  nature,  he  apparently 
could  not  see  the  grandeur  of  the  everlasting  hills ;  *  the  difficult  air  of  the  iced 
mountain  top'  was  by  him  unbreathed  and  unkiiown.  Once  only,  in  the  whole 
range  of  his  works  (unless  we  should  except  some  slight  references  in  CytnbeHne)^ 
does  he  introduce  his  readers  to  the  heart  of  a  wild  and  hUly  region.  .  . .  The  allu- 
sions to  the  site  of  Macbeth' s  castle  happen  to  be  perfectly  correct;  the  wonder 
is  how  the  writer  shoiild  have  been  conversant  with  such  details. .  .  .  [Whether 
Shakespeare  described  the  scene  from  personal  observation  or  from  an  inspiration 
of  genius],  the  puzzle  is  how  the  describer  should  have  overlooked  other  features 
of  infinitely  more  prominence  and  importance  in  the  landscape  surrounding  Inver- 
ness— the  magnificent  sweep  of  river  and  estuaiy,  and  the  grand  domination  of  the 
different  mountain  ranges. 

5.  seat]  Johnson  {Obs.  1745) :  I  propose  sUe^  as  the  ancient  word  for  situation, 
[Capell  also  made  this  conjecture. — Ed.  ii.]  For  the  sake  of  the  measure,  I  adjust 
line  XI,  <  Smells  wooingly.  Here  is  no  jutting  frieze.'  [As  Dr  Johnson  did  not 
repeat  these  emendations  in  his  edition  of  1765,  we  may  presume  that  they  were 
withdrawn. — Ed.] — Reed:  Compare  Bacon's  Essays^  xlv.:  *  He  that  builds  a  faire 
house  upon  an  ill  seatf  committeth  himself  to  prison.  Neither  doe  I  reckon  it  an 
ill  seat^  only  where  the  aire  is  unwholesome,  but  likewise  where  the  aire  is  unequal ; 
as  you  shall  see  many  fine  seats  set  upon  a  knap  of  ground  invironed  with  higher 
hills  round  about  it. — Sir  J.  Reynolds  :  This  short  dialogue  between  Duncan  and 
Banquo  has  always  appeared  to  me  a  striking  instance  of  what  in  painting  is  termed 
repose.  Their  conversation  very  naturally  turns  upon  the  beauty  of  [the  castle's]  situ- 
ation, and  the  pleasantness  of  the  air ;  and  Banquo,  observing  the  martlets'  nests  in 
every  recess  of  the  cornice,  remarks,  that  where  those  birds  most  breed  and  haunt,  the 
air  is  delicate.  The  subject  of  this  quiet  and  easy  conversation  gives  that  repose  so  nec- 
essary to  the  mind  after  the  tumultuous  bustle  of  the  preceding  scenes,  and  perfectly 
contrasts  the  scene  of  horror  that  inunediately  succeeds.  It  seems  as  if  Shakespeare 
asked  himself.  What  is  a  prince  likely  to  say  to  his  attendants  on  such  an  occasion  ? 
Whereas  the  modem  writers  seem,  on  the  contrary,  to  be  always  searching  for  new 
thoughts,  such  as  would  never  occur  to  men  in  the  situation  which  is  represented. 
This  also  is  frequently  the  practice  of  Homer,  who,  from  the  midst  of  battles  and 
horrors,  relieves  and  refreshes  the  mind  of  the  reader  by  introducing  some  quiet  rural 
image,  or  picture  of  familiar  domestic  life.  [See  also,  to  the  same  effect.  Reed, 
Lectures^  etc.  p.  231. — ^Knowles  (p.  24)  :  I  am  inclined  to  take  a  different  view  of 
the  subject  [from  that  expressed  by  Reynolds  in  the  preceding  note],  and  to  con- 
sider this  scene  as  another  and  a  higher  step  in  the  climax  of  the  action.  That 
Duncan  should  contemplate  with  satisfaction  the  seat  of  Macbeth' s  castle,  and  that 
Banquo  should  participate  in  the  feelings  of  the  King,  are  perfectly  natural ;  but 
that  the  audience  should  partake  this  view,  is  as  preposterous  as  to  suppose  that  we 


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88  THE  TR AGED  IE  OF  MACBETH       [act  i.  sc.  vi. 

Vnto  our  gentle  fences.  7 

Bang,    This  Gueft  of  Summer, 
The  Temple-haunting  Barlet  does  approue, 
By  his  loued  Manfoniy,that  the  Heauens  breath  lo 

7.   VrUo  ,„/ences\   Gentle  unto  our  mansidnry)^  Ktly. 

sense  Becket  10.  Manfonry\   Ff,  Rowe,  Pope  L 

gentle  fences']  general  sense  ^tiih,  masonry   Pope    ii,    Han.       mansionry 

gentle  sense,  Johns,  conj.  O^.     gentle  Theob.  et  cet. 

sense*  Allen  MS.  tkat  the]  thaf  Allen  MS. 

9.  Barlet]  martlet  Rowe  et  seq.  the]  Om.  Pope,+. 
10.  ^^.../^atf^Mj]  One  line  (reading 

could  see  a  man  about  to  step  into  a  cavern  which  we  know  to  be  the  den  of  a  wild 
beast,  and  participate  in  his  admiration  of  the  foliage  which  might  happen  to  adorn 
its  entrance.  So  Ou-,  if  I  mistake  not,  from  there  being  any  relaxing  of  the  interest 
here,  there  is  an  absolute  straining  of  it.  The  unconsciousness  of  the  destined 
victim  to  the  fate  that  awaited  it,  the  smiling  flowers  that  dressed  it,  and  its  playful 
motions  as  it  walked  to  the  altar  of  sacrifice  must  have  served,  not  to  assuage,  but 
to  aggravate  in  the  beholder  the  feeling  of  its  predicament  There  is  no  relief— no 
repose  here.  How  often  in  witnessing  this  scene  have  I  felt  a  wish  that  some  sus- 
picion of  foul  play  would  flash  across  the  mind  of  Banquo,  and  that  he  would  hang 
upon  the  robes  of  the  king  and  implore  him  not  to  enter. — Ed.  ii.] 

7.  Hudson  (ed.  iil)  :  That  is,  *  The  air,*  by  its  purity  and  sweetness,  attempts 
our  senses  to  its  own  state,  and  so  makes  them  gentle,  or  sweetens  them  into  gentle- 
ness.    A  proleptical  form  of  speech. — Ed.  ii. 

7.  sences]  Johnson  :  <  Senses  *  are  nothing  more  than  each  man^s  sense,  '  Gentle ' 
sense  means  placid^  ccUm^  composed^  and  intimates  the  peaceable  delight  of  a  fine 
day. — Abbott  (§  471) :  See  note  on  II,  iv,  18. — Clarendon  :  Our  senses,  which 
are  soothed  by  the  brisk,  sweet  air.  The  same  construction,  in  which  the  action 
of  the  verb  is  expressed  by  applying  an  epithet  to  the  object,  is  found  in  III,  iv,  9. 

8.  This]  Lettsom  (i^.  Dyce) :  Read  The,  *  This  *  was  repeated  by  mistake 
from  the  preceding  speech. 

8-15.  LiBBY  :  This  soothing  speech  is  criminal;  but  Banquo  always  satisfies  his 
conscience  and,  like  other  self-deceivers,  passes  for  honourable. — £d.  ii. 

9.  Barlet]  Stebvens:  Rowe's  emendation  is  supported  by  Mer.  of  Ven,  II,  ix, 
28. — Hunter  :  It  may  be  further  justified  by  comparison  with  the  following  passage 
in  Braithwaite's  Survey  of  History^  1638  :  *As  the  martin  will  not  build  but  in  fieur 
houses,  so  this  man  will  not  live  but  in  the  ruins  of  honour.'  Shakespeare  was, 
we  see,  choice  in  his  epithet,  and  exact  in  his  natural  history — </^m//r-haunting.' 
This  passage,  when  looked  at  in  the  original  copies,  shews  of  itself  how  carelessly 
the  original  editors  performed  their  duties,  at  least  in  the  First  Act  of  this  tragedy. — 
[Paton  :  We  think  the  word  « barlet,'  for  which  martlet  is  generally  substituted, 
will  yet  turn  up.  The  following  seems  to  bring  us  a  letter  nearer  it :  <  The  swallow, 
fwift,  and  marlet  are  almost  always  flying.  The  fieldfares  and  redwings  gather  into 
great  flocks,  so  do  the  swallows  and  marlets.' — Harleum  Miscellany ^  ii,  563. — Ed.  ii.  J 

ID.  Mansoniy]  Staunton  :  Looking  to  the  context,  <  his  pendent  bed  and  pro- 
creant  cradle,'  should  we  not  read,  lonfe-mtmsionry  ? — Dsiius :  Theobald's  emenda- 
tion is  not  quite  so  certain  as  Rowe's  *  martlet' 


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ACT  I,  sc.  vi.]        THE  TR AGED  IE  OF  MACBETH  89 

Smells  wooingly  here :  no  lutty  frieze,  1 1 

Buttrice,  nor  Coigne  of  Vantage,  but  this  Bird 

Hath  made  his  pendant  Bed,  and  procreant  Cradle, 

Where  they  muft  breed,  and  haunt:  I  haue  obferu'd 

The  ay  re  is  delicate.  Enter  Lady.  15 

II-15.  Smells. ..deliaUe]  Lines  end,  13,  14.  Cradle,... kaun/:}   cradle:... 

Butirice,...made ,,.theyn..ayre...delUaU,  haunt,  Rowe  et  seq. 
StecT.  Var.  '03/13.  14.  muft'\  most  Rowe  et  seq.     much 

II.  wooingly\sweetandwooingly'^9Si.  Coll.  ii.  (MS.) 

luity  friete,']  jutting  frieze  Pope,  15.  Enter  Lady]  Enter  Lady  Mack- 

•f ,  Cap.    /nZ/Kf /ni^,  Steev.  et  seq.  beth.  Cap.     Enter  Lady  Macbeth,  at- 

13.  his]  this  F^,  Rowe  i.  tended.     She  kneels.  Booth. 

11.  lutty]  Malone  :  A  *  jutty,'  or  jetty  (for  so  it  ought  rather  to  be  written),  is 
not  here  an  epithet  to  '  frieze,'  but  a  substantive,  signifying  that  part  of  a  building 
which  shoots  forward  beyond  the  rest.  See  Florio's  //.  Diet,  1598 :  ^Barbacane. 
An  outnooke  or  comer  standing  out  of  a  house ;  a  jettie.'  *Sporto,  a  porch,  a  por- 
tall,  a  baie  window,  or  out  butting,  or  iettie  of  a  house  that  ietties  out  farther  than 
anie  other  part  of  the  house,  a  iettie  or  butte.'  See  also  Surpendui,  in  Cotgrave : 
^K  jettie ;  an  outjetting  room.' — Steevens:  Shakespeare  uses  the  verb  to  jutty  in 
Hen.  V:  III,  i,  13. — ^Walkee  (Crit.  ii,  14)  conjectures  that  a  word  is  here  omitted. 
—Dycs  (ed.  ii.)  :  This  line  seems  to  be  mutilated. — Claeendon  :  Probably  some 
word  like  cornice  has  dropped  out  after  *  jutty. ' 

12.  Coigne  of  Vantage]  Johnson  :  Convenient  comer. — Huntee  :  It  is  remark- 
able that  this  compound  nrely  occurs.  Dr  Johnson's  explanation  is  surely  erro- 
neous. In  the  Porta  Linguarum  Trilinguis,  an  advantage  is  described  <  a  some- 
thing added  to  a  building,  as  a  jutting.'  The  following,  from  the  Pacata  Hibemia, 
contains  something  which  approaches  the  nearest  of  anything  I  have  found  to  the 
word  in  question.  Carew,  the  author,  is  describing  Blarney  Castle :  <  It  is  four  piles 
joined  in  one,  seated  upon  a  main  rock,  so  as  to  be  free  from  mining,  the  walls 
eighteen  feet  thick,  kcA  flanked  at  each  comer  to  the  best  advantage.*  Shakespeare's 
French  reading,  perhaps,  supplied  him  with  it — Dyce  (Few  Notes,  etc.)  :  Coigne 
is  certainly  a  word  of  rare  occurrence :  'And  Cape  of  Hope,  last  coign  of  Africa.' — 
Sylvester's  Du  Bartas^  The  Colonies^  p.  129,  ed.  1641.  (The  original  has  *  angle 
dernier  d'Afrique.') — Claeendon:  Of  course,  a  comer  convenient  for  building  a 
nest     '  Coign,^  from  the  French  coin,  formerly  spelt  •  coing.'     See  Coriol.  V,  iv,  i. 

12.  Bird]  Keightley  {Exp.  331) :  There  can  be  little  doubt,  I  think,  that  otCt 
was  effiu:ed  at  the  end  of  this  line ;  for  the  Poet  could  hardly,  even  in  his  most  care- 
less moments,  have  termed  solid  parts  of  a  building  <  pendent  nests,'  etc.  Words- 
worth, with  this  very  place  in  his  mind,  wrote :  '  On  coigns  of  vantage  hang  their 
nests  of  day '  (Misc.  Son.  34).  It  is  also  in  favour  of  this  reading  that  it  throws 
the  metric  accent  on  this,  thereby  adding  force. 

14.  mnst]  CoLUEE  (ed.  i. ;  see  Text.  Notes) :  Sense  might  be  made  out  of 
'  must '  of  the  old  copies,  supposing  Banquo  to  mean  only  that  the  swallows  must 
breed  in  their  procreant  cradles ;  adding,  in  the  words,  <  the  air  is  delicate,'  his 
accordance  with  Duncan's  previous  remark. 

14,  15.  Where  .  .  .  delicate]  A.  Foggo  {Sh.  Soc.  Trans.  1875-6) :  I  cannot 
find  that  other  observers  have  noticed  a  propensity  in  the  swallow  to  seek  local- 


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go  THE   TRACED  IE   OF  MACBETH      [act  i.  sc.  vi. 

King.     See,  fee,  our  honor'd  Hosteffe  :  i6 

The  Loue  that  followes  vs,  fometime  is  our  trouble. 
Which  ftill  we  thanke  as  Loue.  Herein  I  teach  you, 
How  you  fhall  bid  God-eyld  vs  for  your  paines. 
And  thanke  vs  for  your  trouble.  20 

16.  See,/ee,'\  See!  Han.  Waib.  Johns. 

17.  fometime  is\  sometime' s  Pope  i,  19.  God-eyld^  Godild  Han.  god-yeld 
Walker,  sometimes  Vo^  \\,  sometimes  Warb.  god-yield  Johns.  Vat.*  y$,  God- 
is  Theoh.+.  'ildCap.    God  yield  yai.'7S,'Ss,KAn. 

18.  19.  yoUf  How you\  you  .—How ?  Mai.  Steev.  Var.  Coll.  Sing,  ii,  Huds. 
—  Kw  Jackson.  Wh.  i,  KUy.  God  iid  Dyce.     God'ild 

19.  >^fl//]    should  Rowe  ii,  Theob.  Glo.  Wh.  ii.  God  'ield  Rife,  Huds.  iii. 

ities  where  the  air  is  especially  pure  and  delicate.  The  observation,  however,  is 
borne  out  so  far  by  MacGillivray,  who  remarks  that  though  they  are  to  be  found 
chiefly  in  the  neighbourhood  of  towns,  villages,  and  farm  buildings  in  the  more 
populous  parts  of  the  country,  yet  small  colonies  of  them  will  establish  themselves 
on  the  margin  of  the  moors  and  wild  gifcns  of  the  pastoral  regions,  in  the  valleys  of 
the  upper  districts  of  the  Clyde,  the  Tweed,  the  Dee,  and  the  Tay,  where  they  will 
build  on  the  inns  and  larger  houses.  As  for  their  '  temple-haunting '  propensities, 
the  observation  is  as  old  at  least  as  the  Hebrew  psalter. — Ed.  ii. 

15.  Enter  Lady]  Noel  (p.  16) :  I  am  inclined  to  believe  that,  could  she  have 
seen  that  her  own  life  might  be  wrecked  in  this  venture,  and  Macbeth  still  secure  all 
that  his  ambition  craved,  her  dauntless  spirit  would  have  urged  her  on,  in  spite  of 
everything,  and  her  smile  would  have  been  as  sweet,  her  tones  as  solicitous,  and  her 
white  hand  would  have  neither  faltered  nor  trembled  in  the  grasp  of  her  sovereign 
victim. — ^Ed.  ii. 

17.  sometime]  Clarendon  :  That  is,  sometimes.  The  two  forms  are  used  indif- 
ferently by  Shakespeare.  In  many  cases  editors  have  altered  the  original  reading 
where  it  contradicted  the  modem  distinction  between  the  words.     See  IV,  ii,  88. 

17-20.  The  Loue  . . .  your  trouble]  Steevens  :  The  passage  is  undoubtedly  ob- 
scure, and  the  following  is  the  best  explication  of  it  I  can  offer :  Marks  of  respect,  impor- 
tunately shown,  are  sometimes  troublesome,  though  we  are  still  bound  to  be  grateful 
for  them,  as  indications  of  sincere  attachment.  If  you  pray  for  us  on  account  of  the 
trouble  we  create  in  your  house,  and  thank  us  for  the  molestations  we  bring  with  us, 
it  must  be  on  such  a  principle.  Herein  I  teach  you,  that  the  inconvenience  you  suffer, 
is  the  result  of  our  affection ;  and  that  you  are  therefore  to  pray  for  us,  or  thank  us, 
only  as  far  as  prayers  and  thanks  can  be  deserved  for  kindnesses  that  fatigue,  and 
honours  that  oppress.  You  are,  in  short,  to  make  your  acknowledgments  for  in- 
tended respect  and  love,  however  irksome  our  present  mode  of  expressing  them 
may  have  proved.  To  *  bid  *  is  here  used  in  the  Saxon  sense — to  pray. — Knight  : 
The  love  which  follows  us  is  sometimes  troublesome ;  so  we  give  you  trouble,  but  look 
you  only  at  the  love  we  bear  to  you,  and  so  bless  us  and  thank  us. — Collier  :  Dun- 
can says  that  even  love  sometimes  occasions  him  trouble,  but  that  he  thanks  it  as  love 
notwithstanding ;  and  that  thus  he  teaches  Lady  Macbeth,  while  she  takes  trouble  on 
his  account,  to '  bid  God  yield,*  or  reward,  him  for  giving  that  trouble. — Hunter  :  The 
affection  which  urges  us  to  desire  the  society  of  our  friends  is  sometimes  the  occasion 
of  trouble  to  them ;  but  still  we  feel  grateful  for  the  affection  which  is  manifested. 


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Acri,sc.vi.]         THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH  91 

Lady.    All  our  feruice,  21 

In  euery  point  twice  done^and  then  done  double, 
Were  poore,and  fingle  Bufineffe,  to  contend 
Againft  thofe  Honors  deepe,and  broad, 

Wherewith  your  Maieftie  loades  our  Houfe  :  25 

For  thofe  of  old,  and  the  late  Dignities, 
HeapM  vp.to  them,  we  reft  your  Ermites. 

King.    Where's  the  Thane  of  Cawdor? 
We  courft  him  at  the  heeles,  and  had  a  purpofe 
To  be  his  Purueyor  :  But  he  rides  well,  30 

22.  In  euery,„doubU,'\  {In  every,,.  27.  Ermiies]  HermUes  F,.  eremites 
doubU)  Pope,  Theob.  Warb.                           Paton  conj.     HertnUs  F,  et  seq. 

24-27.  -4^«Vw/...^rOTi/«]  Lines  end,  29.  f«?«;r/?]  Ff,Rowe,+.  ^wrjVHan. 

Wkerewiih,„old,.,them,„Ermites   Pope        et  cet 
et  seq. 

So  you  are  to  regard  this  visit ;  and  with  this  view  of  it  you  will  be  disposed  to  thank 
US  for  the  trouble  which  we  occasion  you. 

19.  Qod-eyld]  Warburton  :  That  is,  God-yield  is  the  same  as  God  reward,^ 
Johnson  :  I  believe  yield  is  a  contraction  oi  shield.  The  wish  implores  not  reward^ 
but  protec/ion.^lfARVS  :  God  ild  or  God  dildyou.  Corrupt  forms  of  speech  for  *  God 
yield,  or  give,  you  some  advantage.'— Hunter  :  A  passage  in  Palsgrave's  French 
and  Eng,  Diet,  at  once  determines  the  point:  *We  use  "God  yelde  you"  by 
manner  of  thanking  a  person,'  p.  441,  b. — Clarendon  :  Compare  As  You  Like  It, 
V,  iv,  56.  The  phrase  occurs  repeatedly  as  *  God  dild  you '  in  Sir  John  Oldcastle 
1600,  one  of  the  spurious  plays  in  F^. 

23.  contend]  Clarendon  :  That  is,  To  vie  with,  to  rival,  as  gratitude  should 
rival  favours  conferred. 

24.  deepe,  and  broad]  For  transposition  of  adjectives,  see  Abbott,  §  419. 
27.  to]  See  note  on  III,  i,  63,  and  Abbott,  §  185. 

27.  Ermites]  Steevens  :  We  as  hermits  or  beadsmen  shall  always  pray  for  you. 
Thus  in  Arden  of  Feversham,  1592,  <  I  am  your  beadsman,  bound  to  pray  for  you,' 
[III,  vi,  120,  ed.  Bayne. — ^Bradley  (A^.  E,  D,')',  In  Old  French,  the  regular  pho- 
netic descendant  of  late  Latin,  {K)ei^niita  was  {h)ermite,  with  loss  of  the  middle  syl- 
IMe ;  but  the  Latin  word  was  also  adapted  in  Old  French,  {h)eremite,  and  this  was 
taken  into  Middle  English.  Originally  h)eremite  and  h)ermit(f,  hermit,  were  em- 
ployed indiscriminately ;  but  from  about  the  middle  of  the  seventeenth  century  they 
liave  been  differentiated  in  use,  hermit  being  the  ordinary  and  popular  word  ;  <  ere- 
mite '  (always  spelt  without  the  unet3rmologica]  h)  is  used  either  poetically  or  rhetor- 
ically, or  with  special  reference  to  its  primitive  use  in  Greek  {ipiffilT^^,  from  iprffua,  a 
desert).— Ed.  ii.] 

30.  Purue3ror]  Clarendon  :  Cotgrave  gives  '  Pourvoyeur :  m.  A  prouidor,  a 
purueyor.'  He  was  sent  before  to  provide  food  for  the  King  and  suite  as  the  har- 
binger provided  lodging.  See  Cowel,  Law  Interpreter,  s.  vv.  *Pourveyor'  and 
*  Hari>inger.'  The  accent  is  here  on  the  first  syllable.  [For  list  of  words  in  which 
the  accent  was  nearer  the  beginning  than  with  us,  see  Abbott,  §  492.] 


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92  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH       [act  i,  sc.  vi. 

And  his  great  Loue  (ftiarpe  as  his  Spurrejhath  holp  him  31 

To  his  home  before  vs  :  Faire  and  Noble  Hofteffe 
We  are  your  gueft  to  night. 

La.    Your  Seruants  euer, 
Haue  theirs,  themfelues,  and  what  is  theirs  in  compt^  35 

To  make  their  Audit  at  your  Highneffe  pleafure, 
Still  to  retume  your  owne. 

King^    Giue  me  your  hand  : 
Conduft  me  to  mine  Hoft  we  loue  him  highly, 
And  fhall  continue,  our  Graces  towards  him.  40 

By  your  leaue  Hofteffe.  Exeunt 

31.  as\atY^,  in  compiy  Han.  et  cet 

32.  To  his\  To's  Pope,  +  .  36.  H%ghfujfe\  highnei^  Pope  et  seq. 
35.  MrtVjjiif <?»!//, ]Ff,Rowe,Theob.  39-  -^^]  F,.     /^e^,  F^F^,  Rowe,+. 

Warb.  Johns,     theirs  to  count  D*Av.        host:  ox  host ;  Cap.  et  cet. 

theirs^  in  compt  Pope  i.    theirs  in  compt  41.  ffoftejfe']    hostess,    [kisses    her.] 

Pope  ii.     theirs f  in  compt  •  Cap.  theirs,        Nicholson  ap.  Cam.  Wh.  ii. 

31.  holp]  For  many  examples  of  this  form,  see  Bartlett,  Concordance, 
35.  in  compt]  Steevens  :  That  is,  subject  to  account.  The  sense  is :  We,  and 
all  who  belong  to  us,  look  upon  our  lives  and  fortunes  not  as  our  own  properties, 
but  as  things  we  have  received  merely  for  your  use,  and  for  which  we  must  be 
accountable,  whenever  you  please  to  call  us  to  our  audit ;  when  we  shall  be  ready 
to  answer  your  summons,  by  returning  you  what  is  your  own.  [For  other  exam- 
ples, see  Schmidt,  Z^jc.] 

40.  Clarendon  :  To  scan  this  line  we  must  pronounce  <  our '  as  a  disyllable,  and 
'  towards '  as  a  monosyllable.  Instances  of  each  are  common. — Abbott  (§  492) : 
'And  shill  I  contfn  |  ue  our  gr£  |  ces  X6  \  wards  hfm.' 

41.  Clarendon  :  Here  Duncan  gives  his  hand  to  Lady  Macbeth,  and  leads  her 
into  the  castle. — Coleridge  (i,  247)  :  The  lyrical  movement  with  which  this  scene 
opens,  and  the  free  and  unengaged  mind  of  Banquo,  loving  nature,  and  rewarded  in 
the  love  itself,  form  a  highly  dramatic  contrast  with  the  labored  rhythm  and  hypo- 
critical over-much  of  Lady  Macbeth' s  welcome,  in  which  you  cannot  detect  a  ray  of 
personal  feeling,  but  all  is  thrown  upon  the  '  dignities,'  the  general  duty. 


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ACT  I,  sc.  vii.]       THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH  93 


Scena  Septima. 

Hihboyes.         Torches.  2 

Enter  a  Sewer  ^and  diuers  Seruants  with  Dijhes  and  Serutce 

auer  the  Stage.    Then  enter  Macbeth.  4 

1.  ScsNB    IX.    Pope,    Han.  Warb.         F^.     Hautboys  and...  Mai.  et  seq. 
Scene  VIII.  Johns.  3.  a  Sewer,  and]  Om.  Rowe,  +  . 

An    Apartment      Rowe    et    seq.  4.  ouer]  and  pass  over  Cap. 

(sobs.)  enter]  Om.  Rowe, +  . 

2.  Ho-boyes.]  Ho  boyes.  F^.  Hoboys. 

I.  ViscHER  (ii,  80) :  This  is  one  of  the  most  important  scenes  in  the  whole  play. 
We  find  that  conscience  has  gained  the  mastery  with  Macbeth.  He  has  withdrawn 
firom  the  banquet,  and  stands  aloof  in  the  hall.  A  significant  and  subtile  touch  by  the 
Poet.  His  inward  monitor  gives  him  no  rest ;  and,  wholly  lost  in  thought,  he  debates 
with  himself  upon  all  that  should  deter  him  from  the  murder. — Ed.  ii. — Knowlbs  : 
The  closing  scene  of  this  act  is  a  higher  point  of  the  climax  still :  the  last  debate 
as  to  innocence  and  crime.  It  commences  with  the  soliloquy  of  Macbeth,  which,  I  con- 
fess, I  have  seldom  heard  spoken  with  that  perturbation  which  appears  to  me  to  suit  it. 
The  manner  in  which  this  soliloquy  is  generally  delivered  reminds  me  of  the  seaman 
who  is  accustomed  to  the  gale,  and  sits  cool  and  collected  at  the  helm,  though  at 
every  yard  there  yawns  a  grave  before  him.  I  would  have  it  an  entirely  different 
thing.  Macbeth  is  no  such  seaman.  There  should  be  infinite  discomfiture  and  con- 
fusion in  it.  It  should  be  delivered  by  fits  and  starts.  I  would  attempt  to  give  a 
reading  of  it  did  I  not  know  that  conception  and  execution  are  different  things.  The 
one  is  the  soul  and  the  other  the  body,  and  the  body  does  not  always  correspond  to 
the  soul.  This  soliloquy  is  in  fine  keeping  with  the  character  of  Macbeth,  and  fur- 
nishes rich  groundwork  for  the  dialogue  which  immediately  follows  between  him 
and  Lady  Macbeth,  and  which  advances  the  action  to  another  stage — that  where  the 
murder  of  Duncan  is  eventually  determined  upon. — Ed.  ii. 

3.  Sewer]  Steevens  :  In  Chapman's  Iliad^  lib.  xxiv :  'Automedon  as  fit  was  for 
the  reverend  sewer's  place;  and  all  the  browne  joints  serv*d  On  wicker  vessel,*  etc. 
Another  part  of  the  sewer's  office  was  to  bring  water  for  the  guests  to  wash  their  hands 
with ;  his  chief  mark  of  distinction  was  a  towel  round  his  arm.  In  Ben  Jonson's  Silent 
Woman  :  * dap  me  a  dean  towel  about  you,  like  a  sewer,'  [III,  i.].— Claren- 
don :  From  the  French  essayeur^  and  meant  originally  one  who  tasted  of  each  dish  to 
prove  that  there  was  no  poison  in  it.  Afterwards  it  was  applied  to  the  chief  servant, 
who  directed  the  pladng  of  the  dishes  on  the  table.  In  Palsgrave,  Eclaircissenunt  de  la 
Langne  Franfaise,  we  have  the  verb  thus :  *I  sewe  at  meate.  Je  taste.'  So  again  in 
Holinshed,  ii,  p.  1129,  col-  2,  'the  Esquier  that  was  accustomed,  to  sew  and  take 
the  assay  before  Kjmg  Richarde.'  What  is  induded  in  the  word  *  service '  may  be 
illustrated  by  the  following  stage-direction  from  Hey  wood's  A  Woman  Killed  with 
Kindness  :  *  Enter  Butler  and  Jenkin  with  a  table-doth,  bread,  trenchers,  and  salt,' 
[p.  265,  ed.  Dodsley]. — ^Delius  :  After  the  sewer  and  his  attendants  have  passed 
over  the  stage,  a  long  pause  is  to  be  assumed  before  the  entrance  of  Macbeth,  during 
wluch  the  feast  in  honor  of  Duncan  begins  and  continues. 


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■\ 


94  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH     [act  i.  sc.  vii. 

MacbA{  it  were  done,  when  ^tis  done,  then  'twer  well,  5 

It  were  done  quickly  :  If  th'Aflaflination 

5.  dorUi,.,d<me^  done^^^done ;  Pope,  „.quUkfy.     JfAnon,  ap.  Johns,     roeli, 

+  ,  Cap.  dofu.,.dpm,  Huds.  Dyce,  Wh.  It,.,quukfy  if  G.  Blink  (N.  &  Qu.  25 

Glo.  Ktly.     diOut,.,done,  Booth.  May,    1850),    Wh.   Imng.     weU  II... 

5,  6.  wv//,  It.. .quickly:  If^  well.   It  quickly:  if  Rowe  ii,  et  cet. 

5-7.  If  it  .  .  .  Consequence]  <X.'  {Courier^  Boston,  25  Ap.  1857):  I  have 
never  felt  perfectly  satisfied  with  any  rendering  of  these  two  lines  in  Macbeth  that  it  has 
been  my  fortune  to  hear.  The  words,  *  It  were  done  quickly,'  sound  supernumerary 
and  out  of  place,  as  they  are  generally  recited.  They  hang  like  an  encumbrance. 
They  clog  the  movement  of  the  verse.  Above  all,  they  drag  in  a  new  and  inferior 
thought,  after  the  great  argument  has  been  sufficiently  pronounced.  Cut  them  off, 
then,  from  their  connection  with  the  preceding  line,  which  they  do  but  cumber,  and 
see  what  new  force  you  will  give  to  the  whole  soliloquy :  <  If  it  were  Done  when  'tis 
done,  then  'twere  well.'  There  is  the  full  theme  and  true  key-note  of  the  piece. 
It  is  complete  in  itself.  It  prepares  the  way  for  all  that  follows.  It  announces  the 
terrible  problem  with  which  Macbeth*s  unsteady  purpose  was  wrestling.  It  reminds 
us  of  the  first  line  of  Hamlet's  bewilderol  self-confidence  :  'To  be,  or  not  to  be ; 
that  is  the  question.'  The  speaker  may  well  pause,  in  both  cases,  when  he  comes 
to  that  point  of  the  awful  debate.  And  there  the  rather,  because  by  such  a  course 
the  sentence  that  follows  will  be  as  much  enriched  by  what  it  gains,  as  the  sentence 
that  precedes  is  relieved  by  what  it  surrenders.  The  dause,  that  seemed  almost 
impertinent  where  it  stood,  becomes  a  reinforcement  in  its  new  relation  :  <  It  were 
done  quickly,  if  the  assassination  Could  trammel  up  the  consequence,'  etc.  Observe 
how  much  clearer  and  more  compact  the  rest  of  the  period  becomes  by  beginning  it 
in  this  new  way. — R.  G.  White  :  The  punctuation  of  the  Folios,  in  which  the  colon 
[after  *  quickly ']  takes  the  place  (as  it  so  often  does)  of  a  comma,  or  rather  indicates 
a  sectional  pause  in  the  rhythm,  has  been  preserved,  with  the  exception  of  the  super- 
fluous comma  at  the  end  of  the  first  line,  in  every  edition  of  the  play  that  I  have  exam- 
ined. The  consequence  has  been  an  almost  universal  misapprehension  of  the  signifi- 
cance of  these  lines,  even  among  actors,  by  whom  they  are  generally  read  as  if  they 
meant,  *  If  the  murder  is  to  be  done,  when  I  do  it  I  had  better  do  it  quickly.'  But 
this  thought  is  not  only  very  tame,  and  therefore  entirely  unsuited  to  the  situation, 
and  inexpressive  of  the  speaker's  mental  state,  but  entirely  incongruous  with  the 
succeeding  passage  of  the  soliloquy,  which  is  the  expansion  of  a  single  thought  and 
a  single  feeling  twin-bom— consciousness  of  guilt  and  dread  of  punishment  in  a  sen- 
sitive, imaginative  nature,  devoid  of  moral  firmness.  Macbeth' s  first  thought  is,  that 
when  the  murder  is  done,  the  end  is  not  yet,  either  here  or  hereafter ;  and  this 
thought  possesses  him  entirely,  until  he  sees  the  poisoned  chalice  commended  to  his 
own  lips.  So  Shakespeare,  using,  as  his  custom  was,  one  word,  *  done,'  in  two 
senses,  makes  the  prospective  murderer  of  his  guest,  his  kinsman  and  his  king  say, 
—and  with  emphasis, — *If  it  were  done  [ended]  when  'tis  done  [performed],  M«f  it 
would  be  well.  It  were  done  [ended]  quickly  if  the  assassination  could  clear  itself 
from  all  consequences,'  and  so  on,  to  show  that  'tis  not  done  when  'tis  done,  and 
therefore  it  is  not  well.  Only  with  this  punctuation,  and  with  this  signification,  can 
the  first  part  of  this  soliloquy  have  a  becoming  dignity,  and  its  parts  a  due  connec- 
tion.    Yet,  strange  to  say,  in  all  that  has  been  written  about  it,  with  a  single  excep- 


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ACT  I.  sc.  vii.]       THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH  95 

Could  trammell  vp  the  Confequence,  and  catch  7 

7.  trammell^  iramel  Han.  Cap.  Var.  '73. 

tk>D,  there  is,  as  far  as  my  knowledge  extends,  no  hint  of  this  perception  of  the  true 
meaning  of  the  passage.  This  single  exception  is  in  a  masterly  analysis  of  the  solil- 
oquy in  the  Boston  Courier  in  1857. — Knight  (ed.  ii. )  attributes  to  Mr  Macready  the 
punctuation  adopted  by  White. — [Rees  (p.  264) :  In  our  humble  opinion  this  pas- 
sage should  be  read  thus :  <  If  it  were  done,  when  'tis  done,  then  't  were  well  It  were 
done  quickly.  If  the  assassination  could  trammel  up  the  consequence,'  etc.  The 
meaning  in  other  phrase  is  this :  'Twere  well  it  were  done  quickly,  if,  when  't  is 
done,  it  were  doney  or  at  an  end.  If  the  assassination  at  the  same  moment  that  it 
ends  Duncan's  life,  would  ensure  success — if  the  crown  could  be  enjoyed,  Mac- 
beth would  stand  the  chance  of  what  might  happen  in  the  future  state. — Corson 
(p.  235) :  The  consequences  of  this  act  to  his  soul  are  nothing  to  him.  The 
outside  consequences  alone  cause  him  to  hesitate.  Surely,  there  are  no  moral 
scruples  whatever  exhibited  in  this  soliloquy,  but  only  selfish  *  imaginings.' — Moul- 
TON  (p.  151)  :  If  Macbeth' s  famous  soliloquy  be  searched  through  and  through,  not 
a  single  thought  will  be  found  to  suggest  that  he  is  regarding  the  deep  considerations 
of  sin  and  retribution  in  any  other  light  than  that  of  immediate  practical  consequences. 

His  searching  self-examination  results  in  thoughts  not  more  noble  than  these — 

that  murder  is  a  game  which  two  parties  can  play  at,  that  heartlessness  has  the 
effect  of  drawing  general  attention,  that  ambition  is  apt  to  defeat  its  own  object. — 
Ed.  ii.] 

6-1 1.  If  th' Aasaasination  ...  to  come]  Johnson  :  If  the  murder  could  termi- 
nate in  itself,  and  restrain  the  regular  course  of  consequences,  if  its  success  could  secure 
its  surcease^  if,  being  once  done  successfully,  without  detection,  it  could^x  a  period  to 
an  vengeance  and  inquiry,  so  that  this  blow  might  be  all  that  I  have  to  do,  and  this  anx- 
iety all  that  I  have  to  suffer ;  if  this  could  be  my  condition,  even  here  in  this  world,  in 
this  contracted  period  of  temporal  existence,  on  this  narrow  bank  in  the  ocean  of 
eternity,  I  would  jump  the  life  to  cofne,  I  would  venture  upon  the  deed  without  care 
of  any  future  state.  But  this  is  one  of  those  cases  in  which  judgement  is  pronounced 
and  vengeance  inflicted  upon  us  here  in  our  present  life.  We  teach  others  to  do  as 
we  have  done,  and  are  punished  by  our  own  example. — Steevens  :  His  is  used 
instead  of  its  in  many  places. — ^Jennens  :  '  His '  refers  to  Duncan,  and  the  meaning 
is :  If  the  assassination  of  Duncan  would  secure  me  the  consequence  I  aim  at,  and 
procure  me  with  his  surcease,  or  death,  success  to  my  ambitious  designs,  etc. — 
Elwin  :  His  relates  to  consequence.  The  literal  meaning  of  the  passage  is,  If  the 
assassination  could  net  up  its  own  consequence,  and  catch  with  his  (the  conse- 
quence's) stop,  success,  etc. — Staunton:  The  obscurity  which  critics  lament  in  this 
passage  is  due  to  themselves.  If,  instead  of  taking  *■  success '  in  its  modem  sense  of 
prosperity,  they  had  understood  it  according  to  its  usual  acceptation  in  Shake- 
q>eare's  day  as  sequel,  what  follows,  etc.,  they  must  have  perceived  at  once  that  to 
*  catch,  with  his  surcease,  success,*  is  no  more  than  an  enforcement  of  'trammel  up 
the  consequence.'  The  meaning  obviously  being :  If  the  assassination  were  an  abso- 
lutely final  act,  and  could  shut  up  all  consecution, — <  be  the  be-all  and  end-all '  even 
of  this  life  only, — we  would  run  the  hazard  of  a  future  state.  [See  Keightley's 
just  interpretation  of  'life  to  come,'  line  ii,  post. — Ed.  ii.] 

7.  trammell]  Nares  :  The  mode  of  tramelling  a  horse  to  teach  him  to  amble, 
is  described  in  Markham's  Way  to  Wealth,  p.  48 :  having  strong  pieces  of  girth,  you 


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96  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH      [act  i,  sc.  vii. 

With  his  furceafe,  Succefle  :  that  but  this  blow  8 

Might  be  the  be  all,  and  the  end  all.     Heere, 

But  heere,  vpon  this  Banke  and  Schoole  of  time,  lo 

8.  hi5\  its  Pope,  + .  — Here.  Warb.  Johns,     end-all;  here, 
furceafe^  Succejfe'\  success^  surcease        Ktly.     end-all  kere^  Han.  et  cet 

Johns,  conj.  Ktly.  lO.  But  heere,  vpon]  Here  only  on 

9.  de  all,,, end  allji  be  the  all,  and  be        Pope,  Han. 

the  end  of  all—  Rowe  ii.     be-all,  „end-  Schoole"]  F,.    School  F^F^,  Pope, 

-all  Pope  ct  seq.  Jen.  Elwin.     shelve  Warb.     shore  A. 

endaU,     Heere']  Ff,  (Here  FjF^).  Gray  (N.  &  Qu.  7  July,  1888).    shxMl 

End-all— Here,  Pope,  Theob.    End-all  Theob.  et  cet 

are  to  fasten  them, '  one  to  his  neer  fore-leg,  and  his  neer  hinder-leg,  the  other  to  his 
farre  fore-leg  and  his  farre  hinder-leg,  which  is  caird  among  horsemen  trammeling,^ 
etc.  It  is  also  the  name  for  a  peculiar  kind  of  net  See  Spenser,  Faerie  Queene, 
II,  ii,  15,  [Her  golden  lockes  she  roundly  did  uptye  In  breaded  tramels . .  . ,  line  9]. 
Also,  *Nay,  Cupid,  pitch  thy  trammel  where  thou  please.*— Quarles's  Emblems, — 
Clarendon  :  Cotgrave  gives  <  Tramail:  m.  A  Trammell,  or  net  for  Partridges,'  and 
again,  *Traineller:  To  trammel  for  Larkes.'  Tlie  idea  is  followed  up  by  the  word 
*  catch.' 

8.  surcease]  Collier  :  To  *  surcease '  is  to  finish  or  conclude,  and  the  mean- 
ing, of  course,  is,  and  catch  success  with  its  conclusion, — Hunter  :  That  <  surcease ' 
may  be  equiyal6nt  to  cessation  is  evident  from  Bom,  dr*  Jul,  IV,  i,  97. — Claren- 
don: The  etymological  connection  of  this  word  with  'cease'  is  apparent  only, 
not  real.  'Cease'  is  derived  from  cesser,  but  'surcease'  from  sursis,  and  that  from 
surseoir,  '  Surcease '  is  a  legal  term,  meaning  the  arrest  or  stoppage  of  a  suit,  or 
superseding  a  jurisdiction.  As  a  substantive  it  is  found  here  only  in  Shakespeare. 
He  twice  uses  the  verb  '  surcease,'  both  times  in  the  sense  of  cease.  We  are  inclined 
to  agree  with  Elwin  that  'his'  refers  to  'consequence':  '  If  the  murder  could  pre- 
vent its  consequence,  and  by  the  arrest  of  that  consequence  secure  success.' 

10.  Schoole]  Theobald  :  This  Shallow,  this  narrow  Ford  of  humane  Life, 
opposed  to  the  great  Abyss  of  Eternity. — Heath  :  '  School '  gives  us  a  much  finer 
sentiment  and  more  pertinent  to  the  purpose  of  the  speaker.  This  present  life  is 
called  a  school,  both  because  it  is  our  state  of  instruction  and  probation,  and,  also, 
because  our  own  behaviour  in  it  instructs  others  how  to  behave  towards  us,  as  is 
more  fully  expressed  two  lines  lower.  <  Bank '  means  the  same  in  this  place  as 
bench, — Capell  {Notes,  ii,  9)  refers  to  a  thought  somewhat  resembling  this  in  Tit, 
And,  III,  i,  93. — ^Tieck  (apud  Knight)  :  'Bank'  is  here  ^e  school-bench ;  'time' 
is  used  as  it  frequently  is  for  the  present  time.  Shoal  does  not  fit  the  context,  and 
smothers  the  idea  of  the  author.  Macbeth  says.  If  we  could  believe  that  after  per- 
petrated wickedness  we  could  enjoy  peace  in  the  present — (here  occurs  to  him  the 
image  of  a  school,  where  a  scholar  anticipates  a  complaint  or  an  injury) — if  the  present 
only  were  secure,  I  would  care  nothing  for  the  future — ^what  might  happen  to  me — 
if  this  school  were  removed.  . .  .  But  we  receive  the  judgment  in  this  school  where  we 
•but  teach  bloody  instructions,'  etc. — Hunter:  Johnson  leaves  it  a  little  doubtful 
whether  he  justly  apprehended  the  force  of  the  '  But  here,'  where  'but'  is  certainly 
used  in  the  sense  of  only,  and  perhaps  the  better  punctuation  would  be  to  place  |a 
semicolon  after  '  time.'     If  the  blow  ended  the  matter  for  this  world,  we  would  care 


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ACT  I,  sc.  vii.]       THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH  97 

Wee'ld  iumpe  the  life  to  come.     But  in  thefe  Cafes,  1 1 

We  (till  haue  iudgement  heere,  that  we  but  teach 

Bloody  Inftruftions, which  being  taught,  retume 

To  plague  th'Inuenter,    This  euen-handed  luftice 

Commends  th'Ingredience  of  our  poyfonM  Challice  15 

13.  Bloody\  Bloudy  r,Fj.  Warb.     thus  Mason,  Coll.  ii,  iii.  (MS). 

14.  M*]  the  Cap.  et  seq.  15.  Commends]  Commands  TyKv.  Re- 
Inuen/fr,']  F,.                                       turns  Pope,  Theob.  Han.  Warb. 

14, 15.  th* Inuenier.„Commends']  Om.  M']  the  Pope  et  seq. 

Ff,  Rowe.  Ingredience]  Ff,  Rowe,  Cap.    in- 

14.  This"]  Om.   Pope,  Theob.  Han.         gredients  Pope,  et  cet. 

nothing  for  the  world  to  come.  *  Time '  should  be  printed  with  a  capital  letter. 
The '  bank  and  shoal  of  Time '  is  a  favorite  image,  almost  trite ;  the  isthmus  be- 
tween two  eternities. — Elwin:  Bank  is  used  for  bench^  and  time  iot  mortal  life; 
which,  qualified  as  a  bench  and  school  of  instruction^  is  placed  in  antithesis  to  the 
Hfe  to  come.  Here  the  idea  of  calling  this  life  the  school  of  eternity,  as  preparing 
man  for  the  part  he  is  to  perform  there,  is  not  only  thoroughly  in  accordance  with 
the  truthful  genius  of  Shakespeare,  but  it  is  beautifully  sustained  in  the  expressions 
that  follow  it,  'that  we  but  Uach  bloody  instructions.'  The  feeling  expressed  is 
this :  If  here  only,  upon  this  bench  of  instruction,  in  this  school  of  eternity,  I  could 
do  this  without  bringing  these,  my  pupil  days,  under  suffering,  I  would  hazard  its 
effect  on  the  endless  life  to  come. — Clarendon  :  '  Schoole '  is  the  same  word  as 
shocdy  only  differently  spelt  Human  life  is  compared  to  a  narrow  strip  of  land 
in  an  ocean. 

II.  iumpe]  Steevens  :  So  in  Cymb,  V,  iv,  188. — Malone:  We'd  hazard  or  ran 
the  risk  of  what  might  happen  in  a  future  state  of  being. 

11.  the  life  to  come]  Keightley  :  <The  life  to  come'  is  not  the  future  state, 
but  the  remaining  years  of  his  own  life,  as  is  manifest  from  what  follows.  Compare 
Tro.  &»  Cress,  III,  ii,  180 :  *  Trae  swains  in  love  shall  in  the  life  to  come  Approve 
their  traths  by  Troilus.' 

12.  heere]  Hunter  :  As  the  thoughts  proceed,  this  has  reference  to  the  pre- 
ceding *  here,'  meaning  in  this  present  world,  while  we  are  on  this  isthmus  of  Time. 
In  this  world  we  have  judgement  executed  upon  us.  We  teach  others  to  do  as  we 
have  done.  The  full  form  would  require  so  before  *  that'  [See  I,  ii,  72,  note  by 
Abbott.]— Riddle  (p.  40)  dtes  as  parallel  Aristotle,  Rhetoric,  I,  12,  26. 

14.  Inaenter]  Malone  :  So  in  Bellenden's  translation  of /^r/^r^o^Mfttf.*  <He 
[Macbeth]  was  led  be  wod  furyis,  as  ye  nature  of  all  tyrannis  is,  quhilks  conquessis 
landis  or  kingdomes  be  wrangus  titil,  ay  full  of  hevy  thocht  and  dredour,  and  traist- 
ing  ilk  man  to  do  siclik  crueltes  to  hym,  as  he  did  afore  to  othir,^ 

14.  This]  Dyce  (ed.  i,  note  on  Henry  VIII:  I,  ii,  64)  :  'This'  and  these  in 
our  old  writers  are  sometimes  little  else  than  redundant 

15.  Commends]  Steevens  :  That  is,  offers,  or  recommends.  See  III,  i,  47,  and 
AWs  Well,  V,  i,  31. — [*  For  the  pricke  of  conscience  (as  it  chanceth  euer  in  tyrants, 
and  such  as  atteine  to  anie  estate  by  vnrighteous  means)  caused  him  euer  to  feare, 
least  he  should  be  seraed  of  the  same  cup  as  he  had  ministied  to  his  predecessor.' — 
Holinshed.     See  Appendix, ^Y,ii,  ii.] 

15.  Ingredience]  Clarendon  :  It  is  not  unlikely  that  Shakespeare  wrote  the 
7 


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98  THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH      [act  i,  sc.  viL 

To  our  owne  lips.  Hee's  heere  in  double  truft ;  i6 

Firft^as  I  am  his  Kinfman^  and  his  Subie£l^ 

Strong  both  againft  the  Deed :  Then, as  his  Hoft, 

Who  ftiould  againft  his  Murtherer  (hut  the  doore, 

Not  beare  the  knife  my  felfe.     Befides,  this  Duncane  20 

Hath  borne  his  Faculties  fo  meeke ;  hath  bin 

So  cleere  in  his  great  Office,  that  his  Vertues 

Will  pleade  like  Angels,  Trumpet-tonguM  againft 

The  deepe  damnation  of  his  taking  off: 

And  Htty,  like  a  naked  New-bome-Babe,  25 

17.  Firft,  a5\  Firsts  I  D»Av.  Ff,  Rowe,  Theob.  Warb.  Johns.  angeU 

20.  beare]  bare  Daniel.  trumpet-trngu'd   against    Pope,    Han. 

21.  his]  this  Ff.  Cam.     angels^  trumpet-tongu^ d  against ^ 
Faculties]  Faculty  FJ^^,  Tope.  Coll.iii.  angelsttrum^t'tongt^d,  against 

23.  Angels f  Trumpet'tongu'dagainjf]         Cap.  et  cet 

word  as  it  appears  in  the  Folios,  using  it  in  the  sense  of  compound^  mixture,  [See 
*  Ingredience,*  IV,  i,  36.] 

16.  lips]  Knight  (ed.  ii.)  :  The  entire  passage,  from  the  beginning  of  the  q)eedi 
to  this  point,  is  obscure. 

2a  Besides]  Anonymous  :  Henderson,  in  his  delivery,  pointed  it  thus :  <  Be- 
tides this,  Duncan.*— [H.  B.  Sprague  adopted  this  reading. — Ed.  ii.] 

21.  Faculties]  Clarendon  :  That  is,  patversy  prerogatives  of  office.  The  Greek 
equivalent  is  yipara.  The  word  is  still  used  in  the  old  sense  in  Ecclesiastical  Law. 
See  Hen,  VHI :  I,  ii,  73- 

22.  cleere]  Clarendon  :  That  is,  guiltless.  See  Merry  Wives^  III,  iii,  123. — 
[Schmidt  furnishes  many  examples  of '  dear '  used  in  the  present  sense  of  irre* 
proachablcy  spotless, — Ed.  ii.] 

23.  Will  pleade  like  Angels,  Trumpet-tongu'd]  Fitzgerald  (ii,  p.  73) :  In 
[Macbeth  Garrick]  was  fond  of  suspensions,  which  the  ears  of  the  audience  would 
at  times  take  for  full  stops.  The  critics  objected  that  by  [the  long  pause  he  made 
between  'Angels  *  and  *  trumpet-tongued ']  the  epithet  was  transferred  to  the  *  virtues ' 
which  came  before.  But  Garrick  could  defend  himself:  'I  really  think  the  force 
of  these  four  exquisite  lines  and  a  half  would  be  shortly  lost  for  want  of  an  aspira- 
tion at  angels.  The  epithet  may  agree  with  either,  but  I  think  it  more  elegant  to 
give  it  to  the  virtues,  and  the  sense  is  the  same.' — Ed.  ii. — W.  W.  Story  (p.  247)  : 
[These  four  lines  have]  reference  only  to  the  indignation  which  [Duncan's]  mur- 
der will  excite,  not  to  any  sorrow  Macbeth  has  for  the  crime.  His  sole  doubt  is  lest 
he  may  not  succeed. . .  .  The  idea  of  being  restrained  from  committing  this  murder 
by  any  religious  or  moral  scruples  is  very  (bi  from  his  thought  Right  or  wrong, 
good  or  bad,  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  question  ;  and  as  for  <  the  life  to  come,* 
that  is  mere  folly. — Ed.  ii. 

24.  taking  oflF]  Deuus  :  So  in  Lear,  V,  i,  65.— Clarendon  :  So  in  III,  i,  126. 
25-29.  And  Pitty  . . .  the  winde]  W.  W.  Story  (p.  256) :  This  is  pure  rant, 

and  intended  to  be  so.  It  is  the  product  of  an  unrestrained  imagination  which 
exhausts  itself  in  the  utterance.  But  it  neither  comes  from  the  heart  nor  acts  upon 
the  heart.~ED.  ii. 


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ACT  I,  sc.  vii.]       THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH  99 

Striding  the  blafl^  or  Heauens  Cherubin,  horsM  26 

26.  CherubiH\  chtrubim  D'Av.  Jeo.  Knt,  Del.  Glo. 

25.  Babe]  Vischer  (vol.  iii,  part  i,  p.  127) :  We  must  be  very  guarded  in  con- 
demniDg  as  offences  against  taste  those  bold  flashes  in  passages  where  pathos  speaks 
its  loftier  language,  and  where  Shakespeare  for  the  highest  poetic  purpose  offends 
the  prosaic  ideas  of  order  and  measure,  as  e,  g.  in  the  frightfully  grand  words  of 
Madieth  [in  the  present  passage].  Thus,  too,  the  words  of  Goethe  in  the  noble 
Song  of  Mignon,  <  My  bowels  bum/  are  no  offence  against  taste,  but  are  high  above 
all  barren  taste  with  its  ideas  of  propriety. — (Vol.  iii,  part  ii,  p.  1237)  :  In  this  fear- 
lu]  vision  all  the  consequences  of  Duncan's  murder  are  groupeti  together ;  what  the 
drama  has  hitherto  portrayed  in  chiaroscuro  is  here  unfolded  in  clearer  treatment :  it 
is  not  in  the  mouth  of  every  character  that  the  poet  would  dare  to  put  such  wild, 
extravagant,  phantasmagoric  images ;  they  are  reserved  for  the  hero,  with  his  nervous 
temperament,  at  a  moment  of  the  highest  tension,  when  at  a  glance  he  scans  a  horri- 
ble future.  All  of  Shake^>eare's  images  have  something  peculiarly  sudden  and 
emotional ;  they  remind  us  of  flickering  crimson  torchlight  illuminating  a  cavern  of 
stalactites,  while,  on  the  other  hand,  the  metaphors  of  the  Greeks  and  of  Goethe  rise 
calmly  like  the  sun,  and  disclose  feature  after  feature  of  the  landscape  in  sharp,  clear 
ofitline.  This  is  epic ;  the  Greek  tragedians  have  undoubtedly  something  of  Shake- 
speare's impassioned,  unearthly  glow,  but  cooled  in  a  plastic  mould  of  feeling. — 
[Paton  :  If  not  otherwise  acquainted  with  it,  Shakespeare  would  certainly,  if ' 
in  the  Mad>eth  country,  become,  in  his  study  of  local  superstitions,  informed  of 
tbe  belief  in  the  *  little  Spectres  called  tarans^  or  the  souls  of  unbaptised  infants, 
often  seen  flittii^  among  the  woods  and  secret  places,  bewailing  in  soft  voices  their 
hard  fate.' — ^Moberly  :  Either  like  a  mortal  babe,  terrible  in  helplessness ;  or  like 
heaven's  child-angels,  mighty  in  love  and  compassion.  This  magnificent  passage 
seems  founded  on  the  history  of  Damley's  murder,  <The  banner  (of  the  confederates 
against  Queen  Mary)  was  spread  between  two  spears.  The  flgure  of  a  dead  man 
was  wrought  on  it,  lying  under  a  tree . . .  and  a  child  on  its  knees  at  its  side,  stretch- 
ing its  hands  to  heaven  and  crying,  "  Judge  and  revenge  my  cause.  Oh  Lord  !" ' 
(Fronde,  ix,  p.  86).— Ed.  ii.] 

26.  Cherubin]  Malone  :  The  thought  seems  to  have  been  borrowed  from  Psalms^ 
xviii,  10.  Again  in  Job^  xxx,  22.— Clarendon  :  Shakespeare  uses  this  in  several 
other  places,  but  always  in  the  singular,  as  e,  g.  0th,  IV,  ii,  63.  But  in  this  passage 
the  plural  is  unquestionably  required  by  the  sense.  To  read  cherubim^  which  is 
the  Ibnn  always  found  in  Coverdale's  Bible,  or  cherubims^  that  of  the  Authorired 
Version,  would  make  the  verse,  already  too  full  of  sibilants,  almost  intolerable  to  the 
car.  The  only  objection  to  cherubim  is  that  Shakespeare  was  not  likely  to  know 
that  this  was  the  proper  Hebrew  plural.  For  the  same  idea,  see  Rom,  &*  Jul.  II, 
ii,  28-31.— [Murray  (N.  E,  D.)i  Old  English  and  Middle  English,  cherubin. 
Middle  English  and  modem,  cherub  ;  derived  (through  French,  Latin,  Greek)  from 
the  Hebrew  of  the  Old  Testamenty  where  J^rUb,  plural  k^rabim,  are  used  as  explained 
below.  It  has  no  root  or  certain  etjrmology  in  Hebrew,  and  its  derivation  is  dis- 
poted.  From  Hebrew  the  word  was  adopted  without  translation  by  the  Septuagint  as 
c^eroub,  cheroubim  (in,  -ein),alsoin  New  Testament^  Heb,  ix,  5,  and  by  the  Vulgate  as 
cAerUb,  cherHbin,  cherabim  (the  latter  in  the  Clementine  text).  As  the  plural  was 
popularly  much  better  known  than  the  singular  (e,  ^.  in  the  7>  Deum),  the  Romanic 


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lOO  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH      [act  i.  sc.  viL 

Vpon  the  fightlefle  Curriors  of  the  Ayre,  27 

Shall  blow  the  horrid  deed  in  eueiy  eye, 

That  teares  ihall  drowne  the  winde.     I  haue  no  Spurre  29  V 

27.  fightUJfe\  silent  Theob.  ii.  ers  Warb.  Theob.  Han.    couriers  Pope, 

Curriors\  curriers  Rowe.    cours-        et  cet 

28.  eye'\  ear  Daniel. 

forms  were  all  fashioned  on  cherubin.  The  earliest  English  instances  are  of  ceruHn, 
cherubin^  taken  over  from  ecclesiastical  Latin  apparently  as  a  foreign  word,  and 
treated  implicitly  as  a  singolar,  sometimes  as  a  proper  name,  at  other  times  as  a  col- 
lective. From  the  Middle  English  period  the  popular  forms  were,  as  in  French, 
cherubin  singular,  cherubins  plural.  Cherubin  survived  in  popular  use  to  the 
1 8th  century ;  but  in  the  Bible  translations,  cherub  was  introduced  from  the  Vul- 
gate by  Wydif,  was  kept  up  by  the  i6th  century  translators,  and  gradually  drove 
cherubin  into  the  position  of  an  illiterate  form.  In  the  plural,  cherubins  is  found 
fipom  the  13th  century ;  and  although  in  MSS  of  the  earlier  Wyclifite  version,  cheru- 
byn  is  more  frequent  (after  the  Vulgate),  the  later  version  has  always  cherubins;  this 
was  retained  in  ordinary  use  till  the  17th  century.  But  in  the  l6th  century  acquaint- 
ance with  the  Hebrew  led  Bible  translators  to  substitute  cherubims  :  this  occurs  only 
once  in  Coverdale,  but  always  in  the  Bishops*  Bible  and  version  of  161 1.  From  the 
beginning  of  the  17th  century  cherubim  began  to  be  preferred  by  scholars  {e,  g, 
Milton)  to  cherubims,  and  has  gradually  taken  its  place ;  the  Revised  Version  of 
1881-5  1^^  adopted  it.  A  native  plural,  cherubs,  arose  early  in  the  i6th  century ;  in 
Tindale,  Coverdale,  and  later  versions  (but  not  in  that  of  161 1 )  it  occurs  beside 
cherubins,  -ims ;  it  is  now  the  ordinary  individual  plural,  the  Biblical  plural  being 
more  or  less  collective.  Briefly,  then,  cherubin,  cherubins  are  the  original  English 
forms,  as  still  in  French. — ^Vischer  (p.  81)  :  This  passage  suggests  that  some  picture 
of  the  last  Judgement  had  recurred  to  the  mind  of  Shakespeare.  It  is  possible  that 
an  engraving  of  Michael  Angdo's  fresco  was  not  unknown  to  the  Poet  Or  had 
he  seen  anywhere,  perchance,  a  representation  of  some  such  scene ;  the  sky  full  of 
flying  clouds,  whereon  spirits  ride,  calling  down  vengeance  on  the  sins  of  the  world  ? 
We  know  not ;  nor  does  it  much  concern  us,  since  what  he  has  here  said  no  painter 
could  so  well  express  in  outlines. — Ed.  ii.] 

27.  sightlesse  Curriors]  Johnson:  That  is,  runners,  'G>uriers'  0/  air  are 
winds,  air  in  motion.  *  Sightless '  is  invisible, — Steevens  :  For  *  sightless '  in  this 
sense,  see  I,  v,  54.  So  in  Warner's  Album's  England,  1602,  Bk.  II,  ch.  xi :  *The 
scouring  winds  that  sightless  in  the  sounding  air  do  fly.'  [For  adjectives  with  both 
active  and  passive  meaning,  see  Abbott,  §  3  ;  compare  I,  iv,  15.] 

29.  drowne]  Johnson  :  Alluding  to  the  remission  of  the  wind  in  a  shower. — 
Elwin  :  And  also  to  an  object  blown  into  the  eye,  causing  it  to  611  with  tears. — 
Delius  :  This  image  of  a  shower  of  tears,  in  which  the  storm  of  passion  expends 
itself,  is  very  common  in  Shakespeare. 

29-32.  I  haue  . . .  th'  other]  Malone  :  There  are  two  distinct  metaphors.  I  have 
no  spur  to  prick  the  sides  of  my  intent ;  I  have  nothing  to  stimulate  me  to  the  execu- 
tion of  my  purpose  but  ambition,  which  is  apt  to  overreach  itself;  this  he  expresses 
by  the  second  image,  of  a  person  meaning  to  vault  into  his  saddle,  who,  by  taking 
too  great  a  leap,  will  faU  on  the  other  side. — ^W.  S.  Landor  (ii,  273,  foot-note,  1846 ;  / 
following  Hanmer's  text) :  Other  side  of  what?   It  should  be  its  sell.   Sell  is  saddle,  ' 


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ACT  1.  sc.  vii.]      THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  loi 

[29-32.  I  haue  .  .  .  th' other] 
ID  Spenser  and  elsewhere,  from  the  Latin  and  Italian.  [This  note  was  quoted  by 
Arrowsmith,  N.  6*  Qu.  vii,  522.] — Knight:  We  can  scarcely  admit  the  necessity 
for  a  change  of  the  original.  A  person  (and  *vaalting  ambition'  is  personified) 
might  be  said  to  overleap  himself,  as  well  as  overbalance  himself,  or  overcharge 
himself,  or  overlabor  himself,  or  overmeasure  himself,  or  overreach  himself.    There 

is  a  parallel  use  of  the  word  over  in  Beaumont  &  Fletcher :  ' it  may  be  your 

sense  was  set  too  high,  and  so  overwrought  itself,'  [The  Woman-Hater^  Act  IV, 
sc  ii ;  p.  72,  ed.  Dyce. — Ed.  ii.].  The  word  over  in  all  these  cases  is  used  in 
the  sense  of  too  much,  Macbeth  compares  his  'intent'  to  a  courser;  I  have 
no  spur  to  urge  him  on.  Unprepared,  I  am  about  to  vault  into  my  seat,  but  I 
overleap  myself  and  fall.  It  appears  to  us  that  the  sentence  is  broken  by  the 
entrance  of  the  messenger ;  that  it  is  not  complete  in  itself,  and  would  not  have 
been  completed  with  side. — Hunter:  The  word  oft  seems  lost  before  'o'erleaps,* 
and  the  word  side  is  wanting  to  make  the  sense  complete. — Walker  (Crit.  iii, 
253)  :  Evidently,  th'  other  side;  and  this  adds  one  to  the  apparently  numerous 
instances  of  omission  in  this  play. — Hudson  :  Side  may  have  been  meant  by 
the  Poet,  but  it  was  not  said.  And  the  sense  feels  better  without  it,  as  this 
shows  the  speaker  to  be  in  such  an  eagerly-expectant  state  of  mind  as  to  break 
off  the  instant  he  had  a  prospect  of  any  news.  The  use  of  self  for  aim  or  pur- 
pose is  quite  lawful  and  idiomatic ;  as  we  often  say,  such  a  one  overshot  himself— 
that  is,  overshot  his  mark,  his  aim. — R.  G.  White  :  Perhaps  side  was  meant  to  be 
understood,  with  reference  to  the  occurrence  of  the  word  in  the  preceding  clause 
of  the  sentence. — Staunton  :  The  only  resolution  of  the  enigma  which  presents 
itself  to  our  mind  is  to  suppose  intent  and  ambition  are  represented  in  Macbeth' s 
disordered  imagination  by  two  steeds,  the  one  lacking  all  incentive  to  motion,  the 
other  so  impulsive  that  it  overreaches  itself  and  falls  on  its  companion. — Massey 
(p.  599)  :  As  the  text  stands,  we  have  in  shadowy  imagery  a  most  extraordinary 
horse  and  rider.  Macbeth  was  no  more  likely  to  wear  a  single  spur  that  would 
strike  on  both  sides  than  the  Irishman  was  to  discover  the  gun  that  would  shoot 
round  the  comer.  Moreover,  his  horse  must  have  had  three  sides  to  it  at  the 
least  Now  a  horse  may  have  four  sides,  right  and  left,  inside  and  outside,  and  the 
fiaeeX  gamins  will  at  times  advise  an  awkward  horseman  to  ride  inside  for  safety, 
but  it  cannot  have  three  sides.  And  if  the  single  spur  had  pricked  two  sides^  there 
could  have  been  no  other  left  for  <  vaulting  ambition '  to  fall  on.  The  truth  is,  that 
<  sides '  IS  a  misprint.  The  single  spur  of  course  implies  a  single  side — the  side  of  , 
Macbeth' s  intent,  which  leaves  ^the  other ^  for  the  *  vaulting  ambition'  to  alight  on 
in  case  of  a  somersault — ^the  side  of  Macbeth' s  unintent.  Read,  <  To  prick  the  side 
of  my  intent,'  etc. — Clarendon  :  Macbeth  says  he  has  nothing  to  goad  him  on  to 
the  deed — nothing  to  stimulate  his  flagging  purpose,  like  the  private  wrongs  which 
he  urges  upon  the  murderers  of  Banquo— but  mere  ambition,  which  is  like  one  who, 
instead  of  leaping  into  the  saddle,  leaps  too  far  and  falls  on  the  other  side.  The 
passage  supplies  a  good  example  of  confusion  of  metaphors.  If  the  sentence  be  com- 
pete, *  the  other '  must  be  taken  to  mean  <  the  other  side,'  a  not  unnatural  ellipsis, 
bat  one  for  which  we  can  adduce  no  example.  The  word  <  sell '  occurs  frequently 
in  Fairfax's  Tasso,  as,  e.  g.  Bk.  vi,  st.  32 :  *That  he  ne'er  shook  nor  stagger* d  in 
his  sell.'— Abbott  :  See  note  on  I,  ii,  12.--REV.  John  Hunter  :  This  seems  to 
me  to  signify  lights  on  the  opposite  side  of  what  was  intended;  that  is,  dishonor 
and  wretchedness,  instead  of  glory  and  felicity. — [J.  B.  Bittinger  (Trans,  Am, 


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I02  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH      [act  i.  sc.  vu. 

To  pricke  the  fides  of  my  intent,  but  onely  30 

Vaulting  Ambition,  which  ore-leapes  it  felfe, 

And  falles  on  th'other.  Enter  Lady. 

How  now  ?  What  Newes  ? 

La.He  has  almoft  fupt :  why  haue  you  left  the  chamber  ? 

Mac.     Hath  he  ask'd  for  me  f  35 

31.  /e//e}  seat  Bailey  (i,  60).  32.  Scene  X.  Pope,  +  . 

32.  <m\  upon  BaUey  (i,  60).  Enter  Lady.]  After  line  31,  F^, 
ih* other. '\    th'  other— -    Rowe,  +  .         Rowe,  Cap.     After  line  33,  Var.  '78, 

M'  other  ode  Han.  Ktly,  Huds.  iii.    the  '85,  Ran.  Mai.  Var.  Knt,  Sing.  ii. 

rider.    Mason.      M^<wy  Jackson,      the  ^  J/e  has]  He's  Fope,  +  .     He  hath 

earth  Bailey  (i,  60).    anon  V  the  gutter  Han. 

Bulloch,   the  other  bank  Anon.  ap.  Cam.  fupfXYi,  Cap.    supfd  Rowc,  et 

the  other.  Steev.  eC  cet  cet 


Philological  Assoc,  1876) :  Macbeth  must  be  a  murderer  before  he  can  be  a  mon- 
arch. If  the  intent  to  murder  halts,  the  desire  to  mount  the  throne  will  be  futile. 
All  this  Macbeth  knows  and  feels.  He  does  not  repine  at  any  lack  of  ambition ; 
that  is  in  full  force  and  action ;  it  is  o'erwrought :  but  over  his  purpose  he  mourns — 
that  is  infirm ;  over  his  courage — that  needs  '  screwing  to  the  sticking  place ' ;  and 
50,  like  an  eager  rider  on  a  sluggish  steed,  he  o'erleaps  himself  and  ^  falls  on  the 
withers^  and  so  Shakespeare  wrote. . . .  This  reading  seems  to  me  to  meet  all 
the  denumds  of  the  passage.  Withers  calls  for  no  explanation,  it  explains  itself. 
Whether  copied  by  eye  or  ear,  it  was  easy  to  mistake  in  sound  or  appearance  '  other ' 
for  withers.  This  reading  charges  Shakespeare  with  no  mixed  or  imperfect  meta- 
phors. It  leaves  his  rhetoric  and  imagination  unsuspect,  brings  the  whole  passage 
into  harmony  with  itself  and  with  the  character  of  Macbeth — ^too  ambitious  to  be 
innocent  in  thought,  too  cowardly  to  be  guilty  in  deed.  His  imagination  sicklied 
o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of  conscience,  he  is  vacillating  in  purpose,  irresolute  in  action, 
and  querulous  in  speech. — Sherman  :  That  is,  but  only  ambition  that  leaps  up  from 
time  to  time^  yet  never  settles  itself  into  the  frame^  the  attitude  of  action.  Though 
'  ambition '  is  probably  the  object  of  <  have,'  it  will  assist  to  supply  there  is  before 
'only.'— -Ed.  ii.] 

29.  Spurre]  Stbevens  :  Lord  Bacon  uses  <  the  spur  of  the  occasion.' — Malone  : 
So  in  C4Bsar  6*  Pompey^  1607,  •  'Tis  ambition's  spur  That  pricketh  Caesar.'— [H. 
P.  Stokes  (p.  128) :  There  is  another  undated  [edition  of  Oesar  6*  Pompey'\  \  if 
its  date  could  be  determined,  we  might  be  helped  still  further  in  our  present 
enquiry  [the  date  of  compostion  of  Macbeth']  ;  for  the  fact,  that  <  in  the  running  title 
it  is  called  The  Tragedy  of  Julius  Oesar ^  perhaps  the  better  to  impose  it  on  the 
public  for  the  performance  of  Shakespeare,  shows  pretty  clearly  who  was  the 
borrower. — Ed.  ii.] 

32.  th'other]  Steevens  :  They  who  would  plead  for  this  supplement  [of  side  by 
Hanmer]  should  consider  that  the  plural  of  it,  but  two  lines  before,  had  occurred. 
The  general  image,  though  confusedly  expressed,  relates  to  a  horse,  who,  overleap- 
ing himself,  falls,  and  his  rider  under  him.  To  complete  the  line  we  may  therefore 
ready/'Falls  upon  the  other.' 
"^  /i\.  He  has  . . .  chamber]  Bell  (p.  304) :  [Mrs  Siddons  said  this  in  an]  eager 
whisper  of  anger  and  surprise. — Ed.  ii. 


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ACT  I,  sc  viij       THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  103 

La.    Know  you  not,  he  ha's  ?  36 

Mac.    We  will  proceed  no  further  in  this  Bufinefle  : 

He  hath  Honour'd  me  of  late, and  I  haue  bought 

Golden  Opinions  from  all  forts  of  people. 

Which  would  be  wome  now  in  their  neweft  glofle,  40 

Not  caft  afide  fo  foone. 
La.   Was  the  hope  drunke,  1     -  • 

Wherein  you  dreft  your  felfe  ?  Hath  it  flept  fince  ?      I  43 

j6.  «M/,  he  Aa's/]  noif  he  htu  Cap.  40.  wouid"]  should  Pope,  Han. 

OODJ.  Ran.     not  he  has?  Pope,  et  cet.  43.  dreft'\   ^dressed   Bulloch,    Huds. 

ha' si  has  Ff.  iii. 

39.  /orts'\  sort  Theob.  Warb.  Johns.  fince  ?'\  since.  Coll.  Wh.  i,  Hal. 

38.  He  hath  Honour'd,  etc.]  :  Bell  (p.  304) :  Here  again  Mrs  Siddons  appears 
with  aU  her  inimitable  expression  of  emotion.  The  sudden  change  from  animated 
hope  and  surprise  to  disappointment,  depression,  contempt,  and  rekindling  resent- 
ment, is  beyond  any  power  but  hers. — Ed.  ii. 

38.  bought]  Clarendon  :  That  is,  purchased^  acquired.  [See  Schmidt  for 
numerous  examples  of  this  use  of  the  word. — Ed.  ii.] 

40.  would]  Clarendon  :  We  say  'should'  in  this  sense,  as  in  IV,  iii,  28,  225, 
and  in  Bacon,  Essay  xxxiii.  Of  Plantations^  '  Making  of  bay  salt,  if  the  climate  be 
proper  for  it,  would  be  put  in  experience.' — [Note  on  Idich.  H:  IV,  i,  232,  233.] 
The  modem  usage  of  <  shall '  and  <  will,'  '  should '  and  '  would,'  now  perfecdy 
logical  and  consistent,  has  been  gradually  refined  and  perfected.  In  the  time  of 
Shakespeare  and  Bacon  these  words  were  employed  as  arbitrarily  and  irregularly  as 
they  still  are  in  conversation  by  Scotchmen  and  Irishmen.  The  late  lamented  Sir 
Edmund  Head  wrote  a  treatise  on  the  subject  which  is  well  worth  reading. — [For 
'  would '  used  conditionally,  see  Abbott,  §  329.     Compare  I,  ▼,  21.] 

42,  43.  Was  .  .  .  since]  Abbott  (§  529) :  (4)  The  present  metaphor,  apart  / 
from  the  context,  is  objectionable :  for  it  makes  Hope  a  person  and  a  dress  in  the 
same  breath.  It  may,  however,  probably  be  justified  on  the  supposition  that  Lady 
Macbeth  is  playing  on  her  husband's  previous  expression,  lines  38-41. — [Bell  (p. 
304) :  [Mrs  Siddons  was  here]  very  cold,  distant,  and  contemptuous. — Allen 
(MS)  :  Was  the  hope  (which  you  were  in  [had  on  as  a  garment,  1.  40]  when  you 
dressed  yourself)  drunk  ? — t.  e,  was  the  hope  of  being  king  (which  came  to  you 
with  the  garment  of  popularity  put  upon  you  by  all  the  people,)  something,  that 
(like  a  drunkard  after  his  debauch)  undergoes  a  morbid  transformation  ?    Thus  taken 

it  does  not  mean  that '  hope '  was  the  garment  with  which  Macbeth  had  been  dothed. 
— MoBCRLY :  A  somewhat  violent  mixture  of  metaphors ;  but  the  sense  is  clear. 
Were  yon  drunk  when  you  formed  your  bold  plan,  and  are  now  just  awake  from 
the  debauch,  to  be  shrinking,  crestfallen,  mean-spirited  ? — Ed.  ii.] 

43.  drest]  Bailey  ( i,  72) :  Surely  it  is  on  the  confines,  at  least,  of  absurdity 
to  speak  of  dressing  yourself  in  What  may  become  intoxicated.  The  substitu- 
tion of  two  letters  restores,  I  apprehend,  the  genuine  text.  Read  bles^d  for 
'  dress* d,'  and  all  is  plain  and  apposite  and  Shakespearian. — [Hudson  (ed.  iii. ) : 
The  meaning  I  take  to  be  something  thus :  *  Was  it  a  drunken  man's  hope,  in  the 
strength  of  which  you  made  yourself  recuiy  for  the  killing  of  Duncan  ?  and  does  that 


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104  '^^^   TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH     [ACTi,saviL 

And  wakes  it  now  to  looke  fo  greene^  and  pale^ 

At  what  it  did  fo  freely  ?  From  this  time,  45 

Such  I  account  thy  loue.    Art  thou  aiTear'd 

To  be  the  fame  in  thine  owne  Aft,  and  Valour, 

As  thou  art  in  defire  ?  Would'ft  thou  haue  that 

Which  thou  efteem'ft  the  Ornament  of  Life, 

And  liue  a  Coward  in  thine  owne  Efteeme  ?  50 

Letting  I  dare  not,  wait  vpon  I  would, 

Like  the  poore  Cat  i'th'Addage.  52 

45.  did'\  bid  Becket.  dared  Bulloch.        afeard  Cap.  et  seq. 

timey'\  After  this  Ktly  marks  a  48.  haue\  crave  Becket    lack  Anon, 

line  omitted.  ap.  Cam.  Huds.  iii 

46.  affear'd'\   afraid   F^,   Rowe,  +  .  52.  Addage,"]  adage  f  Cap.  et  seq. 

hope  now  wake  from  its  dmnken  sleep,  to  shudder  and  turn  pale  at  the  preparation 
which  it  made  so  freely?'  In  accordance  with  this  explanation,  the  Lady's  next 
speech  shows  that  at  some  fonner  time  Macbeth  had  been,  or  had  fancied  himself, 
ready  to  make  an  opportunity  for  the  murder. — ^Ed.  ii.] 

44.  greene,  and  pale]  Dklius  :  This  refers  to  the  wretched  appearance  that 
hope  presents  on  awaking  from  her  drunkenness,  and  in  consequence  of  it 

45.  did]  Bailey  (i,  73) :  This  represents  hope  as  looking  pale  at  what  had  gone 
by.  A  new  function  for  hope — a  retrospect,  instead  of  a  contemplation  of  the  future. 
To  avoid  so  marked  an  incongruity,  instead  of  <  did'  I  propose  reading  eyed^  which 
was  probably  first  corrupted  to  dyed^  and  then  into  'did.' 

46.  Such  . .  .  loue]  Bell  (p.  304) :  [Mrs  Siddons  here  assumed  a]  determined 
air  and  voice.  Then  a  tone  of  cold  contemptuous  reasoning. — Ed.  ii. — Bulloch 
(p.  215) :  The  speaker  evidently  should  snap  her  fingers  contemptuously  on  uttering 
•Such.'— Ed.  ii. 

46.  loue]  Deuus  :  That  is,  the  love  that  thou  protestest  for  me  is  not  more  genu- 
ine than  the  hope  that  thou  hast  cherished  to  become  king. — Bailey  (i,  73)  :  My 
emendation  is  almost  sure  to  startle  the  reader,  but  I  entertain  no  doubt  that  on 
reflection  he  will  become  reconciled  to  it:  'Such  I  account  thy  Uver,* 

48.  Woold'at  thou  haue  that]  Moberly:  [Johnson's  conjecture]  leave  for 
'have'  seems  preferable :  'Would  you  forsake  that  courage  which  you  have  always 
viewed  as  the  ornament  of  life,  and  be  like  the  cat  who  longed  for  fish,  but  would 
not  wet  her  feet?'  If  'have'  is  read,  the  meaning  must  be,  'Do  you  desire  the 
crown,  yet  resolve  to  live  a  coward  because  your  daring  will  not  second  your 
desire?' — Ed.  ii. 

50.  And  liue]  Johnson  :  In  this  there  seems  to  be  no  reasoning.  I  should  read, 
Or  '  live.'  Unless  we  choose  rather :  Would'st  thou  leave  that. — Stbbvens  :  Do 
you  wish  to  obtain  the  crown,  and  yet  would  you  remain  such  a  coward  in  your  own 
eyes  all  your  life  as  to  suffer  your  paltry  fears,  which  whisper,  '  I  dare  not,'  to  control 
your  noble  ambition,  which  cries  out,  ' I  would'? 

52.  Cat]  Peck  (p.  253)  :  Alluding  to  the  French  proverb,  Le  ckat  aime  lepoisson^ 
mais  tin*  aime  pas  d  mouiller  lapatte, — ^Johnson  :  '  Catus  amat  pisces,  sed  non  vult 
tingere  plantas.' — Boswsll:  It  is  among  HeyiooodU  Proverbs^  1566:  'The  cate 
would  eate  fishe,  and  would  not  wet  her  feete.' 


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ACT  I,  sc.  vii.]       THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  105 

Macb.     Piythee  peace  :  53 

I  dare  do  all  that  may  become  a  man^ 
Who  dares  no  more,  is  none.  55 

53.  Prythee\  Prethee  Ff. 

55.  n6\  Ff.     do  Rowe  et  seq.  (Coll.  MS.    Southern  MS.  ap.  Cam.) 

54,  55.  I  . .  .  none]  Johnson  :  The  arguments  by  which  Lady  Macbeth  per- 
suades her  husband  ta  commit  the  murder  afford  a  proof  of  Shakespeare's  knowl- 
edge of  human  nature.  She  urges  the  excellence  and  dignity  of  courage,  a  glittering 
idea  which  has  dazzled  mankind  from  age  to  age,  and  animated  sometimes  the 
housebreaker  and  sometimes  the  conqueror ;  but  this  sophism  Macbeth  has  for  ever 
destroyed,  by  distinguishing  true  firom  false  fortitude,  in  a  line  and  a  half ;  of  which 
it  may  almost  be  said,  that  they  ought  to  bestow  immortality  on  the  author,  though  all 
his  other  productions  had  been  lost.  [The  present  lines  here  follow.]  This  topic, 
which  has  been  always  employed  with  too  much  success,  is  used  in  this  scene,  with 
peculiar  propriety,  to  a  soldier  by  a  woman.  Courage  is  the  distinguishing  virtue  of 
a  soldier ;  and  the  reproach  of  cowardice  cannot  be  borne  by  any  man  from  a  woman 
without  great  impatience.  She  then  urges  the  oaths  by  which  he  had  bound  him- 
self to  murder  Duncan,  another  art  of  sophistry  by  which  men  have  sometimes 
deluded  their  conscience,  and  persuaded  themselves  that  what  would  be  criminal  in 
othera  is  virtuous  in  them :  this  argument  Shakespeare,  whose  plan  obliged  him  to 
make  Macbeth  yield,  has  not  confuted,  though  he  might  easily  have  shown  that  a 
former  obligation  could  not  be  vacated  by  a  latter ;  that  obligations,  laid  on  us  by  a 
higher  power,  could  not  be  overruled  by  obligations  which  we  lay  upon  ourselves. — 
Steevens  :  A  similar  passage  to  this  occurs  in  Metis,  for  Meas.  II,  iv,  154,  135 : 
*  Be  that  you  are.  That  is  a  woman  ;  if  you  be  more  you're  none.* — Hunter  :  This 
reading  [Rowe's],  which  is  merely  conjectural,  and  has  not  the  slightest  show  of 
authority  from  the  only  copies  through  which  we  receive  any  information  respecting 
the  true  text  as  it  flowed  from  the  pen  of  Shakespeare,  has  so  established  itself  in 
public  opinion,  and  has  received  such  extravagant  praise  from  Dr  Johnson,  that  he 
will  be  thought  a  rash  man  who  shall  attempt  to  disturb  the  opinion,  and  to  show 
that  it  is  not  really  what  the  Poet  wrote  or  intended.  In  the  first  place,  the  substi- 
tution of  do  for '  no '  is  most  violent.  In  the  second  place,  if,  indeed,  Shakespeare 
meant  to  express  the  sentiment,  which  the  line  as  amended  implies,  he  has  written 
feebly  and  imperfectly,  and  left  his  sense  in  some,  perhaps  not  inconsiderable, 
obscurity.  It  will  be  admitted  that  some  change  in  the  text  as  delivered  to  us  is 
required  ;  that  it  cannot  stand  as  it  appears  in  the  original  editions.  The  question  is, 
not  whether  it  shall  be  restored,  but  how  it  shall  be  restored  ?  and  I  now  venture  to 
propose  that  the  second  of  the  two  lines  ('Who . . .  none']  shall  be  given  to  Lady  \ 
Macbeth,  retaining  the  exact  text  of  the  old  copies.  [See  also,  to  the  same  effect, 
Hunter's  Few  Wordsy  etc.  p.  20,  1853. — ^Vischer  (ii,  p.  83)  :  Macbeth's  answer  is 
difficult  to  translate  into  German.  It  is  true,  the  German  language  has  an  advantage 
over  the  English,  in  that  it  distinguishes  between  'man,'  mankind  [Mensch],  and 
'man,'  the  individual  [Mann],  but  the  difficulty  here  arises  from  the  fact  that  Eng- 
lish, as  well  as  French  and  Italian,  having  but  one  word  for  the  two  ideas,  often  has' 
both  ideas  in  mind.  This  twofold  thought  is  here  contained  in  the  word  '  man.' — 
Ed.  ii.] 


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I06  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH      [act  i,  sc.  vu. 

La.    What  Bead  was't  then  56 

56.  Beajf^  boast  Coll.  MS.     baseness  Bailey  (i,  75). 

56.  What  Beast  was't  then]  Bell  (p.  305) :  [Mrs  Siddons  said  this  in  a  tone] 
cold  still  and  distant ;  slow,  with  remarkable  distinctness  and  earnestness. — Ed.  ii. 

56.  Beast]  Hunter  :  I  regard  this  word  as  an  intruder,  and  that  it  has  got  in 
thus :  a  copyist  had  written  wast  by  mistake  twice.  The  first  being  but  imper- 
fectly effiu:ed  or  cancelled,  it  would  be  easily  read  <  beast/  the  only  word  like  it  that 
could  occur. — Elwin  :  Lady  Macbeth  brings  him  from  the  moral  position  in  which 
he  was  intrenching  himself  by  this  derisive  antithesis :  If,  as  you  imply,  this  enter- 
prise be  not  the  device  of  a  man^  what  beast  induced  you  to  propose  it  ? — Col- 
lier (Notes f  etc.  ed.  ii.)  :  Surely  it  reads  like  a  gross  vulgarism  for  Lady  Mac- 
beth thus  to  ask,  '  What  beast  made  him  divulge  the  enterprise  to  her  ?'  but  she 
means  nothing  of  the  kind :  she  alludes  to  Macbeth' s  former  readiness  to  do  the 
deed,  when  he  was  prepared  to  make  time  and  place  adhere  for  the  execution  of  it, 
and  yet  could  not  now  '  screw  his  courage '  to  the  point,  when  time  and  place  had, 
as  it  were,  '  made  themselves ' ;  this  she  calls  a  mere  boast  on  his  part :  she  charges 
him  with  being  a  vain  braggart,  first  to  profess  to  be  willing  to  murder  Duncan,  and 
afterward,  from  fear,  to  relinquish  it. — ^JoHN  Forster  (  The  Examiner^  29  Jan. 
1853) :  Here  Mr  Collier  reasons,  as  it  appears  to  us,  without  sufficient  reference  to 
the  context  of  the  passage,  and  its  place  in  the  scene.  The  expression  immediately 
preceding,  and  eliciting  Lady  Macbeth' s  reproach,  is  that  in  which  Macbeth  declares 
that  he  dares  do  all  that  may  become  a  man^  and  that  he  who  dares  do  more  is  none. 
She  instantly  takes  up  that  expression.  If  not  an  affair  in  which  a  man  may  engage, 
what  beast  was  it,  then,  in  himself  or  in  others,  that  made  him  break  this  enterprise 
to  her  ?  The  force  of  the  passage  lies  in  that  contrasted  word,  and  its  meaning  is 
lost  by  the  proposed  substitution. — ^Dyce  (Few  Notes^  etc.  p.  124) :  [Collier's  MS] 
emendation  is  not  unobjectionable  on  the  score  of  phraseology.  A  *  boast  making 
one  break  an  enterprise  to  another'  is  hardly  in  the  style  of  an  experienced  writer. — 
Singer  (Sk,  Vindicated^  p.  253)  :  The  almost  gentle  manner  in  which,  in  a  former 
scene,  Macbeth  hints  at  his  purpose  in  the  words,  <  My  dearest  love,  Duncan  comes 
here  to-night,'  shows  that  what  may  be  supposed  to  have  passed  in  their  future 
conference  would  be  anjrthing  but  a  boast, — ^Anonymous  (Blackwood'* s  Maga,  Oct. 
1853)  :  There  is  to  our  feelings  a  stronger  expres^on  of  contempt,  a  more  natural, 
if  not  a  fiercer,  taunt  in  boast  than  in  '  beast.'  .  . .  Tried  by  their  intrinsic  merits,  we 
regard  boast  as  rather  the  better  reading  of  the  two  ;  and  if  we  advocate  the  reten- 
tion of  <  beast,'  it  is  only  on  the  ground  that  it,  too,  affords  a  very  good  meaning, 
and  is  de  facto  the  text  of  the  Ff. — Clarendon  :  Boast  is  utterly  inadmissible.  A 
'Then,'  which  follows,  seems  more  appropriate  to  the  first  clause  of  an  indig- 
nant remonstrance,  if  we  adopt  Rowe's  emendation. — Koester  (Jahrbuck  der 
Deutschen  Shakespeare- Gesellscha/t,  vol.  i,  p.  146)  infers  from  this  word  that  a 
former  scene  has  been  omitted,  either  lost,  or  cut  out  by  some  stage-manager,  in 
which  Macbeth  and  his  wife  discuss  the  murder,  and  in  which  Macbeth  asserts  his 
readiness  to  do  the  deed  and  to  force  the  adherence  of  time  and  place.  'An  aposi- 
opesis,'  such  as  Lessing  referred  to  when  he  asserts  that  a  dramatist  is  sometimes 
greater  in  what  he  does  not  say  than  in  what  he  says,  cannot  here  be  seriously  main- 
tained. Such  a  scene  is  too  important  to  the  action  of  the  tragedy  to  have  been 
overlooked  by  Shakespeare,  who  is  always  so  exact  in  such  matters;  without  it 
Duncan's  murder  takes  place  too  early,  and  it  is  needed  to  counterbalance  artis- 


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ACT  I.  sc.  viij       THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  xoj 

That  made  you  breake  tjiis  enterprize  to  me  ?  57 

When  you  durft  do  it,  then  you  were  a  man : 

And  to  be  more  then  what  you  were,  you  would 

Be  fo  much  more  the  man.     Nor  time, 'nor  place  60 

Did  then  adhere,  and  yet  you  would  make  both  : 

They  haue  made  themfelues,  and  that  their  fitnefle  now  62 

60. /tf]  Om.  D'Av.  62.  They    haue\    They've    Pope,+, 

tJul  than  Han.  Dyce  ii,  iiL 

61.  adhere'\cO'h€reYG^j'\r* 

tically  the  long-drawn-out,  almost  q>ic  scenes  between  Malcolm  and  Macduff  towards 
the  close  of  the  tragedy.' — [Vischer  (ii,  p.  S4)  :  It  cannot  be  said  that  the  witches 
have  incited  Macbeth  to  the  murder.  This  passage  alone  would  teach  us  otherwise. 
— HsRAUD  (p.  342)  :  It  is  evident  that,  long  before  the  action  of  the  play,  both  'Z 
Macbeth  and  his  wife  had  resolved  upon  the  murder  of  Duncan,  if  needful  for  their  • 
purposes ;  since  no  sooner  have  the  Weird  Sisters  pronounced  their  prophecy  than 
Macbeth  concludes  at  once  that  the  way  to  Its  fulfilment  is  by  such  means ;  Lady 
Macbeth,  on  receiving  his  letter,  also  jumps  to  the  same  conclusion,  and  afterwards, 
when  her  lord  hesitates  at  emplojring  assassination,  now  that  the  means  are  within 
his  reach,  reminds  him  of  a  former  conference  when  the  plan  was  debated  and 
resolved,  and  taunts  him  with  his  want  of  determination,  now  that  the  long-sought 
opportunity  has  arrived. — Irving  {^Character  of  Macbeth^  p.  4)  :  Is  there  any  evi- 
dence here  of  a  good  man  gone  wrong  under  the  influence  of  a  wicked  wife  ?  ...  It  is 
quite  possible  that  Macbeth  led  her  to  believe  that  she  was  leading  him  on.  It  was 
a  part  of  his  nature  to  work  to  her  moral  downfall  in  such  a  way.  We  see  a  similar 
instance  of  his  hypocrisy  in  the  scene  in  the  First  Act,  when  the  witch  salutes  him 
with  the  new  given  title  of  the  king,  <  Thane  of  Cawdor.'  He  answers :  '  The  Thane 
of  Cawdor  lives  A  prosperous  gendeman.'  It  was  true  that  the  Thane  of  Cawdor 
lived,  but  his  prosperity  was  a  litde  doubtful.  .  .  There  was  short  shrift  for  unsuc- 
cessful rebels  in  the  eleventh  century !  It  was,  in  fact,  the  conscious  exercise  of 
this  hypocritical  spirit  which  marked  the  *  essential  difference '  of  Macbeth' s  char- 
acter.— ^E.  K.  Chambers  :  The  point  is,  '  If  it  is  not  the  act  of  a  man  to  do  the  deed 
now,  was  it  one  to  suggest  it  before  ?'  This  passage  is  sufficient  to  prove  that  the  con-t 
ception  of  the  murder  was  Macbeth' s,  not  his  wife's.  Line  60  shows  that  the  refer-' 
ence  can  hardly  be  to  scene  v.  The  matter  must  have  been  discussed  between 
them  at  a  point  before  the  action  of  the  play. — Darmesteter  :  Lady  Macbeth  lies ; 
he  had  proposed  nothing,  it  was  she,  his  letter  it  was  that  had  first  planted  in 
her  the  thought  of  crime,  and  she  might  think,  or  say,  that  she  had  done  no  more 
than  follow.  It  is  the  ^Qui  te  Va  dit^  [Andromapie^  II,  iii. — Ed.  ii.]  reversed. 
Shakespeare  and  Racine  meet  each  other  from  two  opposite  points  of  the  dramatic 
horizon. — Ed.  ii.] 

59.  more  then  what  you  were]  D'Hugues  :  That  is,  king.  But  it  is  to  be 
noticed  that  Lady  Macbeth  systematically  avoids  making  use  of  the  words  king^ 
erowH^  etc.  as  though  desirous  of  rendering  the  idea  of  the  crime  less  odious  to  her 
husband. — Ed.  ii. 

61.  adhere]  Capell  (ii,  9)  :  It  is  not  the  coherence  of  time  with  place;  but  the 
adherence  of  these  two  with  the  murder  of  the  king. 


X 


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I08  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH      [act  i,  sc.  viL 

Do's  vnmake  you.     I  haue  giuen  Sucke,  and  know  63 

How  tender  ^tis  to  loue  the  Babe  that  milkes  me, 

I  would,  while  it  was  fmyling  in  my  Face,  65 

Haue  pluckt  my  Nipple  from  his  Bonelefle  Gummes, 

And  dafht  the  Braines  out,  had  I  fo  fwome 

As  you  haue  done  to  this.  68 

63.  I  kafie\  Fve  Dyce  ii,  iii.  67.  Braines'\  Branes  Ff. 

64.  »i^,]  me —  Rowe,  +  ,  Ktly.     me;  out'\  an' t  out  Lettsom,  Huds.  iii. 
or  me     Han.  ii,  et  cet.                                              /o]  but  fo  Ff,   Rowe,  +  ,    Cap. 

67,  68.  And..Jhis^    Ff,    Knt,    Sta.         Var.  '73,  »78,  '85. 
Lines  end:  you,.Jhis»     Steev.  et  cet 

63,  64.  I  haue  giuen  Sucke  .  .  .  milkes  me]  Knowles  (p.  47) :  A  great  stress 
is  sometimes  laid  upon  this  passage,  as  presenting  a  redeeming  trait  in  Lady  Mac- 
beth's  character.  But  we  haye  only  her  own  assertion;  and  granting  it  to  be  tme, 
what  value  do  we  attach  to  Lady  Macbeth* s  notion  of  tenderness?  Is  it  the  ten- 
derness of  which  a  humane  and  gentle  and  truly  feminine  mother  is  susceptible? 
May  we  not  assume,  too,  that  she  colours  the  circumstance  with  the  view  of  shaming 
her  husband  into  guilty  resolution,  by  telling  how  in  defiance  to  nature's  most  holy 
law,  she  would  have  cleaved  to  her  oath  ?  I  think  we  may  infer,  from  the  nature  of 
her  boast,  the  tenderness  of  her  maternal  feelings.  I  fonn  my  idea  of  Lady  Mac- 
beth's  character,  not  from  what  she  says,  but  from  what  she  does. — Ed.  ii. — Bell 
(p.  305) :  [Mis  Siddons,  at  this  line]  has  been  at  a  distant  part  of  the  stage.  She 
now  comes  close  to  him — an  entire  change  of  manner,  looks  for  some  time  in  his 
face,  then  speaks. — Ed.  ii. — ^J.  £.  Murdoch  [Forum^  Sept.  1890] :  Shakespeare 
evidently  meant  that  the  terrible  threat  should  come  from  a  nature  not  habitnally 
hard  of  heart,  but  capable  of  cruelty  only  through  force  of  a  vow.  This  is  the 
ideal  heroine.  The  other  delineation  shows  no  sacrifice  of  feeling ;  the  unnatural 
deed  is  congenial  to  the  realistic  creation  of  the  actress. — Ed.  ii. 

67.  the]  Clarendon  :  We  should  now  say  <its  brains,'  but  'the'  is  found  not 
unfrequently  for  the  possessive  pronoun.  Compare  the  version  of  Lev.^  zxv,  5,  in 
the  Bishops'  Bible:  'That  which  groweth  of  the  owne  accord,'  etc.     And  Bacon, 

Advancement  of  Learning,  i,  4,  §  I :  < it  is  the  manner  of  men  to  scandalize 

and  deprave  that  which  retaineth  the  state  and  virtue.' 

67.  out]  Lettsom  (Walker's  Vers,  209,  foot-note):  But  of  F,  is  a  crutch  fur- 
nished by  the  compassionate  editor  to  assist  the  lameness  of  the  metre.  The  idiom 
of  our  language,  as  well  as  the  harmony  of  the  verse,  seems  to  require  us  to  read, 
'And  dash'd  the  brains  onU  out,  had  I  so  sworn,'  etc. 

67.  swome]  Seymour  :  The  measure  of  the  line  is  complete  without  <  so.' — 
Hudson  :  It  is  said  that  Mrs  Siddons  used  to  utter  the  close  of  this  speech  in  a 
scream,  as  though  she  were  almost  frightened  out  of  her  wits  by  the  audacity  of  her 
own  tongue.  And  I  can  easily  conceive  how  a  spasmodic  action  of  fear  might  lend 
to  such  a  woman  as  Lady  Macbeth  an  appearance  of  superhuman  or  inhuman  bold- 
ness. At  all  events,  it  should  be  observed  that  her  energy  and  intensity  of  purpose 
overbears  the  feelings  of  the  woman  ;  and  her  convulsive  struggle  of  feeling  against 
that  overbearing  violence  of  will  might  well  be  expressed  by  a  scream. — [ViscHER 
(ii,  p.  84)  :  This  overcomes  Macbeth.  And  here  is  the  moral  turning-point  in  the 
drama. — Ed.  ii.] 


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ACT  I,  sc  viij       THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  109 

Macb.     If  we  fliould  faile  ? 

Lady.   We  faile?  70 

69.  faiUr\  Ff,  Cap.  Dyce,  Sta.  Glo.  70.  faUe?'\  Ff,  {faUf  F3FJ,  Coll. 

fail? —  Rowe,  Pope,  Theob.  i,  Han.  faiL  Cap.  Knt,  Huds.  Sing,  ii,  Rob- 

fail!  Sing.  ii.     /aj/,— -  Theob.  ii,  et  ertson.     fail!!  Ktly.     faU!  Rowe,  et 

ceL  cet. 

69.  If  we  should  faile]  Moulton  (p.  161) :  Here  is  the  critical  point  of  the 
scene.  At  its  beginning  Macbeth  is  for  abandoning  the  treason,  at  its  end  he  pre- 
pares for  his  task  of  marder  with  animation  :  where  does  the  change  come  ?  Tlie 
practical  man  is  nerved  by  having  the  practical  details  supplied  to  him.  Lady  Mac- 
beth sketches  a  feasible  schdme  :  how  that  the  King  will  be  wearied,  his  chamber- 
lains can  by  means  of  the  banquet  be  easily  drugged,  their  confusion  on  waking  can 
be  interpreted  as  guilt — ^before  she  has  half  done  her  husband  interrupts  her  with  a 
burst  of  enthusiasm,  and  completes  her  scheme  for  her.  The  man  who  had  thought 
it  was  manliness  that  made  him  shrink  from  murder  henceforward  never  hesitates 
till  he  has  plunged  his  dagger  in  his  sovereign's  bosom. — Ed.  ii. 

70.  We  faile  ?]  Steevens  :  Macbeth  having  casually  employed  the  former  part 
of  the  common  phmse.  If  we  fail,  we  fail,  his  wife  designedly  completes  it.  *  We 
lail,'  and  thereby  know  the  extent  of  our  misfortune.  Lady  Macbeth  is  unwilling 
to  afford  her  husband  time  to  state  any  reasons  for  his  doubt  Such  an  interval  for 
reflection  to  act  in  might  have  proved  unfavorable  to  her  purposes.  This  reply,  at 
once  cool  and  determined,  is  sufficiently  characteristic  of  the  speaker :  according  to 
the  old  punctuation,  she  is  represented  as  rejecting  with  contempt  (of  which  she 
had  already  manifested  enough)  the  very  idea  of  failure.  According  to  the  mode 
of  pointing  now  suggested,  she  admits  a  possibility  of  miscarriage,  but  at  the  same 
instant  shows  herself  not  afraid  of  the  result.  Her  answer,  therefore,  conmiunicates 
no  discouragement  to  her  husband.  '  We  fail !' — is  the  hasty  interruption  of  scornful 
impatience.  'We  lail.' — ^is  the  calm  deduction  of  a  mind  which,  having  weighed  all 
cucomstances,  is  prepared,  without  loss  of  confidence  in  itself,  for  the  worst  that 
can  happen. — Mrs  Jameson  (ii,  319) :  Mrs  Siddons  adopted  successively  three 
different  intonations  in  giving  the  words  'We  fail.'  At  first  as  a  quick  contemptuous 
interrogation.  Afterwards  with  the  note  of  admiration,  and  an  accent  of  indignant 
astonishment,  laying  the  emphasis  on  'we.'  Lastly,  she  fixed  on  what  I  am  con- 
vinced is  the  true  reading — ^we  fail,  with  the  simple  period,  modulating  her  voice  to 
a  deep,  low,  resolute  tone,  which  setded  the  issue  at  once — as  though  she  had  said, 
'  If  we  fail,  why  then  we  fail,  and  all  is  over.'  This  is  consistent  with  the  dark 
fsttalism  of  the  character,  and  the  sense  of  the  line  following — and  the  effect  was 
sublime,  almost  awful. — Knight  :  We  prefer  the  quiet  self-possession  of  the  punc- 
tuation we  have  adopted.  [See  Text,  Notes."] — Fletcher  (p.  X2i)  :  Her  quiet  reply, 
'  We  fail,'  is  every  way  most  characteristic  of  the  speaker— expressing  that  moral 
finnness  in  herself  which  makes  her  quite  prepared  to  endure  the  consequence  of 
failure — and,  at  the  same  time,  conveying  the  most  decisive  rebuke  of  such  moral 
cowardice  in  her  husband  as  can  make  him  recede  from  a  purpose  merely  on  account 
of  the  possibility  of  defeat — a  possibility  which,  up  to  the  very  completion  of  their 
design,  seems  never  absent  from  her  own  mind,  though  she  finds  it  necessary  to 
banish  it  from  that  of  her  husband. — Dyce  (Remarks,  etc.) :  There  is  in  reality  no 
difference ;  whether  the  words  be  pointed  '  We  fail  1'  or  '  We  fail  ?'  (and  I  much 


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I  lo  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH      [act  i,  sc  vii. 

But  fcrew  your  courage  to  the  fticking  place,  71 

And  weenie  not  fayle :  when  Duncan  is  afleepe, 

(Whereto  the  rather  (hall  his  dayes  hard  loumey 

Soundly  inuite  him)  his  two  Chamberlaines 

Will  I  with  Wine,and  Waffell,  fo  conuince,  75 

73.  his\  this  Pope,  Han. 

prefer  the  fonner  method),  they  can  only  be  understood  as  an  impatient  and  con- 
temptuoos  repetition  of  Macbeth' s  <  we  fail  ?'  Any  kind  of  admission  on  the  part 
of  Lady  Macbeth,  that  the  attempt  might  prove  unsuccessful,  appears  to  me  quite 
inconsistent  with  all  that  she  has  previously  said,  and  all  that  she  afterwards  says, 
in  the  present  scene.  She  hastily  interrupts  her  husband,  checking  the  very  idea  of 
failure  as  it  rises  in  his  mind.  I  recollect,  indeed,  hearing  Mrs  Siddons  deliver  the 
words  as  if  she  was  'stating  the  result  of  failure ';  but  there  can  be  no  doubt  that 
she  had  adopted  that  manner  of  delivery  in  consequence  of  Steevens*s  note. — Dycb 
(ed.  i.)  :  In  the  folio  the  interrogation-point  is  frequently  equivalent  to  an  exclama- 
tion-point— [Bell  (p.  305):  [Mrs  Siddons  uttered  this]  with  falling  inflection. 
Not  surprise ;  bowing  with  her  hands  down,  the  palms  upward.  Then  in  a  voice 
of  strong  assurance :  *  When  Duncan,'  etc.  This  spoken  near  to  him ;  and  in  a  low, 
earnest  whisper  of  discovery  she  discloses  her  plan. — Anonymous  (Sunday  Times, 
London,  30  Dec.  1888) :  Miss  Ellen  Terry  gives  a  cry  of  defiance  as  she  resolutely 
responds,  *  We  fail !'  and  then  laughingly  urges  him  to  courage  and  promises  him 
success.  This  is  a  specially  important  touch  in  her  rendering  of  the  character,  and 
it  is  very  significant  in  influencing  Macbeth*  s  returning  resolution,  for  he  listens  to 
her  as  though  dazed  and  under  a  spell. — Ed.  ii.] 

71.  sticking  place]  Steevens  :  A  metaphor  perhaps  taken  from  the  i^enwng 
up  the  chords  of  string-instruments  to  their  proper  degree  of  tension,  when  the  peg 
remains  fast  in  its  sticking  place^  i.  e.  in  the  place  from  which  it  b  not  to  move. 
Thus,  perhaps,  in  Twelfth  Night,  V,  i,  126. — Clarendon  :  A  similar  figure  is  found 
in  CorioL  I,  viii,  ii.  Compare  also  Tro,  6*  Cres.  Ill,  iii,  22,-2^.  As  'wrest*  is  an 
instrument  for  tuning  a  harp,  this  last  cited  passage  lends  some  probability  to  Steev- 
ens* s  interpretation. — [Paton  :  The  metaphor  used  was  probably  suggested  by  some- 
thing like  what  may  be  seen  in,  for  instance,  the  illustration  of  the  Earl  of  Hay- 
nault  taking  and  destroying  Aubenton,  in  Froissart*s  Chronicles,  namely,  two  sol- 
diers, lapt  in  proof;  one  with  his  crossbow  planted  at  an  angle  against  the  ground, 
« screwing'  by  means  of  a  kind  of  windlass  its  cord  to  'the  sticking  place,'  or 
catch,  by  which  it  will  be  held  at  furthest  stretch. — Ed.  ii.] 

74.  Chamberlaines]  <At  length,  hauing  talked  with  them  a  long  time,  he  got 
him  [Duffe]  into  his  priuie  chamber,  onelie  with  two  of  his  chamberlains,  who 
hauing  brought  him  to  bed,  came  foorth  againe,  and  then  fell  to  banketting  with 
Donwald  and  his  wife,  who  had  prepared  diuerse  delicate  dishes,  and  sundrie  sorts 
of  drinks  for  their  reare  supper  or  collation,  whereat  they  sate  vp  so  long,  till  they 
had  charged  their  stomachs  with  such  full  gorges,  that  their  heads  were  no  sooner 
got  to  the  pillow,  but  asleepe  they  were  so  fast,  that  a  man  might  have  remooued 
the  chamber  ouer  them,  sooner  than  to  haue  awaked  them  out  of  their  droonken 
sleepe.'— Holinshed.     See  Appendix, 

75.  Wassell]  Singer  :  Thus  explained  by  Bullokar  in  his  Expositor,  1616 : 
'  Wassaile,  a  term  usual  heretofore  for  quaffing  and  carowsing;  but  more  especially 


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ACT  I.  sc.  vii.]       THE  TRA  GEDIE  OF  MA  CBETH  \  1 1 

That  Memorie,the  Warder  of  the  Braine,  76 

Shall  be  a  Fume,  and  the  Receit  of  Reafon 

A  L3mibeck  onely :  when  in  Swinifh  fleepe,  78 

ajgnifying  a  meny  cup  (ritually  composed,  deckt,  and  fill'd  with  country  liquor) 
passing  about  amongst  neighbors,  meeting  and  entertaining  one  another  on  the  vigil 
or  ere  of  the  new  year,  and  commonly  called  the  wassail-boL* — Clarendon  :  De- 
riyed  from  the  Anglo-Saxon  wius  hael^  *  be  of  health.'  This,  according  to  Geoffrey 
of  Monmouth,  was  the  salutation  used  by  Rowena  to  Vortigem  in  presenting  a  cup 
of  wine.  Hence  *  wassail  *  came  to  mean  drinking  of  healths,  revelry,  and  after- 
wards *  drink '  itself.     Here  it  means  revelry. 

75.  conuince]  Johnson  :  To  overpcwer  or  subdue^  as  in  IV,  iii,  161. — Stesvens  : 

In  Holinshed :  < thus  mortally  fought,  intending  to  vanquish  and  convince  the 

other.' — Clarendon:  So  in  Hall's  Chronicle,  Richard  III,  fol.  33  a:  'Whyle 
the  two  forwardes  thus  mortallye  fought,  eche  entending  to  vanquish  and  conuince 
the  other.' — Harry  Rowe  :  My  wooden  figure,  who  performs  Shakespeare's  prin- 
cipal characters,  and  whose  head  is  made  of  a  piece  of  the  famous  mulberry  tree, 
observes  that  the  known  property  of  strong  drink  is  to  confound  and  not  to  '  con- 
vince '  the  understanding. 

76-78.  Clarendon  :  By  the  old  anatomists  (Vigo,  fol.  6  b,  ed.  1586)  the  brain 
was  divided  into  three  ventricles,  in  the  hindermost  of  which  they  placed  the 
memory.  That  this  division  was  not  tmknown  to  Shakespeare  we  learn  from  Lov^s 
Lab,  Z.  IV,  ii,  70.  The  third  ventricle  is  the  cerebellum,  by  which  the  brain  is 
connected  with  the  spinal  marrow  and  the  rest  of  the  body :  the  memory  is  posted 
in  the  cerebellum  like  a  warder  or  sentinel  to  warn  the  reason  against  attack. 
When  the  memory  is  converted  by  intoxication  into  a  mere  fume  (compare  Temp. 
V,  i,  67),  then  it  fills  the  brain  itself,  the  receipt  or  receptacle  of  reason,  which 
thus  becomes  like  an  alembic  or  cap  of  a  still.  For  *■  fume,'  compare  Cymb,  IV, 
ii,  301.  And  Dryden's  Aurengzebe :  'Power  like  new  wine  does  your  weak  brain 
surprise,  And  its  mad  fumes  in  hot  discourses  rise.'     See  also  Ant.  &*  Cleo.  II, 

77.  Receit]  Clarendon:  See  Bacon,  Essay^  xlvi.:  ' Fountains ...  one  that 
spiinckleth  or  spouteth  water;  the  other  a  faire  receipt  of  water.' 

78.  Lymbeck]  Clarendon  :  Derived  by  popular  corruption  from  '  alembic,'  a 
word  adopted  from  the  language  of  the  Arabian  alchemists  of  Spain  into  all  the 
languages  of  Europe.  The  word  is  formed  from  a/,  the  Arabic  definite  article,  and 
the  Greek  &fipi^,  used  by  Dioscorides  in  the  sense  of  the  cap  of  a  still,  into  which 
the  fumes  rise  before  they  pass  into  the  condensing  vessel.  The  word  *  limbec '  is 
used  by  Milton,  Paradise  Zosf,  iii,  605,  and  by  Fairfax,  Tasso,  Bk,  IV,  st  75.  The 
Italian  form  is  limbico. — [Vischer  ( VortrUge^  ii,  p.  85) :  In  the  time  of  Shakespeare, 
if  poetry  drew  its  pctures  from  the  apothecary  shop,  or  chemical  laboratory,  it  was 
regarded  neither  as  prosaic  nor  jarring.  Romeo's  last  words  are :  <  O  true  apothe- 
cary thy  drugs  are  quick.' — Ed.  ii.] 

78-83.  when  .  . .  quell]  Bell  (p.  305) :  [Mrs  Siddons  here]  pauses  as  if  trying 
the  effect  on  hiriL  Then  renews  her  plan  more  earnestly,  low  still,  but  with  in- 
creasing confidence.  Throughout  this  scene  she  feels  her  way,  observes  the  waver- 
ing of  his  mind ;  suits  her  earnestness  and  whole  manner  to  it.  With  contempt, 
affection,  reason,  the  conviction  of  her  well-concerted  plan,  the  assurance  of  success 


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1 12  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH      [act  i,  sc.  viL 

Their  drenched  Natures  lyes  as  in  a  Death, 

What  cannot  you  and  I  performe  vpon  80 

ThVnguarded  Duncan  ?  What  not  put  vpon 

His  fpungie  Officers?  who  ftiall  beare  the  guilt 

Of  our  great  quell. 

Macb.    Bring  forth  Men-Children  onely : 
For  thy  vndaunted  Mettle  (hould  compofe  85 

Nothing  but  Males.    Will  it  not  be  receiuM, 
When  we  haue  markM  with  blood  thofe  fleepie  two 
Of  his  owne  Chamber,  and  vsM  their  very  Daggers, 
That  they  haue  don't  ? 

Lady.    Who  dares  receiue  it  other,  90 

79.  lyes\  lye  Ff,  Rowe.     lie  Pope  et  S4-86.  Bring, .,Males\  As  an  Aside» 

seq.  Hunter. 

81.  puti  Om.  D'Av.  85.  MettUl  metal  F^,  Rowe,  +  . 

88.  very^  Om.  D'Av. 

which  her  wonderful  tones  inspire,  she  turns  him  to  her  purpose  with  an  art  in 
which  the  player  shares  laigely  in  the  Poet's  praise. — £d.  iL 

79.  drenched]  Walker  ( Crii,  i,  165) :  Cited  as  a  peculiar  constniction  with 
the  adjective. 

79.  a  Death]  Clarendon  :  The  indefinite  article  may  be  used  here  because  it  is 
only  a  kind  of  death,  a  sleep,  which  is  meant.     Compare  Wint,  Tale,  IV,  ii,  3. 

83.  queU]  Johnson  :  That  is,  Murder;  manquellershfXDg,  in  the  old  language,  the 
term  for  which  murderers  is  now  used. — Nares  :  Hence,  *  Jack  the  giant-quelUr* 
was  once  used. — Collier  :  To  '  quell*  and  to  kill  are  in  fact  the  same  word  in  their 
origin,  from  the  Saxon  cwellan. — Elwin  :  It  is  equivalent  to  our  great  defeating^  or 
the  great  defeat  we  make.  So  in  Hamlety  II,  ii,  597. —  Clarendon  :  As  a  substantive 
it  is  found  only  here.  We  have  '  man-queller '  in  a  Hen,  IV:  II,  i,  58.  The  same 
compound  is  used  by  Wiclif  for  '  executioner,'  in  translating  Mark^  vi,  27,  and  for 
'murderer,'  Acts^  xxviii,  4. 

85.  Mettle]  Clarendon  :  This  is  the  same  word  as  metal^  and  in  the  old  edi- 
tions they  are  spelt  indifferently  in  either  sense.  Its  metaphorical  meaning  is  some- 
times so  near  its  natural  meaning  that  it  is  difficult  to  distinguish  between  them. 
Compare  Rich,  HI:  IV,  iv,  302. 

86-89.  Will . .  .  don't]  Hunter  :  It  is  manifest,  on  a  little  consideration  of 
the  state  of  Macbeth' s  mind,  that  he  could  not  have  used  the  words  given  to  him  in 
these  lines.  If  he  had  given  utterance  to  an3rthing  like  this,  he  would  have  said, 
'  Will  it  be  received,'  etc.,  while  the  words  suit  exactly  with  the  state  of  mind  and 
the  objects  of  the  unrelenting  lady. 

90.  Who  dares  . . .  other]  Bell  (p.  305) :  [Mrs  Siddons  spoke  this  with  a] 
pause.  Look  of  great  confidence,  much  dignity  of  mien.  In  'dares'  great  and 
imperial  dignity.     [Compare  V,  i,  38,  39.] 

90.  other]  Abbott  (§  12) :  This  may  be  used  adverbially  for  otherwise,  as  in 
0th,  IV,  ii,  13 ;  AlVs  Well,  III,  vi,  27;  and,  possibly.  Com,  of  Err,  II,  i,  33. 


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ACT  n,  sc  ij         THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH  \  13 

As  we  (hall  make  our  Griefes  and  Clamor  rore^  91 

Vpon  his  Death  ? 

Macb.    I  am  fettled^  and  bend  vp 
Each  corporall  Agent  to  this  terrible  Feat 
Away,  and  mock  the  time  with  faireft  (how,  95 

Falfe  Face  muft  hide  what  the  falfe  Heart  doth  know. 

Exeunt. 


A6lus  Secundus.  Scena  Prima. 


Enter  Banquo ,  and  Fleance ,  with  a  Torch  2 

brfore  him. 
Bang.     How  goes  the  Night,  Boy? 

Fleafice.    The  Moone  is  downe :  I  haue  not  heard  the  5 

Clock, 

93.  lam]  Pm  Pope,  Theob.  Han.  2.  Enter...]    Enter... Servant  with  a 
Waib.  Dyce  ii,  iii.  Torch  before  them.  Cap.  Steev.  Var. 
93.  fettled']  fetted  F,F^,  Rowe,  Pope,  Sing.    Enter... with  a  torch.  Huds.  i,  ii, 
Theob.  i.    settPd  Cap.  Sta.  Knt  ii.     Enter...preceded  by  Fie- 
I.  Adkis  Secundus.    Scena  Prima.]  ance  with  a  torch.  Dyce,  Fumess.    En- 
Act  II.     Scene  i.  Rowe.  ter...bearing  a  torch  before  him.  Coll. 
I.  Secundus]  Secuudus  F^  Glo.  Huds.  iii,  Rife,  Wh.  ii. 

A  Hall.    Rowe,  +  ,  Hal.     Court  5,  6.    The  Mwme,,.  Clock]    Fve  not 

within  the  Castle.  Cap.   Mai.  et  seq.  heard  the  clock:    The  moon  is  dortm. 

(subs.)  Seymour. 

91.  As]  Clarendon:  Equivalent  to  seeing  that.  We  should  be  inclined  to 
take  '  other,  as '  in  the  sense  of  otherwise  than  as,  if  we  could  find  an  example  to 
justify  it 

93.  bend  vp]  Clarendon  :  This  is,  of  course,  suggested  by  the  stringing  of  a 
bow. 

95,  96.  Away  .  . .  know]  Hunter  :  With  less  confidence  [see  Hunter's  note  on 
lines  86-89],  ^^se  two  lines  appear  to  me  to  belong  to  Lady  Macbeth,  and  not  to  her 
husband.  Macbeth  was  to  go  in  to  Duncan  in  accordance  with  the  message  brought 
by  the  lady.  [Irving  gives  lines  93-96  to  Lady  Macbeth. — Ed.  ii.] 
"  I.  Scena  Prima]  Johnson  :  It  is  not  easy  to  say  where  this  encounter  can  be. 
It  is  not  in  the  hall,  as  the  editors  have  all  supposed  it,  for  Banquo  sees  the  sky ;  it 
is  not  fu  from  the  bedchamber,  as  the  conversation  shows :  it  must  be  in  the  inner 
ooort  of  the  castle,  which  Banquo  might  properly  cross  in  his  way  to  bed. — Capbll 
{AToteif  etc.  ii,  10) :  A  large  court,  surrounded  all  or  in  part  by  an  open  gallery; 
chambers  opening  into  that  gallery  ;  the  gallery  ascended  into  by  stairs,  open  like- 
wise ;  with  addition  of  a  college-like  gateway,  into  which  opens  a  porter's  lodge, 
appears  to  have  been  the  Poet's  idea  of  the  place  of  this  great  action ;  The  drcum- 
stances  that  mark  it,  are  scattered  through  three  scenes;  in  the  latter,  the  hall 
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1 14  THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH       [act  ii.  sc.  i. 

Banq .    And  fhe  goes  downe  at  Twelue.  7 

Fleance.     I  take't/tis  later^  Sir. 

Banq.     Hold,  take  my  Sword  : 
There's  Husbandry  in  Heauen,  10 

Their  Candles  are  all  out :  take  thee  that  too. 

9.  la  Hold  ,„  Heauen,']  One  line,  10.  Tkeri^s\  ^Tis  very  dark;  there's 
Rowe  et  seq.                                                   Seymour. 

(which  modems  make  the  scene  of  this  action)  is  appointed  a  place  of  second 
assembly  in  terms  that  show  it  plainly  distinct  from  that  assembled  in  then.  Build- 
ings of  this  description  rose  in  ages  of  chivalry  ;  when  knights  rode  into  their  courts, 
and  paid  their  devoirs  to  ladies,  viewers  of  their  tiltings  and  them  from  those  open 
galleries ;  l<*ragments  of  some  of  them,  once  the  mansions  of  noblemen,  are  still 
subsisting  in  London,  changed  to  hotels  or  inns  ;  Shakespeare  might  see  them  much 
more  entire,  and  take  his  notion  from  them. 

2,  3.  Collier  :  The  old  stage-direction  says  nothing  about  a  servant,  as  in  the 
modem  editions.  Fleance  carried  the  torch  before  his  father. — Dyce  :  In  the  stage- 
directions  of  old  plays,  <  a  Torch '  sometimes  means  a  torch-bearer,  as  '  a  Trumpet ' 
means  a  trumpeter. 

9-15.  Hold  .  . .  repose]  Steevens  :  Shakespeare  has  here  most  exquisitely  con- 
trasted Banquo's  character  with  that  of  Macbeth.  Banquo  is  praying  against  being 
tempted  to  encourage  thoughts  of  guilt  even  in  his  sleep ;  while  Macbeth  is  hurrying 
into  temptation,  and  revolving  in  his  mind  every  scheme,  however  flagitious,  that 
may  assist  him  to  complete  his  purpose.  The  one  is  unwilling  to  sleep,  lest  the  same 
phantoms  should  assail  his  resolution  again,  while  the  other  is  depriving  himself  of 
rest  through  impatience  to  commit  the  murder. — [Libby  :  This  speech  of  Banquo' s 
is  the  very  epitome  of  his  character,  kindly,  conscientious,  poetical,  but  weak  and 
vacillating :  he  gives  up  his  sword  and  dagger  that  he  may  have  no  means  of  defend- 
ing the  king  from  the  fate  the  witches  have  predicted.  On  hearing  Macbeth  his  pur- 
pose shifts  again  ;  he  wants  his  sword  back.  'The  king's  abed'  shows  where  his 
thoughts  are  in  calling  for  his  sword — and  proves  his  guilty  silence. — ViscHER 
(  Vortrige,  ii.  p.  85 )  :  Sinister  thoughts  disturb  Banquo,  it  is  as  though  he  felt  the 
coming  breath  of  the  murderous  stom.  He  wants  his  sword.  We  see  here  again 
how  Shakespeare  invests  even  the  smallest  place  with  life-like  importance. — Ed.  ii.] 

10.  Husbandry]  Malone:  That  is,  thrift,  frugality, 

11.  Their]  Clarendon:  Note  the  plural,  and  compare  Rich.  II:  I,  ii,  7. 
Also  Rich.  II:  III,  iii,  17,  19;  Hamlet,  III,  iv,  173,  175;  Oth.  IV,  ii,  47.  In 
Rich.  Ill:  IV,  iv,  71,  72,  we  have  the  plural  pronoun  used  with  *  hdl.* 

II.  Candles]  Clarendon:  Compare  ^^rr.  of  Ven.  V,  i,  220;  Rom.  ^  Jul. 
Ill,  V,  9.  And  Fairfax,  Tmso,  Bk,  iz,  st.  10:  <When  heaven's  small  candles  next 
shall  shine.'     The  original  Italian  has  merely  <  Di  Notte.' 

II.  thee]  Abbott  (§  212}  :  In  the  present  instance  <thee'  is  the  dative.  [See 
I,  V,  26.] 

II.  that]  Seymour  :  Probably  a  dirk  or  dagger. — Elwin  :  Banquo  resumes  his 
sword  upon  hearing  approaching  footsteps. — Clarendon:  In  a  friend's  house 
Banquo  feels  perfectly  secure. 

II.  that  too]  Moberly:  Probably  his  target.     We  may  suspect  that  a  slight 


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ACT  II,  sc.  i.]         THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  115 

A  heauie  Summons  lyes  like  Lead  vpon  me,  12 

And  yet  I  would  not  fleepe  : 

Mercifull  Powers,  reftraine  in  me  the  curfed  thoughts 

That  Nature  giues  way  to  in  repofe.  15 

Enter  Macbeth ,  and  a  Seruant  with  a  Torch. 

Giue  me  my  Sword  :  who^s  there  ? 

Mcu:b.    A  Friend.  (I  ^  ^ 

Banq^NYidX  Sir,  not  vet  at  reft  f  the  King's  a  bed* 
He  hath  beene  in  vnuUiall  Flexure,  \\  ^^-^-^^ZKT         20 

And  fent  forth  great  Largeffe  to  your  Offices.  /-  '^^'^^^ 

13-15.  And yet„.repc/e,'\\AS\.t&txA',  20,21.  PUa/ure^  And  ferU'\    Rowe 

PgwerSf,.,Nature.»,repo/e.Ko^^tis^.  ii,  +  ,  Cap.  Sta.     plea/ure.     And  fent 

16.  Enter...]  Ff,  Rowe,  +  ,  Jen.  Glo.  Ff,  Rowe  i.  pleasure,  and  Sent  Jen. 
Wh.  ii.  After  there  ?  Dyce,  Sta.  Qarke,  et  cet. 

Huds.  ii.    After  Sword  Cap.  et  cet  21.  And^  Om.  Var.  '73. 

17.  Giue,„Sword'\  Om.  Seymour.  forth]  Om.  Pope,+,  Cap. 
GtMie,., there"]  Two  lines,   Han.  great]  a  great  Ft 

Cap.  et  seq.  Ofiees]  Ff,  Steev.  Var.  '03,  '13, 

20.  hath  beene]  hath  to-night  been  Knt,  Coll.  i,  ii,  Wh.  Cam.  Officers 
Pope, +  ,  Cap.  *  Rowe,  et  cet 

indication  of  want  of  caution  is  intended  by  this  parting  with  the  weapons ;  in  much 
the  same  way  as,  mjul.  Cos.,  Casca,  the  man  of  action  and  heed,  is  marked  by  the 
£uniliar  readiness  with  which  his  hand  uses  his  sword  to  point  to  the  quarter  whence 
the  day  will  break,  etc.— Ed.  ii.— Booth  :  Banquo  is  here  conscious  of  the  latent 
power  <^  temptation,  and  seems  wishful  to  rid  himself  of  all  incentives  to  dangerous 
thoughts,  and  all  the  means  of  mischief. — ^Ed.  ii. 

16.  Enter  Macbeth,  etc]  Fitzgerald  (ii.  p.  77)  :  During  the  scene  with  Banquo 
[Garrick's]  plajring  showed  a  wonderful  delicacy.  'You  dissembled  indeed,  but 
dissembled  with  difficulty  [writes  Murphy  in  a  letter  to  Garrick].  Upon  the 
first  entrance,  the  eye  glanced  at  the  door :  the  gaiety  was  forced,  and  at  intervals 
the  eye  gave  a  momentary  look  towards  the  door  and  turned  away  in  a  moment 
This  was  but  a  fair  contrast  to  the  enacted  cheeHulness,  with  which  this  disconcerted 
behaviour  was. intermixed.  After  saying,  "Good  repose,  the  while";  the  eye  fixed 
on  the  door,  then  after  a  pause,  in  a  broken  tone,  "Go,  bid  thy  mistress,"  etc. 
Pray  observe  that  as  you  assume  a  freedom  and  gaiety  here,  it  will  be  also  a  contrast 
to  the  fine  distinction  of  mind  and  behaviour  in  the  night  scene.' — Ed.  ii. 

19.  What . .  .  rest]  Abbott  (§  513)  :  When  a  verse  consists  of  two  parts  uttered 
by  two  speakers,  the  latter  part  is  frequently  the  former  part  of  the  following  verse, 
being,  as  it  were,  amphibious,  as  here. 

21.  Offices]  Stkevens  :  The  rooms  appropriated  to  servants  and  culinary  pur- 
poses. Thus,  Tim.  II,  ii,  167 ;  Rich,  //.•  I,  ii,  69.— Malone:  'Offices'  is  a  pal- 
pable misprint  Officers  means  servants.  So  I,  vii,  82,  and  Tam,  of  Shr.  IV,  i,  50. 
— Nares  :  The  lower  parts  of  London  houses  are  always  called  <  offices.'  Largess  was 
given  to  servants,  not  to  officers, — Knight  :  It  is  of  little  consequence  whether  the 


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Il6  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH       [act  ii.  sc.  i. 

This  Diamond  he  greetes  your  Wife  withall^  22 

By  the  name  of  moft  kind  Hofteffe, 
And  fhut  vp  in  meafurelefle  content. 

Mac.    Being  vnprepar'd,  25 

Our  will  became  the  feruant  to  defefl^ 

23,  24.  By  „,  contenf^    Liaes    end:  Rowe,  Hunter.     And^s  shut  up  Han. 

fliut  vp..,€ontgmi.  Pope  et  seq.  Cap.  Jen.     And  is  shut  up  Heath,     as 

23.  /^^^ir]  An  omission  here.  Anon.  shut  up  Lettsom  (ap.  Dyce  ii.)  And^s 
ap.  Cam.  put  up  K,  Gray  (N.  &  Qu.,  7  Ap.  1888). 

24.  Andjhui  vp'\  And  Jhut  it  up  Ff,  26.  to  defiO]  to  effect  Daniel. 

largess  went  to  the  servants  or  to  the  servants'  hall. — Collier  :  Malone's  change 
is  not  only  needless,  but  improper.  To  send  largess  to  the  'offices'  in  Macbeth' s 
castle  was  to  give  it  to  the  persons  employed  in  them. — Dyce  ;  '  Offices '  is  a  sheer 
misprint. — ^Walker  {Crit,  ii,  ^3) :  Final  e  and  final  er  confounded.  See  also 
'ghosdy  Fries  dose  cell'  in  F„  JRom.  6^  Jul,  II,  iii,  188.  Again  we  have  sleeper 
for  sleepe  in  line  64  of  this  same  scene. — Lettsom  (foot-note  to  preceding) :  The 
same  error  is  found  in  the  Dutchesse  of  Malfy,  II,  ii,  ed.  1623,  where  Antonio* 
having  had  <  all  the  Officers  o'  th'  court '  called  up,  afterwards  says,  <AU  the  Offices 
here  ?'  and  the  servants  reply,  *  We  are.'  Nares  maintained  [as  above],  bat  Henry 
VII.  (see  Richardson's  Diet,)  'gave  to  his  officers  of  armes  vi/.  of  his  largessB,* 

24.  shut  vp]  Steevens  :  That  is,  concluded.  In  The  Spanish  Tragedy :  'And 
heavens  have  shut  up  day  to  pleasure  us,'  [Act  II.;  p.  50,  ed.  Haz.  Dods.].  Again, 
in  Spenser's  Faerie  Queene,  IV,  c.  ix,  v.  15  :  'And  for  to  shut  up  all  in  friendly  love.' 
Again,  in  Reynold's  God^s  Revenge  against  Murder^  1621  :  'though  the  parents 
have  already  shut  up  the  contract'  Again,  in  Stowe's  Account  of  the  Earl  of 
Essej^s  Speech  on  the  Scaffold:  'He  shut  up  all  with  the  Lord's  prayer.'— Bos- 
WELL:  I  should  rather  suppose  it  means  enclosed  in  content;  content  with  every- 
thing around  him.  So  Barrow  :  '  Hence  is  a  man  shut  up  in  an  irksome  bondage 
of  spirit' — Sermons^  16S3,  vol.  ii,  231. — Hunter  :  Now  see  the  reading  of  F,. 
Undoubtedly  the  jewel  in  its  case.  That  jewels  were  enclosed  in  cases  is  a  point 
which  needs  not  a  word  of  note  to  prove. — Singer  (ed.  ii.) :  It  must  be  taken  to 
signify  either  that  the  king  concluded^  or  that  he  retired  to  rest,  shut  himself  up. — 
Keightley  :  This  seems  to  apply  to  Duncan.  The  expression  is  similar  to  '  I  am 
wrmpp'd  in  dismal  thinkings.'— ^//'i  Well^  V,  iii,  128.— Clarendon  :  There  is 
probably  some  omission  here,  because,  if  '  shut  up '  be  a  participle,  the  transition  is 
strangely  abrupt  If  we  take  '  shut '  as  the  preterite,  we  require  some  other  word 
to  complete  the  sense,  as  '  shut  up  all '  or  '  shut  up  the  day.'  '  Shut  up '  may, 
however,  like  'concluded,'  be  used  intransitively.— [R.  G.  White  (ed.  ii.)  :  This 
passage  is  quite  surely  corrupt,  and  probably  by  the  loss  of  a  line  or  more  before 
these  words.  But  the  speech  shows  the  result  of  hasty  writing.  Banquo  b  just  about 
to  go  to  bed,  and  has  said  his  prayers,  when  he  is  startled  into  resuming  his  sword 
by  the  entrance  of  Macbeth  ;  and  then  we  learn  that  he  had  been  charged  to  deliver 
a  diamond  to  Lady  Macbeth,  and  had  it  with  him  undelivered. — Ed.  ii.] 

26.  defedt]  Malone  :  Being  unprepared,  our  entertainment  was  necessarily  de- 
fective, and  we  only  had  it  in  our  power  to  show  the  king  our  willingness  to  ser&e 
him.     Had  we  received  sufficient  notice  of  his  coming,  our  zeal  should  have  been 


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ACT  II,  sc.  i.]         THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  i  \^ 

Which  elfe  (hould  free  haue  wrought.  27 

Banq.     AlPs  well. 
I  dreamt  laft  Night  of  the  three  we5nvard  Sifters  : 
To  you  they  haue  fhew^d  fome  truth.  30 

Macb.     I  thinke  not  of  them  : 
Yet  when  we  can  entreat  an  houre  to  ferue, 
We  would  fpend  it  in  fome  words  vpon  that  Bufmeflfe^  > 

If  you  would  graunt  the  time. 

Bang.    At  your  kind^ft  leyfure.  35 

Macb,     If  you  fhall  cleaue  to  my  confent. 
When  'tis,  it  fhall  make  Honor  for  you.' 


28.  AU's]  Sir,  all  is  Stccv.  conj.  33.  tT]  Om.  Rowc  ii. 

fstf//]  very  well  Han.  Cap.  ^]  Om.  Rowe  i. 

39.  drearnf]  dreampt  YJF,  35.  kiHd'Ji'\  kindft  F,.     kind  Fj 


S- 


3a  they  hatu\  they've  Pope,  +  ,  Dyce  36.  my  con/enl']  me  constant 

ii,  iii,  Huds.  iii.  son.     my  convent  Becket     my  concept 

3a.  entreat'^  intreat  FJF^,  Rowe,  +  ,  Bulloch.      my    consort   Wh.    i,    conj. 

Cap.  Var.  '73,  '78,  »85,  Ran.  Wh.  ii. 

33.  }Ve'\  Om.   Pope,  +  ,  Steev.  Var.  36,  37.  If,, .'tis]  One  line,  Rowe  et 

Sing.  i.     IV^d  Huds.  iii.  seq. 

more  clearly  manifested  by  our  acts.  'Which'  refers,  not  to  the  last  antecedent, 
'  defect,'  but  to  « will.' 

29.  I  dreamt  last  Night]  W.  Leighton  {Robinson^ s  Epit.  of  Lit.  15  April, 
1879)  :  I  see  no  reason  to  picture  Banquo  as  a  type  of  all  that  is  noble  and  generous, 
as  many  commentators  haye  done.  He  drank  in,  as  greedily  as  his  partner  in  arms, 
the  prophecies  of  the  weird  tempters,  but  lacked  Macbeth' s  prompt  resolution  to 
act ;  he  lacked  also  the  favouring  circumstances  that  led  Macbeth  to  the  murder  of 
King  Duncan  ;  and,  above  all,  he  lacked  the  incitements  to  action,  which  came  to  the 
thane  of  Cawdor  by  the  fiery  suggestions  of  his  wife.  No  plain  way  to  the  crown 
suggested  itself  to  Banquo  ;  in  fact,  he  saw  clearly  that  not  only  Duncan,  but  Mac- 
beth, stood  between  him  and  regal  honouis.  Before  the  king's  murder  he  evidently 
suspected  Macbeth' s  intention,  and  afterwards  must  have  been  fully  assured  of  his 
guilt ;  yet  he  uttered  no  word  of  warning  to  his  kinsman  and  sovereign,  and  after  the 
murder,  no  hint  of  his  suspicion.  Would  a  noble  and  virtuous  man  have  kept  such 
doubtful  silence? — Ed.  ii. 

32.  to  seme]  Clarendon  :  When  we  can  prevail  upon  an  hour  of  your  time  to 
be  at  our  service.  Macbeth' s  language  is  here  that  of  exaggerated  courtesy,  which 
to  the  audience,  who  are  in  the  secret,  marks  his  treachery  the  more  strongly.  Now 
that  the  crown  is  within  his  grasp,  he  seems  to  adopt  the  royal  <  we '  by  anticipation. 

369  37-  cleaue  . .  .  you]  Johnson  :  Macbeth  expresses  his  thought  with  affected 
obscurity ;  he  does  not  mention  the  rojralty,  though  he  apparently  had  it  in  his  mind. 
'  If  you  shall  cleave  to  my  consent,'  if  you  shall  concur  with  me  when  I  determine  to 
accept  the  crown,  '  when  'tis,'  when  that  happens  which  the  prediction  promises,  <  it 
shall  make  honour  for  you.' — Capell  (Notes^  ii,  10) :  Corruption  of  a  word  that 
resembles  [< consent']  might  well  happen,  and  that  word  is — ascent:  how  fit  the 


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1 1 8  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH       [act  n,  sc.  L 

Banq.    So  I  lofe  none,  38 

In  feeking  to  augment  it,  but  ftill  keepe 

My  Bofome  franchis'd,and  Allegeance  cieare,  40 

I  fhall  be  counfail'd. 

Macb.     Good  repofe  the  while.  42 

41.  eoun/ail'd']  counfeWd  F,F^. 

reader  need  not  be  told,  who  calls  to  mind  the  prediction  which  is  the  saliject  of 
this  dialogue.— Heath  (p.  385) :  If  you  shall  cleave  to  that  party  which  consents 
to  my  advancement,  whenever  the  opportunity  may  offer. — ^Jennens  :  I  should  rather 
think  something  is  lost  here,  of  the  following  purport:  Ban,  <At  your  kind'st 
leisure. — ^Those  lookers  into  fate,  that  haiPd  you,  Cawdor  I  Did  also  hail  you, 
king !  and  I  do  trust,  Most  worthy  Thane^  you  would  consent  to  accept  What  your 
deserts  would  grace,  when  offer' d  you.' — Steevens:  'Consent'  has  sometimes  the 
power  of  the  Latin  c<nuenius.  Thus  in  2  Hen,  IV:  V,  i,  79 ;  As  You  Like  It^  II, 
ii,  3.  Macbeth  mentally  refers  to  the  crown  he  expected  to  obtain  in  consequence 
of  the  murder  he  was  about  to  commit  Banquo's  reply  is  only  that  of  a  man  who 
determines  to  combat  every  possible  temptation  to  do  ill.  Macbeth  could  never 
mean,  while  yet  the  success  of  his  attack  on  the  life  of  Duncan  was  uncertain,  to 
afford  Banquo  the  most  dark  or  distant  hint  of  his  criminal  designs  on  the  crown. 
Had  he  acted  thus  incautiously,  Banquo  would  naturally  have  become  his  accuser, 
as  soon  as  the  murder  had  been  discovered. — Malone  :  A  passage  in  Temp,  II,  i, 
269,  leads  me  to  think  that  Shakespeare  wrote  content.  The  meaning  then  of  the 
present  difficult  passage,  thus  corrected,  will  be :  If  you  will  closely  adhere  to  my 
cause,  if  you  will  promote,  as  far  as  you  can,  what  is  likely  to  contribute  to  my 
satisfaction  and  content ^ — when  *t£s,  when  the  prophecy  of  the  weird  sisters  is  ful- 
filled, when  I  am  seated  on  the  throne,  the  event  shall  make  honour  for  you.  See 
D' Avenant's  paraphrase. — Collier  :  '  If  you  shall  adhere  to  my  opinion,  when 
that  leisure  arrives,  it  shall  make  honour  for  you.' — Elwin  :  <If  you  shall  hold  to 
what  I  consent  to  do,  when  'tis  done,  it  shall  be  to  your  advantage.' — Hudson  : 
The  meaning  evidently  is,  if  you  will  stick  to  my  side,  to  what  has  my  consent;  if 
you  will  tie  yourself  to  my  fortunes  and  counsel. — Staunton  :  This  passage,  we 
apprehend,  has  suffered  some  mutilation  or  corruption  since  it  left  the  Poet's  hands. 
It  seems  impracticable  to  obtain  a  consistent  meaning  from  the  lines  as  they  now 
stand. — R.  G.  White  :  This  may  mean,  to  those  who  agree  with  me,  to  my  party. 
But  I  think  there  is  not  improbably  a  misprint  of  consort.  As  in  7hw  Gent,  IV,  t, 
64,  'Wilt  thou  be  of  our  consort?'  and  in  Lear,  II,  i,  99,  *  He  was  of  that  consort' 
— Delius  :  If  you  will  cleave  to  the  agreement  with  me,  it  shall  in  due  time  make 
honour  for  you.  'Consent'  is,  perhaps  through  being  confounded  with  concent^ 
more  than  a  mere  passive  agreement  or  understatiding,  just  as  to  consent  is  used  in 
this  more  expanded  sense  in  OtA.  V,  ii,  297.  {Lex, — ^The  use  of  a  more  explicit 
word  would  have  betrayed  him.) — Cowden  Clarke  :  If  you  will  adopt  and  adhere 
to  my  opinion,  when  my  mind  is  made  up. — Keightley  :  I  cannot  make  sense  of 
'consent.' — Clarendon  :  If  you  shall  adhere  to  my  party,  then,  when  the  result  is 
attained,  it  shall  make  honour  for  you.  'When  'tis'  probably  means  when  that 
business  (line  33)  is  effected.  If  '  consent '  be  the  right  reading,  it  may  be  explained 
either  as  above,  or  as  the  plan  I  have  formed. 


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ACT  II.  sc.  L]         THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH  \  19 

Bang.    Thankes  Sir:  the  like  to  you.      Exit  Banquo.  43 

Macb. GoQ  bid  thy  Miftreffe,when  my  drinke  is  ready, 

She  ftrike  vpon  the  Bell.     Get  thee  to  bed.  Exit.  45 

Is  this  a  Dagger,  which  I  fee  before  me, 

43.  Exit  Banquo]    Exeunt  Banqno,  44.  Scene    II.   Pope,   Han.   Warfo. 

Fleance,  and   Servant   Cap.      Exeunt        Johns. 

Banquo  and  Fleance.  Theob.  et  cet.  45.  Exit]  Exit  Seirant.  Rowe  et  seq. 

46-73.  Mnemonic,  Warb. 

43.  Exit  Banquo]  Coluer  :  Fleance  no  doubt  stood  back  while  his  father  and 
Macbeth  were  talking  together,  and  he  goes  out  with  Banquo,  still  carrying  the 
torch.  This  was  part  of  the  economy  of  the  old  stage,  which  could  not  spare  a  per- 
former merely  for  the  purpose  of  carrying  a  torch,  which  might  be  borne  by  Fleance. 
When  Macbeth  enters  with  a  servant,  the  '  servant  with  a  torch '  is  expressly  men- 
tioned in  the  Ff,  and  Macbeth  has  to  send  a  necessaiy  message  by  him  to  Lady 
Macbeth. 

44.  Qoe  bid,  etc]  Bell  (p.  306) :  There  is  much  stage  trick  and  very  cold  in 
this  scene  of  Kemble — walks  across  the  stage,  his  eyes  upon  the  ground,  starts  at 
the  sight  of  the  servant,  whom  he  forgets  for  the  purpose,  renews  his  walk,  throws 
up  his  face,  sick,  sighs,  then  a  start  theatric,  and  then  the  dagger.  Why  can't  he  learn 
from  his  sister  ?  Charles  Bell  thinks  (and  justly)  that  he  should  stand  or  sit  musing, 
his  eye  fixed  on  vacancy,  then  a  more  piercing  look  to  seem  to  see  what  is  still  in 
the  mind's  eye  only,  characterised  by  the  bewildered  look  which  accompanies  the 
want  of  a  fixed  object  of  vision ;  yet  the  eye  should  not  roll  or  start — Ed.  ii. 

45.  strike]  Clarendon:  That  'she  strike'  or  'strike'  would  have  been  the 
natural  construction  after  '  bid.'  '  She  strike '  would  not  have  been  used  but  for  the 
intervening  parenthesis. 

45.  Bell]  Seymoitr  :  Macbeth  wanted  no  such  mechanical  signal  as  a  bell  for  the 
performance  of  the  murder ;  the  bell,  which  afterwards  strikes,  b  the  dock,  which 
accidentally,  and  with  much  more  solemnity,  reminds  him  it  is  time  to  despatch. — 
[ViscHER  (  VartrSge,  ii,  p.  86) :  By  this  we  are  not  to  understand,  as  on  our  stage,  the 
large  castle-bell,  but  a  small  hand-bell.  Its  slight  yet  penetrating  tinkle  is  much 
more  effective.     It  is  the  preconcerted  signal  that  all  is  quiet. — Ed.  ii.] 

46.  Is  this,  etc.]  Seymour  :  This  is  always  delivered  on  the  stage  with  an  ex- 
pression of  terror  as  well  as  surprise,  but  I  am  persuaded  it  is  a  misconception  :  if  the 
vision  were  indeed  terrible,  the  irresolute  spirit  of  Macbeth  would  shrink  from  it ; 
but  the  effect  is  confidence  and  animation,  and  he  tries  to  lay  hold  of  the  dagger ; 
and  indeed  upon  what  principle  of  reason,  or  on  what  theory  of  the  mind,  can  it  be 
presumed  that  the  appearance  of  supernatural  agency,  to  effect  the  immediate  object 
of  our  wish,  should  produce  dread  and  not  encouragement  ? — [Knowles  (p.  43) : 
I  have  long  entertained  the  opinion  that  this  dagger  is  an  apparition  coming  and 
vanishing,  as  the  witches  themselves  do,  and  that  consequently  it  ought  to  be  actually 
presented,  as  indeed  it  used  to  be.  In  my  mind  the  whole  thing  is  too  circumstantial 
to  justify  the  common  interpretation  which  coincides  with  that  of  Macbeth.  It  is 
a  phantom  raised  by  the  witches  to  draw  Macbeth  on  to  his  conclusion.  Upon  the 
very  threshold  of  guilt  he  is  faltering.  But  the  evil  agency  of  which  he  is  the  victim 
is  at  hand  with  the  dagger,  inviting  him  to  clutch  it  as  he  attempts  to  do ;  nor  with- 
draws it  then,  but  while  he  is  yet  in  doubt  ends  the  debate  by  exhibiting  it  to  him 


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I20  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH       [act  ii,  sc.  i. 

The  Handle  toward  my  Hand?  Come^  let  me  clutch  thee :  47 

I  haue  thee  not,  and  yet  I  fee  thee  ftill. 

Art  thou  not  fatall  Vifion,  fenfible 

To  feeling,  as  to  fight  ?  or  art  thou  but  50 

A  Dagger  of  the  Minde,a  falfe  Creation, 

Proceeding  from  the  heat-oppreffed  Braine  / 

I  fee  thee  yet,  in  forme  as  palpable. 

As  this  which  now  I  draw.  54 

47.  thee:'\  /^^«— Rowe,  Pope,  Han.  54-5^.  ^J...j^ji/]  Five  lines,  ending: 

Var.  Mai.  Ran.  Steev.  Var.  Col.  nu  ,„  Inftrmneni  ,„fooUs,.,r€ft  :,.,ftm: 

54-56.  As„,v/e,'\   Lines  end:   me,..  Ktly. 
Inftrumeni...vfe.  Walker  (Crit  iii,  253). 

stained  with  gouts  of  blood — 'Which  was  not  so  before.'  Macbeth' s  interpretation  of 
the  vision  is  not  to  be  taken  as  the  troth. — Beckhaus  (p.  20) :  In  Freitag's  pictures 
of  German  history  I  find  underneath  a  portrait  of  a  woman  of  the  Royal  palace  (drca 
1440)  some  remarks  which  correctly  elucidate  this  present  passage.  The  scene  is  the 
night  on  which  the  holy  crown  of  Hungary  was  stolen,  and  the  emotions  of  Helen  Kot- 
taner,  a  woman  of  decided  feminine  character,  are  portrayed.  She  is  in  deadly  peril ;  we 
learn  how  anguish  and  the  pangs  of  conscience  affect  her  soul.  But  the  inward  strug- 
gle and  conscientious  sonples  take  material  form  and  crowd  upon  her  as  a  strange 
external  horror.  '  That  rousing  of  the  senses  to  an  activity,'  says  Freitag,  '  which 
clothes  with  external  semblance  the  vague  horror  in  the  soul  is  universal  and  pre-emi- 
nently characteristic  of  the  extreme  youth  of  every  people.  Human  freedom  is  not  yet 
sufficiently  laige  to  solve  by  thought  and  self-knowledge  the  inward  struggles,  but 
this  emancipation  begins  by  a  conflict  with  a  material  apparition  of  what  tortures  the 
soul.  The  battle  is  fought  outwardly.  In  such-wise,  atone  time,  has  all  the 
world  struggled.  Thus  Luther  fought  his  mighty  battle.  And  if  the  incomparable 
Poet,  who  with  superior  independence  raised  himself  above  the  English  temper  of 
the  sixteenth  century,  shows  us  his  tragic  hero  contending  with  the  ghosts  of  his 
victims  and  with  the  dagger,  the  instrument  of  his  crime,  such  a  representation, 
which  we  now  consider  eminently  poetic,  had  a  significance  for  his  audience  quite 
other  than  merely  artistic.  At  that  time  they  thus  struggled  with  sin  and  doubt 
And  if  Shakespeare's  phantoms  seem  to  us  too  numerous,  as  in  Richard  ///,  all 
who  then  looked  on  in  horror  knew  well  that  such  forms  did  appear  to  sinning  man 
and  caused  his  hair  to  stand  on  end. — E.  K.  Chambers  :  I  think  the  dagger  should 
not  be  in  the  air,  but  on  a  table. — ^W.  W.  Story  (p.  274) :  In  this  [soliloquy]  we 
have  Macbeth' s  three  characteristic  features  brought  out  one  after  the  other:  the 
doudy  vision  of  the  air-drawn  dagger;  then  the  straw-fire  of  his  poetry  about 
Hecate  and  withered  murder's  sentinel,  the  wolf,  and  Tarquih's  ravishing  strides ; 
and  as  these  clear  off,  the  stem,  sullen  resolution  underneath — <  Whiles  I  threat  he 
lives';  *I  go,  and  it  is  done.' — Ed.  ii.] 

49.  sensible]  Clarendon  :  That  is,  capable  of  being  perceived  by  the  senses. 
Johnson  gives  as  an  example  of  this  meaning  from  Hooker :  *  By  reason  man  attain- 
eth  unto  the  knowledge  of  things  that  are  and  are  not  sensible.'  It  does  not  appear 
to  be  used  elsewhere  by  Shakespeare  in  this  objective  sense. 


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ACT  11,  sc  i.]        THE  TRA GEDIE  OF  MA  CBETH  \  2 1 

Thou  marfhall'ft  me  the  way  that  I  was  going,  55 

And  fuch  an  Inftrument  I  was  to  vfe. 

Mine  Eyes  are  made  the  fooles  o'th^other  Sences, 

Or  elfe  worth  all  the  reft  :  I  fee  thee  ftill ; 

And  on  thy  Blade, and  Dudgeon,Gouts  of  Blood, 

Which  was  not  fo  before,There's  no  fuch  thing:  60 

It  is  the  bloody  BufmefTe,  which  informes 

Thus  to  mine  Eyes.  Now  o're  the  one  halfe  World  62 

5S.  marjkail'jr]  marfluOft  F^,.  Becket 

59.  thy  Blade,   and  Dut^eonl    the  62.  Thus]  This  Rowe  ii,  Pope,  Han. 

Made  of  th'  dudgeon  Waib.  the  one  halfe  World]  one  half 

and    Xhu^eon]    vain    dudgeon  the  world  Pope,+. 

$6.  And  . . .  vse]  Fitzgerald  (ii,  p.  72)  :  [Garrick]  laid  a  <  prodigious '  em- 
phasis on  the  *  was '  in  this  line ;  the  propriety  of  which  he  defended  [thus  :]  The 
▼ision  represents  what  was  to  be  done,  '  not  what  is  doing  or  had  been  done ;  but  in 
many  passages  like  this  all  will  depend  upon  the  manner  of  the  actor.' — Ed.  ii. 

$7,  58.  Mine  .  . .  rest]  Deuus  :  If  the  dagger  be  unreal,  then  his  eyes  are 
befooled  by  the  other  senses,  which  prove  its  unreality.  But  if  the  dagger  is  some- 
thing more  than  a  phantom,  then  his  eyes,  by  means  of  which  alone  he  has  perceived 
it,  are  worth  all  the  other  senses  put  together. 

59.  Dudgeon]  Murray  (A^.  E,  D.):  (i)  A  kind  of  wood  used  by  turners, 
especially  for  handles  of  knives,  daggers,  etc.  Obsolete,  (2)  The  hilt  of  a  dagger, 
made  of  this  wood. — Ed.  ii. 

59.  Qottts]  Clarendon  :  Drops,  from  the  French  goutte,  and,  according  to  stage 
tradition,  so  pronounced. — [Bradley  {N.  E.  D.)  :  II.  In  the  original  etymological 
Bense  of  '  drop.'  (5)  A  drop  of  liquid,  especially  of  blood.  In  the  later  use,  after 
Shakespeare,  it  tends  to  mean  :  A  large  splash  or  clot. — Ed.  ii.] 

60-62.  There's  . .  .  Eyes]  Bell  (p.  306) :  Kemble  here  hides  his  eyes  with 
his  hand,  then  fearfully  looks  up,  and  peeping  first  over,  then  under  his  hand,  as 
if  for  an  insect  whose  buzzing  had  disturbed  him,  he  removes  his  hand,  looks  more 
abroad,  and  then  recovers — very  poor — the  recovery  should  be  by  an  effort  of  the 
mind.  It  is  not  tlie  absence  of  a  physical,  corporeal  dagger,  but  the  returning  tone 
of  a  disordered  fancy.  A  change  in  the  look,  a  clearing  of  a  bewildered  imagina- 
tion, a  more  steadfast  and  natural  aspect,  the  hand  drawn  across  the  eyes  or  fore- 
head with  something  of  a  bitter  smile.— Ed.  ii. 

62.  one  halfe  World]  Johnson  :  That  is,  *  over  our  hemisphere  all  action  and 
motion  seem  to  have  ceased.'  This  image,  which  is,  perhaps,  the  most  striking  that 
poetry  can  produce,  has  been  adopted  by  Dryden  in  his  Conquest  of  Mexico :  'All 
things  are  hush*d  as  Nature's  self  lay  dead.  The  mountains  seem  to  nod  their  drowsy 
head ;  The  litde  birds  in  dreams  their  songs  repeat.  And  sleeping  flowers  beneath 
the  night  dews  sweat  Even  lust  and  envy  sleep  I'  [III,  ii,  1-5].  These  lines, 
diongh  so  well  known,  I  have  transcribed,  that  the  contrast  between  them  and  this 
passage  of  Shakespeare  may  be  more  accurately  observed.  Night  is  described  by 
two  great  poets,  but  one  describes  a  night  of  quiet,  the  other  of  peiturbadon.  In 
the  night  of  Dryden,  all  the  disturbers  of  the  world  are  laid  asleep ;  in  that  of 


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122  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH       [act  ii,  sc.  i. 

Nature  feemes  dead^  and  wicked  Dreames  abufe  63 

The  CurtainM  fleepe :  Witchcraft  celebrates 
Pale  Heccats  Offrings  :  and  withered  Murther,  65 

Alarum'd  by  his  Centinell,the  Wolfe, 

64.  JUepe\  sleeper  Steev.  conj.  Ran.  Dyce  ii,  iii,  Huds.  ii,  Wb.  ii.  while 
Sing.  Coll.  ii,  iii.  (MS),  Ktly.  witchcraft  Nicholson  (withdrawn). 

Witchcraft']  now  witchcraft  jyAy,  65.  Offrings]  Offerings  F^F^. 

Rowe,  +  ,  Cap.  Var.  Mai.  Steev.  Var.  withered]  with  her  Miss  Seward« 

(Gent  Maga.  Aug.  1844.) 

Shakespeare,  nothing  but  sorcery,  lust,  and  murder  is  awake.  He  that  reads  Diy- 
den,  finds  himself  lulled  with  serenity,  and  disposed  to  solitude  and  contemplation. 
He  that  peruses  Shakespeare,  looks  round  alarmed,  and  starts  to  find  himself  alone. 
One  is  the  night  of  a  lover ;  the  other,  of  a  murderer. — ^Malone  :  Compare  second 
part  of  Marston's  Antonio  and  Mellida^  1602,  [I,  i,  II.  3-^  and  18-21,  ed.  Bullen. 
£d.  ii.J. — [For  the  pronunciation  of  'one'  in  Shakespeare's  time,  see  Walker, 
Crit.  ii,  90;  Abbott,  §80;  and  Ellis,  Early  Eng,  Pronunciation^  pp.  898,  959, 
978.     See  also  III,  iv,  162;  V,  viii,  92.] 

64.  Curtain'd  sleepe]  Steevens  :  Milton  has  transplanted  this  image  into  his 

Camus,  V.  554 : ' steeds  That  draw  the  litter  of  dose-curtain'd  sleep. ' — Knight  : 

We  have  no  doubt  that  Shakespeare  introduced  the  long  pause  [between  '  sleep ' 
and  witchcraft']  to  add  to  the  solemnity  of  the  description. — CoLUSR  :  The  inser- 
tion of  new  before  '  witchcraft '  [see  Text.  Notes]  is  surely  injurious,  as  regards  the 
effect  of  the  line ;  it  is  much  more  impressive  in  the  original ;  and,  as  it  has  been 
often  remarked,  we  have  no  right  to  attempt  to  improve  Shakespeare's  versification : 
if  he  thought  fit  to  leave  the  line  here  with  nine  syllables,  as  he  has  done  in  other 
instances,  some  people  may  consider  him  wrong,  but  nobody  ought  to  venture  to  cor- 
rect him. — ^Dyce  :  A  manifestly  imperfect  line. — R.  G.  White  :  Stcevens's  emenda- 
tion is  no  less  injurious  to  the  rhjrthm  of  the  line  as  a  whole  than  detrimental  to  the 
poetic  sense.  D'Avenant's  now  is  much  better. — Dyce  (ed.  ii.) :  I  agree  with 
Grant  White,  and  I  cannot  forget  what  Milton,  with  an  eye  to  the  present  passage, 
has  written  [as  quoted  by  Steevens]. 

65.  Offrings]  Clarendon  :  That  is,  the  offerings  made  to  Hecate,  They  were 
made  with  certain  rites,  hence  the  use  of  the  word  <  celebrate.'  See  Lear,  II,  i,  41, 
and  compare  III,  v,  of  this  play. 

66.  Alarum'd]  Murray  {N,  E,  D,)\  A  variant  of  Alarm,  formerly  used  in 
all  the  senses  of  the  word,  but  now  restricted,  except  in  poetical  use,  to  the  peal  or 
chime  of  a  warning  bell  or  dock,  or  the  mechanism  which  produces  it  [Ibid.  s.  v. 
Alarm,]  Forms:  alarme,  all  arme,  all  arm,  all*  army,  alarm.  Also:  alarom, 
alarome,  allarum,  alarum  (adopted  from  Old  French  alarme,  adopted  from  Italian 
allarme  »  alP  armel  'To  [the]  arms!'  originally  the  call  summoning  to  arms,  and 
thus,  in  languages  that  adopted  it,  a  mere  interjection ;  but  soon  used  in  all  as  the 
name  of  the  call  or  summons.  Erroneously  taken  in  the  17th  century  for  an  English 
combination  eUl  arm  /  and  so  written  ;  cf.  similar  treatment  of  alamode  and  alamort. 
From  the  earliest  period  there  was  a  variant  alarum  due  to  rolling  the  r  in  prolong- 
ing the  final  syllable  of  the  call.  [s.  v.  To  alarm,  the  present  line  is  quoted  as  the 
earliest  use  of  the  word  in  the  sense :  To  rouse  to  action,  urge  on,  incite.  It  is  marked 
as  obsolete. — ^Ed.  ii.] 


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ACT  II,  sc.  i.]         THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH  123 

Whofe  howle's  his  Watch,  thus  with  his  ftealthy  pace,  67 

With  Tarquins  rauifliing  fides,  towards  his  defigne 

67.  Wko/e\  who  Moberly  conj.  Mai.  Knt  i,  Sprague.      With  ravishing 

hawl^s]  hffwUs  F,.  Tarquin's   sides    Becket.     With    Tar- 

67.  68.  pace.  With"]  pace  Enters  the  quints  ravishing  ideas  Jackson.  With 
portal;  whiU  night-waking  Lust,  With  ravishing  Tarquin^s  strides  Sta.  conj. 
Mai.  conj.  (withdrawn).  With  Tarquin's  ravishing  strides  Pope, 

68.  Wiiftl  And  Fumess  conj.  (MS).  et  cet. 
With  Taxquins...y?<^j]  Ff,  Rowe, 

67.  Whose  . .  .  Watch]  Clarendon  :  That  is,  who  marks  the  period  of  his 
night-watch  by  howling,  as  the  sentinel  by  a  cry. 

68.  sides]  Johnson:  A  'ravishing'  stride  is  an  action  of  violence,  impetuosity, 
and  tumult,  like  that  of  a  savage  rushing  on  his  prey ;  whereas  the  Poet  is  here 
attempting  to  exhibit  an  image  of  secrecy  and  caution,  of  anxious  circumspection  and 
guilty  timidity,  the  *  stealthy  pace '  of  a  ravisher  creeping  into  the  chamber  of  a 
virgin,  and  of  an  assassin  approaching  the  bed  of  him  whom  he  proposes  to  murder, 
without  awaking  him;  these  he  describes  as  'moving  like  ghosts,'  whose  progression 
is  so  different  from  strides j  that  it  has  been  in  all  ages  represented  to  be  as  Milton 
expresses  it :  '  Smooth  sliding  without  step.'  This  hemistich  will  afford  the  true 
reading  of  this  place,  which  is,  I  think,  to  be  corrected  thus :  '  With  Tarquin  rav- 
ishing, slides  tow'rds,'  etc. — Heath  (p.  387) :  The  objection  to  strides  is  founded 
wholly  in  a  mistake.  Whoever  hath  experienced  walking  in  the  dark  must  have 
observed  that  a  man  under  this  disadvantage  always  feels  out  his  way  by  strides,  by 
advancing  one  foot,  as  far  as  he  finds  it  safe,  before  the  other,  and  that  if  he  were 
to  slide  or  glide  along,  as  ghosts  are  represented  to  do,  the  infallible  consequence 
would  be  his  tumbling  on  his  nose. — Steevens:  Spenser  uses  the  word  [stride"] 
in  his  Faerie  Queefte,  IV,  c.  viii,  [v.  37],  and  with  no  idea  of  violence  annexed 
to  it:  'With  easy  steps  so  soft  as  foot  could  stride.'  Again,  Harington,  1591, 
Orlando  Furioso^  Bk,  xxviii,  st.  63,  '  He  takes  a  long  and  leisurable  stride.'  The 
imvisher  and  murderer  would  naturally  stride  in  order  that  their  steps  might  be 
fewer  in  number,  and  the  sound  of  their  feet  be  repeated  as  seldom  as  possible. — 
Warburton  :  Compare  Lucrece^  162-168. — Knight  :  Strides,  in  its  usual  acceptation, 
and  looking  at  its  etymology,  does  not  convey  the  notion  of  stealthy  and  silent  move- 
ment We  receive  it  as  Milton  uses  it :  <  The  monster  .  . .  came  as  fast  With  horrid 
strides,'  etc  [Paradise  Lost,  Bk,  II,  1. 676. — Ed.  ii.].  Can  we  reconcile,  then,  the  word 
' sides'  with  the  context?    Might  we  not  receive  it  as  a  verb,  and  read  the  passage, 

* with  his  stealthy  pace  (Which  Tarquin' s  ravishing  sides)  towards  his  design, 

Moves,'  etc.  To  '  side '  is  to  match,  to  balance,  to  be  in  a  collateral  position.  Thus 
in  Ben  Jonson's  Sefanus:  'Whom  he  . . .  Hath  rais'd  from  excrement  to  side  the 
gods  ?'  [IV,  V  ;  p.  108,  ed.  Gifford].  In  the  passage  before  us,  '  murther '  '  with  his 
stealthy  pace,'  which  pace  sides,  matches, ' Tarquin' s  ravishing'  {ravishing b.  noun), 
moves  like  a  ghost  towards  his  design.  Which  and  '  With '  were  often  contracted 
in  writing,  and  might  easily  be  mistaken  by  the  printer. — Hunter  :  Tarquin  seems 
to  have  haunted  the  imagination  of  Shakespeare  from  his  early  days,  when  he  chose 
the  rape  of  Lucretia  as  the  subject  of  a  poem.  He  appears  in  the  plays  several 
times,  and  often  unexpectedly,  and  certainly  never  less  propitiously  than  here, 
whether  we  read  strides  or  'sides.'  It  would  a  little  improve  the  passage  if,  for 
'  With,'  we  read  Or,  the  two  motions  of  the  murderer,  stealthy  and  hasty, — Dycs 


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124  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH       [act  ii.  sc.  i. 

Moues  like  a  Ghoft*  Thou  fowre  and  firme-fet  Earth  69 

69.  fowTf]  fowr  Fj.  four  F^,  Rowe.  sound  Pope, + .  sore  Tieck  conj.  sure  Pope 
conj.  Cap.  et  seq. 

{^Remarks ^  etc.) :  I  have  no  doabt  that  strides  is  the  genuine  reading.  Those  who 
object  that  the  word  conveys  an  idea  of  violence,  etc.,  ought  to  remember  that  Shake- 
speare in  a  very  early  poem  had  described  that  very  Tarquin  as  <  stalking '  into  the 
chamber  of  Lucretia. — The  Rape  of  Lucrece,  366. — Collier  (ed.  ii.):  There  can 
be  no  doubt  about  the  fitness  of  Pope's  emendation,  although  it  is  not  made  by  the 
MS  Corrector. — R.  G.  White  :  Pope's  emendation  will  seem  happy  to  every  cautious 
person  who  has  stepped  through  a  sick  chamber,  or  any  apartment  in  which  there 
were  sleepers  whom  he  did  not  wish  to  wake,  and  who  remembers  how  he  did  It — 
Delius  :  <  Ravishing '  is  not  to  be  connected  with  *  strides '  as  a  participle,  but  as  a 
verbal  substantive. — Clarendon  :  Stride  is  not  used  in  the  sense  in  which  Johnson 
and  Knight  interpret  it  in  Rich.  II:  I,  iii,  268. — [Moberly  :  It  seems  possible  that 
this  may  be  a  form  of  the  Saxon  sith,  a  step ;  and  that  therefore  no  emendation  is  neces- 
sary. So  the  old  form  '  nave '  (Saxon,  nafu\  is  used  above  [I,  ii,  28]  for  rueoeL 
The  word  sith  is  the  same  as  German  Schritt;  compare  the  similar  omission  of  r  in 
sprechen^  br&sten^  pfirsche  (  persica),  a  peach, — Sprague  :  A  *  sidesman '  in  Milton 
is  a  partisan ;  the  word  now  means,  an  assistant  to  a  church-warden,  <  Tarquin' s 
ravishing  sides '  may  be  Tarquin' s  ravishing /af/i',  the  gang  of  devilish  agencies  and 
auxiliaries  . .  .  that  throng  round  Tarquin.  With  these,  for  the  moment,  withered 
Murder  joins  and  moves  towards  his  bloody  deed. — Ed.  ii.] 

69.  Moues]  Delius  :  The  light  footfalls  of  Tarquin' s  occur  to  another  criminal 
also  on  the  way- to  his  crime :  Cymb,  II,  ii,  12. 

69.  sowre]  *XJ{Gent.  Maga,  vol.  Iviii,  p.  767,  1788) :  Macbeth,  in  his  agony, 
addresses  himself  to  the  earth,  which  is  below  him,  and  probably  said,  *  Thou  lonoer 
and,'  etc. — Collier  :  No  doubt  in  the  MS  from  which  the  tragedy  was  printed  in 
Z623  the  word  was  written  seivre^  a  not  very  unusual  mode  of  spelling  it  at  that  time, 
and  hence  the  corruption,  which  became  sour  in  F^. — [B.  Nicholson  {N,  &*  Qu.  2$ 
May,  1878)  :  While  'sure  and  firm-set'  is,  as  a  general  epithet  of  the  earth,  unex- 
ceptionable, it  is  here  no  poet's  epithet,  but  a  mere  poetaster's,  for  it  has  no  rele- 
vancy. Looking  to  the  context  and  to  circumstances  under  which  Macbeth  is  speak- 
ing, I  should  as  soon  expect  Shakespeare  to  make  him  use  such  an  epithet  as  to  hear 
Richard  talk  of  '  Blushing  Aurore,  mom  of  our  discontent.'  What  is  the  earth  of 
which  Macbeth  speaks?  The  pebbled  courtyard  or  the  stone-paved  corridors  in 
which  the  scene  takes  place.  Macbeth's  thoughts  and  fears  are  naturally  attracted 
to  the  noises  of  the  footsteps  of  Banquo,  Fleance,  and  himself,  as  would  those  of 
any  one  who  had  on  his  mind  a  secret  deed  of  darkness.  I  propose,  therefore,  by 
adding  one  letter  to  sowre,  to  read,  *  Thou  slfjozore  and  firm-set  earth.'  Halliwell 
(Phillipps)  gives  stour  as  still  an  eastern  county's  provincialism  for  'stiff  or  inflex- 
ible,' and  quotes  from  Palsgrave :  <  Stoure  rude  as  coarse  cloth  is,  gros,*  and  '  stowre 
of  conversation,  estourdy?  So  also  Ray,  Glossary  of  South  and  East  Country  Words 
(Eng.  D.  Soc.) :  ^Stowre,  adj.,  inflexible,  sturdy,  and  stiff,  spoken  also  of  doth  in 
opposition  to  limber^  Again,  in  writings  just  prior  to  or  contemporaneous  with 
Shakespeare's,  we  have  {Prompt,  Parv.)  :  *  Stoor  {store,  MS,  K.  Coll.  Cam.),  hard 
or  boystous.  Austerus,  rigidus.'  '  Thys  pange  was  greater  .  .  .  then  when  the  stower 
nayles  were .  . .  driven  through  hys  handes  and  fete,'  Latimer,  Serm,  7  (Arber's 


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ACTii,sc.i.]         THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH  125 

Heare  not  my  fleps^  which  they  may  walke,  for  feare  70 

Thy  very  ftones  prate  of  my  where-about, 

And  take  the  prefent  horror  from  the  time,  J2 

7a  whieh  they  may"]  which  way  they  71.  where-abotUl    that   xo^re  about 

Rowe  et  seq.  Han. 

walhe^  for\  walh.     Far  Bccket.  72, 73.  And  take,.,  fVhuh}  And  talk— 

71.  Tky"]    The  Harry  Rowe,  Huds.  The  present  horraur  of  the  time  t    That 

i,  ii.  Johns,  conj.  (Obs.) 

repr.  p.  185).  By  this  change  Macbeth  is  made  to  refer  to  the  hard,  unyielding,  and 
therefore  resounding  stones  of  the  courtyard,  and  we  thus  get  epithets  in  exact  accord 
with  his  thoughts.  It  now  remains  to  explain  how  the  error  arose.  This  scene  so 
bristles  with  errors  that  one  is  forced  to  conclude  that  the  compositor  was  either  a 
new  €x  a  Teiy  careless  hand.  Hen^  in  reading  he  a>nfounded  the  /  with  the  long 
line  and  loops  of  the  preceding  /.  Nor  is  this  mere  supposition,  for  he  did  the  same 
in  the  very  line  above,  printing  « Taxquin*s  ravishing  sides,*  where, /o^^  Knight,  the 
word  must  be  either  s/Hdes  or  s/ides.  I  may  add  that  exactly  the  same  mistake,  as 
I  think,  occurs  in  Herbert's  Chureh  Porch,  St.  xx,  1.  3 :  *Constancie  knits  the  bones 
and  makes  us  soure  (Wm.'s  MS) ;  stowre  (pr.  edds.). — Ed.  ii.] 

70.  they  may]  Coluer  :  The  Rev.  Mr  Barry  proposes  *  where  they  may,'  but 
wh  was  not  used,  as  he  supposes,  for  a  contraction  of  where  in  MSS  of  the  time. — 
Walker  (Crit,  u,  301) :  The  printer  of  the  Folio  in  V,  iii,  27,  'my  way  of  life,' 
has  fallen  into  exactly  the  converse  of  this  error:  quod  tamen  amplectitur  Lud. 
Tieck,  po£ta  eximins,  criticns  ne  G>leridgio  quidem  oomparandus.  [For  redundant 
object^  see  Abbott,  $  414 ;  also  note,  IV,  iii,  196.]— Ciarendon  t  For  this  construc- 
tion, so  common  in  Greek,  see  Marhj  i,  24 ;  Luke,  iv,  34 ;  and  Lear,  I,  i,  272. — 
Hrrrig  :  The  reading  of  the  Ff  may  be  very  well  justified  as  characteristic  of  Mac- 
beth's  visionary  condition. 

71.  where-about]  Delius  :  Elsewhere  Shakespeare  uses  where  and  wherefore 
as  substantives :  Lear,  I,  i,  264 ;  Com.  of  Err,  II,  ii,  45. — *  X.'  {Gent,  Afaga,  vol.  Iviii, 
p.  766,  1788) :  Macbeth  expresses  the  very  natural  wish  that  the  earth  should  veer 
or  wheel  about  on  its  axis,  in  order  to  produce  daylight  and  relieve  him  of  his  present 
honors.     I  therefore  read  the  line,  '  Thy  very  stones  prate  of  me;  veer  about,'  etc. 

72.  present  horror]  Warburton  :  What  was  the  horror  he  means  ?  Silence, 
than  which  nothing  can  be  more  horrid  to  the  perpetrator  of  an  atrocious  design.— 
Johnson  :  Whether  Xotake  horror  from  the  time  means  not  rather  to  catch  it  as  com- 
municated, than  \o  deprive  the  time  of  horror,  deserves  to  be  considered. — Steevens  : 
The  latter  is  surely  the  true  meaning.  Macbeth  would  have  nothing  break  through 
the  universal  silence  that  added  such  a  horror  to  the  night,  as  suited  well  with  the 
bloody  deed  he  was  about  to  perform.  Burke,  in  his  Essay  on  the  Sublime  and 
Beautiful,  observes  that  « all  general  privations  are  great,  because  they  are  all  terri- 
ble ' ;  and  with  other  things  he  gives  silence  as  an  instance,  illustrating  the  whole  by 
that  remarkable  passage  in  Virgil,  where,  amidst  all  the  images  of  terror  that  could 
be  united,  the  circumstance  of  silence  is  particularly  dwelt  upon  :  '  Dii,  quibus  im- 
perium  est  animarum,  Umbra?que  silentes,  et  Chaos  et  Phlegethon,  loca  nocte  tacentia 
^alt.'-^j£neid,  vi,  264,  5.  When  Statins,  in  the  fifth  book  of  the  Thebaid,  describes 
the  I^emnian  massacre,  his  frequent  notice  of  the  silence  and  solitude,  both  before 
and  after  the  deed,  is  striking  in  a  wonderful  degree :  '  Conticuere  domus,'  etc ;  and 
when  the  same  poet  enumerates  the  terrors  to  which  Chiron  had  familiarized  his 


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126  THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH       [act  u,  sc.  i. 

Which  now  futes  with  it.  Whiles  I  threat,  he  hues :  73  • 

Words  to  the  heat  of  deedes  too  cold  breath  giues, 

A  Bell  rings.  75 

I  goe^and  it  is  done :  the  Bell  inuites  me. 
Heare  it  not^Duncan,  for  it  is  a  Knell, 
That  fummons  thee  to  Heauen,  or  to  Hell.  Exit.  78 

73.  fVkiUs}  Whtisi  Rowe,  +  .  IVhiU  78;  Exit]  A  low  rumble  of  Thunder 
Cap.  Ran.  is  heard  as  Macbeth  goes  out     Then, 

74.  Words.. ,giues\  In  margin,  Pope,  after  a  short  pause,  enter  Lady  Macbeth. 
Han.  Booth. 

pupil,  he  subjoins,  ' nee  ad  vastae  trepidare  sileniia  sjIts.' — AckilUidy  ii,  391. 

Again,  when  Tacitus  describes  the  distress  of  the  RcMnan  army  under  Csecina,  he 

concludes  by  observing, ' ducemque  temiit  dira  quUs.^ — Annul.  I,  Ixv.    In  all 

the  preceding  passages,  as  Pliny  remarks,  concerning  places  of  worship,  sileniia  ipsa 
adaramus. — Malone  :  So  also  in  jEnddy  ii,  [755]  :  *  Horror  ubique  animos,  simul 
ipsa  silentia  terrent.'  Diyden's  well-known  lines,  which  exposed  him  to  so  much 
ridicule,  <An  horrid  stillness  first  invades  the  ear.  And  in  that  silence  we  the  tempest 
hear,'  show  that  he  had  the  same  idea  of  the  awfulness  of  silence  as  our  Poet. 

[ Asiraa  Redux^  11.  7, 8.     In  the  edition  of  1688  of  Astraa  Redux— Oit  eariiest 

I  have  been  able  to  consult — the  last  line  reads,  «...  we  the  tempest  /ear,*  Waiton 
also,  in  his  edition  of  Dzyden's  poems,  thus  gives  it ;  and  in  his  introduction  states 
the  same  hd  as  Malone :  that  Dryden  was  much  ridiculed  for  these  two  lines,  but 
makes  no  mention  that  they  ever  were  as  Malone  has  quoted  them. — ^Ed.  ii.] 

73.  it]  Delius  !  This  refers  to  'my  where-about' 

74.  giues]  Clarendon  :  In  this  construction  there  was  nothing  that  would  offend 
the  ear  of  Shakespeare's  contemporaries.  There  is  here  a  double  reason  for  it :  first, 
the  exigency  of  the  rhyme ;  and  secondly,  the  occurrence,  between  the  nominative 
and  verb,  of  two  singular  nouns,  to  which,  as  it  were,  the  verb  is  attracted.  But  a 
general  sentiment,  a  truism  indeed,  seems  feeble  on  such  an  occasion.  Perhaps  the 
line  is  an  interpolation.    [See  Appendix,  The  lVitch.'\ 

75.  A  Bell  rings]  Boaden  (Life  of  Kemble^  i,  415) :  Among  the  improvements 
introduced  by  Kemble  was  the  clock  striking  two  as  the  appointed  time  for  the  mur- 
der of  Duncan.  That  it  was  so  is  proved  afterwards  in  the  perturbed  sleep  of  Lady 
Macbeth.     [See  note  by  Seymour,  1.  45  ;  also,  V,  i,  31,  and  note.] 

77,  78.  Heare  it  not . .  .  to  Hell]  Alger  (p.  743) :  These  words  [Forrest] 
spoke,  not  with  the  bellowing  declamation  many  players  had  given  them,  but  in  a 
low,  firm  tone  tinged  with  sadness,  a  tone  of  melancholy  mixed  with  determination. 
As  he  came  out  of  the  fatal  chamber  backwards,  with  his  hands  reeking,  he  did  not 
see  Lady  Macbeth  standing  there  in  an  attitude  of  intense  listening,  until  he  struck 
against  her.  They  both  started  and  gazed  at  each  other  in  terror— an  action  so  true 
to  nature  that  it  always  electrified  the  house. — ^Ed.  ii. 

78.  Exit]  Coleman  ( Gent.  Maga,  March,  1889) :  Had  not  one  been  entirely 
carried  away  by  the  cunning  of  the  scene,  [Macready's]  exit  into  Duncan's  chamber 
must  have  excited  derision.  Up  to  that  moment  he  had  reached  the  highest  pitch  of 
tragic  horror,  but  his  desire  to  over-elaborate  made  him  pause,  and  when  his  body 
was  actually  off  the  stage,  his  left  foot  and  leg  remained  trembling  in  sight,  it  seemed, 
fiilly  half  a  minute. — Ed.  ii. 


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ACT  II,  sc.  ii.]       THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  127 


Scena  Secunda. 


Enter  Lady.  2 

Ztf.That  which  hath  made  the  drunk,hath  made  me  bold: 
What  hath  quenchM  them,  hath  giuen  me  fire. 
Hearke,  peace  :  it  was  the  Owle  that  fhriekM,  5 

The  fatall  Bell-man,  which  giues  the  ftem'ft  good-night, 

I.  Scene  III.  Popc,+.     The  scene  Pojfets,  Knt,  Sing,  ii,  Sta.     Five  lines, 

continued,  Rowe,  Theob.  Elwin,  Dyce,  ending:    peace:  ...  Bell-man^  ...  1/,  ... 

Sta.  Wh.  Huds.  iii,  Robertson.  Groomes.^PoffetSy  Rowe,  et  cet. 

The  Same.  Cap.  5-1 1.  it  was, .  .dye,'\  Mnemonic,  Warb. 

3,  M?  ]  them  Ff.  6.  ftern'Jt\  etem'st  Sta.  conj.  (Athe- 

4-9.  Wkat„.Pojgrets]^mesendiJire,  nseum,  26  Oct  1872). 
. .  .Jkriek^dy . . .  night, . . .  open  .* . . .  Snores, . . . 

1.  Scena  Secunda]  Dyce  {Remarks^  etc.)  :  There  is  no  change  oi place. — R. 
G.  White  :  Not  only  is  there  no  change  of  place,  but  there  is  no  introduction  of 
new  dramatic  interest  or  incident.  Of  yet  greater  importance  is  it  here  that  the 
apparent  continuance  of  the  action  is  vitally  essential  to  the  dramatic  impression 
intended  to  be  produced.  The  ringing  of  the  bell  by  Lady  Macbeth,  the  exit  of 
Macbeth  upon  that  prearranged  summons,  the  entrance  of  the  Lady  to  fill  the  stage 
and  occupy  the  mind  during  her  husband's  brief  absence  upon  his  fearful  errand, 
and  to  confess  in  soliloquy  )ier  active  accession  to  the  murder,  the  sudden  knocking 
which  is  heard  directly  after  she  goes  out  to  replace  the  daggers,  and  which  recurs 
until  she  warily  hurries  her  husband  and  herself  away  lest  they  should  be  found 
watchers,  the  entrance  of  the  Porter,  and  finally,  of  Macduff  and  Lenox, — all  this 
action  is  contrived  with  consummate  dramatic  skill ;  and  its  unbroken  continuity  in 
cme  spot,  and  that  a  part  of  the  castle  common  to  all  its  inhabitants,  is  absolutely 
necessary  to  complete  its  purpose. 

3.  bold]  Mrs  Griffiths  (p.  412) :  Our  sex  is  obliged  to  Shakespeare  for  this 
passage.  He  seems  to  think  that  a  woman  could  not  be  rendered  completely  wicked 
without  some  degree  of  intoxication.  It  required  two  vices  in  her,  one  to  intend 
and  another  to  perpetrate  the  crime. — Dyce  (Remarks,  etc.) :  In  not  a  few  passages 
of  Shakespeare  the  metrical  arrangement  of  the  old  editions  was  most  wantonly 
altered  by  Steevens  and  Malone.  But  there  are  some  passages — and  the  present 
speech  is  one  of  them — where  a  new  division  of  the  lines  is  absolutely  necessary.  The 
regulation  given  by  Knight  is  not  '  metrical,'  it  is  barbarous.  Let  any  one  write  out 
the  passage  as  prose  and  then  read  it  as  verse ;  it  will  naturally  fall  into  the  arrange- 
ment by  Rowe. — [Bell  (p.  306) :  [Mrs  Siddons  spoke  this  line]  with  a  ghastly 
horrid  smile. — Ed.  ii.] 

6.  Bell-man]  Clarendon  :  The  full  significance  of  this  passage  may  be  best 
shown  by  comparing  the  following  lines  from  Webster's  Duchess  ofMaifi,  IV,  ii, 
where  Bosola  tells  the  Duchess :  <  I  am  the  common  bellman,  That  usually  is  sent 
to  condemned  persons  The  night  before  they  suffer.'     Here,  of  course,  Duncan  is 


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128  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH       [act  li.  sc.  u. 

He  is  about  it,  the  Doores  are  open  :  7 

And  the  furfeted  Groomes  doe  mock  their  charge 

With  Snores.     I  haue  drugged  their  Poffets, 

That  Death  and  Nature  doe  contend  about  them,  10 

Whether  they  liue,  or  dye. 

Enter  Macbeth^ 
Macb.    Who's  there?  what  hoa?  13 

8.  furfeUd'\  furfeUed  F,.     surfeit'         Huds.  iii. 

AUen  (MS),    furfeited  F^,  et  cet  12.  Enter  Macbeth.]  Macb.Ff.  Mad>. 

9.  J  haue\  Fve  Pope,  +  ,  Dyce  ii,  iii,         [within]  Var.  '73  et  seq. 

the  condemned  person.  Compare  also  Spenser's  Faerie  Queene,  V,  c.  vi,  v.  27, 
where  the  cock  is  called  '  the  native  belman  of  the  night'  The  owl  b  again  men- 
tioned, line  22,  and  in  /  Hen.  VI:  IV,  ii,  15. — ^Tschischwitz,  in  his  Nachldnge 
germaniscker  Mythe,  ii,  30,  points  out  that  the  superstitious  associations  connected 
with  the  owl  are  common  to  both  England  and  Germany,  indeed,  that  some  of  them 
belong  to  the  whole  Indo-germanic  family.  They  were  rife  among  the  Romans. 
See  Ovid,  Metam.  v,  550.  According  to  Grimm  (1089),  the  cricket  also  foretold 
death.  [Which,  however,  it  does  not  do  in  Cym.  II,  ii,  1 1. — Ed.  ii.]  See  also  Hart- 
ING,  Ornithology  of  Shakespeare,  p.  83. 

7.  He  is  about  it]  Bell  (p.  306) :  [Mrs  Siddons  here]  breathes  with  difficulty ; 
hearkens  towards  door.     Whisper  horrible. — Ed.  ii. 

8.  Groomes]  Bradley  (N,  E,  D.):  Forms:  grom,  grome,  grume,  groome, 
grcyme,  growme,  grum,  groom.  Of  difficult  Etymology.  <  Boy,  male  child,'  seems 
to  be  the  original  sense.  The  word  might  conceivably  represent  an  Old  Eng- 
lish grom,  fix)m  root  gr3-  of  verb  to  grow  +  Teutonic  suffix  -mo-,  (3.)  A  man  of 
inferior  position,  a  serving-man.  (4.)  The  specific  designation  of  several  officers 
of  the  English  Royal  Household,  chiefly  members  of  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  depart- 
ment :  with  defining  prepositional  phrases.  (5*)  '^  servant  who  attends  to  horses. 
(Until  the  17th  century  only  a  contextual  use  of  sense  3;  now  the  current  sense.) 
There  appears  to  be  no  evidence  for  an  Old  French  gromme;  the  grommes  quoted  by 
Du  Cange  is  probably  for  gromez,  plural  of  gromet. — Ed.  ii. 

9.  Possets]  Malone  :  '  Posset,'  says  Randle  Holmes,  Academy  of  Armourie, 
Bk,  iii,  p.  84,  <  is  hot  milk  poured  on  ale  or  sack,  having  sugar,  grated  bisket,  and 
eggs,  with  other  ingrredients,  boiled  in  it,  which  goes  all  to  a  curd.' 

13.  Macb.]  Knight  :  After  the  last  line  of  the  preceding  scene  Tieck  inserts, 
<  he  ascends,*  and  sa3rs,  <  we  learn  afterwards  that  he  descends.  I  have  inserted  this 
stage-direction  that  the  reader  may  the  better  understand  the  construction  of  the  old 
theatre.'  Again,  when  Macbeth  calls  out,  *  Who's  there?'  he  inserts,  before  the 
exclamation,  ^he  appears  above,'  and  alter  it,  ^he  again  withdraws,'  Tieck  says,  *  I 
have  also  added  these  directions  for  the  sake  of  perspicuity.  The  editors  make  him 
say  this  without  being  seen — ** within" — which  is  an  impossibility.  To  whom 
should  he  make  this  inquiry  within  the  chambers,  where  all  are  sleeping?  The 
king,  besides,  does  not  sleep  in  the  first,  but  in  the  second,  chamber ;  how  loud, 
then,  must  be  the  call  to  be  heard  from  within  the  second  chamber  in  the  courtyard 
below  I     The  original,  at  this  passage,  has  Enter  Macbeth.     I  explain  this  peculiar 


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ACT  11.  sc.  ii.]        THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH  129 

Lady.    Alack,  I  am  afraid  they  haue  awak'd, 
And  'tis  not  done:  th'attempt,  and  not  the  deed,  15 

Confounds  vs :  hearke :  I  lay'd  their  Daggers  ready. 
He  could  not  miffe  'em.   Had  he  not  refembled 
My  Father  as  he  flept,  I  had  don't. 
My  Husband?  19 


14-18.  Alack 
Warb. 

15.  M']   Pope,  +  ,  Wh.  i, 


d<m^t'\    Mnemonic, 
Dyce  iii, 


Huds.  iii.     the  F^,  et  cet. 

atttmpty  afui..,deed,']  attempt^and 
.,uleed  Rowe,  Pope,  Han.  attempt  and 
..,deedf  Warb.  Johns.  Var. '73,  Sing.  ii. 
attempt  and,,. deed  Hunter,  Glo. 

17.  Viw]   them  Cap.   Var.   '78,   '85, 


Mai.  Ran.  Stecv.  Var.  Knt,  Coll.  Huds. 
i,  ii,  Hal. 

18,  19.  My  Father,  „My  Husband  fl 
One  line,  Rowe  et  seq. 

18,  19.  donU,  My  Husband F"]  donU. 
[Re-enter  M.]  My  Husband?  Dyce, 
Sta.  donU,  [Enter  M.]  My  Husband? 
Glo.  don't.  My  Husband?  [Enter 
M.]  Var.  *78,etcet 


direction  thus :  Macbeth  lingers  yet  a  moment  within  ;  his  unquiet  mind  imagines  it 
hears  a  noise  in  the  court  below,  and  thoughtlessly,  bewildered,  and  crazed,  he 
rushes  back  to  the  balcony,  and  calls  beneath,  "Who's  there?"  In  his  agony, 
however,  he  waits  for  no  answer,  but  rushes  back  into  the  chambers  to  execute  the 
murder.  Had  Fleance  or  Banquo,  or  even  any  of  the  servants  of  the  house,  whom 
he  had  but  just  sent  away,  been  beneath,  the  whole  secret  deed  would  have  been 
betrayed.  I  consider  this  return,  which  appears  but  a  mere  trifle,  as  a  striking 
beauty  in  Shakespeare's  drama.  He  delights  (because  he  always  sets  tragedy  in 
activity  through  passion  as  well  as  through  intrigue)  in  suspending  success  and 
failure  on  a  needle's  point.' — Friesen  (p.  80)  :  Shakespeare  always  takes  the 
greatest  pains  to  afford,  unrestricted  up  to  the  last  moment,  a  certain  freedom  of 
will  to  all  his  characters  whose  tragic  paths  lead  to  destruction.  None  of  his 
tragic  heroes  are  so  enmeshed  by  fate  or  accident  or  intrigue  that  no  loop-hole 
of  safety  is  left  them.  This  is  so  pre-eminently  in  Macbeth,  The  consummation 
of  the  awful  crime  is  suspended  up  to  the  last  moment,  when  Macbeth,  terrified 
at  some  noise,  once  more  emerges  in  doubt  from  Duncan's  chamber.  It  were  need- 
less here  to  seek  for  reasons  on  theoretic  grounds  ;  the  fearful  struggle  between  per- 
severing defiance  and  yearning  for  repentance,  which  so  powerfully  affects  us  in 
the  subsequent  treatment,  would  be,  without  this  antecedent,  meaningless,  or  at 
least  far  from  tragic. — [Booth  :  This  line  is  spoken  by  one  of  the  drunken  Cham- 
berlains.— Ed.  ii.] 

14.  Alack  . .  .  awak'd]  Bell  (p.  306) :  [Mrs  Siddons  here  displayed]  the  finest 
agony ;  tossing  of  the  arms. — Ed.  ii. 

15.  attempt]  Hunter  :  This  is  usually  printed  with  a  comma  afler  *  attempt.' 
This  is  wrong.  An  unsuccessful  attempt  would  produce  to  them  infinite  mischief, — 
an  attempt  without  the  deed. — Dyce  :  To  me  at  least  it  is  plain  that  here  *  the 
attempt'  is  put  in  strong  opposition  to  'the  deed,'  and  that  *  confounds'  has  no 
reference  to  future  mischief,  but  solely  to  the  perplexity  and  consternation  of  the 
moment. 

18.  Father]  Hudson  :  That  some  fancied  resemblance  to  her  father  should  thus 
rise  up  and  stay  her  uplifted  aim,  shows  that  in  her  case  conscience  works  quite 

9 


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I30  THE   TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH      [act  ii,  sc.  iL 

^     Macb.     I  haue  done  the  deed  :  20 

Didft  thou  not  heare  a  noyfe  ? 
Lady.  I  heard  the  Owle  fchreame,and  the  Crickets  cry.  22 

20.  I  ^ue]  Pve  Pope,  +  ,  Dyce  ii,        Rowe  et  seq. 
iii,  Huds.  iii.  21.  M<wifi7/]iM/MM<  F^,  Rowe,  Pope, 

20,  21.  /  haue  ...  noy/e\  One  line,        Theob.  i,  Han. 

ss  effectually  through  the  feelings,  as  through  the  imagination  in  that  of  her 
husband.  And  the  difference  between  imagination  and  feeling  is,  that  the  one 
acts  most  at  a  distance,  the  other  on  the  spot  This  gush  of  native  tenderness, 
coming  in  thus  after  her  terrible  audadty  of  thought  and  speech,  has  often  reminded 
us  of  a  line  in  Schiller's  noble  drama,  The  Piccolomini^  IV,  iv :  <  Bold  were  my 
words,  because  my  deeds  were  noU^  And  we  are  apt  to  think  that  the  hair- 
stiffening  extravagance  of  her  previous  speeches  arose  in  part  from  the  sharp 
conflict  between  her  feelings  and  her  purpose ;  she  endeavoring  thereby  to  school 
and  steel  herself  into  a  fimmess  and  fierceness  of  which  she  feels  the  want — 
[Lady  Cha&lemont  {^Ntw  Sk.  Soc,  Trans,  1876,  p.  194)  :  We  find  that  in  the 
eleventh  century  Macbeth  married  the  Lady  Gruach,  granddaughter  of  King  Ken- 
neth IV,  who  had  been  deposed  in  the  year  1003  by  Malcolm,  son  of  Kenneth  III. 
This  Malcolm  was  succeeded  by  his  grandson,  Duncan,  who  was  murdered  in  the 
year  1039  by  his  cousin  Macbeth,  who  then  ascended  the  throne  of  Scotland.  We 
may  suppose  that  the  quarrels  about  the  succession  to  the  throne  took  place  between 
kinsmen  more  or  less  nearly  related.  May  not  there  have  been  a  relationship  be- 
tween Kenneth  IV.  and  Duncan?  And  may  not  one  of  the  strange  likenesses 
which  come  and  go  in  families,  have  appeared  between  Kenneth*  s  son  and  Dun- 
can, causing  Lady  Macbeth  to  say  of  the  latter,  '  Had  he  not  resembled  my  father 
as  he  slept,  I  had  don*t7  And  had  not  hatred  to  the  man  whose  grandsire 
had  not  only  deposed  hers— depriving  her  father  of  his  throne — but  had  also 
burnt  her  first  husband  in  his  castle,  with  fifty  of  his  friends,  and  slain  her  only 
brother  and  her  second  husband's  ( Macbeth' s)  father,  anything  to  say  to  Dun- 
can's fate,  though  Shakespeare  has  weakened  her  primary  motive  by  hinting  at  her 
secondary  one? — F.  }.  Furnivall,  in  speaking  of  the  above  suggestion  by  Lady 
Charlemont,  calls  attention  to  the  fact  that  <  Shakespeare  took  his  Macbeth  story 
from  Holinshed,  .  .  .  and  that  there  is  nothing  in  Holinshed  about  the  murder  of 
either  Lady  Macbeth' s  or  Macbeth' s  relatives  by  Malcolm,  Duncan's  grandfather. 
—Ed.  ii.] 

18.  I  had  don't]  Bell  (p.  307)  :  [Mrs  Siddons  here  showed]  agonised  suspense, 
as  if  speechless  with  uncertainty  whether  discovered. — Booth  :  Macbeth,  in  his  fright 
and  frenzy,  makes  as  if  to  stab  her. — Ed.  ii. 

20.  I  .  .  .  deed]  Wbrder  (p.  43) :  When  Macbeth  returns,  after  the  murder  of 
Duncan,  his  character  stands  completely  revealed.  Until  then  he  was  unknown  to 
Lady  Macbeth,  to  us,  even  to  himself.  His  wife  had  feared  his  nature  when  such 
fear  was  groundless.  The  '  milk  of  human  kindness,'  whereof  we  have  seen  little 
enough,  had  not  restrained  him.  His  nature  presents  itself  in  a  guise  which  goes 
so  far  beyond  her  knowledge  or  her  fear,  that  she  as  well  as  he  collapses  at  its 
revelation.— Ed.  ii. 


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ACT  II,  sc.  ii.]        THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  131 

Did  not  you  fpeake  ?  23 

Macb.    When  ? 

Lady.    Now.  25 

Meub.    As  I  defcended  ? 
Lady.    I. 
Macb.     Hearke,  who  lyes  i^th'  fecond  Chamber  f  28 

23-26.  Did.,Mw^,    When?    Lady.  Mac.  Now^^s  I  descend  f  Yz.n 'Dam. 

New,    Macb.  ^x...]  Macb.  Did,..LAdj  27.  /.]^^Roweetseq.  //Chambers. 

M.  When?  Ntnof    Macb.  ^j...  Macb.  28.  Hearke, „ Chamber f^  Ff,  Uuds. 

Did,,.    LadyM.  Whenf  Macb.  N<nv^  Hark — who.„chamber    Rowe,  +  ,   Cap. 

oi..,  Fleay  (Sh'iana,  Dec.  1884).    Mac.  Var.  Mai.  Ran.     Two  lines,  Steev.et 

Did' it  ndt  speak?     Lady  M.    IVhen?  cet. 

23-26.  Did  . .  .  descended]  Hunter  :  Any  agitation  of  spirit,  or  any  inco- 
herence of  ideas  as  the  natural  consequence,  cannot  demand  that  the  lady,  when  she 
has  answered  the  inquiry  of  her  guilty  husband,  *  Didst  thou  not  hear  a  noise  V  by 
saying,  '  I  heard  the  owl  scream  and  the  crickets  cry,'  should  then  take  up  the  hus- 
band's question,  and  address  him,  'Did  you  not  speak?'  but  that  this  is  also  an 
inquiry  of  the  consdence-stricken  thane,  whom  every  noise  appals,  and  who  would 
have  every  sound  translated  to  him.  He  was  not  satisfied  with  her  first  explanation. 
The  sounds  had  been  no  screaming  of  the  owl,  no  crying  of  the  cricket ;  articulate 
sounds  had  fallen  upon  his  ear,  and  he  wished  and  vainly  hoped  that  it  was  from 
her  lips,  and  not  from  those  of  another,  that  they  had  proceeded.  The  few  words 
which  constitute  that  dialogue  of  monosyllables  which  follows,  would  then  require 
to  be  thus  distributed.  He  asks,  <  Did  not  you  speak?'  To  which  she  replies, 
'  When  ?  Now  ?'  Both  words  spoken  with  an  interrogative  inflection.  At  what 
time  do  you  mean  that  I  spoke?  Is  it  now?  <As  I  descended.'  Then  was  the 
time  that  the  articulate  sounds  were  heard  which  he  now  wishes  to  have  explained, 
anid  the  words  should  stand  without  a  note  of  interrogation.  The  '  Ay '  of  the  lady 
then  possesses  an  effect,  which  as  the  scene  stands  at  present  it  wants. — Boden- 
STEDT :  This  whispering,  so  laconic  and  yet  so  heart-piercing,  between  the  two  who 
dare  not  meet  each  other's  eyes,  belongs  to  the  most  powerful  that  the  poetry  of  all 
ages  and  all  times  has  created.  But  we  must  be  on  our  guard  against  taking  Mac- 
beth's  question  in  lines  42,  43  as  an  expression  of  genuine  repentance.  It  was  not 
prompted  by  his  conscience,  but  only  by  his  imagination,  whose  irrepressible  and 
ever-flowing  tide  bore  before  him  all  the  horrors  of  the  future.  ...  It  is  not  the  crime 
already  done  that  horrifies  him ;  it  is  only  the  distressing  consequences  which  can 
spring  from  it.  His  wife  misunderstands  him  now,  just  as  she  formerly  misunder- 
stood him,  when  she  spoke  of  his  milk  of  human  kindness.  She  takes  his  words  as 
an  expression  of  real  remorse,  as  we  see  by  her  reply.  [Hunter's  foregoing  distribu- 
tion of  speeches  was  adopted  by  Chambers  and  Fumess. — Ed.  ii.] 

28.  Hearke]  Cowden  Clarke  :  The  poetry  of  this  exclamation,  as  Shakespeare 
has  employed  it  in  this  appalling  scene,  has  been  strangely  vulgarized  into  bare 
matter  of  fact  by  theatrical  representation,  which  usually  accompanies  this  exclama- 
tion of  Macbeth  by  a  clap  of  stage  thunder.  It  appears  to  us  that  Macbeth' s  <  Hark !' 
here  is  of  a  piece  with  Lady  Macbeth' s  '  Hark !'  which  she  twice  utters  just  before. 
It  is  put  into  both  their  mouths  to  denote  the  anxious  listening,  the  eager,  sensitive 


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132  THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH      [act  ii,  sc.  ii. 

Lady.    Donalbaine. 

Mac.    This  is  a  forry  fight  30 

Lady.    A  foolifli  thought,  to  fay  a  forry  fight 

Macb.     There's  one  did  laugh  in's  fleepe, 
And  one  cry'd  Murther,that  they  did  wake  each  other  : 
I  flood,  and  heard  them  :  But  they  did  fay  their  Prayers, 
And  addreft  them  againe  to  fleepe.  35 

Lady.    There  are  two  lodged  together. 

ZO,  fight,'\    tight,    [Looks    on     his  32-40.  Mnemonic,  Warb. 

hands.    Pope  et  seq.  (subs.)  ^^^  34.   that,„I\    They  wak'd  each 

31.  to  fay.^fight.'l  Om.  Van  Dam.  other;  and  I  Vope,-k^ . 

32-35.  There' s,,,fleepe,'\  Ff,Knt,Sing.  33.  other'\  oW  Van  Dam. 

ii,  Sta.     Lines  end:  Muriher,.,.them:  35.  addrefll    address  Theob.   Warb. 

,,Jhem,„Jleepe.  Rowe,  et  cet  Johns,     addressed  Var.  '73  et  seq. 


ears,  the  breathless  strain,  with  which  each  murderous  accomplice  hearkens  after  any 
sound  that  they  dread  should  break  the  silence  of  night. 

30.  This  .  .  .  sight]  Hunter  (ii,  185) :  This  interruption,  though  highly  proper, 
and,  indeed,  a  most  natural  and  striking  incident,  draws  off  the  mind  from  the  con- 
nection between  the  question  'Who  lies  i*  th*  second  chamber?'  and  what  next 
follows,  and  prevents  it  from  perceiving  so  clearly  as  it  was  to  be  desired,  that  the 
persons  talking  in  their  sleep  who  were  overheard  by  Macbeth,  as  he  returned  from 
the  murder  which  was  committed  overhead,  lay  in  that  second  chamber. 

30.  sorry]  Skeat  (Diet,)  :  Now  regarded  as  closely  connected  with  sorrow^ 
with  which  it  has  no  etymological  connection  at  all,  though  doubtless  the  confusion 
between  the  words  is  of  old  standing.  The  spelling  sorry  with  two  r's  is  etymo- 
logically  wrong,  and  due  to  the  shortening  of  the  o ;  the  o  was  originally  long ;  and 
the  true  form  is  sor-y^  which  is  nothing  but  the  substantive  sore  with  the  suffix  -y 
(Anglo-Saxon  -t]f),  formed  exacdy  like  sion-y  from  stone ^  bon-y  from  bone^  •xi'digor-y 
from  gore  (which  has  not  yet  been  turned  into  gorry).  We  find  the  spelling  soarye 
as  late  as  in  Stanyhurst,  trans,  of  Virgil,  [1582],  ^neidj  ii,  651,  ed.  Arber,  p.  64,  I. 
18.  The  original  sense  was  wounded,  afflicted,  and  hence  miserable,  sad,  pitiable, 
as  in  the  expression  <in  a  sorry  plight.'  Compare:  0th,  III,  iv,  51,  'a  salt  and 
sorry  [painful]  rheum.' — Ed.  ii. 

30.  Delius  :  [Pope's  stage-direction]  may  not  accord  with  Shakespeare's  mean- 
ing,  if 'sorry  sight'  refers  to  what  Macbeth  has  seen  in  Duncan's  chamber,  and 
which  is  to  him  so  actual  that  he  speaks  of  it  as  present  before  him. 

32.  There's  .  .  .  sleepe]  Hunter  :  There,  that  is,  in  the  second  chamber,  where 
lay  the  son  of  the  murdered  king. — [Bell  (p.  307)  :  Mrs  Siddons  here  displays  her 
wonderful  power  and  knowledge  of  human  nature.  As  if  her  inhuman  strength  of 
spirit  were  overcome  by  the  contagion  of  his  remorse  and  terror.  Her  arms  about 
her  neck  and  bosom,  shuddering. — Ed.  ii.] 

33.  that]  For  omission  oi  so  before  •  that,'  see  Abbott,  §  283.   Compare  I,  ii,  72. 

36.  There  .  .  .  together]  Dbuus  :  A  derisive  conclusion  of  the  Lady's  to  Mac- 
beth's  last  words,  in  effect :  if  they  addressed  themselves  again  to  sleep,  then  in  that 
chamber  there  are  two  prostrate  together.  *  Lodge '  in  the  sense  of  prostrate  occurs 
again  in  IV,  i. — Bodenstedt  stumbles  as  strangely  as  Delius  in  this  passage,  which 


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ACT  II,  sc.  ii.]        THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  133 

Macb.     One  cry^d  God  bleffe  vs,  and  Amen  the  other,  37 

As  they  had  feene  me  with  thefe  Hangmans  hands : 
Liftning  their  feare,  I  could  not  fay  Amen, 
When  they  did  fay  God  bleffe  vs.  40 

Lady.     Confider  it  not  fo  deepely, 

Mac.  But  wherefore  could  not  I  pronounce  Amen  ?  42 

38,  39.    hands :..,feare,'\    Ff,   Cam.  hands,„fear,  Var.  '73.    hands.  .,. fear ^ 

hands,,. .fear;  Rowe,  Dyce  ii,  iii.  Coll.  Pope,  et  cet. 

iii,  Huds.  iii.     hands^  ...fear^  Johns.  39.  fiare\  prayer  Bailey  (ii,  26). 

hands,...fear.  Cap.  Var.  '78,  '85,  Mai.  40.  did  fay]  Om.  Steev.  conj. 

Ran.    Steey.    Wh.    i,    Ktly,    Furness. 

he  explains  as  <  spoken  derisively  by  Lady  Macbeth,  in  order  to  mar  the  effect  of 
her  husband's  pathetic  description.' — [Moberly  :  Then  they  [the  two  grooms]  are 
rightly  placed  for  our  purpose  of  accusing  them. — Hunter  having  suggested  (II, 
ii,  30)  that  the  voices  came,  not  from  the  two  grooms,  but  from  the  chamber  wherein 
lay  Donalbain,  MacDonald  (p.  155)  adds  this  confirmation :  These  two,  Macbeth 
says,  woke  each  other — the  one  laughing,  the  other  crying  murder.  I  used  to  think 
that  the  natural  companion  of  Donalbain  would  be  Malcolm,  his  brother;  and  that 
the  two  brothers  woke  in  horror  from  the  proximity  of  their  father's  murderer,  who 
was  jnst  passing  the  door.  A  friend  objected  to  this,  that,  had  they  been  together, 
Malcolm,  being  the  elder,  would  have  been  mentioned  rather  than  Donalbain.  Ac- 
cept this  objection,  and  we  find  a  yet  more  delicate  significance :  the  presence  ope- 
fated  differently  on  the  two,  one  bursting  out  in  a  laugh,  the  other  crying  murder; 
but  both  were  in  terror  when  they  awoke,  and  dared  not  sleep  till  they  had  said  their 
prayers.  His  sons,  his  horses,  the  elements  themselves,  are  shaken  by  one  sympathy 
with  the  murdered  king. — Ed.  ii.] 
38.  As]  For  *  as,'  apparently  equivalent  to  05  ^  see  Abbott's  note,  I,  iv,  15. 

38.  Hangmans]  Dyce  {Notes,  p.  44)  :  In  Fletcher's  Prophetess,  III,  i,  Diocle- 
tian, who  had  stabbed  Aper,  is  called  *■  the  hangman  of  Volusius  Aper ';  and  in  Jacke 
Drunks  Entertainment,  Brabrant  Junior,  being  prevented  by  Sir  Edward  from  stab- 
bing himself  declares  he  is  too  wicked  to  live — '  And  therefore,  gentle  Knight,  let 
mine  owne  hand  Be  mine  own  hangman,^ — Sig.  H  3,  ed.  1616. — Ed.  ii. 

39.  Listning]  Stbevens:  The  particle  is  omitted.  Thusy«/.  Oes,  IV,  1,41. 
Again  Lyly's  Afaid*s  Metamorphosis,  1600  :  <  The  Graces  sit,  listening  the  melody 
Of  warbling  birds. '—Lettsom  :  I  agree  with  Rowe,  Capell,  Walker,  and  Grant 
White,  that  this  should  be  taken  with  what  goes  before.— Abbott  (§  199) :  The 
preposition  is  sometimes  omitted  before  the  Mf»^  heard,  after  verbs  of  hearing.  See 
Much  Ado,  III,  i,  12 ;  Lear^  V,  iii,  l8l  ;  Jul.  Cas.  V,  v,  15;  Ham.  I,  iii,  30.  In 
the  passive.  Rich.  JI :  II,  i,  9. 

42.  wherefore,  etc.]  Bodenstedt  :  This  is  one  of  those  traits  in  which  Macbeth's 
egotistic  hypocrisy  is  most  clearly  displayed.  He  speaks  as  if  murder  and  praying 
could  join  hand  and  hand  in  friendly  companionship,  and  is  astonished  that  he  could 
not  say  '  Amen '  when  the  grooms,  betrayed  and  menaced  by  himself,  appealed  to 
Heaven  for  protection. — [Moberly:  Lady  Macbeth  had  said  of  her  husband — 
'What  thou  wouldst  highly  That  wouldst  thou  holily !'  Here  the  same  bewildered 
notion  is  stript  bare  to  view,   with  all  disguise  torn  from  it  by  desperation. — 


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134  ^^^  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH      [act  ii,  sc.  iL 

I  had  mod  need  of  BlefTing,  and  Amen  (luck  in  my  throat.  43 

Lady.    Thefe  deeds  muft  not  be  thought 
After  thefe  wayes  :  fo,  it  will  make  vs  mad.  45 

Macb .  Me  thought  I  heard  a  voyce  cry,  Sleep  no  more : 

43,  44.  I.,Jhot4ght'^  Two  lines,  end-  46,  47.  SUep,.,murtker  Sleept\  As  a 
ing:  Amen.„thought,    Pope  et  seq.             quotation,  Johns.  Var.  '73,  Coll.  Huds. 

44,45.  The/edeeds,„waye5\0xi!t\xa!t^  Dyce,  Sta.  Wh.  Hal.  Glo.  Ktly,  Knt 

Rowe.  ii,  Cam. 

44.  tkoughf^  thought  on  Han.  Cap.  4^51*  Sleep. ..Feqft'\  As  a  quotation, 
Ktly.  Han.  Cap.  Var.  Mai.  Ran.  Steev.  Var. 

46-55.  Mnenu>nic,  Warb.  Sing.  Knt  i. 

D'  HuGUES :  This  is  a  wonderfully  subtle  touch  of  observation :  it  is  not  unusual 
that  superstition  and  villainy  are  allied.  The  peculiarities  of  Louis  XI.  and  his  prac- 
tices of  devotion,  with  which  he  accompanied  the  major  part  of  his  crimes,  recur  to 
one's  mind. — Ed.  ii.] 

44.  thought]  Kkightley  :  [Hanmer's  addition]  is  not  absolutely  necessary,  but 
it  makes  the  language  more  forcible  and  more  idiomatic. — Clarendon  :  Perhaps 
Hanmer's  reading  is  right. 

44.  45.  These  deeds  . . .  tnad]  Bell  (p.  307) :  [Mrs  Siddons  here  used  the] 
same  action  as  before.     Arms  about  neck  and  bosom,  shuddering. — Ed.  ii. 

45.  mad]  Coleridge  (i,  248) :  Now  that  the  deed  is  done,  or  doing — now  that 
the  first  reality  commences,  L4idy  Macbeth  shrinks.  The  most  simple  sound  strikes 
terror,  the  most  natural  consequences  are  horrible,  whilst  previously  everything,  how- 
ever awful,  appeared  a  mere  trifle ;  conscience,  which  before  had  been  hidden  to 
Macbeth  in  selfish  and  prudential  fears,  now  rushes  in  upon  him  in  her  own  verita- 
ble person.  And  see  the  novelty  griven  to  the  most  fiEuniliar  images  by  a  new  state 
of  feeling. 

46.  Sleep  no  more]  Fletcher  (p.  123)  :  These  brief  words  involve  the  whole 
history  of  Macbeth' s  subsequent  career. 

46,  47.  Sleep  .  .  .  Sleepe]  Hunter  :  To  me  it  appears  that  tlie  airy  voice  said  no 
more  than  this.  What  follows  is  a  comment  of  his  own.  The  voice  had  first  pre- 
sented sleep  in  a  prosopopoeia.  It  was  a  cherub,  one  of  the  '  young  and  rosy  cheru- 
bim '  of  heaven.  Macbeth  invests  it  with  its  proper  attributes,  and  would  have  gone 
on  expatiating  on  its  gentle  and  valuable  qualities,  but  Lady  Macbeth  interrupts  him, 
and  asks  with  unaffected  surprise,  <  What  do  you  mean  ?'  He  proceeds  in  the  same 
distempered  strain,  not  so  much  answering  her  question,  as  continuing  to  give 
expression  to  the  feeling  of  horror  at  the  thought  which  had  fixed  itself  in  his  mind, 
that  he  had  committed  a  defeat  on  the  useful  and  innocent  Sleep ;  and  he  ref>eats 
what  the  voice  appeared  to  him  to  have  said,  with  the  additional  circumstance  that 
the  voice  seemed  to  pervade  the  apartments  of  his  spacious  castle,  like  the  limbs 
of  the  great  giant  which  lay  in  the  Castle  of  Otranto,  and  that  it  would  enter  other 
ears  than  his,  and  lead  to  the  discovery  of  his  crime.  And  he  comes  at  length 
to  the  horrible  conviction  that  a  punishment  which  bore  relation  to  the  nature  of  his 
offence  would  soon  fall  upon  him  [lines  54,  55].  In  this  scene  we  have,  perhaps, 
as  highly  wrought  a  tragical  effect  as  is  to  be  found  in  the  whole  range  of  tlie  ancient 
or  modem  drama. 

46-55.  BucKNiLL  (p.  20) :  This  passage  is  scarcely  to  be  accepted  as  another 


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ACT  n,  sc  u.]        THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  135 

Macbeth  does  murther  Sleepe,  the  innocent  Sleepe,  47 

Sleepe  that  knits  vp  the  rauel'd  Sleeue  of  Care, 

The  death  of  each  dayes  Life,  fore  Labors  Bath, 

Bakne  of  hurt  Mindes,  great  Natures  fecond  Courfe,  50 

47.  d4>a]  doth  Rowe  u,  +  ,  Var.  '73,  48.  Sleeue]  Ff,  Rowe,  +  ,  Ci^.   sieave 

murther]  F„  Wh.    murder  F^F^  Seward,  et  cet 

Var.  '78,  et  cet  49.  death]  breath  Becket. 

4&  In  margin,  Pope,  Han.  Life]  grief  Jen.  conj. 

kmts]  rips  D'Av. 

instance  of  hallucination.  It  is  rather  an  instance  of  merely  excited  imagination 
withoat  sensoal  representation,  like  the  *  suggestion '  in  I,  iii,  150.  The  word  <  me- 
thought'  is  sufficient  to  distinguish  this  voice  of  the  fancy  from  an  hallucination 
of  sense.  The  lengthened  reasoning  of  the  femcied  speech  is  also  unlike  an  hallu- 
cination of  hearing ;  real  hallucinations  of  hearing  being  almost  always  restricted  to 
two  or  three  words,  or  at  furthest,  to  brief  sentences. 

47.  Macbeth  . .  .  the  innocent  Sleepe]  Moberly  :  Schiller  has  imitated  this 
in  WaUenstein—*  Er  schiaft !  O  mordet  nicht  den  heil'gen  Schlaf,'  [Pt  II,  Act  V, 
sc  vi. — Ed.  ii.]. 

48.  Sleeue]  Heath  (p.  387) :  Seward,  in  his  notes  on  Fletcher's  T^o  Noble 
Xinsmen,  vol.  x,  p.  60,  very  ingeniously  conjectures  that  the  genuine  word  was 
sieave^  which,  it  seems,  signifies  the  ravelled,  knotty,  gouty  parts  of  the  silk,  which 
give  great  trouble  and  embarrassment  to  the  knitter  or  weaver. — Malone:  This 
^>pears  to  have  signified  coarse,  soft,  unwrought  silk.  Seta  grossolana,  Ital.  See 
also  Florio's  Ital.  Diet,  1598 :  <  Sfilazza,  Any  kind  of  ravelled  stuffe,  or  sieave 
silk,* — ^Capitone,  a  kind  of  coarse  silk,  called  sieave  silke*  Cotgrave,  1612,  renders 
soyeflcsche,  •  sieave  silk.* — *Cadarce,  pour  faire  capiton.  The  tow,  or  coarsest  part 
of  silke,  whereof  sleaife  is  made.' — Clarendon  :  Florio  has  '  Bauella,  any  kind  of 
deane  or  raw  silke,'  and  *  Bauellare :  to  rauell  as  raw  silke.'  Compare  Tro,  &* 
Cres.  V,  i,  35,  where  the  Quarto  has  'sleive'  and  the  Folio  *sleyd.*  Wedgwood 
Bays  that  it  is  doubtful  'whether  the  radical  meaning  of  the  word  is  "ravelled, 
tangled,"  or  whether  it  signifies  that  which  has  to  be  unravelled  or  separated; 
from  Anglo-Saxon  slifan,  to  cleave  or  split' — [Skeat  (Diet,)  :  I  suspect  the  word 
to  be  rather  Flemish  than  Scandinavian,  but  cannot  find  the  right  form.  Some  dic- 
tionaries dte  Icelandic  slefa,  a  thin  thread,  but  there  is  nothing  like  it  in  Egrilsson  or 
Oeasby  and  Vigfusson,  except  slafast,  to  slacken,  become  slovenly,  which  helps  to 
explain  'sieave.' — Ed.  ii.] 

49.  death]  Warburton  :  I  make  no  question  but  Shakespeare  wrote  *  The  birth 
of  each  day's,'  etc.  The  true  characteristic  of  sleep,  which  repairs  the  decays  of 
labour,  and  assists  that  returning  vigour  which  supplies  the  next  day's  activity. — 
R.  G.  White  :  Warburton,  though  a  clergyman,  forgot  what  Shakespeare  did  not 
forget,  that  in  death  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling  and  the  weary  are  at  rest — 
Capsll  (Notes,  P-  12)  says  that  a  poem  by  John  Wolfe,  called  St  Peter's  Com- 
pl*™%  I59S»  'begat  this  speech,'  and  gives  the  extract  in  his  School  of  Sh.  p.  73: 
'  Sleepe,  deathes  allye :  oblivion  of  tears :  Silence  of  passions :  balme  of  angrie 
sore:  Suspense  of  loves:  securitie  of  fears:  Wrathes  lenitive:  heartes  ease;  stormes 
calmest  shore.' 

50.  Course]  Theobald  (Nichols,  ii,  522) :  I  am  so  little  versed  in  the  nature  of 


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136  THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH      [act  n,  sc.  ii. 

Chiefe  nourifher  in  Life's  Feaft.  5 1 

Lady.    What  doe  you  meane  ? 

Macb.     Still  it  cry^d,  Sleepe  no  more  to  all  the  Houfe : 
Glamis  hath  murther'd  Sleepe,  and  therefore  Cawdor 
Shall  fleepe  no  more:  Macbeth  fhall  fleepe  no  more.  55 

Lady.  Who  was  it,  that  thus  cry'd?  why  worthy  Thane^ 
You  doe  vnbend  your  Noble  ftrength,  to  thinke  57 

51.  Feaft J\   Ff,  Rowe,   Pope,  Han.  54.  Glamis]  For  Glantis  Seymour. 

Knt     feast, —  Theob.  Warb.   Johns.  Glamis... .S/f^]  As  a  quotation, 

feasi; —  Cap,  et  cet  Johns.  Var.  '73. 

53-55.  Mnemonic,  Warb.  54,  55.  Glamis... ikutt^]  As  a  quota- 

53.  Sleepe  no  more.,,']  As  a  quotation,  tion,  first  by  Han.  No  quotation,  Del. 
first  by  Han.  56.  cry'd]  cried  Steev.  et  seq. 

regular  entertainments  that  I  do  not  know  whether  the  '  second  course '  is  always 
replenished  witli  the  most  nourishing  dishes ;  but  I  rather  think,  '  feast '  following, 
made  our  editois  serve  up  this  second  course,  I  think  it  should  be :  '  second  source* — 
i.  e.  we  seem  dead  in  sleep ;  and  by  its  refreshments,  Nature,  as  it  were,  wakes  to  a 
second  life.  [As  this  conjecture  is  not  in  Theobald's  edition,  it  may  be  considered  as 
withdrawn.— Ed.]— [Allen  (MS)  :  That  Pudding  was  the  first  course,and  that  the 
second  course  (then  what  the  first  course  is  now,  Roast  Beef,  etc. )  was  the  chief 
nourisher,  see  Butler :  HudibrcLS^  Part  I,  canto  ii :  <  But  Mars  that  still  protects  the 
stout.  In  pudding-time  came  to  his  aid.'  Cited  by  Johnson  [Z>fV/.]  with  the  explana- 
tion :  *•  The  time  of  dinner ;  the  time  at  which  pudding,  anciently  the  first  dish,  is  set 
upon  the  table. — Ed.  ii.] 

51.  nourisher]  Steevens:  So,  in  Chaucer's  Squire's  Tale  {Can,  Tales,  10661), 
'The  norice  of  digestion,  the  sleep.*  [For  elision  of  i  in  trisyllables,  see  Abbott, 
§467.  Compare  I,  v,  53;  I,  iii,  155.] — Malone:  Compare  Golding,  Ovid  Met, 
xi,*  O  sleepe  (quoth  he)  the  rest  of  things  :  O  gentlest  of  the  Goddes,  Sweete  sleepe, 
the  peace  of  minde,  with  whom  crookt  care  is  aye  at  ods :  Which  cherishest  mens 
weary  limbes  appaled  with  toyling  sore  And  makest  them  as  fresh  to  worke  and 
lustie  as  before,'  [p.  142,  ed.  1612. — Ed.  ii.]. 

54.  BoswELL  :  <  Glamis  hath  murdered  sleep ' ;  and  therefore  my  lately  acquired 
dignity  can  afibrd  no  comfort  to  one  who  suffers  the  agony  of  remorse, — '  Cawdor 
Shall  sleep  no  more ' ;  nothing  can  restore  to  me  that  peace  of  mind  which  I  enjoyed 
in  a  comparatively  humble  state ;  the  once  honorable  and  innocent  '  Macbeth  shall 
sleep  no  more.' — R.  G.  White  :  These  two  lines,  unless  their  detailing  of  Macbeth' s 
titles  is  the  utterance  of  his  distempered  fancy,  sink  into  a  mere  conceit  unworthy 
of  the  situation. — Clarendon  :  As  the  <  voice '  itself  is  after  all  but  the  cry  of 
conscience,  it  is  not  easy  to  separate  it  from  Macbeth' s  comment. — [Libby:  To 
an  unprejudiced  reader  the  vindication  of  the  power  of  these  two  lines  must  go 
a  long  way  to  prove  that  Macbeth  had  been  guilty  of  three  crimes  instead  of  one. 
—Ed.  ii.] 

55-57.  Macbeth  . . .  strength]  Bell  (p.  307):  [As  acted  by  Mrs.  Siddons, 
Lady  Macbeth' s]  horror  changes  to  agony  and  alarm  at  his  derangement ;  uncertain 
what  to  do  ;  calling  up  the  resources  of  her  spirit.  She  comes  near  him,  attempts 
to  call  back  his  wandering  thoughts  to  ideas  of  common  life.    Strong  emphasis  on 


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ACT  II,  sc.  ii.]        THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH  137 

So  braine-fickly  of  things :  Goe  get  fome  Water,  58 

And  wafli  this  filthie  Witnefle  from  your  Hand. 

Why  did  you  bring  thefe  Daggers  from  the  place  ?  60 

They  muft  lye  there :  goe  carry  them,  and  fmeare 

The  fleepie  Groomes  with  blood. 

Macb.     He  goe  no  more  : 
I  am  afraid,  to  thinke  what  I  haue  done : 
Looke  on't  againe,  I  dare  not,  65 

Lady.    Infirme  of  purpofe  : 
Giue  me  the  Daggers :  the  fleeping,and  the  dead. 
Are  but  as  Piftures :  'tis  the  Eye  of  Child-hood, 
That  feares  a  painted  Deuill.     If  he  doe  bleed, 
He  guild  the  Faces  of  the  Groomes  withall,  70 

62.  blood"^  bloud  FjF^.  69.  doe\  Oin.  Pope,  Han. 

64.  wkaf^  OH  what  Ktly.  70.  guUd'\  guilde  F^.    gild  Rowe  et 

66-69.  Mnemonic,  Warb.  seq. 

'  who.'  Speaks  forcibly  into  his  ear ;  looks  at  him  steadfastly.  Tone  of  fine  remon- 
strance fit  to  work  on  his  mind. — Ed.  ii. 

58.  Water]  Clarendon  :  These  words  recur  to  Lady  Macbeth  when  she  walks 
in  her  sleep :  V,  i,  62. 

6a  Why  .  .  .  Daggers]  Bell  (p.  307) :  [Mrs  Siddons  said  this]  seizing  the 
daggers,  very  contemptuously. 

66.  Infirme  of  purpose]  Fletcher  (p.  127) :  Here  is  the  point,  above  all 
others  in  this  wonderfiil  scene,  which  most  strikingly  illustrates  the  two-fold  contrast 
subsisting  between  these  two  characters.  Macbeth,  having  no  true  remorse,  shrinks 
not  at  the  last  moment  from  perpetrating  the  murder,  though  his  nervous  agitation 
will  not  let  him  contemplate  for  an  instant  the  aspect  of  the  murdered.  Lady  Mac- 
beth, on  the  contrary,  having  real  remorse,  does  recoil  at  the  last  moment  from  the 
very  act  to  which  she  had  been  using  such  violent  and  continued  eflforts  to  work 
herself  up ;  but,  being  totally  free  from  her  husband* s  irritability  of  fancy,  can,  now 
that  his  very  preservation  demands  it^  go  deliberately  to  look  upon  the  sanguinary 
work  which  her  own  hand  had  shrunk  from  performing. 

68-71.  'tis  the  Eye  .  .  .  Quilt]  Knowles  (p.  53)  :  It  is  singular  that  even  Mrs 
Siddons  should  have  missed  the  true  import  of  these  lines,  which  are  quite  super- 
fluous and  impertinent  except  as  a  taunt  at  Macbeth,  reminding  him  of  his  own 
arrangement,  and  the  imbecility  that  prevents  him  from  canying  it  into  execution. 
—Ed.  ii. 

69.  feares]  Delius  :  Since  Shakespeare  uses  this  word  not  only  in  the  sense  to 
fear,  but  also  to  affright,  the  phrase  *  a  painted  devil '  may  be  taken  either  as  the 
object  or  the  subject  of  the  relative  clause.    The  latter  seems  the  more  poetic. 

69.  If  he  doe  bleed]  Bell  (p.  307) :  [Mrs  Siddons  said  this]  with  malignant 
energy  as  stealing  out  she  turns  towards  him,  stooping  and  with  the  finger  pointed 
at  him. — Ed.  ii. 

70,  71.  guild  . .  .  Guilt]  Nares  :  Though  there  is  no  real  resemblance  between 
the  colonr  of  blood  and  that  of  gold,  it  is  certain  that  to  gild  with  blood  was  an  ex- 


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138  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH      [act  ii,  sc.  ii. 

For  it  muft  feeme  their  Guilt.  Exit.  71 

Knocke  within. 

72.  Knocke  within]  Knocks...  Rowe  ii,  +  ,  Var.  '73.    Knocking...  Cap.  ct  cet 

pression  not  uncommon  in  the  XVIth  century ;  and  other  phrases  are  found  which 
have  reference  to  the  same  comparison.  At  this  we  shall  not  be  surprised,  if  we 
recollect  that  gold  was  popularly  and  very  generally  styled  red.  So  we  have 
*  golden  blood/  II,  iii,  136.  So  in  King  JohUy  II,  i,  316.  Gilt  or  gilded  vftLS  also 
a  current  expression  for  drink,  as  in  Temp,  V,  i,  280. — Steevens  :  This  quibble  is 
also  found  in  2  Hen,  IV:  IV,  v,  129,  and  in  Hen,  V:  II,  chorus,  26. — Claren- 
don :  By  making  Lady  Macbeth  jest,  the  author  doubtless  intended  to  enhance  the 
horror  of  the  scene.  A  play  of  fancy  here  is  like  a  gleam  of  ghastly  sunshine  striking 
across  a  stormy  landscape,  as  in  some  pictures  of  Ruysdael. — [J.  Hunter  :  This  pun 
had  escaped  Coleridge,  where,  excepting  the  Porter's  scene,  which  he  supposed  to 
be  not  Shakespeare's,  he  said,  'There  is  not,  to  the  best  of  my  remembrance,  a  single 
pun  or  play  on  words  in  the  whole  drama.'  The  quibble,  however,  between  •guild* 
and  'gilt*  was  often  introduced  with  only  a  grave  intention  of  enforcing  thought — 
Ed.  ii.] 

72.  Knocke  within]  De  Quincey  (p.  9) :  From  my  boyish  days  I  had  always 
felt  a  great  perplexity  on  one  point  in  Macbeth,  It  was  this  :  the  knocking  at  the 
gate,  which  succeeds  to  the  murder  of  Duncan,  produced  to  my  feelings  an  effect  for 
which  I  never  could  account.  The  effect  was,  that  it  reflected  back  upon  the  murder 
a  peculiar  awfulness  and  a  depth  of  solemnity ;  yet,  however  obstinately  I  endeav- 
ored with  my  understanding  to  comprehend  this,  for  many  years  I  never  could  see 
why  it  should  produce  such  an  effect.  ...  At  length  I  solved  [the  problem]  to  my 
own  satisfaction ;  and  my  solution  is  this :  Murder,  in  ordinary  cases,  where  the 
Sjmapathy  is  wholly  directed  to  the  case  of  the  murdered  person,  is  an  incident  of 
coarse  and  vulgar  horror ;  and  for  this  reason,  that  it  flings  the  interest  exclusively 
upon  the  natural  but  ignoble  instinct  by  which  we  cleave  to  life ;  an  instinct,  which» 
as  being  indispensable  to  the  primal  law  of  self-preservation,  is  the  same  in  kind 
(though  different  in  degree)  amongst  all  living  creatures ;  this  instinct,  therefore, 
because  it  annihilates  all  distinctions,  and  degrades  the  greatest  of  men  to  the  level 
of  the  <  poor  beetle  that  we  tread  on,'  exhibits  human  nature  in  its  most  abject  and 
humiliating  attitude.  Such  an  attitude  would  little  suit  the  purposes  of  the  Poet 
What  then  must  he  do  ?  He  must  throw  the  interest  on  the  murderer.  Our  sym- 
pathy must  be  with  him  ;  (of  course,  I  mean  a  sympathy  of  comprehension,  a  S)*m- 
pathy  by  which  we  enter  into  his  feelings,  and  are  made  to  understand  them — not  a 
sympathy  of  pity  or  approbation).  In  the  murdered  person,  all  strife  of  thought,  all 
flux  and  reflux  of  passion  and  of  purpose,  are  crushed  by  one  overwhelming  panic ; 
the  fear  of  instant  death  smites  him  *  with  its  petrific  mace.'  But  in  the  murderer, 
such  a  murderer  as  a  poet  will  condescend  to,  there  must  be  raging  some  great  storm 
of  passion, — ^jealousy,  ambition,  vengeance,  hatred, — which  will  create  a  hell  within 
him ;  and  into  this  hell  we  are  to  look.  In  Macbeth,  for  the  sake  of  gratifying  his 
own  enormous  and  teeming  faculty  of  creation,  Shakespeare  has  introduced  two  mur- 
derers, and,  as  usual  in  his  hands,  they  are  remarkably  discriminated ;  but,  though 
in  Macbeth  the  strife  of  mind  is  greater  than  in  his  wife,  the  tiger  spirit  not  so  awake, 
and  his  feelings  caught  chiefly  by  contagion  from  her, — yet,  as  both  were  finally 
involved  in  the  guilt  of  murder,  the  murderous  mind  of  necessity  is  finally  to  be  pre- 


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ACT  II.  sc.  u.]       THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  139 

Macb.    Whence  is  that  knocking  ?  73 

73.  knocking  ?'\  knocking  f  [Starting.  Rowe,  +  . 

sumed  in  both.  This  was  to  be  expressed  ;  and  on  its  own  account,  as  well  as  to 
make  it  a  more  proportionable  antagonist  to  the  unoffending  nature  of  their  victim, 
<  the  gracious  Duncan,*  and  adequately  to  expound  the  <  deep  damnation  of  his 
taking  off,'  this  was  to  be  expressed  with  peculiar  energy.  We  were  to  be  made  to 
feel  that  the  human  nature — t.  e.  the  divine  nature  of  love  and  mercy,  spread  through 
the  hearts  of  all  creatures,  and  seldom  utterly  withdrawn  from  man — was  gone,  van- 
ished, extinct ;  and  that  the  fiendish  nature  had  taken  its  place.  And,  as  this  effect 
is  marvellously  accomplished  in  the  dialogues  and  soliloquies  themselves,  so  it  is 
finally  consummated  by  the  expedient  under  consideration  ;  and  it  is  to  this  that  I 
now  solicit  the  reader's  attention.  If  the  reader  has  ever  witnessed  a  wife,  daugh- 
ter, or  sister  in  a  fainting  fit,  he  may  chance  to  have  observed  that  the  most  affSecting 
moment  in  such  a  specacle  is  that  in  which  a  sigh  or  a  stirring  announces  the  recom- 
mencement of  suspended  life.  Or,  if  the  reader  has  ever  been  present  in  a  vast 
metropolis  on  the  day  when  some  g^reat  national  idol  was  carried  in  funeral  pomp  to 
his  grave,  and  chancing  to  walk  near  the  course  through  which  it  passed,  has  felt 
powerfully,  in  the  silence  and  desertion  of  the  streets,  and  in  the  stagnation  of  ordi- 
nary business,  the  deep  interest  which  at  that  moment  was  possessing  the  heart  of 
man, — if  all  at  once  he  should  hear  the  death-like  stillness  broken  up  by  the  sound 
of  wheels  rattling  away  from  the  scene,  and  making  known  that  the  transitory  vision 
was  dissolved,  he  will  be  aware  that  at  no  moment  was  his  sense  of  the  complete 
suspension  and  pause  in  ordinary  human  concerns  so  full  and  affecting  as  at  that 
moment  when  the  suspension  ceases,  and  the  goings-on  of  human  life  are  suddenly 
resumed.  All  action  in  any  direction  is  best  expounded,  measured,  and  made 
apprehensible  by  reaction.  Now  apply  this  to  the  case  of  Macbeth.  Here,  as  I 
have  said,  the  retiring  of  the  human  heart,  and  the  entrance  of  the  fiendish  heart, 
was  to  be  expressed  and  made  sensible.  Another  world  has  stept  in,  and  the  mur- 
derers are  taken  out  of  the  region  of  human  things,  human  purposes,  human  desires. 
They  are  transfigured:  Lady  Macbeth  is  'unsexed';  Macbeth  has  forgot  that  he 
was  bom  of  woman  ;  both  are  conformed  to  the  image  of  devils ;  and  the  world  of 
devils  is  suddenly  revealed.  But  how  shall  this  be  conveyed  and  made  palpable  ? 
In  order  that  a  new  world  may  step  in,  this  world  must  for  a  time  disappear.  The 
murderers,  and  the  murder,  must  be  insulated, — cut  off*  by  an  immeasurable  gulf 
from  the  ordinary  tide  and  succession  of  human  affairs,— locked  up  and  sequestered 
in  some  deep  recess ;  we  must  be  made  sensible  that  the  world  of  ordinary  life  is 
suddenly  arrested, — ^laid  asleep,  tranced, — racked  into  a  dread  armistice ;  time  must 
be  annihilated ;  relation  to  things  without  abolished ;  and  all  must  pass  self-with- 
drawn into  a  deep  syncope  and  suspension  of  earthly  passion.  Hence  it  is,  that  when 
the  deed  is  done,  when  the  work  of  darkness  is  perfect,  then  the  world  of  darkness 
passes  away  like  a  pageantry  in  the  clouds:  the  knocking  at  the  gate  is  heard ;  and 
it  makes  known  audibly  that  the  reaction  has  commenced ;  the  human  has  made  its 
reflux  upon  the  fiendish ;  the  pulses  of  life  are  beginning  to  beat  again  ;  and  the  re- 
establishment  of  the  goings-on  of  the  world  in  which  we  live,  first  makes  us  pro- 
foundly sensible  of  the  awful  parenthesis  that  had  suspended  them. — [E.  K.  Chambers  : 
The  knocking  here  seems  to  show  that  the  opening  of  the  next  scene  always  formed 
part  of  thA  play.     Macbeth  is  not  sore  at  first  if  it  is  real  or  '  fantastic' — Ed.  ii.] 


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140  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH      [act  ii,  sc.  u. 

How  is't  with  me,  when  eueiy  noyfe  appalls  me  ? 

What  Hands  are  here  ?  hah  :  they  pluck  out  mine  Eyes.  75 

Will  all  great  Neptunes  Ocean  wafh  this  blood 

Cleane  from  my  Hand?  no:  this  my  Hand  will  rather 

The  multitudinous  Seas  incamardine,  78 

74.  iifl  is  it  Theob.  ii,  Warb.  Johns.  78.   The\  Thy  Theob,  Warb.  Johns. 

Var. '73.  Sea5\    Sear  F^.      sea  Rowe,  +  , 

76.  itHsflt^  was  Rowe  i.  Huds.  iii.     waves  Bailey  (ii,  27). 

77.  Hand ?^  hands?  Hany  Rowe.  ineafytardine']  incamadineRovre, 

78.  Put  in  margin  by  Pope,  Han.  +,  Cap.  Wh.  Sta.  Del.  Glo.  Dyce  iii, 
reading  Thy  for  The,  ColL  iii. 

76.  Neptunes]  Upton  (p.  48,  noie)  i  Compare  Sophocles,  Oedip.  Tyr.  1227-8, 
*  Olfuu  yap  obr'  hv'Iarpov  ovre  ^aiv  hv  "SliKU  Kodapfuj  riivde  t^  arkyrfV'* — ^Steev- 
ENS  :  <  Susdpit,  o  Gelli,  quantum  non  ultima  Tethys,  Non  genitor  Nympharum  ab- 
luat  Oceanus.' — Catullus,  Ixzxviii,  5-6  (in  Gellium),  *Quis  eluet  me  Tanais?  aut 
quae  barbaris  Mseotis  undis  Pontico  incumbens  mari  ?  Non  ipse  toto  magnus  Oceano 
pater  Tantum  expiarit  sceleris !' — Seneca,  Hippol^  ii,  715-718.  Again,  in  one  of 
HalPs  Satires:  «If  Trent  or  Thames,*  etc.— Holt  White:  *Non,  si  Neptuni 
fluctu  renovare  operam  des ;  Non,  mare  si  totum  velit  eluere  omnibus  undis.* — 
Lucretius,  vi,  1076. 

77.  this  my  Hand]  Harry  Rowe:  There  is  something  very  beautiful  in  Mac- 
beth's  sudden  transition  from  both  hands  to  the  right  hand  that  had  done  the  bloody 
deed. — [Darmesteter  :  Without  doubt  Lady  Macbeth' s  exit  should  be  here  rather 
than  earlier.  The  germ  of  that  final  madness  (V,  i)  is  planted  in  her  mind  by 
these  very  words  of  Macbeth,  which  comprehend  all  the  scene  in  a  condensed  form, 
and  to  which  line  82  is  a  response.  Musset  doubtless  had  this  passage  in  mind : 
'  Le  coeur  de  I'homme  vierge  est  un  vase  profond  :  Lorsque  la  premiere  eau  q&'on  y 
verse  est  impure.  La  mer  y  passerait  sans  laver  la  souillure  ;  Car  I'ablme  est  im- 
mense et  la  tache  est  au  fond. — Ed.  ii.] 

78.  multitudinous]  Malone  :  Perhaps  Shakespeare  meant,  not  the  seas  of  every 
denomination,  nor  the  many-coloured  seas,  but  the  seas  which  swarm  with  myriads 
of  inhabitants.  If,  however,  this  allusion  be  not  intended,  I  believe,  by  the  *  multi- 
tudinous seas '  was  meant,  not  the  many-waved  ocean,  but  the  countless  masses  of 
waters  wherever  dispersed  on  the  surface  of  the  globe,  the  *  multitude  of  seas,'  as  Hey- 
wood  has  it ;  and  indeed  it  must  be  owned  that  the  plural,  seasy  seems  to  countenance 
such  a  supposition. — Steevens  :  I  believe  that  Shakespeare  referred  to  some  visible 
quality  in  the  ocean,  rather  than  to  its  concealed  inhabitants ;  to  the  waters  that 
might  admit  of  some  discoloration,  and  not  to  the  fishes,  whose  hue  could  suffer  no 
change  from  the  tinct  of  blood.  .  Waves  appearing  over  waves  are  no  inapt  symbol 
of  a  crowd.  If  therefore  Shakespeare  does  not  mean  the  aggregate  of  seas,  he  must 
be  understood  to  design  the  multitude  of  waves, 

78.  incamardine]  Steevens  :  Camadine  is  the  old  term  for  carnation, — Wake- 
field: Thus  in  Carew's  Obsequies  of  the  Lady  Anne  Hay:  * —  a  fourth,  incar- 
nadincy  Thy  rosy  cheek.'  [Carew  very  likely  had  this  passage  in  his  mind. — ^ 
Clarendon] — Hunter  :  This  word  is  found  in  Sylvester.  Describing  the  phoenix, 
he  says :  *  Her  wing  and  train  of  feathers  mixed  fine  Of  orient  azure  and  incarnadine.' 
[This  word  is  also  found  in  An  Antidote  against  Melanchofyy  1661,  where  it  i^pears 


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ACT  II.  sc.  ii.]        THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  141 

Making  the  Greene  one^  Red.  79 

79,  Making\  Make  Pope,  Han.  Var.  '73.      green — one   red   Murphy, 

Greene  one^  Red,'\  Green  one  red  Var.  '78,  '85,  Ran.  Steev.  Var.  '03,  '13, 

D'Av.  F^,  Rowe,  Theob.  Warb.  Cap.  Sing.  Knt  i,  Huds.  Sta.  Clarke. 

Dyce,   Cam.  Wh.       Green    ocean   red,  79.  one\  sea  Bailey  (ii,  27). 
Pope,  Han.    green.  One  red —  Johns. 

as  the  name  of  a  red  wine  in^  Song  of  Cupid  Scorned:  'In  love?  'tis  true  with 
Spanish  wine,  Or  the  French  juice.  Incarnadine,*  Attention  is  called  to  its  use  in 
the  present  passage  by  Mr  Collier  in  his  reprint. — Ed.] 

79.  Greene  one.  Red]  Steevens:  The  same  thought  occurs  in  Hey  wood's 
Downfal  of  Jiobert,  Earl  of  Hunting/on,  1601 :  *  He  made  the  green  sea  red  with 
Turkish  blood.*  [p.  173,  Haz.  Dods.,  where,  however,  *  Pagan'  is  used  instead  of 
*  Turkish,'  and  where  the  authorship  is  attributed  to  A.  Munday,  not  Heywood.  See 
Introduction  to  the  play,  p.  95. — ^Ed.  ii.]  Again  :  '  The  multitudes  of  seas  died  red 
with  blood.'  [Steevens  gives  no  authority  for  this  passage ;  I  have  not  found  it 
in  the  Downfal  of  Robert,  Earl  of  Huntington,  but  as  Malone  quotes  the  phrase 
< multitude  of  seas,'  I  transmit  it  as  it  stands  in  Steevens' s  commentary. — ^Ed.  ii.] — 
Malone  :  So  also  in  The  Two  Noble  Kinsmen,  by  Fletcher,  1634 :  *  Thou  mighty 
one  that  with  thy  power  has  turned  Green  Neptune  into  purple,*  [V,  i,  50.  Both 
Spalding  and  Hickson  attribute  this  scene  to  Shakespeare. — Ed.  ii.] — Murphy: 
Garrick  was  for  some  time  in  the  habit  of  sajring :  the  green-one  red ;  but,  upon 
consideration,  he  adopted  the  alteration  which  was  first  proposed  by  this  writer  in 
the  Gray's  Inn  Journal  [i,  100]. — Malone  :  Every  part  of  the  line,  as  punctuated 
by  Murphy,  appears  to  me  exceptionable.  One  red  does  not  sound  to  my  ear  as  the 
phraseoli^y  of  the  age  of  Elizabeth ;  and  the  green,  for  the  green  one,  or  for  the 
green  j^a,  is,  I  am  persuaded,  unexplained.  Steevens:  If  Murphy's  punctuation 
be  dismissed,  we  must  correct  the  foregoing  line,  and  read :  *  The  multitudinous 
sea*;  for  how  will  the  plural,  sects,  accord  with  the — *  green  one  f*  Besides,  the  new 
punctuation  is  countenanced  by  a  passage  in  Hamlet,  II,  ii,  479 :  <  Now  is  he  totcU 
gules*  Again  in  Milton's  Comus,  133 :  «And  makes  out  blot  of  all  the  air.' — Nares  : 
Shakespeare  surely  meant  only  <  making  the  green  sea  red.'  The  other  interpreta- 
tion, which  implies  its  making  <  the  green  [sea]  one  entire  red,'  seems  to  me  ridicu- 
lously harsh  and  forced.  The  punctuation  of  the  Ff  supports  the  more  natural 
construction. — Collier  (ed.  i.):  Although  the  old  pointing  can  be  no  rule,  it 
may  be  some  guide,  and  we  therefore  revert  to  what  we  consider  the  natural, 
and  what  was  probably  the  ancient,  mode  of  delivering  the  words. — Ibid.  (ed. 
ii.):  The  MS  Corrector  strikes  out  the  comma  after  <one.'  In  the  same  way, 
in  Beaumont  &  Fletcher's  Maid  of  the  Mill  (ed.  Dyce,  ix,  280),  Otrante  ought  to 
say :  <  How  I  freeze  together.  And  am  one  ice';  but  all  editors,  including  the  last, 
have  allowed  the  last  hemistich  to  remain,  <And  am  on  ice,'  as  if  Otrante  had 
meant,  not  that  he  freezed  together  and  was  <  one  ice,'  but  merely  that  he  stood 
upon  ice.— Dyce  {Strictures,  etc.  p.  182)  :  Here  Collier  proposes  a  highly  probable 
correction :  but  let  me  say,  in  excuse  of  the  editors  of  Beaumont  &  Fletcher,  that 
they  supposed  *on  ice*  might  be  a  similar  expression  to  'on  fire.* — White  (Sh,*s 
Scholar,  p.  401 )  :  Was  the  power  of  mere  punctuation  [in  the  Folio]  to  turn  the 
sublime  into  the  ridiculous  ever  before  so  strikingly  exemplified  !  [*  Very  true  *  is 
LnrsoM's  MS  marginal  comment  on  the  foregoing  in  the  present  editor's* copy  of 
the  volume. — Ed.] — Clarendon:    Converting   the  green  into  one  uniform  red. 


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142  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH       [act  n.  sc.  u. 

Enter  Lady.  8o 

Lady.     My  hands  are  of  your  colour  :  but  I  ihame 

To  weare  a  Heart  fo  white.  Knocke. 

I  heare  a  knocking  at  the  South  entry : 

Retyre  we  to  our  Chamber : 

A  little  Water  cleares  vs  of  this  deed.  85 

How  eafie  is  it  then  f  your  Conftancie 

Hath  left  you  vnattended.  Knocke. 

Hearke,  more  knocking. 

Get  on  your  Night-Gowne,  leaft  occafion  call  vs, 

And  (hew  vs  to  be  Watchers :  be  not  loft  go 

So  poorely  in  your  thoughts. 

Macb.    To  know  my  deed,  Knocke.  92 

So.  Enter]  Re-enter  Cap.  et  seq.  Pope  et  seq. 

81-91.  Mnemonic,  Warb.  92-95.  Two  lines,  ending ;  feife,  .,. 

82-S4.  Two  lines,  ending :  knocking  c(nUd\ft,  Pope  et  seq. 

.^Chamber:  Pope  et  seq.  92.   To  know'\  T^unknmv  Hzn, 

87,  S8.  Hoik.,, knocking]   One   line,  Knocke.]  Om.  Pope, +. 

The  comma  after  <  one '  yields  a  tame,  not  to  say  ludicrous,  sense. — Abbott  (§511}: 
See  note,  I,  ii,  26.— Staunton  {The  Aihenaumj  19  Oct.  1872) :  My  surmise  is 
that  the  error  here  sprang  from  the  very  simple  but  very  fertile  source  of  typographi- 
cal perplexities — a  dropped  letter,  and  that  the  passage  originally  read :  <  Making 
the  green  zone  red  I'  The  change  is  of  the  slightest,  and  an  easy  one  to  'happen 
when  one  was  commonly  pronounced  as  it  now  is  in  atone,  alone,  etc.  Appended 
are  a  few  passages  to  show  taat  the  similitude  of  the  sea  and  a  belt  or  girdle  was  a 
familiar  one  to  Shakespeare:  Cymb,  III,  i,  19,  20 ;  lb.  Ill,  i,  81 ;  Ant.  61*  CUo,  II, 
vii,  74 ;  Ttt,  And,  III,  i,  94 ;  King  John,  V,  ii,  34 ;  Rich.  //.•  II,  i,  61,  63  ;  j  Hen, 
VI:  IV,  viii,  20. 

86,  87.  Constancie  . .  .  vnattended]  Clarendon  :  That  is,  your  constancy 
(f.  e,  your  firmness),  which  used  to  attend  you,  has  left  you. 

89.  Night-Qowne]  R.  G.  White  :  In  Macbeth' s  time,  and  for  centuries  later, 
it  was  the  custom  for  both  sexes  to  sleep  without  other  covering  than  that  belonging 
to  the  bed  when  a  bed  was  occupied.  But  of  this  Shakespeare  knew  nothing,  and 
if  he  had  known,  he  would,  of  course,  have  disregarded  it.  Macbeth' s  night-gown, 
that  worn  by  Julius  Cscser  (II.  ii),  and  by  the  Ghost  in  the  old  Hamlet  (III,  iv), 
answered  to  our  robes  de  chambre,  and  were  not,  as  I  have  found  many  intelligent 
people  to  suppose,  the  garments  worn  in  bed. — Keightley  :  This  was  the  name 
of  the  night-dress  of  both  men  and  women.  The  night-gown  was  only  used  by 
persons  of  some  rank  and  consideration ;  people,  in  general,  went  to  bed  naked, 
buffing  the  blanket,  as  it  was  termed  in  Ireland.    [See  V,  i,  8 ;  62.] 

92.  To  know]  Warburton  :  While  I  have  the  thoughts  of  this  deed,  it  were 
best  not  know,  or  be  lost  to,  myself.  This  is  in  answer  to  the  lady's  reproof. — 
Elwin  :  With  a  knowledge  of  my  deed,  I  were  better  lost  to  the  knowledge  both  of 
my  nature  and  of  my  existence,     [For  the  infinitive  used  indefinitely,  see  Abbott, 


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ACT  11,  sc.  ii.]        THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  143 

'Twere  beft  not  know  my  felfe,  93 

Wake  Duncan  with  thy  knocking : 

I  would  thou  could'ft.  Exeunt.  95 

94.  }Vake,„thy\    lVake.,Jhis   D'Av.  95.  /  looiOJ]    ivould    Pope,    Han. 

('74),  Rowe,  Pope,  Han.    Wake,  Dun-  wouldst inVoi^^s margin,  ^ would T)\toh, 

can,  wUh  this,,,  Theob. +,  Cap.  Var.  Warb.  Johns.  Cap.     Ay^  would  Steev. 

'73.  Var.  *03,  '13,  Sing.  ii.  Sta, 

$  357.  Compare  IV,  ii,  81.]— Clarendon  :  If  I  must  look  my  deed  in  the  fleure, 
it  were  better  for  me  to  lose  consciousness  altogether.'  An  easier  sense  might  be 
arrived  at  by  a  slight  change  in  punctuation  :  '  To  know  my  deed  ?  'Twere  best 
not  know  myself.' 

94.  Wake  .  .  .  knocking]  Malonk:  Macbeth  is  addressing  the  person  who 
knocks  at  the  outward  gate.  D' Avenant  reads  (and  intended,  probably,  to  point), 
'  Wake,  Duncan,  with  this  knocking !'  conceiving  that  Macbeth  called  upon  Duncan 
to  awake.  From  the  same  misapprehension  I  once  thought  his  emendation  right; 
but  there  is  certainly  no  need  of  change. — Harry  Rowe  :  A  mind  under  the  influ- 
ence of  contrition  would  surely  call  upon  Duncan  to  wake  by  the  noise,  rather  than 
address  the  person  who  was  knocking.  According  to  my  conception,  such  a  call 
would  be  nature  itself ;  and,  I  believe,  would  spontaneously  proceed  from  the  heart 
of  every  man  so  circumstanced  as  Macbeth  then  was.  In  this  manner  I  wish  the 
genius  of  Shakespeare  to  be  tried,  and  not  by  the  evidence  of  incorrect  old  quartos 
and  folios,  ill  printed,  and  worse  revised. 

95.  I  would]  Steevens  :  The  repentant  exclamation  of  Macbeth  derives  force 
from  the  present  change  [see  Textual  Notes'^  ;  a  change  which  has  been  repeatedly 
made  in  spelling  this  ancient  substitute  for  the  word  of  enforcement,  ay,  in  the 
very  play  before  us, — [Bell  (p.  308)  :  Kemble  plays  well  here ;  stands  mo- 
tionless ;  his  bloody  hands  near  his  face ;  his  eyes  fixed  ;  agony  in  his  brow  ;  quite 
rooted  to  the  spot.  [Mrs  Siddons]  at  first  directs  him  with  an  assumed  and  confi- 
dent air.  Then  alarm  steals  over  her,  increasing  to  agony,  lest  his  reason  be  quite 
gone,  and  discovery  be  inevitable.  She  strikes  him  on  the  shoulder,  pulls  him  from 
his  fixed  posture,  forces  him  away ;  he  talking  as  he  goes. — Ed.  ii.] 


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144  ^^^  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH     [act  ii,  sc.  iii. 


Scena  Te^rtia. 


Enter  a  Porter.  m  2^^ 

Knocking  within.    . 
Porter.     Here's  a  knocking  indeede  :  if  a  man  wete       ^a 

I.  Scena  Tcrtia]  Om.  Rowe,  Theob.         Same.  Cap.  et  cet.  • 

Dyce,  Wb.  Robertson.  Scene  IV.  Pope,  4-43.  In  margin,  Pope,  Han. 

+  .     Scene  II.  Sta.    Scene  III.  The  4-22.  Om.  CoU.  (MS). 

1.  Scena  Tenia]  Capell  i^NoUs^  p.  13) :  Without  this  scene  Macbeth's  J^vx^ 
cannot  be  shifted  nor  his  hands  washed.     To  give  a  rational  space  for  the  discharge 
of  these  actions  was  this  scene  thought  of. — R.  G.  White:  In  the  Folio  a  new 
scene  is  here  indicated,  but  this  division  is  so  clearly  wrong  that  there  can  be  no 
hesitation  in  deviating  from  it.     [See  note  on  II,  ii.] 

2.  Enter  a  Porter]  Visch  eiU  Vortrage^  p.  93) :  With  the  keen  insight  of  __ 
artist  Shakespeare  a^|ntuates  the^efiect  of  the  knocking  T>y  the  Porter's  sleepy 
hesitation. — Ed.  ii. 

4-22. ^Coleridge  (i,  29^This^^lv^i|^quy  of  , 
speeches  afterwards,  I  believe  to  have  been  written  for  thg  mob  0)^me.< 
perhaps  with  Shakespeare's  consent;  and  that  finding  it  take,  he  with  the  remain- 
ing ink  of  a  pen  otherwise  employed,  just  interpolated  the  words  [/*//. . .  bonfire^ 
lines  19-21].  Of  the  rest  not  one  syllable  has  the  ever-present  being  of  Shakespeare. 
— Clarendon  :  Probably  Coleridge  would  not  have  made  even  this  exception  unless 
he  had  remembered  Hamlet^  I,  iii,  50.  To  us  this  comic  scene,  not  of  a  high  dass 
of  comedy  at  best,  seems  strangely  out  of  place  amidst  the  tragic  horrors  which  sur- 
round it,  and  is  quite  different  in  effect  from  the  comic  passages  which  Shakespeare 
has  introduced  into  other  tragedies. — Maginn  (p.  170) :  The  speech  of  this  porter 
is  in  blank  verse.  [The  lines  ending  man — old — ihere^— farmer — expectoHcn — 
enough — knock  ! — [/]  faith — swear — \pne'\  who— yet — iii , — there  f — hither — tailor, 
— quiet,— hell. — thought— professions^ — everlasting  darkness  (sic).--ED.]  The  alter- 
ations I  propose  are  very  slight :  upon  for  *  on,*  i  faith  for  *  'faith,*  and  the  introduc- 
tion of  the  word  one  in  a  place  where  it  is  required.  The  succeeding  dialogue  is 
also  in  blank  verse. — Heraud  (p.  513)  :  Nothing  more  admirably  fitted  than  this 
scene  for  the  purpose  of  supplying  the  transition  from  one  point  of  effect  to  another 
could  be  given ;  and  any  critical  censure  of  the  Poet,  for  what  he  has  here  done, 
results  from  ignorance  of  his  art.  The  true  dramatist  will  estimate  it  at  its  true 
worth. — Bodenstedt  :  After  all,  his  uncouth  comicality  has  a  tragic  background ; 
he  never  dreams,  while  imagining  himself  a  porter  of  hell -gate,  of  how  near  he 
comes  to  the  truth.  What  are  all  these  petty  sinners  who  go  the  primrose  way  to 
the  everlasting  bonfire  compared  with  those  great  criminals  whose  gates  he  guards? 
— ^Wordsworth  (p.  298) :  As  I  do  not  doubt  the  passage  was  written  with  earnest- 
ness, and  with  a  wonderful  knowledge  of  human  nature,  especially  as  put  into  the 
mouth  of  a  drunken  man,  so  I  believe  it  may  be  read  with  edification. — Collier 
{Notes^  etc.)  :  In  the  (MS)  these  lines  are  struck  out,  perhaps,  as  offensive  to  the  Puri- 
tans.-—[F.  J.  FURNIVALL  {New  Sh.  Soc,  Trans,  22  May,  1874):  What  can  be  more 


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ACT  11,  sc.  iii.]       THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH  145 

[4-22.  Here's  a  knocking  indeede:  etc.] 
natmal  and  happy  than  that  a  Porter  should  «aj  some  grimly  humourous  words  about 
his  own  calling  ;  and  that  he  should  wind  up  with  that,  *  I  pray  you,  remember  the 
Porter' — ^his  fee  liri|^^%'^  ^  Scotland  begging  for  English  posts  and  fees  from  1603 

aJ^  1607,  or  whenever  Macbeth  was  written  ?     How«ir0»/</  a  Scotch  Porter  be  better 

^hit  off?  Sttty  he  must  be  a  dull  soul  who  can't  see  the  humour  of  this  character. — 
W.  LEiGHTpN  (Robinson* s  EpU.  of  Lit,  I  June,  1879) :  For  several  reasons,  viz: 
blundering  in  fespect  to  time ;  something  un-Shakespearian  in  the  porter, — as  style 
antl^lain  words  nowhere  else  used  by  that  author, — unusual  cocu-seness  in  a  play 
othtrwise  correct  in  such  respect ;  and  similarity  with  Middleton's  work — for  these 
reasons  combined,  (here  is  certainly  cause  to  suspect  that  the  latter  author  patched  A 
Shakespeare's  play  at  this  place,  and  did  it  unskilfully. — Hales  :  There  are  five  points 
whic^  should  be  thoroughly  considered  before  any  final  verdict  is  pronounced,  as  to 
w&ether  the  Porter  is  not,  after  all,  a  genuine  of&pring  of  Shakespeare' s  art   (i)  That  a 

•porter's  speech  is  an  integral  part  of  the  play,  (ii)  That  it  is  necessary  as  a  relief  to  the 
surrounding  horror,  (iii)  That  it  is  necessary  according  to  the  law  of  contrast  else- 
where obeyed,  (iv)  That  the  speech  we  have  is  dramatically  relevant,  (v)  That 
i^^le  and  language  are  Shakespearian,     (i)  No  one  will  deny  that  the  knock- 

''ra^Vcene  is  an  integral  part  of  the  play. .  . .  ]iKf%ith  the  l^gpcking  the  porter  is 
inseparably  associated.  If  we  retain  it,  we  must  ret^^iMfl^k  if  we  retain  him, 
he  must  surely  midc^^^Mech  of  som^^rt^ qi  ctf^^i^^ictiDre  to  ourselves  a  pro- 
%9tljtffffBAi^SS^^SSf^  Are  wJR^onceive  him  as  crossing  the  stage,  perhaps 
brandishing*  his  keys  with  7  mysterious  cunning,  but  with  tongue  fast  tied  and 
bound  ?  There  is  probably  no  student  of  Shakespeare  who  is  prepared  to  accept 
such  a  phenomenon.  Clearly,  then,  the  porter  speaks,  to  whatever  effect  (ii) 
That  some  speech  of  a  lighter  kind  is  necessary  to  relieve  the  surrounding  horror. 
Now  if  ever  in  the  plays  of  Shakespeare  some  relaxation  is  needed  for  the  nerves 
strained  to  the  utmost ;  if  ever  some  respite  and  repose  are  due  to  prevent  the  high 
mysterious  delight  corrupting  into  a  morbid  panic,  it  is  so  in  the  terrible  scene  now 
before  us.  A  monotony  of  horror  cannot  be  sustained  ;  and  any  disturbance  of  it  is 
infinitely  welcome.  The  sound  of  a  fresh  voice  after  we  have  listened  so  long  to  that 
guilty  conference  is  a  very  cordial.  .  .  .  (iii)  Some  lighter  speech  is  necessary  accord- 
ing to  the  law  of  contrast  elsewhere  observed  by  Shakespeare.  To  the  true  humourist 
the  various  colours  of  life  are  inextricably  woven.  It  is  all  infinitely  sad  and  in- 
finitely comic.  The  beauty  of  summer  and  the  blackness  of  winter,  the  gladness 
of  life  and  the  dulness  of  death.  These  are  omnipresent  with  him.  And  so  in  the 
Shakespearian  drama  we  find  strange  neighborhoods.  Jesters  and  jesting  in  the 
midst  of  that  stupendous  storm  in  King  Lear !  In  Hamlet  the  grave-digger  is  one 
with  the  clown.  In  Othello,  amidst  all  its  bitter  earnest,  there  are  foolings  and  rail- 
leries. In  fact,  Macbeth  would  be  unique  among  the  tragedies  of  Shakespeare  if  the 
comic  element  were  utterly  absent  from  it.  (iv)  The  speech  of  the  Porter  is  dramat- 
ically relevant.  The  whole  speech  is,  in  fact,  a  powerful  piece  of  irony.  '  If  a  man 
were  porter  of  hell-gate.'  But  is  this  man  not  so  ?  What  then  is  hell  ?  and  where 
are  its  gates  ? ...  It  may  be  well  to  notice  here  that  the  Porter  of  Hell  was  a  not 
unfamiliar  figure  in  the  old  Mysteries.  We  find  in  Virgil,  indeed,  what  might  have 
suggested  some  such  functionary  to  the  mediaeval  mind.  Virgil  speaks  of  Cer- 
berus as  'Janitor'  {jEnHd,  vi,  400)  and  as  'Janitor  Ord'  (72.  viii,  296).  Fletcher 
also,  in  his  Honest  MafCs  Fortune  (III,  ii.),  speaks  of  'hell's  three-headed  porter.' 
It  was  natural  enough,  when  so  much  was  talked  of  St  Peter  with  his  keys  keeping 


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146  THE   TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH     [act  ii.  sc.  ui. 

Porter  of  Hell  Gate,  hee  fliould  haue  old  turning  the  5 

Key.       Knock.       Knock,  Knock,  Knock.     Who's  there 
Pth'name  of  Belzebub?     Here's  a  Farmer,  that  hang'd  7 

5.  hee  Jhotdd  haue  oW]  he  could  not        Dyce.     Knocking  without  Sta. 

have  more  Harry  Rowe.  7.  Belzebub]   Beelzebub  Coll.  Djce, 

6.  9,  14,  17,  21.  Knock.]  Knocking.         Wh.  Sta.  Hal.  Cam. 
Mai.  et  seq.  (subs.)    Knocking  within. 

the  gate  of  Heaven,  that  there  should  be  conceived  an  infernal  counterpart  of  that 
celestial  functionary,  (v)  Are  the  style  and  language  of  the  Porter's  speech  Shake- 
spearian ?  Surely  the  fancy,  which  is  the  main  part  of  the  Porter's  speech,  must  be 
allowed  to  be  eminently  after  the  manner  of  Shakespeare.  He  was  well  acquainted 
with  the  older  stage,  as  his  direct  references  to  it  show  (see  Twelfth  Night,  IV,  ii ; 
/  Hen,  IV:  H,  iv ;  Hamlet^  III,  iv) ;  and  this  conception  of  an  infernal  janitor  is 
just  such  a  piece  of  antique  realism  as  he  would  delight  in.  He  has  it  elsewhere ; 
see  0th.  IV,  ii,  90.  The  manner  in  which  Macduff  'draws  out'  the  Porter  is 
exactly  like  that  of  Shakespeare  in  similar  circumstances  elsewhere.  Compare  the 
way  in  which  Orlando  is  made  to  elicit  the  wit  of  Rosalind,  \^A5  You  Like  It,  III,  ii, 
323  et  seq.].  If  this  likeness  of  manner  has  no  great  positive,  yet  it  has  some  nega- 
tive, value.  We  see  that  the  manner  is  not  un-Shakespearian,  if  it  cannot  be  pro- 
nounced definitely  Shakespearian  ;  and  we  need  not  go  to  Middleton's  plays  for  an 
illustration  of  it.  The  passage  is  written  in  the  rhythmic  prose  that  is  so  favourite  a 
form  with  Shakespeare  (see  Hen,  V:  II,  iii,  9-28).  And  as  for  the  language,  there 
is  certainly  nothing  in  it  un-Shakespearian.  The  general  conclusion  justified  by 
what  has  been  advanced  seems  to  me  to  be  this :  that  the  Porter  is  undoubtedly  a 
part  of  the  original  play,  and  that  the  general  conception  of  his  speech  is  certainly 
Shakespeare's:  with  regard  to  the  expression,  that  part  of  it  is  most  certainly  his, 
and,  for  the  rest,  no  sufficient  reason  has  yet  been  urged  to  countenance  any  doubt 
that  it  too  is  by  Shake^>eare.— R.  G.  White  (ed.  ii.) :  This  Porter  I  was  once 
misled  into  believing,  for  a  little  while,  to  be  not  of  Shakespeare's  make.  I  was 
wrong.  He  is  one  of  Shakespeare's  true  humourous  grotesques,  although  not  of 
the  best  sort  of  them.  Of  the  knocking  that  he  prates  about,  what  a  woful  echo  in 
Lady  Macbeth' s  sleep-walking  scene !  and,  by  her  pallid  lips,  Shakespeare  claims 
him  for  his  own  :  tliis  scene  is  surely  all  of  one  piece. — Hui>soN  (ed.  iii. ) :  Cole-  . 
ridge  thinks  this  part  of  the  scene  could  not  have  been  written  by  Shakespeare.  . . . 
I  am  sure  it  is  like  him,  I  think  it  is  worthy  of  him,  and  would  by  no  means  have  it 
away. — Ed.  ii.] 

5.  old]  Steevens  :  That  is,  frequent,  more  than  enough. — Collier  :  Hundreds 
of  instances  of  its  use  as  a  common  augmentative  in  Shakespeare's  time  might  easily 
be  accumulated. — Dyce  {Gloss,) :  I  beUeve  I  was  the  first  to  remark  that  the  Ital- 
ians use  (or  at  least  formerly  used)  'vecchio'  in  the  same  sense.  ...  It  is 
rather  remarkable  that  Florio  has  not  given  this  meaning  of  <  vecchio.'  [The  phrase, 
'  There  has  been  old  work  to-day,'  for  an  unusual  disturbance,  is  still  current  among 
the  lower  orders  in  Warwickshire,  according  to  Fraser's  Mag,  1856.  For  'the' 
preceding  a  verbal,  see  Abbott,  §  93.  Compare  I,  iv,  12.  For  examples  of  *  old ' 
used  in  this  sense,  see  Schmidt  {Lex,  7).] 

7.  Farmer]  M alone:  So  in  Hall's  Satires,  b.  iv.  Sat.  6:  «Ech  Muck-worme 
will  be  rich  with  lawlesse  gaine,  Altho'  he  smother  vp  mowes  of  seuen  yeares 


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ACT  II,  sc.  iii.]       THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  147 

himfelfe  on  th^expe6lation  of  Plentie:  Come  in  time^  haue  8 

Napkins  enow  about  you,  here  you'le  fweat  for't.    Knock. 
Knock,  knock.     Who's  there  in  th'other  Deuils  Name  ?  10 

Faith  here's  an  Equiuocator,  that  could  fweare  in  both 

7,8.  Here's  ,.,  Plentie]    In   Italics,  10.  in  M']   I'M'Theob.   ii,  Warb. 

Sta.  Johns.      V  the  Cap.   Var.    Mai.    Ran. 

8.  on]  in  Pope,  Han.  Steev.  Var.  Sing.  Knt,  Sta.  Ktly.     in 
Comein/ime,]comein,time,'D'AY.  the  Coll.  Hnds.  Dyce,  Hal.  Wb.  Glo. 

come  in^  Time ;  Sta.  come  in,  farmer  Deuils  Name]  devil* s-name  Fur- 
Anon,  ap.  Cam.  ness  conj.  (MS). 

9.  enow]  enough  Ff,  Rowe,  +  ,  Cap.  II.  Faith]  Ff,  Rowe,  +  ,  Var.  '73, 
Var.  Mai.  Ran.  Steey.  Var.  Knt,  Coll.  Djce,  Sta.    'Faith  Cap.  et  cet. 

i,  ii,  Hnds.  Wh.  i.  w-i^,  FaUh,,Meauen]    In    Italics, 

youUe]  you  will  Ran.  Sta. 

gniine.  And  bang'd  himself  when  come  grows  cheap  again.' — Hunter  :  There  is  a 
story  of  SQch  an  event  in  the  small  tract  of  Peacham,  entitled.  The  Truth  of  our 
Times  revealed  out  of  one  Man's  Experience,  1638.  The  farmer  had  hoarded  hay 
when  it  was  five  pounds  ten  shillings  per  load,  and  when  it  unexpectedly  fell  to 
forty  and  thirty  shillings,  he  hung  himself  through  disappointment  and  vexation,  but 
was  cut  down  by  his  son  before  he  was  quite  dead.  No  doubt  such  stories  are  of 
all  ages. 

8.  Come  in  time]  Staunton  :  The  editors  concur  in  printing  this,  <  Come  in 
time,'  but  what  meaning  they  attach  to  it  none  has  yet  explained.  As  we  have  sub< 
sequently,  'Come  in,  Equivocator,*  and  'Come  in.  Tailor,'  'Time'  is  probably 
intended  as  a  whimsical  appellation  for  the  'farmer  that  hanged  himself.' 

9.  Napkins]  Baret  in  his  Alvearie  (cited  by  Nares)  gives :  '  Napkin  or  hand- 
kerchief . . .  sudarium . .  .  quo  sudorem  exteigimus  in  aestu,  &  nares  peigamus.' 
*A  table  napkin .  . .  Est  enim  linteolum  quo  manus  tergere  solamus.' — Delius  : 
Handkerchiefs  were  suggested  by  the  idea  that  the  farmer  may  have  hanged  himself 
with  one,  and  appeared  at  the  gate  Of  hell  with  it  still  around  his  neck. 

10.  th'other  Deuils  Name]  B.  Nicholson  (N,  Sr*  Qu,  g  Feb.  1878) :  James 
I,  *  DcemonoUgie  :  The  knauerie  of  that  same  deuil ;  who  as  hee  illudes  the  Necro- 
mancers with  innumerable  feyned  names  for  him  and  his  angels,  as  in  special, 
making  Sathan,  Beelzebub,  and  Lucifer  to  be  three  sundry  sprites,  where  we  find  the 
two  former,  but  diuers  names  giuen  to  the  Prince  of  all  the  rebelling  angels  by  the 
Scripture. . . .  Euen  so  I  say  he  deceaues  the  Witches,  by  attributing  to  himself 
diuers  names:  as  if  euery  diuers  shape  that  he  transformes  himselfe  in,  were  a 
diuers  kinde  of  spirit.' — ^Book  iii,  ch.  v.  (p.  76,  1st  ed.).  I  neither  say  nor  mean 
that  the  porter  was  a  witch,  but  that  which  was  witch-belief  was  doubtless  a  popular 
belief. — Ed.  ii. 

11.  Eqaiuocator]  Warburton:  Meaning  a  Jesuit.  The  inventors  of  the  exe- 
cxable  doctrine  of  equivocation, — ^Walker  {Crit.  iii,  253) :  This  allusion  to  the 
times  is  certainly  unlike  Shakespeare.  It  strengthens  Coleridge's  hypothesis  of  the 
spurionsness  of  part  of  this  soliloquy.  [See  Appendix,  Date  of  the  Play — Malone. — 
DoWDBN  {New  Sh.  Soc,  Trans,  p.  275 ;  22  May,  1874) :  I  think  we  should  ask  whether 
Shakespeare  did  not  make  the  Porter  use  this  word,  as  well  as  '  hell-gate,'  with 
nnconadous  reference  to  Macbeth,  who  even  then  had  began  to  find  that  he  '  could 
not  equivocate  to  heaven.'     The  equivocator  who  the  Porter  says  is  '  here,'  and 


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148  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH     [act  ii.  sc.  iiL 

the  Scales  againft  eyther  Scale,  who  committed  Treafon  12 

enough  for  Gods  fake,  yet  could  not  equiuocate  to  Hea- 
uen  :  oh  come  in,  Equiuocator.  Knock.  Knock, 
Knock,  Knock.     Who's  there  ?    'Faith  here's  an  Englifli  1 5 

Taylor  come  hither,  for  dealing  out  of  a  French  Hofe: 
Come  in  Taylor,  here  you  may  roll  your  Goofe.  Knock. 
Knock,  Knock.  Neuer  at  quiet  :  What  are  you  ?  but  this 
place  is  too  cold  for  Hell.  He  Deuill-Porter  it  no  further : 
I  had  thought  to  haue  let  in  fome  of  all  Profeflions,  that  20 

goe  the  Primrofe  way  to  th'euerlafting  Bonfire.     Knock. 

15,  16.  'Faith.„Ho/e]  In  Italics,  Sta.  21.  to  M*]  Ff,  D'Av.  Rowe,+,  Wh. 

17.  roft'\  roaft  F^.  to  the  Cap.  et  cct 

21.  Bonfire\  Bone-fire  D*Av. 

whom  he  tells  to  *  come  in/  is,  in  one  sense,  depend  on  it,  the  same  Macbeth,  of 
whom  Macduff  says  a  few  lines  further  on,  'here  he  comes,'  and  who  begins  to 
equivocate  forthwith. — Ed.  ii.] 

16.  Hose]  Warburton  :  The  joke  consists  in  this,  that  a  French  hose  being 
very  short  and  strait,  a  tailor  must  be  master  of  his  trade  who  could  steal  an3rthing 
from  thence. — Stbevens:  Warburton  said  this  at  random.  The  French  hose 
(according  to  Stubbes  in  his  Anatomie  of  Abuses)  were  in  1595  much  in  fashion : 
'  The  Gallic  hosen  are  made  very  large  and  wide,  reaching  down  to  their  knees 
only,  with  three  or  foure  gardes  apeece  laid  down  along  either  hose,'  [p.  56,  ed.  Fur- 
nivall. — Ed.  ii.  ]. — Farmer  :  Steevens  forgot  the  uncertainty  of  French  fashions.  In 
The  Treasury  of  Ancient  and  Modem  Times,  1613,  we  have  an  account  (from 
Guyon,  I  suppose)  of  the  old  French  dresses :  *Mens  hose  answered  in  length  to 
their  short-skirted  doublets ;  being  made  close  to  their  limbes^  wherein  they  had  no 
means  for  pockets.' — Clarendon  :  Stubbes,  in  his  Anatomie  of  Abmes  (fol.  23  b, 
ed.  1585),  says:  'The  Frenche  hose  are  of  two  diuers  makinges,  for  the  common 
Frenche  hose  (as  they  list  to  call  them)  containeth  length,  breadth,  and  sidenesse 
sufficient,  and  is  made  very  rounde.  The  other  contayneth  neyther  length,  breadth, 
nor  sidenesse  (being  not  past  a  quarter  of  a  yarde  side),  whereof  some  be  paned, 
cut,  and  drawen  out  with  costly  omamentes,  with  Canions  annexed,  reaching  downe 
beneath  their  knees.'  In  the  Mer.  of  Ven,  I,  ii,  80,  Shakespeare  clearly  speaks  of 
the  larger  kind,  the  '  round  hose '  which  the  Englishman  borrows  from  France,  and 
it  is  enough  to  suppose  that  the  tailor  merely  followed  the  practice  of  his  trade  with- 
out exhibiting  any  special  dexterity  in  stealing.  In  Hen,  V:  III,  vii,  56,  the 
French  hose  are  wide  by  comparison. 

18.  at  quiet]  Clarendon  :  ^t^  Judges^  xviii,  27 :  'A  people  that  were  at  quiet 
and  secure.'  Compare  'at  friend,'  Wint,  Tale,  V,  i,  140.  So  in  Hamlet ^  IV,  iii, 
46,  'at  help'  is  used  with  the  force  of  an  adjective.  [In  Henry  Goodcole's 
apology,  preceding  the  Wonderful  Discovery  of  Elizabeth  Sawyer,  1621  ;  reprinted 
in  Ford's  Works  on  p.  Ixxxiii,  is  another  example :  'I  could  scarce  at  any  time  be 
at  quiet  for  many  who  would  take  no  nay'  (ed.  Dyce,  Gifford). — Ed.  ii.] 

21.  Primrose  way]  Stbevens  :  So  in  Hamlet,  I,  iii,  50,  and  AWs  Well,  IV, 
▼,S6. 
21.  Bonfire]  Murray  {N.  E.  D,)i  From  Bone  +  Fire  =  Fire  of  bones.    The 


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ACT  n.  sc.  iii.]      THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  149 

Anon^anon^I  pray  you  remember  the  Porter.  22 

Enter  Macduff ^  and  Lenox. 

Macd.    Was  it  fo  late,  friend,  ere  you  went  to  Bed, 
That  you  doe  lye  fo  late  ?  25 

/Vr/.Faith  Sir,  we  were  carowfmg  till  the  fecond  Cock : 
And  Drinke,Sir,is  a  great  prouoker  of  three  things. 

Macd.    What  three  things    does   Drinke   efpecially 
prouokef 

Port.     Marry,  Sir,  Nofe-painting,  Sleepe,  and  Vrine.  30 

Lecherie,  Sir,  it  prouokes,  and  vnprouokes  :  it  prouokes 
the  defire,but  it  takes  away  the  performance.  Therefore 
much  Drinke  may  be  faid  to  be  an  Equiuocator  with  Le- 
cherie :  it  makes  him,  and  it  marres  him ;  it  fets  him  on, 
and  it  takes  him  off;  it  perfwades  him,  and  dif-heartens  35 

him ;  makes  him  (land  too,  and  not  ftand  too :  in  conclu- 
fion,equiuocates  him  in  a  fleepe,and  giuing  him  the  Lye,  37 

22.  the  Porter]  the  porter,     [Opens.  35.  dif-heartens]  dijheartem  Ff. 

Cap.  et  seq.  (snbs.)  3^-  too^Joo]  to..Jo  Ff. 

26,  27.  Prose,  Johns,  et  seq.  37-  »*»  afleepe]  into  a  sleep  Rowe,+. 

21-^^.  of  three  things.., caft  him.]  of  inio  sleep  Haaon.     asleep  CoW.  {HS). 
sleep.  Harry  Rowe. 

etymolc^cal  spelling  bone  fire  y  Sc.  bane  fire,  was  common  down  to  1760,  though 
'  bonfire '  was  also  in  use  from  the  sixteenth  century,  and  became  more  common  as 
the  original  sense  was  forgotten.  Johnson  in  1755  decided  (or  bottfire,  'from  bon, 
goody  and  ^re.*  But  the  shortening  of  the  vowel  was  natural,  from  its  position ; 
cf.  knowledge^  Monday^  collier,  etc.  In  Scotland  with  the  form  bane  fire,  the  mem- 
ory of  the  original  sense  was  retained  longer ;  for  the  annual  midsummer  <  banefire ' 
or  '  bonfire '  in  the  burgh  of  Hawick,  old  bones  were  regularly  collected  and  stored 
up,  down  to  about  1800.  Cath.  Angl.  (1483):  <  A  banefyre,  ignis  ossium  (20/1).  2. 
A  fire  in  which  to  consume  corpses,  a  funeral  pile,  a  pyre.'  {Obsolete.)  Golding, 
OvitTs  Met.  (1565),  *  Or  els  without  solemnitie  were  burnt  in  bone-fires  hie,'  Bk,  vii. 
26.  second  Cock]  Steevens  :  So  in  Lear,  III,  iv,  121.  Again  in  the  Twelfth 
Mery  Teste  of  the  Widow  Edith,  1573 :  *  The  time  they  pass  merely  til  ten  of  the 
clok.  Yea,  and  I  shall  not  lye,  till  after  the  first  <:tf^.*—M alone  :  About  three 
o'clock  in  the  morning.     See  Rom.  &*Jul.  IV,  iv,  3. 

26,  27.  Deuus  :  This  reply  of  the  Porter's  falls  into  two  regular  Iambic  trimeters, 
and  is  correctly  so  printed  in  the  Folio. 

27.  prouoker]  Harry  Rowe:  I  cannot  set  up  the  morality  of  a  puppet-show- 
man against  the  piety  oi  Dr  Johnson,  but  I  will  venture  to  say,  that  by  shortening 
this  conversation,  I  have  done  the  memory  of  Shakespeare  no  material  injury.  Too 
many  meretricious  weeds  grow  upon  the  banks  of  Avon. 

37.  in  a  sleepe]  Elwin  :  Here  used  in  both  senses :  tricks  him  into  a  sleep ; 


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ISO  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH      [act  ii.  sc.  liL 

leaues  him.  38 

Macd.  I  beleeue^Diinke  gaue  thee  the  Lye  laft  Night. 
Port.     That  it  did,Sir,i'the  very  Throat  on  me :  but  I  40 

requited  him  for  his  Lye,  and  (I  thinke)being  too  ftrong 

for  him,  though  he  tooke  vp  my  Legges  fometime,  yet  I 

made  a  Shift  to  cad  him. 

Enter  Macbeth.  44 

40.  on  me\   if  me  Theob.  ii,  Warb.  After  Noble  Sir ^Vixat  Atl*  Popc,  +  ,  Var. 

Johns.  Cap.  Var.  Mai,  Ran.  Steev.  Var.  '73,  '78,  '85,  Ran.  After  comes^  line  46, 

Sing.  Knt,  Kdy,  Coll.  iii.  Cap.  Mai.  Var.  Sing.  Knt,  Huds.  Sta. 

42.  vp\  Om.  Warb.  Johns.  Ktly.    Re-enter  M.  Dyce,  after  line  46. 

Legges\  legs  F^.  Enter  M.  in  his  night-gown.  Coll.  ii. 

44.  Scene  IV.  Enter  Macduff,  Lenox,  (MS  ...gown.  lb.  iii.)     hS(Kt  Jlirringf 

and  Porter.  Pope,  Han.  line  45,  Coll.  i,  et  cet 

Enter  Macbeth.]  Ff,  D'Av.  Rowe. 


and,  tricks  him  in  a  sleep,  that  is,  by  a  dream. — ^Walker  {Crit,  iii,  251) :  This  is 
not  more  harsh  to  our  ears  than  *  smiles  his  cheek  in  years,*  Lavi?s  Lab,  L,  V,  ii, 
465.     [For  other  examples  of  *  in'  meaning  into,  see  Abbott,  §  159.] 

39.  Night]  Malone  :  It  is  not  very  easy  to  ascertain  precisely  the  time  when 
Duncan  is  murdered.  The  conversation  that  passes  between  Banquo  and  Macbeth, 
in  II,  i,  might  lead  us  to  suppose  that  when  Banquo  retired  to  rest  it  was  not  mtick 
after  twelve  o'clock.  The  king  was  then  ^abed';  and,  immediately  after  Banquo 
retires  Lady  Macbeth  strikes  upon  the  bell,  and  Macbeth  commits  the  murder.  In 
a  few  minutes  afterwards  the  knocking  at  the  gate  commences,  and  no  time  can  be 
supposed  to  elapse  between  the  second  and  the  third  scene,  because  the  Porter  gets 
up  in  consequence  of  the  knocking :  yet  here  Macduff  talks  of  iast  night,  and  says 
that  he  was  commanded  to  call  timeiy  on  the  king,  and  that  he  fears  he  has  almost 
overpass' d  the  hour;  and  the  Porter  tells  him,  *  We  were>  carousing  till  the  second 
eock\'  so  that  we  must  suppose  it  to  be  now  at  least  six  o'clock ;  for  Macduff  has 
already  expressed  his  surprise  that  the  Porter  should  lie  so  late,  Brom  Lady  Mac- 
beth's  words  in  Act  V,  <  One — two— 'tis  time  to  do't,'  it  should seetn  that  the  murder 
was  committed  at  ttvo  o'clock,  and  that  hour  is  certainly  not  inconsistent  with  the 
conversation  above  referred  to  between  Banquo  and  his  son ;  but  even  that  hour  of 
two  will  not  correspond  with  what  the  Porter  and  Macduff  say  in  the  present  scene. 
I  suspect  Shakespeare  in  fact  meant  that  the  murder  should  be  supposed  to  be  com- 
mitted a  little  before  daybreak,  which  exactly  corresponds  with  the  speech  of  Mac- 
duff now  before  us,  though  not  so  well  with  the  other  circumstances  already  men- 
tioned, or  with  Lady  Macbeth' s  desiring  her  husband  to  put  on  his  night-gown. 
Shakespeare,  I  believe,  was  led  to  fix  the  time  of  Duncan's  murder  near  the  break 
of  day  by  Holinshed's  account  of  the  murder  of  King  Duffe :  ' —  he  was  long  in 
his  oratorie,  and  there  continued  till  it  was  late  in  the  night,"*  Donwald's  servants 
'enter  the  chamber  where  the  king  laie,  a  little  before  cocks  crow,  where  they 
secretlie  cut  his  throat.' 

43.  cast]  Johnson  :  The  equivocation  is  between  cast  or  threw,  as  a  term  of 
wrestling,  and  cast  or  cast  up. — Steevens  :  I  find  a  similar  play  upon  words  in  The 
Two  Angry  Women  of  Abington,  1599:  * —  he  reels  all  that  he  wrought  to-day,  and 
he  were  good  now  to  play  at  dice,  for  he  casts  excellent  well,'  [Haz.  Dods.  p.  303]. 


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ACT  n.  sc.  iii.]       THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  151 

Macd.     Is  thy  Mafter  (Urring  ?  45 

Our  knocking  ha's  awakM  him:  here  he  comes. 

Lenox.    Good  morrow,  Noble  Sir. 

Macb,     Good  morrow  both. 

Macd.     Is  the  King  ftirring,  worthy  Thanel 

Macb.     Not  yet.  50 

Macd.    He  did  command  me  to  call  timely  on  him, 
I  haue  almoft  flipt  the  houre.  52 

46,47.  Our.,.\jtDOx,    C?<nm/]  Lenox.  52.  I  haue]  Fve  Pope,  +  ,  Dyce  ii. 

Our,,.  Good  Ed.  ii.  conj.  iii. 

44.  Enter  Macbeth]  Scott  (iii,  35) :  We  can  never  forget  the  rueful  horror 
of  [Kemble's]  look,  which  bjr  strong  exertion  he  endeavors  to  conceal,  when  on 
the  morning  succeeding  the  murder  he  receives  Lenox  and  Macduff  in  the  ante- 
chamber of  Duncan.  His  efforts  to  appear  composed,  his  endeavors  to  assume  the 
attitude  and  appearance  of  one  listening  to  Lenox's  account  of  the  external  terrors 
of  the  night,  while  in  fact  he  is  expecting  the  alarm  to  arise  within  the  royal  apart- 
ment, formed  a  most  astonishing  piece  of  playing.  Kemble's  countenance  seemed 
altered  by  the  sense  of  internal  honor,  and  had  a  cast  of  that  of  Count  Ugolino  in 
the  dungeon,  as  painted  by  Reynolds.  When  Macbeth  felt  himself  obliged  to  turn 
towards  Lenox  and  reply  to  what  he  had  been  saying,  you  saw  him,  like  a  man 
awaking  from  a  fit  of  absence,  endeavor  to  recollect  at  least  the  geneml  tenor  of 
what  had  been  said,  and  it  was  some  time  ere  he  could  bring  out  the  general  reply, 
*  'Twas  a  rough  night'  Those  who  have  had  the  good  fortune  to  see  Kemble  and 
Mrs  Siddons  as  Macbeth  and  his  lady,  may  be  satisfied  they  have  witnessed  the 
highest  perfection  of  the  dramatic  art — Ed.  ii. — Knowles  (p.  55)  :  The  actor  who 
betrays  to  the  audience  in  any  portion  of  this  scene  the  slightest  evidence  of  desper- 
ation or  forgetfiilness  on  the  part  of  Macbeth,  errs  most  egregiously  from  true  judgment 
The  audience  require  no  hint  as  to  what  is  passing  in  Macbeth' s  bosom,  nor  is  there 
a  moment's  opportunity  for  by-play,  as  it  is  called,  to  render  the  thing  feasible. 
He  is  kept  in  close  conversation  from  first  to  last  If  he  is  on  his  guard  with 
respect  to  one  of  the  visitors,  be  sure  he  is  equally  so  with  respect  to  both.  How 
absurd  is  it,  then,  for  an  actor  to  require  that  this  question  shall  be  repeated,  as  if, 
absorbed  in  his  expecUtion  of  what  is  coming,  Macbeth  did  not  hear  it  in  the  first 
instance.  Macbeth' s  mind  being  once  roused  to  the  necessity  of  playing  his  part, 
the  imminency  of  his  danger  keeps  it  broad  awake.  He  would  as  soon  betray  him- 
self to  Lenox  by  standing  gasping  after  Macduff,  as  he  would  betray  himself  to 
Macduff  by  being  abstracted  when  the  Thane  inquires  if  the  King  is  stirring  yet? 
When  the  discovery  of  the  murder  came,  would  not  Lenox  recollect  the  statue  he 
had  spoken  to,  and  guess  the  cause  which  had  turned  Macbeth  for  the  time  into  a 
stone  ?  The  frame  of  mind  in  which  we  now  find  Macbeth  would  rather  induce 
him  to  overdo  than  to  fall  short  Here  is  again  the  mischief  of  studying  partial 
effects.  Howsoever  calm  Macbeth  may  appear  without,  the  storm  shall  not  only  be 
kept  up  within,  but  with  aggravated  strife. — Ed.  ii. 

52.  slipt]  Clarendon  :  <  Slip '  is  used  transitively  with  a  person  for  the  object 
in  Cymb,  IV,  iii,  22.  [For  other  examples  of  <  slip '  used  transitively,  see  Schmidt, 
Z/jr.] 


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1 52  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH     [act  n.  sc  iiL 

Macb.     He  bring  you  to  him.  53 

Macd.     I  know  this  is  a  ioyfull  trouble  to  you : 
But  yet  'tis  one.  55 

McLcb.    The  labour  we  delight  in,  Phyficks  paine : 
This  is  the  Doore. 

Macd.     He  make  fo  bold  to  call,  for 'tis  my  limitted 
feruice.  Exit  Macduffe. 

Lenox.     Goes  the  Kling  hence  to  day?  60 

Macb.     He  does :  he  did  appoint  fo. 

Lenox.    The  Night  ha's  been  vnruly : 
Where  we  lay,  our  Chimneys  were  blowne  downe, 
And  (as  they  fay)  lamentings  heard  i'th'Ayre 
Strange  Schreemes  of  Death,  65 

And  Prophecying,  with  Accents  terrible, 

53.  Ma  b]  F,.  61.  He  does  :'\0m.  Pope,  +  . 

56.  Phyfick5\  Physick's  F^F^,  Rowe.  62-6$.  The  Night,,,of  Death;\  Ff, 
physics  Popeetseq.                                       Hads.  i.     Three  lines,  ending :  lay^„. 

57.  7:iw]     Thai     Cap.    (Corrected,        /fly).../?^fl/^,  Rowe,et  cet 

Notes  ii,  lo),  Ran.  65.  Schreentes"]  fcreems  F^.     screams 

57-59-  This,.,fermce,'\  Ff,  Rowe,  +  .  Rowe. 

Two  lines,  ending :  cally,.. feruice,  Han.  66.  And  Prophecyistg\  And  prophesy- 

et  cet  ings  Han.  [Cap. — <  perhaps  rightly.'] 

60.  hence^  From  hence  (reading  For  Ran. 

,„King^  From,„so. — two  lines)  Steev.  66-69.  And ...  time.      The]  And^  .„ 

Var.  '03,  *  13.  time,  the  Anon.  Knt,  Huds. 

54.  trouble]  Delius  :  Macduff  refers  to  Macbeth' s  hospitable  reception  of  Dun- 
can, not  to  his  bringing  him  to  Duncan's  chamber.  Of  the  latter  senrice  they  would 
hardly  speak  with  so  much  emphasis. 

56.  Physicks]  Steevens  :  That  is,  affords  a  cordial  to  it. — Malone  :  So  in  Temp. 
Ill,  i,  I. — Clarendon  :  The  general  sentiment  here  expressed  is  true,  whether 
*  pain '  be  understood  in  its  more  common  sense  of  sufferings  or,  as  Macbeth  means 
it,  of  trouble.  Compare  Cymb.  Ill,  ii,  34.  [For  other  examples,  see  Schmidt, 
Lex.-] 

58.  bold  to]  For  many  examples  of  <  bold '  used  in  this  sense,  see  Schmidt, 
Lex, 

58.  limitted]  Warburton  :  That  is,  o^inted.SrESyESS :  So  in  Timon,  IV, 
iii,  430 :  <  For  there  is  boundless  theft  In  limited  professions,'  t.  e.  professions  to 
which  people  are  regularly  and  legally  appointed. — Clarendon  :  Such  as  the 
church,  the  bar,  and  medicine.  It  must  be  supposed  that  Macduff  was,  as  we 
should  say,  a  Lord  of  the  Bedchamber.     See  Afeas.  for  Meas.  IV,  ii,  176. 

61.  He  does]  Steevens:  Perhaps  Shakespeare  designed  Macbeth  to  shelter 
himself  under  an  immediate  falsehood,  till  a  sudden  recollection  of  guilt  restrained 
his  confidence,  and  unguardedly  disposed  him  to  qualify  his  assertion.  A  similar 
trait  occurred  in  I,  v,  68. 

66.  And  Prophecying]  Warburton  :  I  make  no  doubt  but  the  reader  is  before- 


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Acrn.sc.  iii.]      THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH  153 

Of  dyre  Combuftion,  and  confusM  Euents,  67 

New  hatched  toth^  wofuU  time* 

67.  Combuftion]  cotnbuftions  Ff,  Pope,  Huds.  Sing,  ii,  Wh.  ii. 
Han.  Cap.  Var.  '73.  68-71.  New  hatch' d^Jhake,]  Three 

67-69.  Euents f  ...  time.      The"]    Ff.  lines,   ending :    time,  .., Night.  ,„Jkake. 

eventSj  time :  the  Pope,  + ,  Knt,  Wh.  i.  Rowe,  + ,  Knt,  Huds.  1,  Sing,  ii,  Sta. 

events,  ...timey  the  Johns,  conj.   events,..  Three  lines,  ending :    Bird.,, Earth... 

time:  the  Dyct,  Cam.    events. ..time,  the  Jhake.  Han.  et  cet. 

hand  with  me  in  conjecturing  that  Shakespeare  wrote :  Aunts  prophesying^  i.  e. 
Matrons,  old  Vfomen,  So  in  Mid.  N  D.  he  says :  <  The  wisest  Aunt  telling  the 
saddest  tale.'  Where,  we  see,  he  makes  them  still  employed  on  dismal  subjects, 
fitted  to  disorder  the  imagination. — ^Johnson  :  I  believe  that  no  reader  will  either 
go  before  or  follow  the  commentator  in  this  conjecture. 

66.  Prophecying]  Walker  (Vers.  p.  119) :  Words  in  which  a  short  vowel  is 
preceded  by  a  long  one  or  a  diphthong — among  the  rest  may  be  particularly  noticed 
such  present  participles  doing,  going,  dying,  playing,  etc. — are  frequently  contracted  ; 
the  participles  almost  always.  [See,  also,  Abbott  (§  470).] — Clarendon  :  Here 
used  as  a  verbal  noun,  in  its  ordinary  sense  oi  foretelling. 

67.  Combustion]  Clarendon  :  Used  metaphorically  for  social  confusion,  as  in 
Ben,  VHI :  V,  iv,  51.  Cotgrave  has :  *  —  a  tumult ;  hence,  Entrer  en  combus- 
tion avec.  To  make  a  stirre,  to  raise  an  vprore,  to  keepe  an  old  coyle  against.' 
Raleigh,  in  his  Discourse  of  War  in  General  ( Works,  viii,  276,  ed.  1829),  says  : 
'Nevertheless,  the  Pope's  absolving  of  Richard.  .  .  from  that  honest  oath.  .  . 
brought  all  England  into  an  horrible  combustion.'  And  Milton,  Paradise  Lost,  vi, 
225,  uses  the  word  in  the  same  sense. 

68.  New  hatch'd]  Johnson  :  K  prophecy  of  an  event  new  hatched  seems  to  be  a 
prophecy  of  an  event  past.  And  a  prophecy  new  hatched  is  a  wry  expression.  The 
term  new  hatch* d  is  properly  applicable  to  a  bird,  and  that  birds  of  ill  omen  should 
be  new  hatch'd  to  the  woful  time,  that  is,  should  appear  in  uncommon  numbers,  is 
very  consistent  with  the  rest  of  the  prodigies  here  mentioned. — Heath  (p.  388) : 
Johnson  on  review  would  scarce  approve  of  the  owlet  hooting  from  the  moment  it 
was  hatched,  and  filling  that  whole  night  with  its  clamours. — Steevens  :  <  Prophecy- 
ing '  is  what  is  <  new  hatch'd,'  and  in  the  metaphor  holds  the  place  of  the  egg.  The 
'  events '  are  the  fruit  of  such  hatching. — Malone  :  The  following  passage  in  which 
the  same  imagery  is  found,  inclines  me  to  believe  that  our  author  meant  that  <  new 
hatch'd '  should  be  referred  to  events,  though  the  events  were  yet  to  come.  Allow- 
ing for  his  usual  inaccuracy  with  respect  to  the  active  and  passive  participle,  the 
events  may  be  said  to  be  'the  hatch  and  brood  of  time.'  See  2  Hen.  IV:  HI,  i, 
82 :  •  The  which  observed,  a  man  may  prophesy.  With  a  near  aim,  of  the  main 
chance  of  things  As  yet  not  come  to  life^  which  in  their  seeds  And  weak  beginning's 
lie  entreasured.  Such  things  become  the  hatch  and  brood  of  time.'  Here  certainly 
it  is  the  thing  or  event,  and  not  the  prophecy,  which  is  the  hatch  of  time  ;  but  it  must 
be  acknowledged,  the  word  <  become '  sufficiently  marks  the  future  time.  If  there- 
fore the  construction  that  I  have  suggested  be  the  true  one,  '  hatch'd '  must  be  here 
used  for  hatching,  or  in  the  state  of  being  hatch'd. — *•  To  the  woful  time '  means — 
to  sttit  the  woful  time.— Knight  :  We  have  adopted  a  punctuation,  suggested  by  a 
friend,  which  connects  'the  obscure  bird'  with  'prophesying.' — Clarendon  :  The 
extract  above  given  from  2  Hen.  IV:  III,  i,  82,  shows  that  the  ordinary  punctua- 


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154  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH     [act  ii,  sa  liL 

The  obfcure  Bird  clamor'd  the  liue-long  Night 

Some  fay,  the  Earth  was  feuorous,  70 

And  did  (hake. 

Macb.     'Twas  a  rough  Night. 

Lenox.     My  young  remembrance  cannot  paralell 
A  fellow  to  it 

Enter  Macduff.  75 

Macd.     O  horror,  horror,  horror, 
Tongue  nor  Heart  cannot  conceiue,  nor  name  thee. 

Macb.  and  Lenox.    What's  the  matter  ?  78 

69.  ob/oire]  obfcnre  F,-  obscene  76,  77.  O  h<frror,„tkee1  1%  Rowe, 
Walker,  Wh.  i,  Huds.  iii.                               +,  Knt,  Sta.    Lines  end :  Heart,,  Jkee 

70.  feuoroui\  feaverous  F^F^,  Rowe.         Ci^.  et  cet 

fexfrons  Pope,  +  .  77.   Tongue  nor\  Or tongueor  Pope, 

75.  Enter  Macduff.]   Re-enter  Mac-  Han.     Nor  tangMe^  nor  ThetAi, -k- . 
doff,  hastily.  Cap.  thee,'\  thee,    [Re-enter  Macdn£ 

76.  MaoL]  Macd.  (withoat).  Irving.  Irving. 

tion  is  right     '  Hatched  to  the  time '  may  either  be  used  like  bom  to  the  time^  i.  e. 
the  time's  broody  or  hatched  to  suit  the  time^  as  *  to  *  is  used,  Coriol,  I,  iv,  57. 

69.  obscure]  Walker  (Crit,  ii,  244)  :  Read  obscene,  [Whits  made  the  same 
conjecture,  independently  and  contemporaneously.] — Dyce  (ed.  ii.) :  That  is,  the 
bird  that  loves  the  dark.     See,  for  the  accent  bbscure^  I,  vi,  50,  and  Abbott,  }  492. 

69.  clamor'd]  Walker  (Crit.  i,  157)  :  In  many  places  this  evidently  means 
wailing,  [See  'clamor'  in  an  unusual  sense,  Wint,  Talcy  IV,  iv,  277,  this 
edition.] 

70.  feaoroas]  Clarendon  :  This  must  be  understood  of  ague-fever,  much 
more  common  in  old  times  than  now  when  England  is  drained. 

77.  Tongue]  Delius  :  The  omission  of  neither  before  this  word  is  as  common 
in  Shakespeare  as  the  accumulated  negatives  that  here  follow  it 

77.  nor  .  . .  cannot]  Steevens  :  The  use  of  the  two  negatives,  not  to  make  an 
affirmative,  but  to  deny  more  strongly,  is  very  common  in  Shakespeare.  So  \njul. 
Oes.  Ill,  i,  91.  [For  instances  of  a  triple  negative,  see  Twelfth  Night,  III,  i,  163, 
this  edition. — Ed.  ii.] 

78.  Moulton  (p.  163) :  The  concealment  of  the  murder  forms  a  stage  of  the 
action  which  falls  into  two  different  parts :  the  single  effort  which  faces  the  first 
shock  of  discovery,  and  the  very  different  strain  required  to  meet  the  slowly  gather- 
ing evidence  of  guilt  In  the  scene  of  the  discovery  Macbeth  b  perfectly  at  home : 
energetic  action  b  needed,  and  he  is  dealing  with  men.  His  acted  innocence 
appears  to  me  better  than  his  wife*s;  Lady  Macbeth  goes  near  to  suggesting  a 
personal  interest  in  the  crime  by  her  over-anxiety  to  disclaim  it  Yet  in  this  scene, 
as  everywhere  else,  the  weak  points  in  Macbeth' s  character  betray  him:  for  one 
moment  he  is  left  to  himself,  and  that  moment's  suspense  ruins  the  whole  episode. 
The  sense  of  crisis  proves  too  much  for  him,  and  under  an  ungovernable  impulse  he 
stabs  the  grooms.  He  thus  wrecks  the  whole  scheme.  How  perfectly  Lady  Mac- 
beth's  plan  would  have  served  if  it  had  been  left  to  itself  is  shown  by  Lenox's 
account  of  what  he  had  seen. — Ed.  ii. 


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ACT  II.  sc.  iu.]       THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH 


ISS 


Macd.     Confufion  now  hath  made  his  Mafler-peece: 
Mod  facrilegious  Murther  hath  broke  ope 
The  Lords  ano)mted  Temple,  and  dole  thence 
The  life  oWBuUding. 

Macb.    What  is't  you  fay, the  Life? 

Lenox.   Meane  you  his  Maieftie  ? 

Macd.    Approch  the  Chamber,  and  deftroy  your  fight 
With  a  new  Gorgon.    Doe  not  bid  me  fpeake  : 
See,  and  then  fpeake  your  felues  :  awake,  awake, 

Exeunt  Macbeth  and  Lenox. 
Ring  the  Alarum  Bell  :  Murther,  and  Treafon, 
Banquoj^nd  Donalbaine :  Malcolme  awake. 
Shake  off  this  Downey  fleepe.  Deaths  counterfeit. 
And  looke  on  Death  it  felfe  :  vp,  vp,  and  fee 
The  great  Doomes  Image:  Malcolme^  Banquoj 
As  from  your  Graues  rife  vp,and  walke  like  Sprights, 


80 


85 


90 


94 


82.  Building'\  buildings  Rowe  i. 
83-  /«y»]  Ay^  Ff  etseq. 
the  Life]  In  Italics,  Sta. 

85.  Macd.]  Macb.  Ff,  Rowe  i. 

86.  Gorgon.  Doe"]  Gorgon: — Do 
Var.  '78,  *8s,  Ran.  Mai.  Var.  Knt,  Sing. 
ii,  Dyce,  Cam.  Sta.  Wh.  ii. 

88.  Exeunt  Macbeth  and  Lenox.] 
After  felues^  line  87,  Dyce,  Su.  Cam. 
Wh.  ii.     ...and  enter  Seyton  in  disor- 


dered dress.  Booth. 

89.  'Bing]  Macd.  Ring  Rowe,  Pope. 
Bell:]  bell:  [To  some  Servants 

who  are  entering.  Cap. 

90.  Donalbaine:  Malcolme]  Mal- 
colm I  Donalbain!  Huds.  iii.  Banquo 
and  Donalbaine!  Robertson. 

93.  Banquo,]  Donalbain  !  Han.  Ban^ 
quo  I  rise  I  Johns,  conj.  (Obs.)  Banquo! 
all!  Lettsom,  Huds.  iii. 


81.  Temple]  Deuus  :  Note  the  confusion  of  metaphor  here.  The  temple  cannot 
be  properly  designated  as  <  anointed';  it  is  Duncan  who  is  'the  Lord's  Anointed.' — 
Clarendon  :  Reference  is  made  in  the  same  clause  to  i  Samuel,  xxiv,  zo :  <  I  will 
not  put  forth  my  hand  against  my  lord,  for  he  is  the  Lord's  anointed';  and  to  2 
Corinthians,  vi,  16 :  *  For  ye  ait  the  temple  of  the  living  God.* 

86.  Qorgon]  Clarendon  :  Shakespeare  probably  derived  his  knowledge  of  the 
Gorgon's  head  from  Ovid,  Met,  v,  189-210.  It  is  also  alluded  to  in  Tro.  and  Cress, 
V,  10,  18. 

91.  counterfeit]  Clarendon  :  So  in  Lucrece,  402,  sleep  is  called  <the  map  of 
death,'  and  in  Mid.  N,  D.  IH,  ii,  364 :  <  Death-counterfeiting  sleep.' 

93.  great  Doomes]  Deli  us :  A  sight  as  terrible  as  an  image  of  the  Last  Judg- 
ment So  also  Kent  and  Edgar  exclaim  at  the  sight  of  Cordelia  hanging,  Lear,  V^ 
iii,  264 :  '  Is  this  the  promised  end  ?— or  image  of  that  horror.'  Macduff  continues 
the  image  of  the  end  of  the  world  in  his  summons  to  Malcolm  and  Banquo  in  lines 

94,95. 

94.  Sprights]  Clarendon  :  Compare  III,  v,  30,  and  IV,  i,  149,  where  the  word 
means  the  spirits  of  the  living  man. 


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156  THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH      [actii,  sc.  iiL 

To  countenance  this  horror.     Ring  the  Bell.  95 

Bell  rings.     Enter  Lady. 

95.  Ring  the  Bell\  Om.  Theob.  +  .  96.  Scene  V.  Pope,  +  . 

Cap.  Mai.  Ran.  Steev.  Var.  Dyce. 

95.  Ring  the  Bell]  Theobald  :  Macduff  had  said  at  the  beginning  of  his 
Speech,  <  Ring  the  Alarum  bell/  but  if  the  Bell  had  rung  out  immediately,  not  a 
Word  of  What  he  says  could  have  been  distinguished.  *  Ring  the  Bell,*  I  say,  was  a 
Marginal  Direction  in  the  Prompter's  Book  for  him  to  order  the  Bell  to  be  rung  the 
Minute  that  Macduff  ceased  speaking.  In  proof  of  this,  we  may  observe  that  the 
Hemistich  ending  Macduff's  Speech  and  that  beginning  Lady  Macbeth* s  make  up  a 
complete  Verse.  Now,  if  '  Ring  the  bell  *  had  been  part  of  the  Text,  can  we  imag- 
ine that  Shakespeare  would  have  begun  the  Lady's  speech  with  a  broken  Line? — 
Malonb:  It  should  be  remembered  that  stage-directions  were  often  couched  in 
imperative  terms :  <  Draw  a  knife,*  <  Flay  musick,*  *  Ring  the  bell,*  etc.  In  the 
Folio  we  have  here  indeed  also, '  Bell  rings,*  as  a  marginal  direction  ;  but  this  was 
inserted  from  the  players  misconceiving  what  Shakespeare  had  in  truth  set  down  in 
his  copy  as  a  dramatic  direction  to  the  property  man,  for  a  part  of  Macduff's  speech  ; 
and  to  distinguish  the  direction  which  they  inserted,  from  the  supposed  words  of  the 
speaker,  they  departed  from  the  usual  imperative  form.  Throughout  the  whole  of 
the  preceding  scene  we  have  constandy  an  imperative  direction  to  the  prompter : 
<  Knock  within.' — Knight  :  But  how  natural  is  it  that  Macduff,  having  previously 
cried,  *•  Ring  the  alarum  bell,'  should  repeat  the  order  !  The  temptation  to  strike 
out  these  words  was  the  silly  desire  to  complete  a  ten-syllable  line. — Keigutley  : 
Macduff,  in  his  anxiety  and  impatience,  reiterates  his  order. 

96.  Bell  rings]  J.  Coleman  (  Gentleman^ s  Maga.  March,  1889)  :  In  [Charles] 
Kean's  production  of  Macbeth,  the  terror-stricken  group,  at  the  end  of  the  murder- 
scene,  created  a  veritable  sensation.  When  the  alarm-bell  rang  out  crowds  of  half- 
dressed  men,  demented  women  and  children,  soldiers  with  unsheathed  weapons,  and 
retainers  with  torches,  streamed  on  and  filled  the  stage  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye. 
Wild  tumult  and  commotion  were  everywhere,  while  in  the  centre  of  the  seething 
crowd,  with  pale  face  and  flashing  eyes,  the  murderer  held  aloft  his  blood-stained 
sword ! — Ed.  ii. 

96.  Enter  Lady]  Knowles  (p.  57)  :  And  now  let  us  inquire  how  the  presence 
of  Lady  Macbeth  can  be  dispensed  with  at  this  juncture.  Would  she  take  a  share 
in  every  other  scene  of  the  tragic  enterprise,  and  absent  herself  from  this  last  and 
most  critical  one  ?  As  the  mistress  of  the  castle,  why  should  she  keep  her  room 
while  her  stairs  and  corridors  are  thronged  with  the  rush  of  feet  in  amazeful  haste  ? 
Would  it  not  be  suspicious  that,  while  the  whole  casde  is  afoot,  the  mistress  of  it 
should  remain  sitting?  There  is  every  reason  for  Lady  Macbeth' s  co-operation  in 
this  scene,  and  not  one  for  her  absence,  except  the  reason  of  the  actress  who  per- 
sonates Lady  Macbeth,  that  it  is  not  worth  while  to  come  on  for  three  or  four  times  for 
the  mere  sake  of  probability  and  propriety.  Our  stage  has  been  injured,  and  the  taste 
of  our  audiences  vitiated  by  the  studying  of  mere  effect.  Shakespeare  perfectly  well 
knew  where  Lady  Macbeth  or  any  other  woman  would  be  found  at  such  a  jimcture. 
Not  in  her  bed-chamber,  but  in  her  hall,  in  the  very  midst  of  the  hurly-burly.  And 
there  he  has  placed  her,  to  suffer  the  rebuke  of  the  actor,  to  be  told  most  ignorantly 
that  she  has  no  business  there,  and  to  be  sent  to  her  chamber  again,  where  if  even  on 


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ACT  II.  sc.  iii.]       THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH  157 

Lady.    What's  the  Bufmeffe  ?  97 

That  fuch  a  hideous  Trumpet  calls  to  parley 
The  fleepers  of  the  Houfe?  fpeake,  fpeake. 

Macd.     O  gentle  Lady,  100 

*Tis  not  for  you  to  heare  what  I  can  fpeake  : 
The  repetition  in  a  Womans  eare, 
Would  murther  as  it  fell. 

Enter  Banquo^ 
O  BanquOj  BanquOy  Our  Royall  Mailer's  murther'd.  105 

Lady.   Woe,  alas : 
What,  in  our  Houfe  ?  107 

98.  a\  an  Rowe  ii, -t- ,  Var.  '73.  104.  Enter  Banquo.]  After  line  105, 

99.  /peake,/peake.'\  speak,  Popc,  +  .  Theob.  Warb.  Johns.  Cap.  Var.  Mai. 
too.  0'\  Om.  Popc,  +  .  Ran.  Steev.  Var.  After  line  102,  Coll. 
103-108.  Would..,7vkere]  Ff,  Rowe,  Hal.  Wb.  i.  After  line  95,  Booth.   Enter 

Pope,  Knt,  Sing,  ii,  Sta.  Lines  end:  O  ...and  others.  Cap.  Enter ...  unready 
Banquo, Banquo,... <?/8i.*...zef^^r^. Theob.  Coll.  (MS).  Enter.. .and  others,  from  all 
et  cet.  sides ;  all  in  disordered  dress.  Booth. 

account  of  her  mere  anxiety  as  to  the  issue,  she  could  not  have  remained. — Ed.  ii. — 
Fletcher  (p.  164) :  The  total  omission  of  Lady  Macbeth  in  this  scene  is  a  theatrical 
mutilation  which  involves  a  doubly  gross  improbability.  On  the  one  hand,  the  lady's 
clear  understanding  of  the  part  it  behooves  her  to  act,  and  her  perfect  self-possession, 
must  of  themselves  bring  her  forward  as  the  mistress  of  the  mansion.  On  the  other 
hand,  her  solicitude  to  see  how  her  nervous  lord  conducts  himself  under  this  new 
trial  of  his  self-possession,  so  vital  to  them  both,  must  force  her  upon  the  scene. 
Besides,  this  one  brief  suppression  strikes  out  one  complete  link  in  the  main  dra- 
matic interest — Ed.  ii.  [Fletcher  doubtless  refers  to  the  acting  version  as  given 
in  Inchbald's  British  Theatre.  Irving  restored  Lady  Macbeth  to  this  scene.  Booth 
followed  the  older  version. — Ed.  ii.] 

102-103.  '^^  repetition  .  .  .  fell]  D*Hugues:  It  is  probable  that  these  words 
of  Macduff  suggested  to  Lady  Macbeth  the  idea  of  that  simulated  fainting  fit  which 
shortly  follows,  and  which  certain  commentators  have  wrongly  wished  to  ascribe  to 
her  sensibility. — Ed.  ii. 

107.  House]  Warburton  :  Had  she  been  innocent,  nothing  but  the  murder 
itself,  and  not  any  of  its  aggravating  circumstances,  would  naturally  have  affected 
her.  As  it  was,  her  business  was  to  appear  highly  disordered  at  the  news.  There- 
fore, like  one  who  has  her  thoughts  about  her,  she  seeks  for  an  aggravating  circum- 
stance, that  might  be  supposed  most  to  affect  her  personally ;  not  considering,  that  by 
placing  it  there,  she  discovered  rather  a  concern  for  herself  than  for  the  king.  On 
the  contrary,  her  husband,  who  had  repented  the  act,  and  was  now  labouring  under 
the  horrors  of  a  recent  murder,  in  his  exclamation,  gives  all  the  marks  of  sorrow  for 
the  fact  itself. — [Noel  (p.  43)  :  Here  Lady  Macbeth  almost  betrays  herself,  as  she 
cannot  but  recognise,  on  meeting  Banquo*  s  steady  gaze.  'What,  in  our  house?* 
she  cries  inconsequently,  and  then  perceives  that  she  has  blundered.  She  hears,  as 
in  a  dream,  the  sententious  and  lachrymose  expletives  of  her  husband.     Can  he 


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158  THE   TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH     [act  ii,  sc  iii 

Ban.     Too  cruell,any  where.  io8 

Deare  Duff^  I  pry  thee  contradi£l  thy  felfe, 
And  fay,  it  is  not  fo.  no 

Enter  Macbeth y  Lenox ^and  Rojfe. 

Macb.     Had  I  but  dy'd  an  houre  before  this  chance, 
I  had  liu'd  a  blefled  time  :  for  from  this  inftant, 
There^s  nothing  ferious  in  Mortalitie : 

All  is  but  Toyes :  Renowne  and  Grace  is  dead,  115 

The  Wine  of  Life  is  drawne,and  the  meere  Lees 
Is  left  this  Vault,  to  brag  of. 

Enter  Malcolme  and  Donalbaine. 
Donal.    What  is  amiffe  ^  119 

109.  Deare  Duflf]  Macduff  Pope,  +  .  112.  d^d^  dVdVfh.  i.    diedVni.  ii. 

eontradiiff]  contra^  Ff.  113.  had'\  have  Robertson. 

III.  Enter  ...  Roffc]    Ff,   Rowe,  +  ,  bleffed'\  biessid  Hycxt, 

Glo.  Coll.  iii,  Wh.  ii.  (subs.)    Re-enter  115.  is  dead"}  are  dead  Han. 

Macbeth  and  Lenox.  Cap.  et  cet.  117.  />]  are  Han. 

stand  there  and  prate  on  what,  a  short  time  ago,  he  was  afraid  to  look  on  ?  What 
had  made  him  so  ready  to  strike  at  the  hapless  grooms  when,  but  a  moment  before, 
he  seemed  to  melt  with  fear  at  the  sight  of  the  blood  upon  his  hands  ?  Now,  whilst 
she  is  tottering  and  all  objects  wildly  careering  before  her  eyes,  he  is  grandiloqnently 
expatiating  on  the  deed  itself.  He  had  passed  beyond  her  tutelage,  and  had  im- 
bibed the  spirit  of  the  time.  No  wonder  that  she  cried,  <  Help  me  hence,  ho  !' — 
Ed.  ii.] 

III.  and  Rosse]  Coluer  :  Rosse  has  not  been  on  the  stage  in  this  act,  and  he 
is  employed  in  the  next  scene.  We  have,  therefore,  IhuI  no  difficulty  in  correcting 
an  error  which  runs  through  the  Ff.  [See  Text  iV^<^«.]— Dyce  :  There  seems  an 
impropriety  in  his  absence  (as  well  as  in  that  of  Angus)  on  the  present  occasion  : 
but  I  do  not  see  by  what  arrangement  he  can  be  introduced  in  this  scene  early 
enough  to  accompany  Macbeth  and  Lenox  to  the  chamber  of  the  king. — Deliits  : 
If  the  stage-direction  of  the  Folios  be  correct,  its  only  purpose  was  to  bring  upon 
the  stage  as  many  persons  at  once  as  possible. — [Libby  (p.  viii.)  :  Ross,  having  put 
Macbeth  under  obligation  to  him  by  his  intrigue  against  Cawdor,  follows  the  new 
Thane  of  Cawdor  to  Inverness.  He  does  not  appear  in  the  castle  on  the  morning 
of  the  murder  of  Duncan,  but  shortly  after  the  removal  of  Duncan's  body  he  is 
found  in  the  neighborhood. — Ed.  ii. — Has  not  Libby  overlooked  the  stage-direction 
as  given  in  the  Folio ;  and  followed  the  emendation  suggested  by  Capell  ?  See 
rext.  Notes.— Ed,  ii.] 

117.  Vault]  Elwin:  a  metaphorical  comparison  of  this  world  vaulted  by  the 
sky  and  robbed  of  its  spirit  and  grace,  with  a  vault  or  cellar  from  which  the  wine 
has  been  taken  and  the  dregs  only  left. 


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ACT  II.  sc.  iii.]       THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  159 

Macb.    You  are,  and  doe  not  know't :  120 

The  Spring,  the  Head,  the  Fountaine  of  your  Blood 
Is  ftopt,  the  very  Source  of  it  is  ftopt. 

Macd.    Your  Royall  Father's  murther'd. 

Mai.     Oh,  by  whom  ? 

Lenox.    Thofe  of  his  Chamber,  as  it  feemM,had  don't :         125 
Their  Hands  and  Faces  were  all  badg'd  with  blood, 
So  were  their  Daggers,  which  vnwipM,we  found 
Vpon  their  Pillowes:  they  ftar'd,and  were  diftrafted. 
No  mans  Life  was  to  be  trufted  with  them. 

McLcb.     0,yet  I  doe  repent  me  of  my  furie,  130 

That  I  did  kill  them. 

McLcd.    Wherefore  did  you  fo  ? 

ifor^.Who   can  be  wife,  amazM,  temperate,  &  furious, 
Loyall,and  Neutrall,in  a  moment?  No  man :  134 

120.  You  are\    You  are —  Mull.  127-129.  So  wert^.wUk  them.'\  Four 
kncrvoU^  know  ay  9X,  Mai.  Steev.         lines,    ending  :    found  ...  PiUovtes  .* ... 

Var.  Sing.  i.  Life  ...  them,  Steev.  Var.  Dyce,  Cam. 

121,  126,  137.  Bloody  bloud  F  F^.  Wb.  ii. 

125.  feen^d^  had'\  seenuy  have  Harry  129.  No"]  As  no  Han.  Cap. 

Rowe.  131.  them,'\them — Rowe, Pope, Han. 

126.  ^fldjfV]  ^fl/iV  Mai.  conj.( with-  133.  amaz'd^  mat^d  M.  H.  (Gent 
drawn).                                                            Mag.  Ux,  p.  35,  1789). 

120,  121.  You  . . .  Fountaine]  As  You  Like  It  {Gent.  Maga,  lix,  p.  810) :  By 
thus  altering  the  punctuation  the  meaning  will  be  much  more  intelligible :  '  You  are, 
and  do  not  know  it.  The  spring,  the  head :  the  fountain,'  etc 

132.  Wherefore  did  you  so]  Knowles  (p.  60) :  Here  occurs  the  strongest 
reason  for  the  presence  of  Lady  Macbeth.  Macduff  makes  no  attempt  to  conceal 
that  he  attaches  suspicion  to  the  fact  of  Macbeth' s  having  slain  the  grooms.  Mac- 
beth must  extricate  himself  here  thoroughly  and  at  once  by  vindicating  what  appears 
questionable.  Take  [Lady  Macbeth]  away,  the  situation  is  deprived  of  half  its  im- 
pressiveness.  And  who  doubts  that  he  is  not  only  heartened,  but  inspired  by  her 
presence  ?  He  gasps  while  he  replies  :  '  Who  can  be  wise,  amazed,  temperate,  and 
furious,  In  a  moment  ?  No  man.'  The  danger  is  warded  off  for  the  time.  By  this 
last  act  of  boldness  and  self-coUectedness,  he  atones  for  all  past  remissness  and 
vacillation.  Her  spirit  is  reassured.  Her  presence  is  now  no  longer  necessary. 
She  affects  natural  exhaustion,  and  cries  to  be  assisted  out. — Ed.  ii. 

133-143.  VISCHER  (  Vortrdge^  ii,  p.  93)  :  It  is  apparent  that  he  is  acting  a  part. 
But  how  is  it  with  him  in  r^ity  ?  His  natural  self  seeks  relief  from  the  weight  of 
its  disguising  mask.  He  is  ever  liill  to  overflowing  with  fantastic  images.  In  order 
to  counterfeit  it  is  only  needful  for  him  to  be  his  own  true  self,  and  he  will  act  the 
part  well.  He  has  but  to  express  what  he  should  simulate,  that  is,  how  utterly 
destroyed  he  feels,  and  the  thing  is  done. — Ed.  ii. 


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l6o  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH     [act  n,  sc.  iiL 

Th'expedition  of  my  violent  Loue  135 

Out-run  the  pawfer,  Reafon.     Here  lay  DuncaUy 

His  Siluer  skinne^  lacM  with  his  Golden  Bloody 

And  his  gafh'd  Stabs^look'd  like  a  Breach  in  Nature, 

For  Ruines  waftfuU  entrance :  there  the  Murtherers, 

SteepM  in  the  Colours  of  their  Trade ;  their  Daggers  140 

Vnmannerly  breechM  with  gore  :  who  could  refraine, 

135-143.  Mnemonic,  Warb.  Knt,  Coll.  Huds.  Wb.  i,  Ktly. 

136.  Out-r%in\  Oui-raniy  Kv.  Johns.  137.  GoldfH\  goary  Pope,  Han. 

Cap.  Var.  Mai.  Ran.  Steev.  Var.  Sing. 

136.  pawser]  Abbott  (§  443) :  -Er  is  sometimes  appended  to  a  noun  for  the 
purpose  of  signifying  an  agent  Thus  :  <A  Roman  sworder ' — 2  Hen,  VI:  IV,  i, 
135.  *A  moxaler' — 0th,  II,  iii,  301.  *  Justicers* — Lear^  IV,  ii,  79.  *  Homager' — 
Ant.  dr*  Oeo,  I,  i,  31.  In  the  last  two  instances  the  -er  is  of  French  origin,  and 
in  many  cases,  as  in  <  enchant^,'  it  may  seem  to  be  English,  while  really  it  repre- 
sents the  French  -eur.  The  -er  is  often  added  to  show  a  masculine  agent  where  a 
noun  and  a  verb  are  identical:  'Truster* — Hamlet,  I,  ii,  172.  'Causer* — Rick, 
HI:  IV,  iv,  122.  'my  origin  and  ender* — Lav,  Comp,  222;  and  in  this  [present] 
line. 

137.  Uc'd]  Theobald  (Nichols,  ii,  523):  By  'lac*d,'  I  am  apt  to  imagine  our  Poet 
meant  to  describe  the  blood  running  out,  and  difiusing  itself  into  little  winding  streams, 
which  looked  like  the  work  of  lace  upon  the  skin.  So  Cymb.  II,  ii,  22,  and  Rom,  6f*Jul, 
III,  ▼,  8. — Warburton  :  The  whole  speech  is  an  unnatural  mixture  of  far-fetched 
and  commonplace  thoughts,  that  shows  him  to  be  acting  a  part — ^Johnson:  No 
amendment  can  be  made  to  this  line,  of  which  every  word  is  equally  faulty,  but  by  a 
general  blot  It  is  not  improbable  that  Shakespeare  put  these  forced  and  unnatural 
metaphors  into  the  mouth  of  Macbeth,  as  a  mark  of  artifice  and  dissimulation,  to 
show  the  difference  between  the  studied  language  of  h3rpocrisy  and  the  natural  out- 
cries of  sudden  passion.  This  whole  speech,  so  considered,  is  a  remarkable  instance 
of  judgement,  as  it  consists  entirely  of  antithesis  and  metaphor. — Steeveks  :  The 
allusion  is  to  the  decoration  of  the  richest  habits  worn  in  the  age  of  Shakespeare, 
when  it  was  usual  to  lace  cloth  of  silver  with  gold,  and  cloth  of  gold  with  silver. 
The  second  of  these  fashions  is  mentioned  in  Muck  Ado,  III,  iv,  19. — Harry 
RowE :  The  other  day,  my  wooden  Macbeth  declared  in  the  green-room  that  this 
line  was  nonsense.  Being  old  enough  to  know  the  folly  of  disputing  with  a  block- 
head, I  only  desired  him  to  favour  me  with  a  better.  He  accordingly  repeated  :  *  His 
snow-white  skin  streaked  with  his  crimson  blood.*  This,  though  not  an  extraordi- 
nary good  line,  has  something  like  sense  to  reconmiend  it — Abbott  (§  529) :  A 
metaphor  must  not  be  far-fetched  nor  dwell  upon  the  details  of  a  disgusting  picture, 
as  in  these  lines.  There  is  but  little,  and  that  far-fetched,  similarity  between  gold 
lace  and  blood,  or  between  bloody  daggers  and  breeck^d  legs.  The  slightness  of  the 
similarity,  recalling  the  greatness  of  the  dissimilarity,  disgusts  us  with  the  attempted 
comparison. 

141.  breech'd]  Warburton:  This  nonsensical  account  must  surely  be  read 
thus :  *  Unmanly  reeck^d  with  gore.'  Reeck^d,  soiled  with  a  dark  yellow,  which  is 
the  colour  of  any  reechy  substance,  and  must  be  so  of  steel  stain*  d  with  blood.  They 


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ACT  II.  sc.  iii.]      THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  i6l 

That  had  a  heart  to  loue ;  and  in  that  hearty  142 

Courage,  to  make's  loue  knowne  ? 
Lady.     Helpe  me  hence,  hoa.  144 

143.  tnak^s\    make   kis   Cap.    Var.  144.  hoa,^  hoa.     [Seeming  to  faint 

Mai.  Ran.  Steev.  Var.  Sing.  Knt,  Ktly.         Rowe,  +  ,  Cap. 

were  unmanly  stain' d  with  blood,  because  such  stains  are  often  most  honourable. — 
Johnson  :  An  *  unmannerly '  dagger  and  a  dagger '  breech' d '  are  expressions  not  easily 
to  be  understood.  There  are  undoubtedly  two  faults  here  which  I  have  endeavoured 
to  take  away  by  reading :  *  Unmanly  drenched  with  gore/ — I  saw  drench'd  with  the 
king's  blood  not  only  instruments  of  murder  but  evidences  of  cowardice,  .  .  .  Warbur- 
ton's  emendation  is  perhaps  right. — ^Jennens:  Shakespeare's  first  thought  might 
have  been  :  'Their  naked  daggers  were  covered  with  gore.'  Nakedness  suggested 
the  word  <  unmannerly,'  and  covered  the  word  <  breeches/  the  covering  of  nakedness. 
—Farmer  :  That  is,  sheath' d  with  blood.  In  the  6th  Dialogue  of  Erondell's 
French  Garden^  1605  (which  I  am  persuaded  Shakespeare  read  in  the  English,  and 
from  which  he  took,  as  he  supposed,  this  quaint  expression),  we  have :  <  Boy,  go 
fetch  your  master's  silver-hatched  daggers,  you  have  not  brushed  their  breeches^  bring 
the  brushes,'  etc  Shakespeare  was  deceived  by  the  pointing,  and  evidently  sup- 
poses breeches  to  be  a  new  and  affected  tenn  for  scabbards. — Heath  {FeviseU^  etc. 
p.  388) :  Seward  in  his  Notes  on  Beaumont  &  Fletcher,  i,  p.  380,  and  ii,  p.  276, 
mentions  another  interpretation :  *  Stained  with  gore  up  to  the  breeches^  that  is,  to 
their  hilts.'  But,  as  he  justly  observes,  the  lower  end  of  a  cannon  is  called  its 
breech^  yet  the  breech  of  a  dagger  is  an  expression  which  could  not  be  used  with 
propriety.  He  conjectures  the  true  reading  to  have  been  hatch* d,  that  is,  gilt ;  and 
adduces  some  instances  from  Fletcher  which  seem  fully  to  prove  the  use  of  the  word 
in  that  signification. .  .  .  My  own  conjecture  is :  *In  a  manner  lay  drenched  with 
gore.'  The  qualifying  form  of  expression.  In  a  manner^  seems  to  have  a  peculiar 
propriety.  A  dagger  cannot  imbibe  blood,  nor  be  saturated  with  it  like  a  sponge, 
which  is  the  idea  conveyed  by  the  word  drench' d^  but  it  may  appear  as  if  it  were  so. 
— ^DouCE :  The  present  expression,  though  in  itself  something  unmannerly^  simply 
means  covered  as  with  breeches. — Nares  :  Instead  of  concluding  with  Farmer  that 
Shakespeare  had  seen  that  passage  from  Erondell  and  mistaken  it,  we  should  use  it 
to  confirm  the  true  explanation,  viz.:  <  Having  their  very  hilt,  or  breech,  covered 
with  blood.'  Sheaths  of  daggers  are  wiped,  not  brushed,  and  Shakespeare  could  not 
have  supposed  them  to  be  here  meant ;  it  was  evidently  the  silver  hatching  that 
required  the  brush.  We  cannot,  however,  conceive  of  Shakespeare  looking  for 
paltry  authorities,  or  even  thinking  of  them  when  he  poured  forth  his  rapid  lines. 
He  doubtless  took  up  the  metaphor  as  it  occurred  to  him  without  further  reflection. 
— Dyce  ( Gloss,) :  Probably  Douce  is  right. — Clarendon  :  We  doubt  not  the  blade, 
and  not  the  handle,  is  meant.     Compare  Twelfth  Night,  IH,  iv,  274. 

141-143.  who  .  .  .  knowne]  Vischer  [Vortrdge,  ii,  p.  94) :  What  consummate 
art  is  this ;  to  cause  a  man  to  counterfeit,  and  yet  speak  but  the  truth  in  counter- 
feiting! What  he  says  to  the  princes,  likewise,  even  in  simulating,  implies  intimate 
compassion. — Ed.  ii. 

143.  make's]  Clarendon:  The  abbreviation  "s'  for  ^ir  is  very  common  even 
in  passages  which  are  not  colloquial  nor  familiar. 

144.  hoa]  Whatelby  (p.  77,  note)  :  On  Lady  Macbeth' s  seeming  to  faint,  while 


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1 62  THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH      [act  ii,  sc.  Hi. 

[144-  hoa] 
Banquo  and  Macduff  are  solicitous  about  her,  Macbeth,  by  his  unconcern,  betrays  a 
consciousness  that  the  fainting  is  feigned. — Malone  :  A  bold  and  hardened  villain 
would,  from  a  refined  policy,  have  assumed  the  appearance  of  being  alarmed  about 
her,  lest  this  very  imputation  should  arise  against  him.  The  irresolute  Mad>eth  is 
not  sufficiently  at  ease  to  act  such  a  pait. — Fletcher  (p.  129)  :  Remembering  the 
burst  of  anguish  which  had  been  forced  from  her  by  Macbeth' s  very  first  ruminations 
upon  his  act :  <  These  deeds  must  not  be  thought  after  these  ways ;  so^  it  will  make 
us  mad,*  [II,  ii,  45],  it  will  be  seen  what  a  dreadful  accumulation  of  suffering  is 
inflicted  on  her  by  her  husband's  own  lips,  painting  in  stronger,  blacker  colours 
than  ever,  the  guilty  horror  of  their  common  deed.  Even  her  indomitable  resolu- 
tion may  well  sink  for  the  moment  under  a  stroke  so  withering,  for  which,  being 
totally  unexpected,  she  came  so  utterly  unprepared.  It  is  remarkable  that,  upon 
her  exclamation  of  distress,  Macduff,  and  shortly  after,  Banquo,  cries  out,  *  Look  to 
the  lady ' ;  but  that  we  find  not  the  smallest  sign  of  attention  paid  to  her  situation  by 
Macbeth  himself,  who,  arguing  from  his  own  character  to  hers,  might  regard  it 
merely  as  a  dexterous  feigning  on  her  part  A  character  like  this,  we  cannot  too  often 
repeat,  is  one  of  the  most  cowardly  selfishness  and  most  remorseless  treachery,  which 
all  its  poetical  excitability  does  but  exasperate  into  the  perpetration  of  more  and  more 
extravagant  enormities. — Horn  (i,  66) :  Lady  Macbeth' s  amiable  powers  give  way, 
and  the  swoon  is  real.  It  moreover  gives  us  an  intimation  of  her  subsequent  fate. — 
[Wilson  (p.  637) :  Btdler.  Is  Lady  Macbeth' s  swooning,  at  the  dose  of  her  husband's 
most  graphic  picture  of  the  position  of  the  corpses,  real  or  pretended  ?  Servard, 
Real.  Taldoys.  Pretended.  BuUer,  Sir?  A^M.  I  reserve  my  opinion.  Talboys. 
Not  a  faint — ^but  a  feint.  She  cannot  undo  that  which  is  done ;  nor  hinder  that 
which  he  will  do  next.  She  must  mind  her  own  business.  Now  distinctly  her  own 
business— is  to  faint  A  high-bred,  sensitive,  innocent  Lady,  startled  from  her  sleep 
to  find  her  guest  and  King  murdered,  and  the  room  full  of  aghast  nobles,  cannot 
possibly  do  an3rthing  else  but  faint.  Lady  Macbeth,  who  <  all  particulars  of  duty 
knows,'  faints  accordingly.  North.  Seward,  we  are  ready  to  hear  you.  Seward, 
She  has  been  about  a  business  that  must  have  somewhat  shook  her  nerves — granting 
them  to  be  of  iron.  She  would  herself  have  murdered  Duncan  had  he  not  resem- 
bled her  Father  as  he  slept ;  and  on  sudden  discernment  of  that  dreadful  resem- 
blance, her  soul  must  have  shuddered,  if  her  body  served  her  to  staler  away  from 
parricide.  On  the  deed  being  done,  she  is  terrified  after  a  different  manner  from 
the  doer  of  the  deed ;  but  her  terror  is  as  great ;  and  though  she  says :  <  The  sleeping 
and  the  dead  are  but  as  pictures — 'tis  the  eye  of  childhood  That  fears  a  painted 
Devil,'  believe  me  that  her  face  was  like  ashes,  as  she  returned  to  the  chamber  to 
gild  the  faces  of  the  grooms  with  the  dead  man's  blood.  That  knocking,  too, 
alarmed  the  Lady — ^believe  me — as  much  as  her  husband ;  and  to  keep  cool  and 
collected  before  him,  so  as  to  be  able  to  support  him  at  that  moment  with  her  advice, 
must  have  tried  the  utmost  strength  of  her  nature.  Call  her  Fiend — she  was  a 
Woman.  Down  stairs  she  comes — and  stands  among  them  all,  at  first  like  one 
alarmed  only — ^astounded  by  what  she  hears — and  striving  to  simulate  the  ignorance 
of  the  innocent — *  What,  in  our  house  ?'  *  Too  cruel  anywhere  I'  What  she  must 
have  suffered  then  Shakespeare  lets  us  conceive  for  ourselves ;  and  what  on  her 
husband's  elaborate  description  of  his  inconsiderate  additional  murders.  'The 
whole  is  too  much  for  her' — she 'is  perplexed  in  the  extreme' — and  the  sinner 
swoons.     North.  Seward  suggests  a  bold,  strong,  deep,  tragical  turn  of  the  scene — 


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ACT  II,  sc.  iii.]       THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH  163 

Macd.     Looke  to  the  Lady*  145 

Mai.    Why  doe  we  hold  our  tongues, 

145-150.  Looke  to „./eizg  vs  flUmes  her.    Cap.     Lady  M.   is  carried  out. 

end:  Lady.  ..,ciayme„,/pokeH..,hoief„.  Inring. 

vsF  Walker.  146-152.  As  an  aside.  Sing,  ii,  Sta. 

145.  Lady"]    Lady.     [Gather    about  Wh.  Glo.  Dyce  ii,  iii,  Huds.  ii,  iii. 

that  she  faints  actually.  Well — so  be  it  ...  If  she  faints  really,  and  against  her  will, 
having  forcible  reasons  for  holding  her  will  clear,  she  must  be  shown  fighting,  to  the 
last  effort  of  will,  against  the  assault  of  womanly  nature,  and  drop,  vanquished,  as 
one  dead,  without  a  sound.  But  the  Thaness  calls  out  lustily — she  remembers, 
*  as  we  shall  make  our  griefs  and  clamours  roar  upon  his  death.'  She  makes  noise 
enough — stakes  good  care  to  attract  everybody's  attention  to  her  performance — ^for 
which  I  commend  her.  Calculate  as  nicely  as  you  will — ^she  distracts  or  diverts 
speculation,  and  makes  an  interesting  and  agreeable  break  in  the  conversation — ^I 
think  that  the  obvious  meaning  is  the  right  meaning — and  that  she  faints  on  purpose. 
.  .  .  Bulier.     In  Davies,  Anecdotes  of  the  Stage,  I  remember  reading  that  Garrick 

would  not  trust  Mrs  Pritchard  with  the  Swoon Therefore,  by  the  Great  Manager, 

Lady  Macbeth  was  not  allowed  in  the  Scene  to  appear  at  all.  His  belief  was, 
that  with  her  Ladyship  it  was  a  feint.  .  .  .  She  was  not,  I  verily  believe,  given  to 
fainting—perhaps  this  was  the  first  time  she  had  ever  fainted  since  she  was  a  girl. 
Now  I  believe  she  did.  She  would  have  stood  by  her  husband  at  all  hazards  had 
she  been  able,  both  on  his  account  and  her  own  ;  she  would  not  have  so  deserted 
him  at  such  a  critical  juncture  ;  her  character  was  of  boldness  rather  than  duplicity  ; 
her  business  now — ^her  duty — was  to  brazen  it  out ;  but  she  grew  sick— qualms  of 
conscience,  however  terrible,  can  be  borne  by  sinners  standing  upright  at  the  mouth 
of  hell — ^but  the  flesh  of  man  is  weak,  in  its  utmost  strength,  when  moulded  to 
woman's  form— other  qualms  assail  suddenly  the  earthly  tenement — the  breath  is 
choked — the  <  distracted  globe '  grows  dizzy — they  that  look  out  of  the  windows 
know  not  what  they  see — ^the  body  reels,  lapses,  sinks,  and  at  full  length  smites  the 
floor.  .  .  .  And  nothing  more  likely  to  make  a  woman  faint  than  that  revelling 
and  wallowing  of  his  in  that  bloody  description.  North.  By  the  Casting  Vote 
of  the  President— /««/.— W.  W.  Story  (p.  278) :  At  this  point  the  two  charac- 
ters of  Lady  Macbeth  and  her  husband  cross  each  other.  She  has  thus  far  only 
made  the  running  for  Macbeth,  and  he  now  takes  up  the  race  and  passes  her ;  she 
not  only  does  not  follow,  but  withdraws.  Henceforth  he  rushes  to  his  goal  alone. — 
MouLTON  (p.  164) :  It  matters  little  whether  we  suppose  the  fainting  assumed, 
or  that  [Lady  Macbeth]  yields  to  the  agitation  she  has  been  fighting  so  long.  The 
point  is  that  she  chooses  this  exact  moment  for  giving  way :  she  holds  out  to  the 
end  of  her  husband's  speech,  then  falls  with  a  cry  for  help ;  there  is  at  once  a  diver- 
sion and  she  is  carried  out. . .  .  Lady  Macbeth' s  fainting  saved  her  husband. — ^R.  G. 
White  (Studies  in  Sh.  p.  70)  :  Lady  Macbeth  saw  at  once  that  he  had  blundered 
in  killing  the  men,  and  had  thus  attracted  rather  than  diverted  suspicion ;  and  she 
saw  also  that  he  was  overdoing  his  expression  of  grief  and  horror ;  and  therefore 
instantly  diverted  attention  from  him  by  seeming  to  faint  and  by  calling  for  assist- 
ance. She  succeeded  thus  in  diverting  Macduff's  mind,  and  gained  time  for  con- 
sultation.— ^ViscHER  ( VortrSge,  ii,  p.  94) :  I  am  convinced  that  Shakespeare  here 
wishes  us  to  understand  that  this  fainting  of  Lady  Macbeth  is  partly  real,  partly 


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164 


THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH     [act  ii,  sc.  iii. 


That  mod  may  clayme  this  argument  for  ours  ? 

Donal.    What  (hould  be  fpoken  here, 
Where  our  Fate  hid  in  an  augure  hole, 
May  rufh,  and  feize  vs  ?   Let's  away, 
Our  Teares  are  not  yet  brewed. 

MaL     Nor  our  ftrong  Sorrow 
Vpon  the  foot  of  Motion. 

Bang.     Looke  to  the  Lady : 
And  when  we  haue  our  naked  Frailties  hid, 


147 


150 


155 


148-150.  What... away, 1  Ff,  Rowe, 
Cap.  Sta.  Lines  end:  here,,., hole,.,. 
Teares  Popc,+,  Var.  Mai.  Ran.  Steev. 
Var.*03,*i3,  Sing,  ii,  Ktly.  Ending: 
/poken.,. hole,... Teares  Var.  *2i,  Sing, 
i,  Coll.  Huds.  Wh.  i.  Ending :  Fate... 
vst.,.away ;  Dyce,  et  cet 

149,  hid  in\  hid  within  Ff,  Rowe,  + , 
Cap.  Var.  Steev.  Var.  '03,  *I3.  hidden 
in  Jackson,  hide  we  in  Sta.  conj.  (Athe- 
nseuniy  2  Nov.  1872). 


149.  augure"]    awger    F^F^,    Rowe. 
augre  Pope,+.     auger  Knt. 

augure  hole]  Ogre's  hole  Del. 
conj.  (withdrawn). 

'S»-i53«  <»'•'—  Vpon]  One  line  (read- 
ing on  for  upon).  Pope,  + ,  Steev.  Var.  '03. 

152.  Sorrow]  sorrow  yet  Ktly. 

154.  Looke]  Look  there  Han. 

Lady]  Lady.  [Lady  Macbeth 
is  carried  out  Rowe  et  seq.  Lady 
Macbeth  swoons.    Coll.  ii.  (MS). 


feigned.  She  pretends  to  fieunt ;  and  this  was  not  difficult,  because  she  was  actually 
on  the  veige  of  so  doing. — Ed.  ii.] 

147.  argument]  Clarendon  :  That  is,  subject,  theme  of  discourse.  Compare 
Milton,  Paradise  Lost,  i,  24 :  *  The  height  of  this  great  ailment.'  [For  other 
examples  of  <  argument '  used  in  this  sense,  see  Schmidt,  Lex.] 

149.  augure  hole]  Steevens:  So  in  Coriol.  IV,  vi,  87. — Clarendon:  The 
place  is  so  full  of  murderous  treachery  that,  observe  we  never  so  carefully,  we  may 
overlook  the  minute  hole  in  which  it  lurks. 

151.  brew'd]  Deuus  :  This  metaphor  is  amplified  in  Tit.  And.  Ill,  ii,  38. — 
Clarke:  In  contemptuous  allusion  to  the  feigned  lamentation  of  the  host  and 
hostess,  which  the  young  princes  evidently  see  through. 

152.  Sorrow]  Clarendon  :  Sorrow  in  its  first  strength  is  motionless,  and  cannot 
express  itself  in  words  or  tears.  Compare  IV,  iii,  245,  and  j  Hen.  VI:  III,  iii,  22. 
— [Sherman  :  The  general  effect  of  these  asides,  while  Lady  Macbeth  is  tended 
and  removed,  is  to  indicate  that  the  fear  of  the  sons  is  intenser  than  their  grief,  as 
also  to  prevent  our  thinking  them  heartless  because  undemonstrative  while  others 
weep. — ^Ed.  ii.] 

155.  naked  Frailties]  Steevens  :  When  we  have  clothed  our  half-drest  bodies, 
which  may  take  cold  from  being  exposed  to  the  air. — M alone  :  The  Porter  had 
observed  that  this  place  was  too  cold  for  hell. — Harry  Rowe  [reading  *half- 
doathed  bodies ']  :  Perhaps  my  dislike  to  these  words  may  proceed  from  the  circum- 
stance of  my  comedians  constantly  sleeping  with  all  their  clothes  on. — Davies  (ii, 
98)  :  Mr  Garrick  would  not  risk  the  appearance  of  half,  or  even  disordered,  dress, 
though  extremely  proper,  and  what  the  incident  seemed  to  require.  But  the  words 
will,  I  think,  very  easily  bear  another  meaning :  *  When  we  have  recovered  our- 
selves from  that  grief  and  those  transports  of  passion  which,  though  justifiable  from 


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ACT  11,  sc.  iii.]       THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH  165 

That  fufier  in  expofure ;  let  vs  meet,  156 

And  queftion  this  moft  bloody  piece  of  worke, 

To  know  it  further.  Feares  and  fcruples  fhake  vs : 

In  the  great  Hand  of  God  I  (land,  and  thence, 

Againft  the  vndivulg'd  pretence,  I  fight  160 

Of  Treafonous  Mallice. 

Macd.    And  fo  doe  I. 

AU.    So  all. 

Macb.    Let's  briefely  put  on  manly  readinefle, 
And  meet  i'th'  Hall  together.  165 

All.     Well  contented.  Exeunt. 

Male.     What  will  you  doe  ? 
Let's  not  confort  with  them  : 
To  fhew  an  vnfelt  Sorrow,  is  an  Office  169 

157.  bloodyl  bloudy  F^F^.  162.  And^Om,  Pope,  +  ,  Var. '73. 

158.  Feares\  Fear  Hal.  164.  Macb.]  Ban.  Mull. 
Feares»..vs\  As  an  aside.  Mull.  166.  Exeunt]  ...all  but  Malcolm  and 

160.  vndivulg^d'\  vn-divulg^d  F  F^,  Donalbain.  Han.  et  seq. 
Rowe  i.  167,  168.   What ...  theml   One  line, 

162.  Macd.]    Macb.    Rowe,+,  Var.  Rowe  et  seq. 
Mai.  Ran.  Steey.  Var.  Sing.  i. 

natural  feeling  and  the  sad  occasion,  do  but  expose  the  frailty  and  imbecility  of  our 
nature.' — Clarendon  :  All  the  characters  appeared  on  the  scene  in  night-gowns, 
with  bare  throats  and  legs. 

160.  pretence]  Heath  (p.  390)  :  I  fight  against  whatever  yet  undivulged  pre- 
tence may  be  alleged  by  treasonous  malice  in  justification  of  this  horrid  crime. — Steev- 
SNS :  That  is,  intention^  design.  So  in  II,  iv,  34.  Banquo  means  :  I  put  myself 
under  the  direction  of  God,  and  relying  on  lus  support,  I  here  declare  myself  an 
eternal  enemy  to  this  treason,  and  to  all  its  further  designs  that  have  not  yet  come  to 
light, — [LiBBY :  This  is  as  near  as  Banquo  can  come  to  declaring  in  public  what 
he  feels  so  certain  of  in  III,  i,  where  he  sa]rs,  <I  fear  thou  played' st  most  foully 
for  it'  In  that  same  damning  speech  he  hopes  he  may  prosper  from  foul  means 
himself.  This  speech  fixes  the  hate  of  Macbeth  upon  him  irrevocably.  Banquo 
committed  treason  enough  in  the  name  of  God,  yet  he  could  not  equivocate  to 
Heaven. — Ed.  ii.] 

164.  readinesse]  M.  Mason  (Comments  on  Beaumont  &*  Fletcher,  App.  p.  22)  : 
To  be  ready,  in  all  the  ancient  plays,  means  to  be  dressed.  By  *  manly  readiness ' 
Macbeth  means  that  they  should  put  on  their  armour. — Keightley  :  To  ready  the 
hair  is  still  used  in  some  places  for  combing  and  arranging  it. — Clarendon  :  This 
involves  also  the  corresponding  habit  of  mind.  Compare  the  stage-direction  in 
/  Hen,  VI:  II,  i,  38 :  *  Enter,  several  ways,  the  Bastard  of  Orleans,  Alengon,  and 
Reignier  half  ready  and  half  unready.' 

169.  an  vnfelt  Sorrow]  D'Hugues  :  It  is  easy  to  see  that  the  two  young  princes 
axe  not  without  suspicion  of  the  treason  of  which  their  father  has  been  the  victim. 


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l66  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH     [act  ii,  sc.  iii. 

Which  the  lalfe  man  do's  eafie.  170 

He  to  England. 

Don.    To  Ireland,  I : 
Our  feperated  fortune  fhall  keepe  vs  both  the  fafer : 
Where  we  are,  there's  Daggers  in  mens  Smiles ; 
The  neere  in  blood,  the  neerer  bloody.  175 

Male.    This  murtherous  Shaft  that's  (hot. 
Hath  not  yet  lighted :  and  our  fafeft  way,  177 

170,  171.   Which  „,  England^    One  seq. 
line,  Rowe  et  seq.  175.  neere\  neat'  Dd.  Huds.  iii. 

172-175.  To  ,„  bloody]    Lines  end:  biood  ,„  bloody"]  bhud  ,„  bloudy 

f orlum, . , are f„.bloody,., bloody,  Rowe  et  ^3^4- 

Each  one  of  their  remarks  are  slightly  veiled  allusions  to  him  whom  they  believe  to 
be  the  true  author  of  the  crime. — ^Ed.  ii. 

170.  easie]  Abbott  ({  i)  :  In  early  English  many  adverbs  were  formed  from 
adjectives  by  adding  e  (dative)  to  the  positive  degree :  as  bright^  adj.;  brighte^  adv. 
In  time  the  e  was  dropped,  but  the  adverbial  use  was  kept  Hence,  from  a  false 
analogy,  many  adjectives  (such  as  excellent)  which  could  never  foim  adverbs  in  e 
were  used  as  adveibs.  We  still  say  colloquially,  *  come  quick, ^  *  the  moon  shines 
bright^  etc.  But  Shakespeare  could  say  [as  in  the  present  line  and  in  II,  i,  26]. — 
Clarendon  :  In  the  next  scene  <  like '  is  used  for  likely^  line  41. 

174.  there's]  Abbott  ($  335) :  When  the  subject  is  as  yet  future,  and,  as  it  were, 
unsettled,  the  third  person  singular  might  be  regarded  as  the  normal  inflection. 
Such  passages  are  very  common,  particularly  in  the  case  of 'There  is.' — Claren- 
don :  Like  il  y  a  in  French.  Donalbain  suspects  all,  but  most  his  father's  cousin, 
Macbeth. 

175.  neere]  Steevens  :  He  suspected  Macbeth ;  for  he  was  the  nearest  in  blood 
to  the  two  princes,  being  the  cousin-german  of  Duncan. — Walker  (Cril.  i,  190) : 
For  nearer,  a  contraction  for  the  old  negher,  for  which  latter  see  Chaucer. — Clar- 
endon: Compare,  for  the  sense,  Webster,  Appius  and  Virginia,  V,  ii:  'Great 
men's  misfortunes  thus  have  ever  stood, — ^They  touch  none  nearly,  but  their  nearest 
blood.'     [See  Allen's  note,  quoted  at  I,  iv,  5,  supra.] 

175.  neerer]  Abbott  (§  478) :  Er  final  seems  to  have  been  sometimes  pro- 
nounced with  a  kind  of  'burr,'  which  produced  the  effect  of  an  additional  syllable ; 
just  as  ' Sirrah'  is  another  and  more  vehement  form  of  <  Sir.' — [Butler  (p.  172) : 
All  the  commentators  say  that  by  '  the  near  in  blood '  Donalbain  means  Macbeth, 
whom  he  suspects  of  the  murder.  My  opinion  is  that  he  means  himself  and  Mal- 
colm. We  who  are  near  in  blood  to  the  murdered  king  are  nearer  to  being  made 
bloody ;  that  is,  murdered. — Ed.  ii.] 

177*  lighted]  Johnson  :  The  design  to  fix  the  murder  upon  some  innocent  person 
has  not  yet  taken  effect — Steevens  :  The  shaft  is  not  yet  lighted,  and  though  it 
has  done  mischief  in  its  flight,  we  have  reason  to  apprehend  still  more  before  it  has 
spent  its  force  and  falls  to  the  ground.  The  end  for  which  the  murder  was  com- 
mitted is  not  yet  attained.  The  death  of  the  king  only,  could  neither  insure  the 
crown  to  Mabeth,  nor  accomplish  any  other  purpose,  while  his  sons  were  yet  living, 


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ACT  II,  sc  ivj       THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  167 

Is  to  auoid  the  ayme.    Therefore  to  Horfe,  178 
And  let  vs  not  be  daintie  of  leaue-taking^ 

But  fhift  away :  there's  warrant  in  that  Theft,  180 
Which  fteales  it  felfe,when  there's  no  merde  left. 

Exeunt,  182 


Scena  Quarta. 


Enter  Rojfe^  with  an  Old  man.  2 

Old  man.  Threefcore  and  ten  I  can  remember  well, 
A^thin  the  Volume  of  which  Time,  I  haue  feene  4 

178.  Ilor/e]  hou/e  Ff.  Outside    of    Macbeth's     Castle, 

181.  it  felfe\  itself  ^93^.  et  seq.  Theob.  Cam.  Coll.  Hi,  Wh.  ii.    Without 
I.  Scene  II.     Rowe,  Dyce,  Wh.        the  Castle.  Han.  Furaess,  et  cet. 

Huds.  iii,  Dtn.    Scene  VI.  Pope,+.  4.  haue]  /*wD'Av.  Pope,  +  ,  Dyce 

(The  Scene.  Om.  Booth,  Irving.)  ii,  iii. 

who  had,  therefore,  just  reason  to  apprehend  they  should  be  removed  by  the  same 
means. 

180.  shift]  Clarendon  :  Quiet  or  stealthy  motion  is  implied,  as  in  As  You  Like 
Ii,  II,  vii,  157. 

182.  Booth  ends  this  act  thus :  after  line  143  :  <  Ban,  Fears  and  scruples  shake 
us :  In  the  great  hand  of  God  I  stand ;  and  thence  Against  the  undivulged  pretence 
I  fight  Of  treasonous  malice.  Macduff,  And  so  do  I.  AH.  So  all.  Macbeth, 
Let's  meet  i'  the  hall  together.  To  question  this  most  bloody  piece  of  work,  To 
know  it  fixrther.  All,  Well  contented.  {Curiatn,Y  Thus,  Irving:  after  line 
147:  * Donalbain  (KA^t),  Let's  away;  Our  tears  are  not  yet  brew'd.  Malcolm 
(Aside).  I'll  to  England.  Donalbain  (Aside).  To  Ireland  I.  Mai.  (Aside).  This 
murd'rous  shaft  that's  shot  Hath  not  yet  lighted ;  and  our  safest  way  Is  to  avoid  the 
aim.  [Exeunt  Mai.  and  Don.]  Ban,  Fears  and  scruples  shake  us :  In  the  great 
hand  of  God  I  stand,  and  thence  Against  the  undivulged  pretence  I  fight  Of  treason- 
ous malice.  Macd.  And  so  do  I.  AU,  So  all.  Macb,  Let's  briefly  put  on  manly 
readiness,  And  meet  i'  th'  hall  together.  Ban.  And  question  this  most  bloody 
piece  of  work.  To  know  it  further.     All.  Well  contented.     (Exeunt.)* — £<>•  i>- 

I.  LiBBY :  This  scene  is  meant  to  show  Ross  skulking  about  in  safety,  spying  out  the 
torn  of  events, ...  to  contrast  the  candid  and  loyal  Macduff  with  the  cunning  and 
plausible  Ross.  They  show  the  extreme  types  of  the  conduct  of  the  nobles  on  hear- 
ing of  Macbeth' s  stroke. — ^Ed.  ii. 

3.  an  Old  man]  Fletcher  (p.  164) :  A  minor  theatrical  injury,  but  still  in- 
jurious, is  the  omission  of  the  '  old  man,'  and  of  the  dialogue  which  passes  between 
him  and  Rosse  outside  the  castle.  It  was  plainly  one  deliberate  aim  of  the  great 
artist,  to  keep  the  association  and  affinity,  which  he  chose  to  establish  between 
qfttritual  and  material  stonn  and  darkness,  continually  before  us. — Ed.  ii. 


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l68  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH      [act  ii,  sc.  iv. 

Houres  dreadfully  and  things  (lrange:but  this  fore  Night  5 

Hath  trifled  former  knowings* 

Rojfe.     Ha,  good  Father, 
Thou  feeft  the  Heauens,  as  troubled  with  mans  Aft, 
Threatens  his  bloody  Stage :  byth^  Clock  'tis  Day, 
And  yet  darke  Night  ftrangles  the  trauailing  Lampe  :  10 

Is't  Nights  predominance,  or  the  Dayes  fliame. 
That  Darknefle  does  the  face  of  Earth  intombe,  12 

6.  tryUd^  stifled  D'Av.  9.  byth'^  Ff,  Rowe,+»  Wh.    by  the 

7.  Ha\  Ah  Rowc  et  scq.  Cap.  et  cet. 

9.   Threatens'^    Ff,   Ktly.      Threaten  10.  trattailing']  F„  Coll.     traveUing 

Rowe,  et  cet.  F^F^,  et  cet 

his\  this  Theob.  Warb.  Johns.  1 1.  Zr'/]  Is  it  Cap.  Var.  Mai.  Ran. 

g,  S^,  6/oody]  blouify  FJP^.  Steev.    Var.    Sing.    i.        fsU*    Allen 

9.  Stage"]  strage  Warb.   conj.  (with-  MS. 

drawn).  Dayes]  Da/s  F^F^  et  seq. 

5.  sore]  Clarendon  :  From  Anglo-Saxon  sdr^  grievous,  painful ;  connected  with 
the  German  schwer.  The  Scotch  sairis  still  used  in  much  the*  same  sense  as  '  sore ' 
once  was  in  England. 

6.  trifled]  Clarendon  :  Not  used  elsewhere  in  the  same  sense.  It  is,  however, 
used  transitively  in  Mer.  of  Ven.  IV,  i,  298  :  <  We  trifle  time.'  [For  conversion  of 
nouns  and  adjectives  into  verbs,  see  Abbott,  {  290.] 

6.  knowings]  Clarendon  :  Not  used  as  a  plural  elsewhere  by  Shakespeare,  nor 
apparently  in  the  concrete  sense,  as  here:  *A  piece  of  knowledge.'  It  means 
'  knowledge '  or  '  experience '  in  Cymb.  II,  iii,«  102. 

10.  trauailing]  Coluer  (ed.  i. )  :  The  words  travel  and  *  travail '  (obsei-ves  the 
Rev.  Mr  Barry)  have  now  different  meanings,  thot^;h  fonnerly  synonymous.  Trav- 
ellings the  ordinary  meaning,  gives  a  puerile  idea ;  whereas  *  travailing '  seems  to 
have  reference  to  the  struggle  between  the  sun  and  night. — Dyce  (Remarks,  p. 
195)  :  In  the  speech  no  mention  is  made  of  the  sun  till  it  is  described  as  *  the  travel- 
ling lamp,* — the  epithet  '  travelling  '  determining  what  *■  lamp '  was  intended  :  the 
instant,  therefore,  that  '  travelling '  is  changed  to  '  travailing,'  the  word  *  lamp ' 
ceases  to  signify  the  sun.  That  Shakespeare  was  not  singular  in  applying  the 
epithet  travelling  to  the  sun  might  be  shown  by  many  passages  of  our  early  poets ; 
so  Dra3rton  :  * —  nor  regard  him  [the  Sunne]  trauelling  the  signes.' — Elegies,  p. 
185,  1627. ...  I  must  add  that  this  'puerile  idea'  is  to  be  traced  to  Scripture — 
Psalm,  xix,  5. — Collier  (ed.  ii.)  :  As  Shakespeare  may  have  used  'travailing'  in 
a  double  sense,  as  indicating  toil  and  locomotion,  we  make  no  change. — [R.  G. 
White  (ed.  ii.) :  Probably  the  most  extravagant  metaphor  in  literature. — Ed.  ii.] 

11.  Is't  Nights]  Allen  (MS) :  The  article  is  as  imperatively  required  vrith  the 
word  *  night'  as  with  '  day.'     [See  Text,  Notes,] 

11.  predominance]  Clarendon:  Is  night  triumphant  in  the  deed  of  darkness 
that  has  been  done,  or  is  day  ashamed  to  look  upon  it  ?  '  Predominance '  is  an 
astrological  term.  Compare  also  Milton,  Paradise  Lost,  viii,  160:  'Whether  the 
sun,  predominant  in  heaven,'  etc. 

12.  Darknesse]  'For  the  space  of  six   moneths  togither,  after  this  heinous 


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ACT  II,  sc  iv.]      THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  169 

When  liuing  Light  fhould  kifle  it?  13 

Old  man.    'Tis  vnnaturall, 
Euen  like  the  deed  that's  done  :  On  Tuefday  laft,  15 

A  Faulcon  towring  in  her  pride  of  place. 
Was  by  a  Mowfing  Owle  hawkt  at,  and  IdllM. 

Rojfe.    And  Duncans  Horfes, 
(A  thing  moft  ft  range,  and  certaine) 
Beauteous,  and  fwift,the  Minions  of  their  Race,  20 

13.  Jkould'\  Jhall  F,.  line,  Pope  et  seq. 

i6.  t<mring'\  taufring  Cap.  towering  18.  Horfes\     horse    Walker,     Wh. 

Coll.  Dyce,  Hal.  Cam.     touring  Sta.  hors^  Dyce  ii,  iii, 

18,  19.  And  Duncans... f^f^am^]  One  20.  tkeir'l  the  Theob.  Ran. 

mnitber  thus  committed,  there  appeared  no  sonne  by  day,  nor  moone  by  night  in 
anie  part  of  the  realme,  but  still  was  the  sky  couered  with  continuall  clouds. ' — 
Holinshed,  p.  149. 

16.  towring]  Dyce  {J^ew  Notes^  p.  125)  :  A  tenn  of  falconry.  Donne,  address- 
ing Sir  Henry  Goodyere,  and  speaking  of  his  hawk,  says  :  <  Which  when  herselfe 
she  lessens  in  the  aire,  You  then  first  say,  that  high  enough  she  towres,* — Poems ,  p. 
73,  ed.  1633.  Turberrille  tells  us  :  <  Shee  [the  hobby]  is  of  the  number  of  those 
Hawkes  that  are  hie  flying  and  towre  Hawks  P — Booke  of  Falconrie^  p.  53,  ed.  1611. 
— Dyce  {Gloss,)-.  Particularly  applied  to  certain  hawks  which  tower  aloft,  soar 
spirally  to  a  station  high  in  the  air,  and  thence  swoop  upon  their  prey.  Compare  a 
passage  of  Milton,  which  has  been  misunderstood :  '  The  bird  of  Jove,  stoopt  from 
his  aerie  tour  [airy  tower].* — Paradise  Lost^  xi,  185. — [Compare  the  following 
passage  from  Sidney's  Arcadia^  1590,  Bk,  ii.  (p.  114,  reprint) :  *  For  as  a  good 
builder  to  a  high  tower  will  not  make  his  stayr  upright,  but  winding  almost  the  full 
compass  about  that  the  steepness  be  the  more  unsensible :  so  she  [the  jerfaulcon] 
seeing  the  towering  of  her  pursued  chase,  went  drding  and  compassing  about,  rising 
so  with  the  less  sense  of  rising.' — Ed.  ii.] 

16.  place]  Heath  (p.  391)  :  At  the  very  top  of  her  soaring.— Gifford  {Mas- 
singer^  iv,  137,  ed.  1805) :  The  greatest  elevation  which  a  bird  of  prey  attains  in  its 
flight. 

17.  Mowsing]  Talbot  :  A  very  effective  epithet,  as  contrasting  the  falcon,  in 
her  pride  of  place,  with  a  bird  that  is  accustomed  to  seek  its  prey  on  the  ground. — 
[Chambers  suggests  that  *Both  the  •'mousing  owl"  and  the  rebellious  horses  sym- 
bolise the  disloyalty  of  Macbeth  to  his  king.  In  the  weird  atmosphere  of  this  play 
supernatural  signs  and  omens  do  not  appear  out  of  place.'  But  is  it  not  probable 
that  Shakespeare  followed  Holinshed' s  account  of  the  murder  of  King  Duffe?  See 
Appendix, — Ed.  ii.] 

18.  Horses]  Walker  ( Vers.  p.  243) :  The  plurals  of  substantives  ending  in  j, 
in  certain  instances — ^in  se^  ss,  ce,  and  sometimes  ge — are  found  without  the  usual 
sound  of  s  or  es,  in  pronunciation  at  least,  although  in  many  instances  the  plural 
afiiz  is  added  in  printing,  where  the  metre  shows  that  it  is  not  to  be  pronounced. 
[See  also  Abbott,  §  471.] 

20.  Beaateous]  Abbott  (§  419) :  The  adjective  is  placed  after  the  noun  where  a 


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I/O  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH     [act  ii,  sc.  iv. 

TumM  wilde  in  nature,  broke  their  flails,  flong  out,  21 

Contending  'gainft  Obedience,  as  they  would 
Make  Warre  with  Mankinde. 

Old  man.  'Tis  faid,they  eate  each  other. 

Rojfe.    They  did  fo :  25 

To  th'amazement  of  mine  ^yti^  that  looked  vpon't. 

Enter  Macduff e. 
Heere  comes  the  good  Macduffe. 
How  goes  the  world  Sir,  now  ? 

Macd.    Why  fee  you  not  ?  30 

Roff.  Is't  known  who  did  this  more  then  bloody  deed  ? 

Macd.    Thofe  that  Macbeth  hath  flaine. 

Roff.    Alas  the  day, 
What  good  could  they  pretend  ? 

Macd.    They  were  fubbomed,  35 

Malcolmey  and  Donalbaine  the  Kings  two  Sonnes 
Are  ftolne  away  and  fled,  which  puts  vpon  them 
Sufpition  of  the  deed, 

Roffe.    'Gainft  Nature  ftill, 
Thriftlefle  Ambition,  that  will  rauen  vp  40 

21.  flor^'\  flung  FjF^  et  seq.  27.  Enter  Macduffe]  Ff,  Rowe,  Pope, 

22.  23.  Contending  ...  Mankinde\  Theob.  Han.  Warb.  Cam.  After  line 
Lines  end:    Make... Mankinde,  Steev.         28,  Johns,  et  cet 

Var.  Dyce,  Cam.  Huds.  Wh.  ii.  35.  fubbomed^  fubomed  F^F^.    sub- 

23.  Mankinde]  Man  Pope^  +  y  Cap.  om*d  Rowe  et  seq. 

24.  eate"]  ate  Sing.  Coll.  i,  ii,  Huds.  40.  will]  wilt  Theob.  ii, +  , Cap.  Var. 
Hal.  Wh.  i,  Ktly,  Del.  '73,  '78,  Mai.  Var.  Knt,  Dyce,  Cam.  Sta. 

25-28.   They  did  ...  Macduffe]   Two        Wh.  ii. 
lines,  ending:  ir^^j... Macduffe.  Pope  et  rauen  vp]  rauen  upon  Ff,  Rowe, 

seq.  Pope,     ravin  up  Theob.  et  seq. 

relative  clause,  or  some  conjunctional  clause,  is  understood  between  the  noun  and 
adjective.     *  Duncan's  horses  (Though)  Beauteous  and  swift ^^  etc. 

20.  their  Race]  Theobald:  Shakespeare  does  not  mean  that  they  were  the 
best  of  their  breed,  but  that  they  were  excellent  Racers.  The  horses  of  Duncan 
have  just  been  celebrated  for  being  swift. — Clarendon  :  Of  all  the  breed  of  horses 
man's  special  darlings. 

22.  as]  For  <as'  used  for  asif^stt  Abbott,  §  107.    Compare  I,  iv,  15;  II, 

ii,  38. 

34.  pretend]  Steevens  :  That  is,  to  intend,  to  design. — RiTSON  :  So  in  Goularf  s 
Histories,  1 607  :  'The  carauell  arriued  safe  at  her  pretended  port' — Clarendon  : 
See  notes  on  II,  iii,  160.  ^o  pritendre  is  used  still  in  French,  without  the  implication 
of  falsehood. 

40.  rauen  vp]  Collier:  We  have  < ravin  down'  used  in  precisely  the  same 
manner  in  Meas.for  Meas.  I,  ii,  133. 


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ACT  II,  sc.  iv.]       THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  \yi 

Thine  owne  Hues  meanes  :  Then  'tis  moft  like,  41 

The  Soueraignty  will  fall  vpon  Macbeth. 

Macd.     He  is  already  nam'd,  and  gone  to  Scone 
To  be  inuefted. 

Rojfe.    Where  is  Duncans  body  ?  45 

Macd.    Carried  to  Colmekill, 

41,42.  7Ilf»^...Macbeth.]  Lines  end:  43.  gone\  gens  F,. 

&wmi^»(K- -Macbeth.  Walker  (Vers.  46.  a»/in^i»//]  Ff,  Glo.  Wh.  ii.  Colmes- 

291).  hill  Pope,  Theob.  Warb.    Colmkil  Han. 

41.  Thin€\  lis  Han.  Coimes-kiU  Johns.  Var.  Mai.  Ran.  Steev. 

liuesl  lif^s  Pope  et  seq.  Var.  '03,  '1 3,  Knt  i.     Colme-kiU  Cap. 

Then  '/ir]  Why  then  it  is  Han.  et  oet. 

41,  42.  Then  . . .  Macbeth]  See  note  I,  ii,  30. 

43.  Scone]  Knight  :  The  ancient  royal  dty  of  Scone,  supposed  to  have  been  \ 
the  capital  of  the  Pictish  kingdom,  lay  two  miles  northward  from  the  present  town  ^ 
of  Perth.  It  was  the  residence  of  the  Scottish  monarchs  as  early  as  the  reign  of 
Kenneth  M'Alpin,  and  there  was  a  long  series  of  kings  crowned  on  the  celebrated 
stone  enclosed  in  a  chair  now  used  as  the  seat  of  our  sovereigns  at  coronations  in 
Westminster  Abbey.  This  stone  was  removed  to  Scone  from  Dunstaffnage,  the  yet 
earlier  residence  of  the  Scottish  kings,  by  Kenneth  II,  soon  after  the  founding  of  the 
Abbey  of  Scone  by  the  Culdees  In  838,  and  was  transferred  by  Edward  I.  to  West- 
minster Abbey  in  1296.  This  remarkable  stone  is  reported  to  have  found  its  way 
to  Dunstaflfioage  from  the  plain  of  Lnz,  where  it  was  the  pillow  of  the  patriarch  Jacob 
while  he  dreamed  his  dream.  An  aisle  of  the  Abbey  of  Scone  remains.  A  few 
poor  habitations  alone  exist  on  the  site  of  the  ancient  royal  dty. — Staunton  quotes 
an  account  of  Scone  from  New  Statistical  Account  of  Scotland,  1845,  x»  P>  ^^Al- 

46.  Colmektll]  Steevens:  The  famous  lona,  one  of  the  Western  Isles.  Hol- 
inshed  scarcely  mentions  the  death  of  any  of  the  andent  kings  of  Scotland  with- 
out taking  notice  of  their  being  buried  with  their  predecessors  in  Colme-kiU. —  ^> 
Malone  :  It  is  now  called  Icolmkill, — ^Knight  :  This  little  island,  only  three  miles 
long  and  one  and  a  half  broad,  was  once  the  most  important  spot  of  the  whole 
cluster  of  British  Isles.  It  was  inhabited  by  Druids  previous  to  the  year  563, 
when  Colum  M'Felim  M' Fergus,  afterwards  called  St.  Columba,  landed  and  began 
to  preach  Christianity.  A  monastery  was  soon  established,  and  a  noble  cathedral 
built,  of  which  the  ruins  still  remain.  The  reputation  of  these  establishments  ex- 
tended over  the  whole  Christian  world  for  some  centuries,  and  devotees  of  rank 
strove  for  admission  into  them  ;  the  records  of  royal  deeds  were  preserved  there,  and 
there  the  bones  of  kings  reposed.  All  the  monarchs  of  Scotland,  from  Kenneth  III. 
to  Macbeth,  inclusive — that  is,  from  973  to  1040 — were  buried  at  lona.  The  island 
was  several  times  laid  waste  by  Danes  and  pirates,  and  the  records  which  were 
saved  were  removed  to  Ireland,  but  the  monastic  establishments  survived  and 
remained  in  honour  till  1 561,  when  the  Act  of  the  Convention  of  Estates  doomed  all 
monasteries  to  demolition.  Such  books  and  records  as  could  be  found  in  lona  were 
burnt,  the  tombs  broken  open,  and  the  greater  number  of  its  hosts  of  crosses  thrown 
down  or  carried  away.  In  the  cemetery,  among  the  monuments  of  the  founders  and 
of  many  subsequent  abbots,  are  three  rows  of  tombs,  said  to  be  those  of  the  Scottish, 


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172  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH      [act  ii,  sa  iv. 

The  Sacred  Store-houfe  of  his  Predeceffors,  47 

And  Guardian  of  their  Bones. 

Rojfe.  Will  you  to  Scone  ? 

Macd.     No  Cofm,  He  to  Fife.  50 

Roffe  Well,I  will  thither. 

-Afiwrf. Well  may  you  fee  things  wel  done  there :  Adieu 
Lead  our  old  Robes  fit  eafier  then  our  new. 

Rojfe.   Farewell,  Father. 

Old  M.   Gods  benyfon  go  with  you,  and  with  thofe  55 

That  would  make  good  of  bad, and  Friends  of  Foes. 

Exeunt  omnes  57 

52.  lVeU..,/ee  things\  Ff.    WelL.,5ee^  53.  if«er.]  new,     [Exit  Cap. 
ihif^i  Rowe,  Pope.     lVeU^.,.see  things  55.  you\  you  fir  FJP^.  you,  SirF^, 
Theob.  et  cet.  Rowe»  Cap. 

53.  Leafi]  Left  Ff. 

Irish,  and  Norwegian  kings,  in  number  reported  to  be  forty-eight  For  statements 
like  these,  however,  there  is  no  authority  but  tradition.  Tradition  itself  does  not 
pretend  to  individualize  these  tombs,  so  that  the  stranger  must  be  satisfied  with  the 
knowledge  that  within  the  enclosure  where  he  stands  lie  Duncan  and  Macbeth. — 
French  (p.  297) :  It  is  said  that  forty-eight  Scottish,  four  Irish,  one  French,  and 
eight  Norwegian  kings  are  interred  in  lona,  besides  many  Lords  of  the  Isles. 

50-52.  No  Cosin  .  .  .  there]  Libby  :  That  is,  Macduff  will  not  follow  the  for- 
tunes of  a  murderer,  but  Ross,  with  an  apologetic  '  well/  announces  his  intention  of 
going  to  Scone  to  be  with  the  successful  Macbeth  upon  whom  he  has  an  ancient 
daim.  Macduff's  twice-repeated  'well*  is  a  sneer:  but  he  will  not,  or  cannot, 
quarrel  with  the  smooth-mannered  Ross.  Unless  Ross  went  to  Macbeth  to  be  his 
adviser  why  did  Macduff  enjoin  him  to  see  things  well  done  ? — Ed.  ii. — Manly  : 
Macduff's  refusal  to  go  to  Scone,  which,  although  it  seems  of  no  great  significance  at 
the  moment,  nevertheless  causes  his  later  peremptory  refusal  to  attend  Macbeth  to 
come  upon  us  not  with  the  shock  of  a  complete  surprise,  but  as  a  thing  that  might  have 
been  expected.  Those  of  us  who  know  the  play  well  are  apt  to  read  every  event  in 
the  light  of  the  whole  play,  but  obviously  the  events  of  a  play  have  at  the  moment 
of  their  occurrence  only  the  significance  which  they  display  upon  seeing  them  first 
presented ;  later  a  new  significance  appears  as  we  see  their  results.  This  sounds 
like  a  truism ;  too  much  closet  study  of  Shakespeare  has  caused  some  of  us  to  forget 
it — Ed.  ii. 

53.  Least  our  .  . .  new]  Deighton  :  Let  us  part,  for  fear  we  should  find  things 
go  worse  with  us  in  the  future  than  they  have  in  the  past ;  i.  e,  it  is  safer  for  us  to  be 
apart  than  together. — Ed.  ii. 

55,  56.  Gods  benyson  .  .  .  Foes]  E.  K.  Chambers  :  The  old  man  rightly 
judges  Ross  as  a  mere  time-server. — Ed.  ii. — Manly  :  Libby  finds  in  this 
scene  confirmation  of  his  view  that  Ross  is  an  intriguer,  and  ultimately  Macbeth' s 
chief  tool.  Perhaps  the  *  Old  man '  really  thinks  Ross  able  to  turn  bad  into  good, 
and  foes  into  friends,  and  blesses  him  sincerely. — Ed.  ii. — Sherman:  This  line 
seems  rather  the  language  of  an  optimistic  old  man  who  hopes  that  the  evil 


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ACT  m,  sc.  L]       THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  173 


A6lus  Tertius.    Scena  Prima. 


Enter  Banquo,  2 

Banq.    Thou  haft  it  now,  King,  Cawdor,  Glamis,  all, 
As  the  weyard  Women  promised,  and  I  feare 
Thou  playd'ft  moft  fowly  for't  :  yet  it  was  faide  5 

It  fhould  not  ftand  in  thy  Pofterity, 
But  that  my  felfe  fhould  be  the  Roote,and  Father 
Of  many  Kings.     If  there  come  truth  from  them, 
As  vpon  thee  Macbethy  their  Speeches  fliine, 
Why  by  the  verities  on  thee  made  good,  10 

May  they  not  be  my  Oracles  as  well, 
And  fet  me  vp  in  hope»     But  hufh,  no  more.  12 

A    Royal    Apartment.    Rowe,  +  .  4.  foeyarefl  D'Av.  Ktly.     weyward 

An  Apartment  in  the  Palace.    Theob.  Ff,  Rowe,+.    wrfn/ Theob.  Han.  Var. 

Warb.    The  Palace.  Glo.  Dtn.    Forres.  '73,  '78,  '85,  Ran.     weird  Cap.  et  cet. 

A  Room  in  the  Palace.  Cap.  et  cet.  Women\  Woman  F,F^. 

3.  King^  Cawdor,  G/amis,']  Aing,  5.  /awfy}  fouhly  Fj.  fouUy  F,F^, 
Glanu  and  Cawdor,  Seymour.  et  cet 

4.  As\  Om.  Pope,  +  .  9.  Jhine\  show  Coll.  (MS). 

days,  such  as  he  has  seen,  will  not  come  back.  So,  apparently,  he  blesses  Ross 
not  only  as  one  of  whom  he  is  fond,  but  also  as  one  not  likely  to  resist  the 
new  order  of  things.  Withal,  he  includes  in  his  benediction  the  whole  class 
to  which  Ross  belongs,  and  from  which  he  undoubtedly  hints  Macduff  would  be 
excluded. — Ed.  ii. 

I.  ViscHKR  (  Vortragty  ii,  96)  :  The  Third  Art  usually  contains  the  crisis.  May 
it  not  be  reasonably  supposed  that  the  first  murder  is  fraught  with  fullest  conse- 
quences? Hardly;  it  is  only  after  the  second  murder  that  Macbeth  verges  on 
frenzy.  Only  then  does  he  suffer  the  impulse  of  that  fearful  law  of  punishment 
which  leads  him  headlong  downward.  This  turn  is  the  most  powerful  in  the  drama, 
and  is  therefore  introduced  in  the  Third  Art.  Here  we  reach  the  parting  of  the 
ways. — Ed.  ii. 

4.  the]  Walker  (  Vers,  75) :  P  the  and  d  the  are  to  be  pronounced  Vth^  and 
dth^,  (In  the  Folio  they  are  so  printed ;  frequently  TM,  dth  ;  the  latter,  by  the 
way,  often  cCth*  or  aUh,)  In  many  places  also,  where  the  e  in  the  before  a  consonant 
is  at  present  retained  to  the  injury  of  the  metre,  it  ought  to  be  elided.  In  the  pres- 
ent case  read  th\  metri  gratis,    [This  reading  was  adopted  in  Singer  (ed.  ii.).] 

9.  shine]  Warburton  :  <  Shine '  for  prosper, — ^Johnson  :  Appear  with  all  the 
lustre  of  conspicuous  truth, — Heath  :  Manifest  the  lustre  of  their  truth  by  their 
accomplishment 


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174  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH      [act  hi,  sc.  i. 

Senit  founded.  Enter  Macbeth  as  King  ^  Lady  Lenox  ^  13 

Rojfe^  Lords  J  and  Attendants. 

Macb,    Heere's  our  chiefe  Gueft.  15 

La.     If  he  had  beene  forgotten^ 
It  had  bene  as  a  gap  in  our  great  Feaft^ 
And  all-thing  vnbecomming. 

Macb.    To  night  we  hold  a  folemne  Supper  fir^  19 

13.  Scnit  founded]  Trumpets  sound.  Cap.  et  cet 
Rowe,+.     Flourish.  Cap.  18.  all-thing\  aU-ihings  F,,  Var.  '03, 

13,  14.  Lady  Lenox,  Rofle,]    Lady  '13.     all  things  F^F^  Rowe,  +  ,  Cap. 

Macbeth,  Lenox,  Rowe.   Lady  Macbeth,  Var.  Mai.  Ran.  Sing,  i,  Wh.  i,  Huds. 

Queen ;  Rosse,  Lenox,  Lords,  Ladies,  iii.     all  thing  Coll.  Hal. 

13.  Senit]  Nares  :  Sennet^  Senet^  Synnet^  Cynet^  Signet^  and  Signate,  A  word 
diiefly  occurring  in  the  stage-directions  of  old  plays,  and  seeming  to  indicate  a  par- 
ticular set  of  notes  on  the  trumpet  or  comet,  different  from  a  flourish.  'Trumpets 
sound  a  flourish,  and  then  a  sennet' — Decker,  SatiromasHx,  *  The  comets  sound  a 
cynet.' — ^Marston,  Antonio's  Revenge, — Dyce  {Gloss.):  The  etymology  of  the  word 
is  doubtful. — Clarendon  :  The  word  does  not  occur  in  the  text  of  Shakespeare. — 
[Darmestster  :  *  Sennet ' ...  is  the  old  French  signet,  derived  from  seing,  bell, 
which  still  survives  in  the  word  tocsin,  literally :  that  which  strikes  (toquer)  the 
bell ;  seing  is  the  Latin  signum  :  in  its  early  and  general  sense  signal,  sign  ;  seing 
and  sigtut  have  survived  in  blanc-seing  and  the  signet  [signature]  of  printing. — 
Ed.  ii.] 

18.  anything]  Elwin  :  So  in  Henry  the  Eighth's  Primer,  the  Hymn  in  the 
Compline  commences  thus :  *  O  Lorde,  the  maker  of  all-thing.  We  pray  the  nowe  in 
this  evening.' — Clarendon  :  It  seems  to  be  used  as  an  adverb  meaning  in  every 
way  :  compare  *  something/  '  nothing.'  In  Roberto/  Gloucester,  p.  69  (ed.  Heame), 
<alle  thing'  appears  to  be  used  for  altogether:  *As  wommon  deth  hire  child  alle 
thing  mest.'  Again,  on  p.  48,  where  Heame  prints :  <Ac  tho  nolde  not  Cassibel 
that  beo  schulde  allyngitiiXe,^  Lord  Mostyn's  MS  has  *althynge/  meaning  altogether, 
— Abbott  (§  12)  :  The  adjectives  all,  each,  both,  every,  other,  are  sometimes  inter- 
changed and  used  as  pronouns  in  a  manner  different  from  modem  usage.  In  this 
instance  « all*  is  used  for  every.  We  still  use  *  all'  for  '  all  men.'  But  Ascham  (p. 
54)  wrote  :  *Ill  commonlie  have  over  much  wit,'  and  (p.  65) :  <  Infinite  shall  be 
made  cold  by  your  example,  that  toere  never  hurt  by  reading  of  bookes.'  This  is 
perhaps  an  attempt  to  introduce  a  Latin  idiom.  Shakespeare,  however,  writes : 
<  What  ever  hcsve  been  thought  on.' — Coriol,  I,  ii,  4. 

19.  a  solemne  Supper]  Hunter  (ii,  136) :  That  is,  a  banquet,  a  high  festival. 
So  in  Ariosto,  as  translated  by  Harington  :  <  Nor  never  did  young  lady  brave  and 
bright  Like  dancing  better  on  a  solemn  day.'  [Orlando  Furioso ;  Bk,  xviii,  st  49. — 
Ed.  ii.]  This  application  of  the  word  *  solemn '  is  a  relic  of  the  sentiment  of  remote 
ages,  when  there  was  something  of  the  religious  feeling  connected  with  all  high  festi- 
vals and  banquetings. — [Skeat  (Diet,)  :  Solemn,  attended  with  religious  ceremony, 
devout,  serious.  Middle  English  solemfme,  *  In  the  solempne  dai  of  pask,'  Widif, 
Luke,  ii,  41.  Old  French  solempne  (Roquefort)  ;  the  modem  French  has  only  the 
derivative  solennel,    Latin  solemnem,  accusative  of  solemnis,  older  forms  solennis. 


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ACT  III,  sc.  i.]       THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH  175 

And  He  requeft  your  prefence.  20 

Banq.     Let  your  Highneffe 
Command  vpon  me,  to  the  which  my  duties 
Are  with  a  mod  indiflbluble  tye  23 

31.  Let  your  Highneffe]   Lay  your        (MS)  ii,  iii,  Huds.  ii,  iii,  Wh.  ii. 
Highnesses  Rowe.     Lay  your  highnes^  22.  v^on]  be  upon  KUy. 

Pope,  +  ,   Cap.  Var.    Mai.   Ran.   Coll. 

soUenms^  jtnAj^  aimiial,  occurring  annually  like  a  religious  rite,  religious,  festive, 
solemn.  Latin,  soU-us^  entire,  and  annus^  a  year,  which  becomes  ennus  in  com- 
position, as  in  H-ennial,  Hence  the  original  sense  of  solemn  is  '  recurring  at  the 
end  of  a  completed  year.* — Ed.  ii.] 

19.  Sapper]  Nares  :  Dinner  being  usually  at  eleven  or  twelve,  supper  was  very 
properly  fixed  at  five  o'clock.  '  With  us  the  nobilitie,  gentrie,  and  students,  doo 
ordinarilie  go  to  dinner  at  eleven  before  noone,  and  to  supper  at  five,  or  betweene 
five  and  sixe  at  aftemoone.' — Harrison,  Descrip.  of  England^  pref.  to  Holinshed, 
[Bk,  ii,  p.  166,  Sh,  Soc.  reprint.]. 

20.  lie]  Harry  Rows  :  As  Macbeth  is  here  speaking  of  the  present,  and  not 
of  the  future  time,  I  do  not  well  know  why  the  learned  editors  should  continue  to 
print  'I'll'  for  '/.'  Browne,  in  his  Vulgar  Errors^  whimsically  says:  *Many 
heads  that  undertake  learning  were  never  squared  or  timbered  for  it.'  To  my  com- 
pany this  observation  cannot  apply,  as  there  is  not  a  head  belonging  to  them  but 
what  is  exactly  squared  according  to  the  rules  of  Lavater ;  so  that  they  have  a 
decided  superiority  over  those  who  may  be  said  to  <  make  their  own  heads.' 

21.  Let]  Malonr:  Rowe's  change  was  suggested  by  D'Avenant's  Version. — M. 
Mason  :  I  would  rather  read  Set  your  command,  etc. ;  for  unless  *  command '  is  used 
as  a  noun,  there  is  nothing  to  which  the  following  words — *  to  the  which  '—can 
possibly  refer. — Dyck  (ed.  i.)  [after  quoting  Mason's  note,  as  above,  adds]  :  A 
remark  which  ought  not  to  have  come  from  one  fieaniliar  vrith  our  early  writers. — 
Coluer  (ed.  ii.)  :  We  have  no  difficulty  in  adopting  the  correction  of  the  MS  Cor- 
rector, although  Set  may  appear  to  come  nearer  the  letters. — Clarendon  :  The 
phrase,  '  command  upon  me,'  for  lay  your  commands  upon  me^  does  not  seem  un- 
natural, though  we  know  of  no  other  instance  in  which  it  is  employed. 

22.  vpon]  Keightley  :  Insert  be  before  '  upon ';  this  removes  all  difficulty  very 
simply.  Be  is  omitted  constantly.  [For  modem  tendency  to  restrict  meaning  of 
prepositions,  see  Abbott,  §  139  ;  also  §  191.] 

22.  the  which]  Abbott  (§  270) :  The  question  may  arise  why  'the'  is  atUched 
to  which  and  not  to  who,  (The  instance,  '  Your  mistress  from  the  whom  I  see,'  etc. 
—  Wint.  Tale,  IV,  iv,  539— is,  perhaps,  unique  in  Shakespeare.)  The  answer  is 
that  who  is  considered  definite  already,  and  stands  for  a  noun,  while  which  is  con- 
sidered as  an  indefinite  adjective  ;  just  as  in  French  we  have  '^quel,'  but  not  */«qui.' 
'  The  which '  is  generally  used  either  where  the  antecedent,  or  some  word  like  the 
antecedent,  is  repeated,  or  else  where  such  a  repetition  could  be  made  if  desired. — 
Clarendon  :  The  antecedent  to  *  which '  is  the  idea  contained  in  the  preceding 
clause. 

23.  indissoluble  tye]  Werder  (p.  78) :  The  old  lie,  which  Macbeth  knows  I 
The  truth  which  lurks  within  belongs  to  the  'coming  on  of  time.'  The  lie  is  only 
for  his  own  and  Banquo's  apprehension.    But  even  while  Banquo  speaks  the  words 


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176  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH      [act  hi,  sc.  i. 

For  euer  knit. 

J/^^.^Ride  you  this  aftemoone  f  25 

Ban.    i^my  good  Lord. 

Macb.     We  (hould  haue  elfe  defir'd  your  good  aduice 
(Which  ftill  hath  been  both  graue,and  profperous) 
In  this  dayes  Councell :  but  weeMe  take  to  morrow. 
Is't  farre  you  ride  ?  30 

Ban.    As  farre,  my  Lord,  as  will  fill  vp  the  time 
'Twixt  this,and  Supper.  Goe  not  my  Horfe  the  better,  32 

27-30.  Lines  end:  defif*d„.graue^..,  29.  ttike^  talk  Mai.   Ran.  Var.  '21. 

but,„rid€f  Pope,  +  .  takeU  Mai.  conj.  Ktly. 

29.  Councell^  Councel  F^F^.    council  30.  A'/]  Is  it  Pope,  +  ,  Var.  '73. 
Rowe  et  seq. 

he  is  a  dead  man.  The  murderers  stand  waiting  at  the  door. — Ed.  ii. — Libby  : 
Banquo  now  fiilly  hopes,  Macbeth  equally  fears,  that  what  the  Witches  predicted  for 
Banquo  may  come  true  next.  The  effect  upon  Banquo  of  the  veriBcation  of  the 
third  part  of  the  witches'  prediction  concerning  Macbeth  fully  accounts  for  all  the 
otherwise  unaccountable  words  of  Banquo  in  this  damning  scene.  Now  that  the 
witches  have  completely  overcome  his  better  nature  his  doom  is  not  far  off,  and  who 
should  with  greater  appropriateness  give  him  his  quietus  than  Macbeth  and  Ross, 
who  witnessed  his  first  step  in  crime  when  he  failed  to  speak  up  for  Cawdor. — 
Ed.  ii. 

28.  still]  For  examples  where  '  still '  means  always,  see  Shakespeare  passim. 

28.  graue,  and  prosperous]  Moberly  :  And  this,  as  we  see  in  line  63,  has  of 
itself  made  him  feared  by  Macbeth.  Tyrants  cannot  endure  the  tirtue  of  an  Ormond, 
a  Temple,  even  of  a  Clarendon ;  they  are  safe  only  with  the  Buddnghams,  the 
Lauderdales,  the  Sunderlands  of  their  day.  That  even  a  bad  king  should  be  forced 
to  have  good  counsellors,  and  to  act  by  their  counsel,  may  be  said  to  be  an  inven- 
tion of  the  much  maligned  nineteenth  century. — Ed.  ii. 

28.  prosperous]  Clarendon  :  That  is,  followed  by  a  prosperous  issue. 

29.  take]  Knight  :  It  is  difficult  to  imagine  a  more  unnecessary  change  than 
Malone's  talk.  Who  could  doubt  our  meaning  if  we  were  to  say,  *  Well,  sir,  if  yon 
cannot  come  this  afternoon,  we  will  take  to-morrow.' 

32.  Goe  not]  Clarendon:  Compare  Rich,  //.•  II,  i,  300 :  '  Hold  out  my  horse, 
and  I  will  first  be  there.'     [See  Abbott  in  note  to  III,  vi,  22.] 

32.  the  better]  Clarendon  :  The  better  considering  the  distance  he  has  to  go. 
Stowe,  Survey  of  London  (ed.  1618,  p.  145,  misquoted  by  Malone),  says  of  tilting 
at  the  quintain,  '  Hee  that  hit  it  full,  if  he  rid  not  the  faster,  had  a  sound  blow  in 
his  necke,  with  a  bagge  full  of  sand  hanged  on  the  other  end';  where  the  meaning 
is,  *  If  he  rid  not  the  faster  because  he  had  hit  it  full,'  etc. — Abbott  (5  94) :  Th^  (in 
early  Eng.  thi,  thy)  is  used  as  the  ablative  of  the  demonstrative  and  relative,  with 
comparatives,  to  signify  the  measure  of  excess  or  defect  This  use  is  still  retained. 
*  The  sooner  the  better,*  i.  e.  *By  how  much  the  sooner  by  so  much  the  better.' 
(Lat  •  quo  dtius,  eo  melius.')  It  is  sometimes  stated  that  •  the  better '  is  used  by 
Shakespeare  for  *  better,'  etc.:  but  it  will  often,  perhaps  always,  be  found  that  the 
has  a  certain  force.    Thus  in  'The  rather,'  IV,  iii,  184,  'the'  means  'on  that 


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ACT  III.  sc.  i.]        THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  177 

I  muft  become  a  borrower  of  the  Night,  33 

For  a  darke  houre,  or  twaine^ 

Miub.     Faile  not  our  Feaft.  35 

Ban.     My  Lord,  I  will  not. 

Macd.     We  heare  our  bloody  Cozens  are  beftoVd 
In  England^and  in  Ireland,  not  confefsing  \ 

Their  cruell  Parricide,  filling  their  hearers 

With  ft  range  inuention.  But  of  that  to  morrow,  40 

When  therewithall,we  fliall  haue  caufe  of  State, 
Crauing  vs  ioyntly.     Hye  you  to  Horfe : 
Adieu,  till  you  retume  at  Night. 
Goes  Fleance  with  you  ?  44 

37.  hloody\  bloudy '¥ ^ ^,  42-44>  Crauing  vs,„vrUh  you  ?'\1'vo 

Co%ens\  Coufins  F^F^  et  seq.  lines,  ending :  Adieu,,.. with  you  f  Pope 

42.  you'\  Om.  Pope,+,  Cap.  et  seq. 

accoant.'  In  the  present  instance  Banquo  is  perhaps  regarding  his  horse  as  racing 
against  night,  and  *  the  better '  means  *  the  better  of  the  two.'  In  the  passage  from 
Stowe's  Survey  [quoted  above]  the  rider  is  perhaps  described  as  endeavoring  to  antici- 
pate the  blow  of  the  quintain  by  being  *  the  faster '  of  the  two.  Or  more  probably  [as 
explained  by  Clarendon  above].  In  either  case  it  is  unscholarly  to  say  that  'the' 
is  redundant. 

34.  twaine]  Skeat  {Diet.)  :  The  difference  between  two  and  'twain'  is  one  of 
gender  only,  as  appears  from  the  Anglo-Saxon  forms.  'Twain'  is  masculine, 
whilst  two  is  feminine  and  neuter;  but  this  distinction  was  early  disregarded. 
Middle  English  tweien,  tweithe,  twein,  etc.;  also  tzva,  ttoo,  in  which  the  w  was  pro- 
nounced ;  the  pronunciation  of  two  as  too  being  of  rather  late  date.  '  Us  tweine ' » 
us  twain,  us  two,  Chaucer :  Canterbury  Tales,  1. 1 135.  '  Sustren  two '  »  sisters  two. 
Ibid.  102 1.     Our  poets  seem  to  use  '  twain'  and  two  indifferently. — Ed.  ii. 

39.  Paxricide]  Clarendon  :  Used  in  thi  sense  of  parricidium  as  well  as  parri- 
cida.  The  only  other  passage  in  Shakespeare  in  which  it  is  found  is  Lear,  II,  i, 
48,  where  it  means  the  latter. 

40.  strange  inuention]  Booth  :  Lady  Macbeth,  turning  from  her  ladies,  with 
whom,  apparently,  she  has  been  engaged^  takes  his  hand,  to  stop  his  fiirtlier  refer- 
ence to  this  subject. — Ed.  ii. 

40.  But  of  that  to  morrow]  Moulton  :  The  contrast  of  the  two  characters 
appears  here  as  everywhere.  Lady  Macbeth  can  wait  for  an  opportunity  of  freeing 
themselves  from  Banquo.  To  Macbeth  the  one  thing  impossible  is  to  wait;  and 
once  more  his  powerlessness  to  control  suspense  is  his  ruin. — £d.  ii. 

41.  cause]  Clarendon:  A  subject  of  debate.  In  IV,  iii,  228,  <the  general 
cause '  means  the  public,  and  in  Tro.  6f*  Cress.  V,  ii,  143,  it  is  used  for  dispute,  argu- 

43.  Adieu]  Booth  :  Banquo  and  Fleance  cross  to  Left — Fleance  pauses  to  kiss 
the  hand  which  Macbeth  extends  to  him. — Ed.  ii. 

44.  Fleance]  Manly  (p.  130) :  Fleance  does  not  appear  in  this  scene.  He  has 
already  been  introduced  in  II,  i,  where  anyone  else  would  have  done  as  well  as  he, 

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178 


THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH      [act  hi.  sc.  L 


Yt 


.^.^ 


Ban.     \y  my  good  Lord  :  our  time  does  call  vpon's.  45 

Macb.     I  wifh  your  Horfes  fwift,  and  fure  of  foot : 

And  fo  I  doe  commend  you  to  their  backs. 

Farwell.  Exit  Banquo. 

Let  euery  man  be  mafter  of  his  time, 

Till  feuen  at  Night,  to  make  fodetie  50 

The  fweeter  welcome : 

We  will  keepe  our  felfe  till  Supper  time  alone : 

While  then,  God  be  with  you.  Exeunt  Lords.  53 


45.  vp<m's'\  mp<m  tts  Pope,+,  Cq). 
Var.  Mai.  Ran.  Stecv.  Var.  Knt,  Coll. 
Sing,  ii,  Hal.  Ktly,  Huds.  ii,  iii. 

47.  /<fof]  do  I  FjF^,  Sta. 

47,  48.  One  line,  Ktly. 

48.  FarmeU.'\  Farewel.  Rowe,  +  , 
Cap.  Var.  '73,  '78.  FareweU,  Var.  '85 
et  seq. 

50,  51.  Nighty  io  ...  welcome .'^  Ff, 
Rowe,  Pope,  Hal.  Del.  Ktly.  night. 
To...welc0me^  Rife,  nigki;  to...wei' 
come,  Theob.  et  cet 


51-53.  Tke...}fo§i.'\  Two  lines,  end- 
ing :  our  felfe. ..you.  Rowe  et  seq. 
53.  WhiU\  tiU  Pope,  +  ,  Var.  '73. 

be  wfM]  ^'  wi '  Dyce  ii,  iii,  Huds. 
ii,  iiL 

Exeunt  Lords.]  Exeunt  all  but 
Mad)etli  and  an  Attendant  Glo.  Dyce 
ii.  Coll.  iii,  Wh.  ii.  Seyton  alone  re> 
mains.  Booth.  Exeunt  Lady  Macbeth, 
and  Lords.  Rowe,  et  cet. 

Scene  II.  Manent  Macbeth  and 
a  Servant  Pope,  +  . 


except  for  the  fact  that  his  existence  must  be  made  £uniliar  to  the  audience  before  he 
is  made  so  important  as  he  becomes  in  III,  iii. — ^Ed.  iL 

47.  commend]  Claeendon:  This  is  said  jestingly,  with  an  affectation  of 
formality. 

49-51.  Let  •  •  •  welcome]  Claeendon  :  Theobald's  punctuation  is  doubdess 
right ;  it  is  solitude  which  gives  a  zest  to  sodety,  not  the  being  master  of  one's 
time. — [D'HUGUES :  I  have  adopted  the  punctuation  of  F,,  which  thus  rightly  con- 
nects the  words  'to  make  society'  with  the  preceding  phrase,  and  not  with  that 
whidi  follows,  as  the  punctuation  of  later  editions  would  make  it  Mad)eth  is 
^>eaking  as  a  sdidtous  host  who,  in  order  to  add  to  the  pleasure  of  the  evening 
leunioD,  grants  to  eadi  and  all  the  unrestrained  use  of  his  time.  The  other  punc- 
tuation makes  Mad^eth  say  that  he  needs  to  be  a  few  hours  alcme  in  order  to 
enjoy  the  sodety  of  his  friends. — MoBEELY  :  So  ParaSse  Lost^  ix,  230 :  *  To  short 
absence  I  could  yidd.  For  solitude  sometimes  is  best  sodety  And  short  retirement 
ucges  quids  return.* — Ed.  ii.] 

51.  welcome]  Claeendon:  It  maybe  doubted  whether  <wdcome'  is  here  a 
substantive,  or  an  a^ective  agreeing  with  •  society.'  We  have  the  former  oonstrac* 
tion  in  7Xw<m,  I,  ii,  135.  If  we  took  the  latter,  *  sweeto-'  would  be  used  for  the 
adverb  sweeilier. 

53.  WhUe]  Keightlet  (p.  333)  :  This  line  cannot  be  as  Shakcq)eare  wrote  it, 
for  the  metric  accents  £ill  on  <be'  and  *you.'  We  might  read ^ym/ ^rr,  but  it  would 
be  somewhat  too  fiuniliar.  On  the  whole  I  think  that  mean  has  been  omitted  before 
*  while.'  By  supplying  it  the  language  becomes  dignified  and  king-like. — Claeen- 
DON :  Tin  then.  Compare  Rick,  H:  IV,  i,  269.  So  « whiles'  in  Twdflk  Nighty 
rV,  iii,  29.     [Note  on  Rich.  //.*  I,  iii,  132.]     'While'  can  only,  we  think,  be 


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ACT  III.  sc.  L]        THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  179 

Sirrha,  a  word  with  you  :  Attend  thofe  men 

Ourpleafure?  55 

Seruant.    They  are,  my  Lord,  without  the  Pallace 
Gate. 

Macb.     Bring  them  before  vs.  Exit  Seruant. 

To  be  thus,  is  nothing,  but  to  be  fafely  thus  : 
Our  feares  in  Banquo  fticke  deepe,  60 

And  in  his  Royaltie  of  Nature  reignes  that 
Which  would  be  feared.     ^Tis  much  he  dares, 
And  to  that  dauntleffe  temper  of  his  Minde, 
He  hath  a  Wifdome,  that  doth  guide  his  Valour, 
To  a£l  in  fafetie.    There  is  none  but  he,  65 

Whofe  being  I  doe  feare  :  and  vnder  him, 

54.  [To  m  Servant  Rowe.     To  Scy-  58,  59.  Bri!Hg  ihem,.,nctking]  Two 

ton.  Booth.  lines,    Rowe.       One    line.    Pope    et 

Sirrha]  Sirrah  F^  et  seq.  scq. 

ipfy^^'iwJOm. Steer. Var. '03/13.  59-62.   To  bf  ,„  dares,']  Lines  end: 

54,  55.  Sirrha,, ,pleafure]  One  line,  nothing,  ...  Baoquo  ...  Nature ...  dares, 

C^.  Var.  '78,  '85.     Mai.  Ran.  Steev.  Rowe  et  seq. 

Var.'o3,'i3,  Sta.  59.  nothing,  but]  Ff,  Rowe.     noth- 

54-57.  Sirrha  „,  Gate]   Lines  end:  ing.     But  Pope.     nothi$ig.  But  Coll. 

^<w.*...Z<;r</,...t?a/^.  Walker,  Wh.  i.  Huds.  Sta.  Wh.   Del.      nothing;  but 

Theob.  et  cet 

properiy  used  for  tUl,  when  it  follows  a  verb  expressing  a  continuous  action,  an 
action  which  lasts  over  the  interval  of  time  designated.  *  While '  is  commonly  used 
for  till  in  the  northern  counties  of  England,  but  without  the  limitation  which  we 
have  mentioned  as  characterizing  the  usage  of  Shakespeare. — ^Abbott  ($  137) : 
'  While '  now  means  only  during  the  time  when,  but  in  Elizabethan  English  both 
*  while '  and  whiles  meant  also  up  to  the  time  when,  (Compare  a  similar  use  of  dum 
in  Latin  and  lu^  in  Greek.) 

53.  Qod  be  with  you]  Walker  {Vers,  227):  This  is  m  fact  GoaC b' wi' you ; 
sometimes  a  trisyllable,  sometimes  contracted  into  a  disyllabic  ; — now  Good-bye, 
(,Quere,  whether  the  substitution  of  good  for  God  was  not  the  work  of  the  Puritans, 
who  may  have  considered  the  familiar  use  of  Gkxi's  name  in  the  common  form  of 
leave  taking  as  irreverent?    I  suggest  this  merely  as  a  may-be,')    [See  V,  viii,  69.] 

59.  nothing]  Staunton  \  To  be  a  king  is  nothing,  unless  to  be  safely  one.  This 
is,  out  of  doubt,  the  meaning  of  the  Poet ;  but  Theobald's  punctuation  renders  the 
passage  quite  incomprehensible. — ^Abbott  ($  385) :  After  but  the  finite  verb  is  to  be 
supplied  without  the  negative.  To  be  thus  is  nothing.  But  to  be  safely  thus  (is 
something). 

61.  Royaltie]  Staunton  :  A  form  of  expression  correspondent  to,  and  confiima- 
toiy  of,  •  sovereignty  of  reason '  and  *  nobility  of  love.* 

62.  would]  For  *■  would '  used  for  will,  wish,  see  Abbott,  §  329.  See  also  note 
on  I,  V,  21,  and  Clarendon,  I,  vii,  40. 


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l8o  THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH      [act  hi,  sc.  i. 

My  Genius  is  rebukM,as  it  is  faid  67 

Mark  Anthonies  was  by  Ca/ar.  He  chid  the  Sifters, 

When  firft  they  put  the  Name  of  King  vpon  me, 

And  bad  them  fpeake  to  him.   Then  Prophet-like,  70 

They  haylM  him  Father  to  a  line  of  Kings. 

Vpon  my  Head  they  plac'd  a  fruitlefle  Crowne, 

And  put  a  barren  Scepter  in  my  Gripe, 

Thence  to  be  wrencht  with  an  vnlineall  Hand, 

No  Sonne  of  mine  fucceeding  :  ifH  be  fo,  75 

67,  68.  <ix...Oerar]  Om.  Johns,  conj.         bade  Theob.  et  cet 
(Obs.)  withdrawn.     In  Italics,  Ran.  74.  with']  by  Cap.  conj. 

68.  Mark]  Om.  Pope,  +  .  75.  ift  be]  if't  is  Pope,+.     If  it  be 
Cxfar]  Gwtfr'jD'Av.  Han.  Dyce        Cap.  Var.  Mai.  Ran.  Stccv.  Var.  '03, 

ii,  iii,  Huds.  ii.  '13,  Knt 

70.  bad]  Yl,  Rowe,  Pope,  Han.  Cap. 


67.  Genius]  Heath  :  Compare  Ant.  &*  Cteo,  II,  iii,  18:  'Therefore,  O  Antony, 
stay  not  by  his  side :  Thy  demon,  that's  thy  spirit  which  keeps  thee,  is  Noble,  cour- 
ageous, high  unmatchable.  Where  Cesar's  is  not;  but,  near  him,  thy  angel  Becomes 
a  fear,  as  being  o'erpower'd.' — ^J.  P.  Kemble  (p.  71)  :  Antony  feared  Octavius  as  a 
political,  not  as  a  personal,  enemy ;  and  this  is  exactly  the  light  in  which  Macbeth 
regards  Banquo — as  a  rival  for  the  sovereignty. — Clarendon  :  The  passage  from 
Ant,  6r*  Cleo.  is  borrowed  from  North's  Plutarch^  Antonius  (p.  926,  lines  8-10,  ed. 
1631) :  '  For  thy  demon,  said  he  (that  is  to  say,  the  good  angell  and  spirit  that 
keepeth  thee)  is  afraid  of  his :  and  being  couragious  and  high  when  he  b  alone, 
becommeth  fearfuU  and  timorous  when  he  cometh  neare  vnto  the  other.' — [Baynes 
(p.  270):  Whatever  the  nature  [of  the  rational  soul],  it  rules,  guards,  keeps  and 
controls  the  man,  wielding  the  lower  powers  as  instruments  to  its  own  issues.  The 
poetical  representations  of  this  common  view  approach  at  times  the  more  objective 
conception  of  the  Greek  or  Socratic  demon  and  the  Roman  genius,  as  the  theological 
notion  of  distinct  guardian  or  ruling  spirits.  In  this  passage  from  Macbeth  the 
term  may  probably  have,  with  the  ordinary  meaning,  an  objective  reference  of  this 
kind.  In  Shakespeare,  however,  the  terms  angel  and  genius  are  usually  employed 
to  denote  the  higher  nature  of  man,  the  rational  guiding  soul  or  spirit,  which  in  con- 
nexion with  the  mortal  instruments  determines  his  character  and  fate.  In  Macbeth 
this  spirit  is  that  of  insatiable  and  guilty  ambition.  It  is  this  aspiring  lawless  genius 
that  Banquo' s  innate  loyalty  of  heart  and  rectitude  of  purpose  silently  rebuked.  This 
was  the  angel  he  still  had  served,  whose  evil  whisperings  had  prepared  him  for  the 
dark  suggestions  of  the  weird  sisters,  and  inclined  him  to  trust  their  fatal  incanta- 
tions. [See  note  post^  V,  viii,  20.]  But  this  may  be  easily  misunderstood  without 
some  definite  knowledge  of  the  sense  in  which  the  term  *  angel '  is  used. — ^Ed.  ii.] 

74.  with]  Clarendon  :  •  With '  was  used  formerly  of  the  agent,  where  now  we 
should  rather  say  by.  Compare  Wint.  Tate,  V,  ii,  68.  We  confine  '  with '  to  the 
instrument,  and  still  say  '  with  a  hand,'  '  with  a  sword,'  but  not  *  with  a  man,' 
'with  a  bear.'     See  also  King  John,  II,  i,  567. 

75.  Sonne]  French  (p.  289)  :  According  to  tradition,  a  son  of  Macbeth  was 
slain  with  him  in  his  last  encounter  with  Malcolm.     At  a  place  called  Tough,  a  few 


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ACTiii.sc.  i.]      THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  i8l 

For  Banquets  Iffue  haue  I  filM  my  Minde,  76 

For  them,  the  gracious  Duncan  haue  I  murther^d, 

Put  Rancours  in  the  Veffell  of  my  Peace 

Onely  for  them,  and  mine  etemall  lewell 

Giuen  to  the  common  Enemie  of  Man,  80 

To  make  them  Kings,  the  Seedes  of  Banquo  Kings. 

76.  //V]  fiWd  F,F^.     'fird  Han.  Johns,  et  cet. 

Warb.  Ktly.   soU'd  Long  MS  ap.  Cam.  81.  M^»»  Kings^'\  them  kings,  Upton. 

7^-81.  Afiude,...murtker'd,  „.tkfm,  Seedes]  F,.     Seeds  FjF^,  Rowc, 

.,.Kings,,,.Kmgs,]  Ff,  Rowe,  Theob.  Coll.  i,  Elwyn,  Wh.  i,  Ktly.    seed  Topt, 

Han.   Warb.      mindf,..murtAer'dr...  et  cet. 

tJkem  f.., Kings  P., .Kings  f  Pope,   mind;  Banquo  Kings,  ]  Banquo  Kings  I 

murdered;  ...  them;  ...  kings^  ...  kings,  Var.  '73  et  seq. 

miles  north  of  Lnmphannan,  a  large  standing  stone,  twelve  feet  high,  is  said  to  com- 
memorate the  death  of  this  son,  who  is  called  LucUcus  bj  Betham.     [See  IV,  iii, 

254.] 

76.  fil'd]  Warburton:  That  is,  <^/<r^.— Stebvens  :  So  in  Wilkins*s  Miseries 
of  Infored  Marriage,  1607:  '—like  smoke  through  a  chimney  HbaH  fiUs  all 
the  way  it  goes,'  [Act  III,  p.  511,  ed.  Haz.  Dods.].  Again  in  Spenser's  Faerit 
Qtteene,  III,  c.  i,  [v.  62]  :  « She  lighUy  lept  out  of  her  filed  bed.'— R.  G.  White: 
So  in  Childe  IVaters  (Child's  British  Ballads^  iu,  210)  :  *And  take  her  up  in  thine 
armes  twaine  For  filing  of  her  feete.' 

78.  Vessel!]  Clarendon  :  Probably  suggested  by  St.  Paul's  words,  Rom.  iz, 
M,  23. 

79.  etemall  lewell]  Delius:  His  eternal  salvation. — Clarendon:  Does  it 
not  rather  mean  his  immortal  sotdf  For  eternal  in  this  sense,  see  King  John,  III, 
!▼,  18. 

81.  Seedes]  Coluer  (ed.  i.) :  Macbeth  speaks  of  Banquo' s  issue  throughout 
in  the  plural. — Elwin  :  By  multiplying  the  ordinary  plurality  of  the  term  seed,  it  is 
rendered  emphatically  significant  <A  far-extended  descents, — Dyce  {Jiem,)\  Does 
not  '  seed '  convey  the  idea  of  number  as  well  as  seeds  f — ^Ibid.  (ed.  i.) :  I  do  not 
venture  to  retain  the  reading  of  the  Ff  on  the  strength  of  a  somewhat  doubtful 
reading  in  tlie  Second  Part  of  Marlowe's  Tamburlaine,  <And  live  in  all  your  seeds 
immortally  *  (  Works,  i,  222,  ed.  Dyce),  since  it  is  a  frequent  error  of  the  Folio  to 
put  the  plural  of  substantives  instead  of  the  singular  (see  an  instance  in  this  play, 
III,  vi,  27),  and  since  it  is  unlikely  that  Shakespeare  (who  in  Tro,  dr*  Cres,  IV,  v, 
121,  has,  'A  cousin-gennan  to  great  Priam's  seed,  etc)  would  so  deviate  here  from 
common  phraseology  as  to  term  a  man's  issue  his  seeds, — ^Walker  (i,  240)  :  We 
have,  indeed,  in  Chapman  and  Shirley's  Chabot,  II,  iii,  p.  108,  Shirley  ed.  Gifibrd 
and  Dyce,  '  —  thunder  on  your  head.  And  after  you  crush  your  surviving  seeds.' 
But  this  play  is  grossly  corrupt — [Ibid.  {Crit,  i,  234)  :  The  interpolation  of  an  ^  aft 
the  end  of  a  word — generally,  but  not  always,  a  noun  substantive — ^is  remarkably 
frequent  in  the  Folio.  Those  who  are  conversant  with  the  MSS  of  the  Elizabethan 
Age  may  perhaps  be  able  to  explain  its  origin.  Were  it  not  for  the  different  degree 
of  frequency  with  which  it  appears  in  different  parts  of  the  Folio,  I  should  think  it 
originated  in  some  peculiarity  in  Shakespeare's  handwriting. — Ed.  ii.] 


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1 82  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH     [act  hi,  sc.  i. 

Rather  then  fo^come  Fate  into  the  Lyft,  82 

And  champion  me  to  th^vtterance. 
Who's  there  ? 

Enter  Seruant ,  and  two  Murtherers.  85 

Now  goe  to  the  Doore,  and  ftay  there  till  we  call. 

Exit  Seruant. 
Was  it  not  yefterday  we  fpoke  together  ? 

Murth.    It  was^  fo  pleafe  your  Highnefle. 

Macb.    Well  then,  90 

82.  ZjB^]  lists  KUy.  86.  goe\  Om.  Stccv.  Var.  '03,  '13. 
82-84.  Mnemonic,  Warb.                               89.  Marth.]  I  Mur.  Steev.  Var.  Sing. 

83,  84.  One  line.  Pope  et  seq.  Knt,  Coll.  i,  ii,  Hnds.  Sta.  Wh.  i,  Ktly. 

85.  Enter  Seruant,]  Re-enter  Attend-  First  Mur.  Dyce,  Glo.  Coll.  ui,  Wh.  ii. 
ant.   Cap.  et  seq.  88-91.  ff^...A^<w]  Ff,  Sing.u.   One 

86.  Naw\  Om.  Pope,  + .  line,  Pope,  et  cet 

82.  LjTSt]  Clarendon  :  Nowhere  else  used  in  the  singular  by  Shakespeare 
except  in  the  more  general  sense  of  boundary ^  as  HamUt^  IV,  v,  99.  For  the  space 
marked  out  for  a  combat  he  always  uses  lists. 

83.  champioii]  Clarendon  :  Fight  with  me  in  single  combat  This  seems  to 
be  the  only  known  passage  in  which  the  verb  is  used  in  this  sense. 

83.  vtterance]  Johnson  :  This  passage  will  be  best  explained  by  translating  it 
into  the  language  from  whence  the  only  word  of  difficulty  in  it  is  borrowed.  *Que 
la  destinke  se  rende  en  lice^  et  qt^elle  me  donne  un  defi  a  Toutrance.'  A  challenge, 
or  a  combat  a  Voutrancey  to  extremity,  was  a  fixed  tenn  in  the  law  of  arms,  used 
when  the  combatants  engaged  with  an  odium  intemecinum^  an  intention  to  destroy 
each  other,  in  opposition  to  trials  of  skill  at  festivals,  or  on  other  occasions,  where 
the  contest  was  only  for  reputation  or  a  prise.  The  sense  therefore  is :  Let  fate, 
that  has  foredoomed  the  exaltation  of  the  sons  of  Banquo,  enter  the  lists  against  me, 
with  the  utmost  animosity,  in  defence  of  its  own  decrees,  which  I  will  endeavour  to 
invalidate,  whatever  be  the  danger. — Clarendon:  Cotgrave  has:  *Combatred 
oultrance.  To  fight  at  sharpe,  to  fight  it  out,  or  to  the  vttermost ;  not  to  spare  one 
another  in  fighting.*  So  in  Holland's  Pliny ^  ii,  26 :  'Gennanicus  Caesar  exhibited 
a  shew  of  sword-fencers  at  utterance.' 

85.  Murtherers]  Clarendon  :  These  two  are  not  assassins  by  profession,  as  is 
dear  by  what  follows,  but  soldiers  whose  fortunes,  according  to  Macbeth,  have  been 
ruined  by  Banquo' s  influence. — Coleridge  (p.  249)  :  Compare  Macbeth' s  mode  of 
working  on  the  murderers  with  Schiller's  mistaken  scene  between  Butler,  Devereux, 
and  Macdonald,  in  JVallenstein  (Part  II,  Act  V,  ii.).  The  comic  was  wholly  out  of 
season.  Shakespeare  never  introduces  it,  but  when  it  may  react  on  the  tragedy  by 
hannonious  contrast. — [E.  K.  Chambers  :  The  murderers  are  former  victims  of 
Macbeth*  s  own,  whom  he  has  now  induced  to  believe  that  they  owe  their  wrongs 
to  Banquo.  Here  again  Macbeth' s  histrionic  skill,  his  power  of  playing  upon  the 
emotions  of  others,  comes  out  This  passage  is  sufficient  to  show  that  Macbeth  was 
not  perfectly  innocent  and  noble  before  the  witches  tempted  him. — Ed.  ii.] 


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ACT  III,  sc  i.]       THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH 

Now  haue  you  confider^d  of  my  fpeeches : 

Know,  that  it  was  he,  in  the  times  pad, 

Which  held  you  fo  vnder  fortune, 

Which  you  thought  had  been  our  innocent  felfe. 

This  I  made  good  to  you,  in  our  laft  conference, 

Pad  in  probation  with  you : 

How  you  were  borne  in  hand,  how  croft : 

The  Inftruments ;  who  wrought  with  them : 

And  all  things  elfe,that  might 

To  halfe  a  Soule,and  to  a  Notion  crazM, 

Say,  Thus  did  Banquo. 

I  .Murtk.     You  made  it  knowne  to  vs. 

Macb.     I  did  fo  : 
And  went  further,  which  is  now 
Our  point  of  fecond  meeting. 
Doe  you  finde  your  patience  fo  predominant. 
In  your  nature,  that  you  can  let  this  goe  ? 
Are  you  fo  Gofpeird,to  pray  for  this  good  man, 
And  for  his  Iffue,  whofe  heauie  hand 
Hath  bow'd  you  to  the  Graue,  and  begger'd 
Yours  for  euer  ? 

I .  Murtk.    We  are  men,  my  Liege. 

Macb.     I,  in  the  Catalogue  ye  goe  for  men. 


183 
95 


100 


105 


no 


"3 


91.  haue  you]  you  have  F^F^,  Rowe. 

91-99.  fpeeches:  ...  thai  rnighi']  Ff, 
Sing.  ii.  Seven  lines,  ending :  Know, 
,.,heldyou...been..Jo  you,.»,withyou  :.„ 
Inftruments  :.,, might  Rowe,  et  cet. 

91-101.  haMeyou..,didBBXi<^o\lAXits 
end :  Know,. ..held you...been...to  you, 
,.. probation ...  croft  :,..them  :„.Sotile,.., 
Banquo.  Hnds.  iii. 

94-/^^'.]/^^F^etseq. 

95-97.  in... with  you:  How]  One 
line,  omitting  with  you,   Steev.    conj. 


Walker. 

99-101.  ^11^... Banquo.]  Two  lines, 
the  first  ending :  soul  Sing,  ii,  Huds. 
ii,  iii. 

loi.  Thus]  This  Allen  MS. 

102.  Vou]  True,  you  Tope, -^. 
to  w]  Om.  Pope,+. 

103-Z 12./  did. . .  Liege.]  Seven  lines, 
ending:  now  ...finde ...  nature, ...  Go/- 
pelVd, . . .  Ifftu, . . .  Graue, . . .  Liege.  Rowe 
et  seq. 

1 13-124.  Mnemonic,  Warb. 


96.  Past]  Clarendon  :  I  proved  to  you  in  detail,  point  by  point.  The  word 
'past '  is  used  in  the  same  sense  as  in  the  phrase /oxf  in  review. 

97.  borne  in  hand]  Malone  :  To  bear  in  hand  is,  to  delude  by  encouraging 
hope,  and  holding  out  fair  prospects,  without  any  intention  of  performance. — Nares  : 
The  expression  is  very  common  in  Shakespeare  and  in  contemporary  writings. 

108.  QospeU'd]  Grey  (ii,  146) :  Alluding  to  our  Saviour's  precept :  Matt,  v, 
44. — Johnson  :  That  is,  are  yon  of  that  degree  of  precise  virtue? 


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1 84  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH      [act  hi,  sc.  i. 

As  Hounds^  and  Greyhounds  y  Mungrels^  Spaniels,  Curres, 

Showghes,  Water-Rugs,  and  Demy-Wolues  are  clipt  1 1 5 

All  by  the  Name  of  Dogges  :  the  valued  file 

Diftinguifhes  the  fwift,  the  flow,  the  fubtle, 

The  Houfe-keeper,  the  Hunter,  euery  one 

According  to  the  gift,  which  bounteous  Nature 

Hath  in  him  closM:  whereby  he  does  receiue  120 

Particular  addition, from  the  Bill, 

That  writes  them  all  alike  :  and  fo  of  men. 

Now,  if  you  haue  a  ftation  in  the  file. 

Not  i^th'worft  ranke  of  Manhood,  fay't,  124 

115.  Skmvghes\   Ff,   Rowe,+,  Var.  121.  i9»//]  ^iit/^  Coll.  (MS). 

'73.     Slouths  Johns,  conj.  (Obs.  with-  124.  Not  t 'M']     And    not    in    the 

drawn).   Mo^^b  Anon.  ap.  Johns.  (Obs.)  Rowe,+,   Cap.    Steev.   Var.  '03,  '13, 

Cap.     Shoughs  Var.  '78,  et  cet  Dyce  ii,  iii,  Huds.  iii.    Not  in  the  Ktly. 

clipt'\  Ff,  Rowe,  Pope,     c/fp^d  worft'\  worser  Jervis,  Huds.  iii, 

Han.  Huds.  i,  ii,  Sta.  Wh.  i,  Ktiy,  Coll.  /«y  0  ^f,  Wh.  Dyce  ii,  iii,  Glo. 

iii.   clept  Cap.  Dyce,  Glo.  Huds.  iii,  Wh.  Huds.  ii,  iii,  Rife,  Dtn.    say  it  Rowe, 

ii.     cleped  Theob.  et  cet  et  cet. 

115.  Showghes]  Johnson  :  What  we  now  call  shocks, — Steevens  :  This  spedes 
of  dogs  is  mentioned  in  Nashe's  Lenten  Stuffe,  etc.  1599:  ' —  a  trundle-tail,  tike, 
or  shough  or  two,'  [p.  243,  ed.  Grosart. — Ed.  ii.]. 

115.  Demy-Wolues]  Johnson:  Dogs  bred  between  wolves  and  dogs,  like  the 
Latin  fycisci, 

115.  clipt]  Clarendon:  This  word  was  becoming  obsolete  in  Shakespeare's  time. 
He  uses  it,  however,  in  Hamlet,  I,  iv,  19,  and  in  Lov^s  Lab.  V,  i,  23.  It  is  still  used 
by  children  at  play  in  the  Eastern  counties :  they  speak  of  *  cleping  sides,'  i,  e,  calling 
sides,  at  prisoner's  base,  etc.     It  is  derived  from  the  Anglo-Saxon  cleopian, 

116.  valued  file]  Steevens  :  That  is,  the  file  or  list  where  the  value  and  pecu- 
liar qualities  of  everything  are  set  down,  in  contradistinction  to  what  he  immediately 
mentions,  *  the  bill  that  writes  them  all  alike.'  '  File,'  in  the  second  instance,  is  used 
in  the  same  sense  as  in  this,  and  with  a  reference  to  it :  Now  if  you  belong  to  any 
class  that  deserves  a  place  in  the  valued  '  file '  of  men,  and  are  not  of  the  lowest 
rank,  the  common  herd  of  mankind,  that  are  not  worth  distinguishing  from  each 
other.  *  File '  and  list  are  synonymous,  as  in  V,  ii,  12,  of  this  play.  In  short,  '  the 
valued  file '  is  the  catalogue  with  prices  annexed. 

118.  House-keeper]  Clarendon:  In  Topsell's  History  of  Beasts  (1658),  the 
*  housekeeper'  is  enumerated  among  the  different  kinds  of  dogs,  [p.  160,  ed.  1608]. 
So  MKvpdct  Aristophanes,  Vespa,  970. 

121.  addition]  See  I,  iii,  116. 

121.  from]  Clarendon  :  It  seems  more  natural  to  connect  *fix>m '  with  *  particu- 
lar,' which  involves  the  idea  of  distinction,  than  with  <  distinguishes,'  which  is  used 
absolutely  in  the  sense  of  defines, 

X2I.  Bill]  Clarendon:  The  same  as  the  general  'catalogue,'  line  113,  the  list 
in  which  they  were  written  without  any  distinction. 

124.  worst]  Keightley  :  A  syllable  is  wanting :  we  have  *  most  worst '  in  Wini. 


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ACT  III.  sc.  i.]        THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  185 

And  I  will  put  that  Bufineffe  in  your  Bofomes^  125 

Whofe  execution  takes  your  Enemie  off, 
Grapples  you  to  the  heartland  loue  of  vs, 
Who  weare  our  Health  but  fickly  in  his  Life, 
Which  in  his  Death  were  perfeft. 

2  .Murth.     I  am  one,  my  Liege,  130 

Whom  the  vile  Blowes  and  Buffets  of  the  World 
Hath  fo  incensM,  that  I  am  reckleffe  what  I  doe, 
To  fpight  the  World. 

I  .Murth,    And  I  another. 
So  wearie  with  Difafters,  tugg'd  with  Fortune,  135 

That  I  would  fet  my  Life  on  any  Chance, 
To  mend  it,  or  be  rid  on't 

Macb.     Both  of  you  know  Banquo  was  your  Enemie. 

Murth.    True, my  Lord. 

Macb.    So  is  he  mine:  and  in  fuch  bloody  diftance,  140 

That  euery  minute  of  his  being,  thrufts 
Againft  my  neer'ft  of  Life:  and  though  I  could 
With  bare-facM  power  fweepe  him  from  my  fight. 
And  bid  my  will  auouch  it ;  yet  I  muft  not,  144 

125.  Mo/]  M^  FjF^,  Rowe,  Pope,  Han.  disastrous  tuggs  Warb.      of  disastrous 

127.  heart  ;'\  heart  Pope  et  seq.  i*^^  Harry  Rowe. 

130.  my  Liege"]  Om.  Pope,  +  .  138,  139.  knew ..,  Lord"}  One  line, 

132.  Hath"]  Have  Rowe  et  seq.  Rowe  et  seq. 

135.  toearie'l  weary dQv^,  Ran.  Coll.  139.  Murth.]  Ff,Rowe,+,  Cap.  Var. 

(MS),  Lettsom,  Huds.  iii.  '73,  '78,  '85.     Both  Mnr.    Dyce,  Clo. 

with   Dif afters^  tugged]    with  Huds.  iii.  Wh.  ii.     2  Mur.    Mai.  et  cet 

Tale^  III,  ii,  180,  and  double  comparatiYes  and  superlatives  are  common.  [Keight- 
LSY's  text  reads  ' most  worst.'] — Abbott  (§  485) :  Ndt  in  |  the  w6  \  rst  rink  |  . 

137.  on*t]  Clarendon:     For  of.     Compare  I,  iii,  91,  and  HI,  i,  158. 

140.  bloody  distance]  Warburton  :  That  is,  ^ffmt(^.— -Steevens  :  Such  a  dis- 
tance as  mortal  enemies  would  stand  at  from  each  other,  when  their  quarrel  must  be 
determined  by  the  sword.  The  metaphor  is  continued  in  the  next  line. — Claren- 
don :  The  word  is  not  again  used  by  Shakespeare  in  this  sense.  Bacon  uses  it. 
Essays^  xv,  p.  62 :  '  —  the  dividing  and  breaking  of  all  factions  .  . .  and  setting 
them  at  distance,  or  at  least  distrust  amongst  themselves,  is  not  one  of  the  worst 
remedies.'    We  still  speak  of  '  distance  of  manner.' 

142.  neer'st]  Clarendon  :  That  is,  My  most  vital  parts.  Compare  Rich,  //.* 
V,  i,  80,  and  V,  ii,  15.     Also  Meas.  for  Meas.  Ill,  i,  17. 

143.  bare-fac'd]  Allen  (MS) :  Now  always  equivalent  to  impudent ;  here 
simply  open^  with  no  attempt  at  concealment. — Ed.  ii. 

144.  auouch  it]  Clarendon  :  Order  that  my  will  and  pleasure  be  accepted  as 
the  justification  of  the  deed.     '  Avouch '  or  avow  is  from  the  French  avouer^  and 


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1 86  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH      [act  hi.  sc  L 

For  certaine  friends  that  are  both  his^and  mine,  145 

Whofe  loues  I  may  not  drop,  but  wayle  his  fall. 

Who  I  my  felfe  ftruck  downe  :  and  thence  it  is, 

That  I  to  your  affiftance  doe  make  loue, 

Masking  the  Bufmefle  from  the  common  Eye, 

For  fundry  weightie  Reafons.  150 

2.  Murth.    We  fhall,  my  Lord, 
Performe  what  you  command  vs. 

I.  Murtk.    Though  our  Liues— 

Macb.    Your  Spirits  fhine  through  you. 
Within  this  houre,  at  moft,  155 

I  will  aduife  you  where  to  plant  your  felues, 
X       Acquaint  you  with  the  perfefl  Spy  o'th'time,  157 

147.  Who]   Ff,   Rowe,   Cap.    Dyce,  157.  you.„Sfy  d'ik']  y<m  with  the 

Sta.    Glo.    Wh.    ii.      whom    Pope,  et        perfect  spot,  the  TynrbSxx,   you  with  the 

cct  perfectry  o*  the  Becket.     you  with  the 

154.  155.  One  line.  Pope  et  seq.  precincts  by  the  Jackson,    yoik^  with  a 

155.  Within]  In  Pope,+.  perfect  spy^  c^  the  Coll.  (MS),  Wh.  i. 
at  mo/f]  Om.  SteeT.  conj.  you  with  the  perfect  span  o*  th*  Bailey 

156.  you]  ye  Seymonr.  (ii,  28). 

the  Low  Latin  advocare^  *  to  daim  a  waif  or  stray,  to  daim  as  a  ward,  to  take  under 
one's  protection,'  hence  *  to  maintain  the  justice  of  a  cause  or  the  truth  of  a  state- 
ment'     [For  other  examples,  see  Schmidt,  s,  v.] 

145-147.  For  . .  .  downe]  Harry  Rows  :  In  the  court  of  criticism  let  the  follow- 
ing alteration  be  fairly  tried.  Timber  versus  Flesh  and  Blood :  *  But  wail  his  £el11 
whom  I  myself  struck  down :  For  certain  friends  there  are,  both  his  and  mine. 
Whose  loves  I  may  not  drop :  and  thence  it  is,'  etc. 

146.  loues]  Clarendon:  We  should  say 'whose  love.'  Compare  III,  ii,  63; 
V,  viii,  80,  and  /fich.  II:  IV,  i,  315,  [note  ad  l.\  The  plural  is  frequently  used 
by  Shakespeare  and  writers  of  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centuries,  when  design 
nating  an  attribute  common  to  many,  in  cases  where  it  would  now  be  considered  a 
soledsm.  See  Lear^  IV,  vi,  3$  ;  Rich.  Ill:  IV,  i,  25 ;  Titnon^  I,  i,  255 ;  Peri- 
cles^ I,  i,  74  ;  Two  Gent,  I,  ui,  48,  49 ;  Henry  VIII:  III,  i,  68. 

146.  may  not]  For  *may'  used  for  must^  see  Abbott  (§  310). 

147.  Who]  Clarendon:  There  is  no  doubt  that  'who'  in  Shakespeare's  time 
was  frequently  used  for  the  objective  case,  as  it  still  is  colloquially.  See  III,  iv,  54 ; 
IV,  iii,  196;  Mer,  of  Ven.  I,  ii,  21,  and  II,  vi,  30;  Two  Gent,  III,  i,  200.  [To 
the  same  effect,  see  Abbott,  §  274.] 

154.  Your  Spirits]  Clarendon  :  Compare  I,  ii,  56^  and  Hamlet^  III,  iv,  1 19 : 
*  Forth  at  your  eyes  your  spirits  wildly  peep.' 

157.  perfe<5l  Spy]  Johnson  :  What  is  meant  by  this  passage  will  be  found  diffi- 
cult to  explain ;  and  therefore  sense  will  be  cheaply  gained  by  a  slight  alteration. 
Macbeth  is  assuring  the  assassins  that  they  shall  not  want  directions  to  find  Banquo, 
and  therefore  says :  /  will Acquaint  you  with  a  perfect  spy  0^  th*  time.  Accord- 
ingly, a  third  murderer  joins  them  afterwards  aft  the  place  of  action. — Heath  (p. 


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ACT  III.  sc.  ij        THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  187 

[157.  pcrfcdl  Spy] 
393) :  The  word  '  spy '  is  here  used  for  espyal  or  discovery ^  and  the  phrase  means 
the  exact  intiination  of  the  precise  time,  or  as  Shakespeare  immediately  interprets 
his  own  words,  'the  moment  on't'  Johnson's  supposition  that  the  'spy'  is  the  ^ 
third  murderer  cannot  be  correct ;  for  Macbeth  promises  the  two  that  he  will  make 
them  acquainted  with  this  perfect  spy,  which  yet  he  is  so  far  from  doing,  that  the 
third  mnxderer  when  he  joins  the  others  is  absolutely  unknown  to  them. — M. 
Mason  :  *  With '  has  here  the  force  of  by  ;  and  the  meaning  of  the  passage  is :  '  I 
will  let  yon  know,  by  the  person  best  informed,  of  the  exact  moment  in  which  the 
business  is  to  be  done.'— Steevbns:  This  passage  needs  no  reformation  but  that 
of  a  single  point.  After  'yourselves,'  in  line  156,  I  place  a  full  stop,  as  no  further 
instructions  could  be  given  by  Macbeth,  the  hour  of  Banquo's  return  being  quite 
uncertain.  Macbeth  therefore  adds:  *  Acquaint  you^  etc,  f.  e.  in  ancient  language, 
'  acquaint  ^nvrr^Avf'  with  the  exact  time  most  favourable  to  your  purposes ;  for  such 
a  moment  must  be  spied  out  by  you,  be  selected  by  your  own  attention  and  scrupu- 
lous observation.  Macbeth  in  the  intervening  time  might  have  learned,  fipom  some 
of  Banquo's  attendants,  which  way  he  had  ridden  out,  and  therefore  could  tell  the 
murderers  where  to  plant  themselves  so  as  to  cut  him  off  on  his  return ;  but  who 
could  ascertain  the  precise  hour  of  his  arrival,  except  the  ruffians  who  watched  for 
that  purpose  ? — Malone  :  The  meaning,  I  think,  is,  I  will  acquaint  you  with  the 
time  when  you  may  look  out  for  Banquo's  coming,  with  the  most  perfect  assurance 
of  not  being  disappointed ;  and  not  only  with  the  time  in  general  most  proper  for 
lying  in  wait  for  him,  but  with  the  very  moment  when  you  may  expect  him. — Bos- 
WELL :  I  apprehend  it  means  the  very  moment  you  are  to  look  for  or  expect^  not 
when  you  may  look  out  for,  Banquo.  [From  this  note  by  Boswell  are  we  to  infer 
that  he  took  Malone's  use  of  'look  out'  as  literally  meaning  to  peep  forth  from 
the  ambush  wherein  the  murderers  lay  hid? — Ed.  ii.] — Clarendon:  If  the  text 
be  right,  it  may  bear  one  of  two  meanings :  first,  I  will  acquaint  you  with  the 
most  accurate  observation  of  the  time,  i.  e,  with  the  result  of  the  most  accurate 
observation ;  or  secondly,  '  the  spy  of  the  time '  may  mean  the  man  who  joins 
the  murderers  in  Scene  iii,  and  'delivers  their  offices.'  But  we  have  no 
examples  of  the  use  of  the  word  'spy'  in  the  former  sense,  and  according  to 
the  second  interpretation  we  should  rather  expect  'a  perfect  ^y'  than  *the  per- 
fect spy.'  .  . .  'The  perfect  spy'  might  also  be  suggested,  or  possibly  'the  per- 
fect'st  eye,'  a  bold  metaphor,  not  alien  from  Shakespeare's  manner. — Coluer 
(ed.  ii.)  :  The  exact  moment ;  but  the  expression  has  no  parallel  that  we  are  aware 
of,  and  the  MS  Corrector  puts  it  'with  a  perfect  spy.o'  the  time,'  as  if  Macbeth 
referred  to  some '  perfect  spy '  who  was  to  give  the  two  Murderers  notice  of  the  proper 
time. — R.  G.  White  :  I  have  no  hesitation  in  adopting  the  reading  of  the  Collier 
MS  Corrector.  Even  did  not  this  speech  bear  so  evidently  the  marks  of  hasty  pro- 
duction, the  use  of  *  with '  for  by  is  common  enough  in  our  old  writers  to  justify  this 
construction. — [Hudson  (ed.  iii. )  :  '  The  spy '  may  mean  the  espial  or  discovery^ 
that  is  the  signal  of  the  time ;  a  spy  would  Ofan  the  person  giving  it.  So  I  do  not 
see  that  anything  is  gained  by  the  change.Q.iBBY :  Whether  '  spy '  means  person 
or  act,  it  points  to  Ross  :  love  of  spying  is  the  mainspring  of  his  nature.  He  is  the 
piototjrpe  of  all  detectives  and  informers.  Macbeth  says:  'Within  this  hour  at  most 
I  will  advise  you,*  '  I'll  come  to  you  anon,'  'I'll  call  upon  you  straight';  how  could 
Shakespeare  tell  us  more  plainly  that  Macbet^ retired  to  consult  with  his  confidant, 
and  who  could  that  confidant  be  but  Ross  ?I-Sherman  :  It  is  important  to  settle 


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I88  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH      [act  hi.  sc.  L 

The  moment  on't,fort  muft  be  done  to  Night,  158 

And  fomething  from  the  Pallace  :  alwayes  thought, 

That  I  require  a  cleareneffe  ;  and  with  him,  160 

To  leaue  no  Rubs  nor  Botches  in  the  Worke  : 

FleanSj\i\s  Sonne, that  keepes  him  companie, 

Whofe  abfence  is  no  lefle  materiall  to  me, 

Then  is  his  Fathers,  muft  embrace  the  fate 

Of  that  darke  houre  :  refolue  your  felues  apart,  165 

He  come  to  you  anon. 

Murth.    We  are  refoluM,my  Lord. 

Macb.    He  call  vpon  you  ftraight :  abide  within,  168 

159.  alivayes  thimghtl  a  way,  though  i66.  toytni\  Om.  SteeT.  conj. 

Jackson,      always  note  Bailey  (ii»  28).  167.  Murth.]  Ff,  Rowe, +  ,  Cap.  Mai. 

always  with  a  thought  Sta.  conj.  (Athe-  Steev.      Both   Mur.     Dyce,  Sta.  Glo. 

nxum,  2  Nov.  1872).  Cam.  Huds.  iii.   2  Mur.  Var.  '03,  et  ceL 

iS9f  160.  a!waya.,.cUameJfe r\  Om.  We\  YouV^x,  '73  (misprint). 

Pope.  my  Lord']  Om.  Han. 

163.  Fleans]  Fleance  F^.  168.  adide   within.']    abide    within, 

165.  apart]   a-part  FjF^,  Rowe,+,  [Exeunt    Murderers.      Theob.    Warb. 

Var.  '73.  Johns.  Coll.  Dyce,  Wh.  Hal.  Cam. 

whether  this  infinitive  [to  Acquaint]  depends  upon  the  *  will '  of  the  line  preceding, 
or  belongs  to  an  independent  *  will/  repeated  or  implied.  I  believe  the  latter  can 
be  supported,  especially  since  it  releases  *■  acquaint '  from  the  restriction  of  '  within 
this  hour.'  It  seems  necessary  to  confine  this  modifier  to  the  former  verb ;  for,  if  we 
look  ahead  to  the  opening  of  Scene  iii.  we  find  that  no  part  of  the  promise  here  made 
has  been  fulfilled  till  then,  except  what  is  comprised  in  the  first  *  will '  clause. — Ed.  ii.] 

159.  something]  Clarendon  :  That  is,  somewhat.  See  Wtnt.  Tale,  V,  iii,  23. 
[To  the  same  effect,  see  Abbott,  §  68.] 

159.  alwayes  thought]  Steevens  :  That  is,  you  must  manage  matters  so,  that 
throughout  the  whole  transaction  I  may  stand  dear  of  suspicion. — Clarendon  : 
'Thought'  is  here  the  participle  passive  put  absolutely. — ['  He  willed  therefore  the 
same  Banquho  with  his  sonne  named  Fleance,  to  come  to  supper  that  he  had  pre- 
pared for  them,  which  was  in  deed,  as  he  had  deuised,  present  death  at  the  hands 
of  certeine  murderers,  whom  he  hired  to  execute  that  deed,  appointing  them  to  meet 
with  the  same  Banquho  and  his  sonne  without  the  palace,  as  they  returned  to  their 
lodgings,  and  there  to  slea  them,  so  that  he  would  not  haue  his  house  slandered, 
but  that  in  time  to  come  he  might  cleare  himselfe,  if  anie  thing  were  laid  to  his 
charge  vpon  anie  suspicion  that  might  arise.' — Holinshed. 

161.  Rubs]  Clarendon  [note  on  Rich,  H:  IH,  iv,  4]  :  In  a  game  of  bowls, 
when  a  bowl  was  diverted  from  its  course  by  an  impediment,  it  was  said  to  *•  rub.' 
Cotgrave  gives  *  Saut :  m.  A  leape,  sa^lt,  bound,  skip,  iumpe ;  also  (at  Bowles)  a 
rub.'  *  But  as  a  rubbe  to  an  overthrowif  bowl  proves  an  helpe  by  hindering  it ;  so 
afflictions  bring  the  souls  of  God's  Saints  to  the  mark.' — Fuller,  Holy  State,  Bk,  i, 
ch.  II.     [Compare  Hamlet,  IH,  i,  65.] 

165.  houre]  Booth  :  The  murderers  glance  at  each  other. — Ed.  ii. 

166,  167.  He  . . .  my  Lord]  ABBonrr  (§  500) :  Apparent  Alexandrine. 


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ACT  III,  sc.  ii.]       THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  189 

It  is  concluded :  BanquOj  thy  Soules  flight, 

If  it  finde  Heauen^muil  finde  it  out  to  Night        Exeunt.         170 


Scena  Secunda. 


Enter  Macbeths  Lady^  and  a  Seruant.  2 

Lady.     Is  Banquo  gone  from  Court  ? 

Seruant.     I,  Madame,  but  retumes  againe  to  Night. 

Lady.    Say  to  the  King,  I  would  attend  his  leyfure,  5 

170.  Heaum\  Heaven  Rowe,  + .  The  same.     Another  Room.    Cap.  et 

I.  Scene  continaed.  Rowe.    ScENB  cet 

III.  Pope,  +  .  2.  Macbeths    Lady]    Queen.      Sta. 

Another  Apartment  in  the  Pal-  Lady  Macbeth.   Rowe,  et  cet. 

ace.   Theob.     The  Palace.  Glo.  Cam.  2,  4,  7.  Seruant]  Seyton.  Booth. 

169.  It  is  concluded]  Hunter  :  In  the  age  of  Elizabeth  such  negotiations  were 
not  Tery  nnconmion.  An  instance  had  recenUy  occurred  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Stratford.  Lodowick  Grevile,  who  dwelt  at  Sesoncote,  in  Gloucestershire,  and  at 
Milcote,  in  Warwickshire,  coveting  the  estate  of  one  Webb,  his  tenant,  plotted  to 
murder  him  and  get  the  estate  by  a  forged  will.  This  was  successfully  accomplished 
by  the  aid  of  two  servants  whom  Grevile  engaged  to  do  the  deed.  Fearing  detec- 
tion, one  of  the  assassins  afterwards  murdered  his  comrade.  The  body  was  found, 
and  the  investigation  led  to  the  arrest  and  conviction  of  Grevile  and  his  servant,  the 
surviving  murderer.  Grevile  stood  mute,  and  was  pressed  to  death  on  November 
14,  1589.  The  circumstance  must  have  been  well  known  to  Shakespeare,  as  the 
Greviles  were  at  this  time  patrons  of  the  living  of  Stratford. 

169,  170.  Banquo  .  .  .  Night]  D'Hugues  :  These  lines  contain  an  ironic  and 
sneering  allusion  to  the  honesty  of  Banquo,  whose  honourable  and  loyal  bearing,  in 
the  preceding  scenes,  has  been  in  such  marked  contrast  to  that  of  Macbeth. — Ed.  ii. 

I.  Scena  Secunda]  E.  K.  Chambers  :  From  the  moment  of  her  sin,  remorse 
begins  to  lay  hold  upon  Lady  Macbeth.  She  conceals  it  in  Macbeth*  s  presence, 
thinking  to  strengthen  him,  as  of  old ;  but  the  two  lives  are  insensibly  drifting 
asunder.  As  for  Macbeth  himself,  directly  there  is  nothing  to  be  done,  he  becomes 
morbid,  brooding  over  his  crimes  past  and  future,  and  playing  about  them  with 
lurid  words. — Ed.  il. 

3.  Is  .  . .  Court]  Bell  (p.  308) :  [Mrs  Siddons  said  this  with]  great  dignity  and 
solemnity  of  voice ;  nothing  of  the  joy  of  gratified  ambition.  [May  not  Lady  Mac- 
beth's  suspicions  have  been  aroused  by  the  particularity  with  which  she  had  heard 
her  husband  ask  concerning  Banquo' s  movements  in  III,  i.  ? — ^Ed.  i!.] 

4.  I  ...  to  Night]  Noel  (p.  52)  :  I  seem  to  read  relief  in  the  answer  she  re- 
ceived, which  almost  suggests  that  she  is  afraid  of  a  further  crime  being  committed. 
She  has  read  something  of  Macbeth' s  significant  manner  lately,  and  she  is  restless 
and  unhappy,  and  with  that  restlessness  comes  a  natural  yearning  for  companionship. 
—Ed.  ii. 


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igo  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH     [act  hi.  sc.  ii. 

For  a  few  words.  6 

Seruant.     Madame,  I  will.  Exit. 

Lady.     Nought's  had,  all's  fpent, 

Where  our  defire  is  got  without  content : 
*  'Tis  fafer,to  be  that  which  we  deftroy,  lO 

Then  by  deftru<5Hon  dwell  in  doubtfuU  ioy. 
Enter  Macbeth. 

How  now,my  Lord,  why  doe  you  keepe  alone  .^ 

Of  forryeil  Fancies  your  Companions  making, 

Vfing  thofe  Thoughts,  which  fhould  indeed  haue  dy'd  15 

With  them  they  thinke  on:things  without  all  remedie 

7.  Madame\  Om.  Seymour.  14.  Fancies]  Francies  F^ 

8.  Nought's  had]  Om.  Steev.  conj.  16.  all]  Om.  Han.  Steev.  Var.  '03, 
10.  fafer]  better  Han.  Hunter.                   '13,  Sing,  i,  CoU.  it  (MS). 

&-II.  Nought's  .  .  •  ioy]  Strutt  (Seymour's  Remarks^  etc.,  i,  202)  :  These 
four  Imes  seem  to  belong  to  Macbeth,  who  utters  them  as  he  enters,  and  at  their 
condnsion  is  addressed  by  the  hidy,  '  How  now,'  etc.  The  querulous  spirit  which 
they  breathe  is  much  more  in  character  with  Macbeth  than  with  his  wife. — Hunter  : 
When  the  servant  has  been  dismissed  to  summon  the  thane  to  his  lady's  presence, 
Macbeth  enters  unexpectedly  to  the  lady,  muttering  to  himself  these  words,  uncon- 
scious of  her  presence.  Lady  Macbeth  hears  what  he  says,  and  breaks  in  upon  him 
with '  How  now,'  etc.  What  follows  is  said  by  Macbeth  more  than  half  aside.  At 
least  it  is  not  said  dialogue-wise  with  the  lady,  who  knew  nothing  of  his  inten- 
tions respecting  Banquo. — [Wilson  :  North,  [  . . .  These  lines]  are  her  only  Took- 
ing  acknowledgments  of  having  mutaken  life  I  So— they  forbode  the  Sleep- Walk- 
ing, and  the  Death — ^as  an  owl,  or  a  raven,  or  vulture,  or  any  fowl  of  obscene  wing, 
might  flit  between  the  sun  and  a  crowned  but  doomed  head — the  shadow  but  of  a 
moment,  yet  ominous  for  the  augur,  of  an  entire  fieital  catastrophe. — Ed.  ii.] 

15.  Vsing]  Staunton  {Athenantmy  2  November,  1872)  :  I  think  that  the  con- 
text  requires  some  word  implying  that  Macbeth  cherished  remorseful  thoughts,  and 
would  suggest  'Nursing  those  thoughts,'  etc.  As  there  are  certain  words  which  the 
old  compositors  often  adopted  erroneously,  so  there  are  letters  which  constantly  mis- 
led them.  The  letter  V  is  a  remarkable  insUnce.— Clarendon  :  That  is,  keeping 
company  with,  entertaining  familiarly.  Compare  Pericles^  I,  ii,  2-6.  We  have  the 
Greek  xpv^f^  ^^^  ^^  Latin  uti  with  a  similar  meaning. 

15,  16.  Thoughts  . . .  thinke  on]  Compare  a  Hen.  VI:  III,  ii,  337 :  *  Faster 
than  spring-time  showers  comes  thought  on  thought,  And  not  a  thought  but  thinks 
on  dignity ' ;  also  Sidney,  Arcadia^  Bk,  ii.  (Dialogue  between  Plangus  and  Basilius) : 
*Can  thoughts  still  thinking  so  rest  unapalled?' — Ed.  ii. 

16.  without  all]  Clarendon  :  We  should  say  without  any  remedy,  or  beyond 
all  remedy.  For  'without'  in  the  sense  of  beyond,  see  Mid.  N.  D.  IV,  i,  150. 
This  metaphorical  sense  comes  immediately  from  that  of  outside  of,  as  without  the 
city,  without  the  camp.  For  '  all '  compare  Spenser,  Hymn  of  Heavenly  Love,  line 
149 :  <  Without  all  blemish  or  reproadilul  blame.'  [To  the  same  effect,  Abbott, 
{§  12,  197] 


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ACT  III,  sc.  ii.]      THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  191 

Should  be  without  regard:  what's  i  done,  is  done.  17 

M(zcbn     We  haue  fcorchM  the  Snake, not  killM  it: 

1&-33.  Mnemonic,  Warb.  scotched  Huds.  iii.     scotched  Theob.  et 

18.  fcorch'd'\  Ff,  Rowe,  Pope  i.    but        cet 

16.  17.  things  . .  .  regard]  For  the  sentiment,  compare  Wmt,  TaU^  III,  ii,  223  ; 
Latf^s  Lab,  Z.  V,  ii,  28 ;  0th.  I,  iii,  202. 

17.  what's  .  •  .  done]  Anonymous  (qa.LiTCHFiBU>?):  Lady  Macbeth  repeats 
this  in  her  sleeping  scene,  V,  i,  68. — [Bell  (p.  30) :  [Mrs.  Siddons  said  this  in] 
accents  veiy  plaintive.  This  is  one  of  the  passages  in  which  her  intense  love  of 
her  husband  should  be  shown  in  every  word.  It  should  not  be  in  contemptuous 
reproach,  but  deep  sorrow  and  sympathy  with  his  melancholy. — Ed.  ii.] 

18.  Hudson  (ed.  iii,  p.  30) :  It  is  well  worth  noting  how,  in  this  speech,  as  in 
several  others,  he  goes  on  kindling  more  and  more  with  his  theme,  till  he  fairly 
loses  hhnself  in  a  trance  of  moral  and  imaginative  thought.  The  inward  burnings 
of  guilt  act  as  a  sort  of  inspiration  to  him. — Ed.  ii. 

18.  scorch'd]  Theobald  (Sh.  Restored,  p.  185) :  Shakespeare,  I  am  very  well 
persuaded,  had  this  notion  in  his  head  (how  true,  in  fact,  I  will  not  pretend  to  deter- 
mine), that  if  you  cut  a  serpent,  or  worm,  asunder,  there  is  such  an  unctions  quality 
in  their  blood  that  the  dismembered  parts,  being  placed  near  enough  to  touch  each 
other,  will  cement  and  become  whole  again.  Macbeth  considers  Duncan's  sons  so 
much  as  members  of  their  Father  that  though  he  has  cut  off  the  old  man,  he  has  not 
entirely  killed  him,  but  he'll  cement  and  close  again  in  the  lives  of  his  sons.  Shake- 
speare certainly  wrote  scotched.  To  scotch,  however  the  Generality  of  our  Diction- 
aries happen  to  omit  the  word,  signifies  to  notch,  slash,  hack,  cut,  with  Twigs, 
Swords,  etc.,  and  so  our  Poet  more  than  once  has  used  it  in  his  works.  See 
Coriol.  IV,  V,  198.— Upton  (p.  170):  This  learned  and  el^ant  allusion  is  to 
the  story  of  the  Hydra.— Harry  Rows  :  My  Prompter,  who  is  a  North-Country 
man,  says  that  there  is  no  such  word  as  scotched.  It  is  scutched,  a  word  chiefly 
used  by  the  growers  and  manufacturers  of  hemp  and  flax,  and  implies  beating, 
bruising,  or  dividing.  The  wooden-headed  fellow  of  my  company,  who  plays 
the  down,  says  that  snakes  are  soon  killed  by  lashing  them  with  switches,  and 
that  by  smart  strokes  their  bodies  may  be  divided.  This  has  induced  some  of  the 
gentlemen  of  my  green-room  to  adopt  *We  have  switched  the  snake,*  etc  The 
stuffed  figure  of  my  company,  who  plays  the  Serpent  in  The  History  of  Adam  and 
Eve,  has  suggested  a  reading  that  is  more  conformable  to  natural  history :  '  We  have 
bruised  iht  snake .  . .  She'll  coi/,'  etc.  My  Prompter  wishes  the  original  text  to  be 
continued,  only  substitutmg  coH  for  <  close,'  and  this  he  calls  a  good  emendation.  I 
have  accordingly  adopted  it  After  all,  I  do  not  consider  Shakespeare  as  under  any 
obligations  to  his  scotching,  scutching,  bruising,  and  switching  commentators. — 
Clarendon  :  '  Scorch'd  is  said  to  be  derived  horn  the  French  escorcher,  to  strip  off 
the  bark  or  skiiL  From  the  next  line  it  is  clear  that  we  want  a  word  with  a  stronger 
sense  here. — [Skeat  (Notes,  etc.)  :  In  Com,  of  Err,  V,  i,  183,  we  are  told  that  one 
of  the  twin  brothers,  being  greatly  enraged  against  his  wife,  threatens  *  to  scorch  [her] 
fwot  and  to  disfigure '  [her].  Schmidt  enters  this  under  the  ordinary  verb  to  scorch, 
but  GoUancz  explains  it  by  '  excoriate,'  which  is  nearer  the  mark.  The  right  sense 
is  given  in  Stratmann,  where  we  find  this  entry:  'scorchen,  vb.,  iromscoren,  [to] 
score,  cut,  Babees  Booh,  p.  80.'     The  quotation  in  the  Babees  Booh  is:  <With 


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192  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH     [act  hi.  sc.  ii. 

Shee'le  clofe^and  be  her  felfe,  whileft  our  poore  Mallice 
Remaines  in  danger  of  her  former  Tooth.  20 

But  let  the  frame  of  things  dif-ioynt, 
Both  the  Worlds  fuffer,  22 

21,  22.  But  let,.. fuffer]   Ff,   Rowe,  21.  frame']   eternal  frame  ColL  ii. 

Var.  '73,  '21,  Sing.  i.  Coll.  Dyce  i,  Wh.  (MS). 

i.    Ending  first  line  let  Steev.  Var.  '03,  dif-ioynf]    difjoint   F^.      become 

'13.     One  line,  Pope,  et  cet  disjoint  Bailey  (ii,  29). 

the  frame  ...  fuffer]    both  22.  fuffer]  suffer  dissolution  Bailey 

worlds  disjoint  and  all  things  suffer  (ii,  30). 
Pope,  +  . 

knyfe  scortche  not  the  boorde,'  f .  e.  do  not  score  the  table  with  your  knife.  The 
derivation  from  score  is  not  wholly  satisfactory,  as  it  does  not  account  for  the  final 
ch,  I  think  it  is  dear  that  we  have  here  an  example  of  what  is  really  fairly 
common  in  English — formed  as  it  is  by  a  fusion  of  Romance  with  Teutonic — viz. 
the  evolution  of  a  new  word  which  has  resulted  frrom  the  confusion  of  two  others. 
The  ordinary  verb  scorch^  tho'  it  usually  means  <to  parch,'  meant  originally  to 
excoriate,  or  rather,  to  excorticate;  it  is  derived  frx>m  the  Old  French  escorcher^ 
to  strip  ofi*  bark,  from  a  Latin  type  excorticare.  By  confrision  of  this  with 
the  word  score^  a  new  verb,  scorch^  was  formed,  with  the  sense  of  to  make 
an  incision  on  the  surface  only,  to  cut  with  shallow  incisions,  to  scratch  with  a 
knife.  And  this  it  is  which  Antipholus  of  Ephesus  threatened  to  do.  He  did  not 
want  to  excoriate  or  flay  his  wife's  face,  but  merely  to  scratch  it  so  as  to  spoil  her 
beauty.  We  can  now  proceed  a  step  further ;  for  this  new  verb,  to  scorch,  being 
really  distinct  from  the  original  one,  was  frequently  subjected  to  a  more  rapid  pronun- 
ciation, and  is  better  known  under  the  form  to  scotch,  which  has  precisely  the  same 
sense.     This  is  well  seen  by  help  of  the  famous  passage  in  Macbeth,  III,  ii,  13, 

*  we  have  scotched  the  snake,  not  killed  it,'  which  is  really  a  *  correction'  made  by 
Theobald ;  for,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  reading  in  the  Ff  is  '  scorch' d.'  That  is  to 
say,  the  Ff  are  perfectly  correct,  as  is  not  unfrequently  the  case,  and  the  editorial 

*  correction '  was  needless.  The  sense  is,  we  have  scored  or  scratched  the  snake,  we 
have  wounded  him  upon  the  surface  only.  The  ordinary  sense  of  scorch  will  not 
help  us  here.  The  shortening  to  scotch  is  proved,  however,  by  two  considerations : 
(i)  the  passage  in  Coriol,  IV,  v,  198,  *he  scotched  [him]  and  notched  him  like  a 
carbonado,'  where  the  riming  of  the  words  is  evidently  intentional,  whilst  at  the  same 
time  these  words  are  nearly  equivalent  in  sense;  and  (2)  by  the  compound  word 
hop-scotch,  which  means  a  game  in  which  children  hop  over  scotches  or  slight  scores 
upon  the  ground,  as  it  is  correctly  explained  in  the  New  English  Dictionary. — Ed.  ii.J 

21-25.  But  let . .  .  Nightly]  Coleridge  (i,  249) :  Ever  and  ever  mistaking  the 
anguish  of  conscience  for  fears  of  selfishness,  and  thus  as  a  punishment  of  that  sel- 
fishness, plunging  still  deeper  in  guilt  and  ruin. — Hudson  :  But  is  it  not  the  natural 
result  of  an  imagination  so  redundant  and  excitable  as  his,  that  the  agonies  of  re- 
morse should  project  and  embody  themselves  in  imaginary  terrors,  and  so,  for  security 
against  these,  put  him  upon  new  crimes  ? 

21,  22.  But . .  .  suffer]  R.  G.  White:  These  lines  are  very  imperfect.  But  it 
should  be  observed  that  other  lines  in  this  speech,  and  several  throughout  this 
scene,  are  in  the  same  condition. 


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ACT  ni,  sc.  ii.]      THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  193 

Ere  we  will  eate  our  Meale  in  feare,  and  fleepe  23 

In  the  affliftion  of  thefe  terrible  Dreames, 

That  (hake  vs  Nightly :  Better  be  with  the  dead,  25 

Whom  we,  to  gayne  our  peace,  haue  fent  to  peace, 

26.  our  peace]  Knt,  Coll.  Dyce  1,  Wh.  i,  Cam.  Hal.  our  pangs  Bailey  (ii,  31). 
our  place  Ff,  Fumess,  et  cet. 

21.  frame]  Collier  (ed.  ii.) :  The  *  eternal  frame '  of  the  MS  Corrector  cures  an 
obrioas  defect  in  the  line,  though  it  leaves  what  follows  a  hemistich,  as  possibly  the 
Poet  intended ;  at  all  events,  one  error  is  remedied. 

22.  Both  the  Worlds]  Clar£NXX)N  :  The  terrestrial  and  celestial.  Compare 
Hamlet ^  IV,  v,  134,  where  the  meaning  is  different — viz.  'this  world  and  the 
next' 

24.  terrible  Dreames]  Clarendon  :  Those  who  have  seen  Miss  Helen  Faucit 
play  Lady  Macbeth  will  remember  how  she  shuddered  at  the  mention  of  the  '  texri- 
ble  dreams,'  with  which  she  too  was  shaken.  The  sleep-walking  scene  was  doubt- 
less in  the  Poet's  mind  already. 

26.  we]  Booth  :  The  plural  is  here  used  in  the  personal  and  affectionate  sense, 
and  not  in  the  royal  manner :  and  this,  among  other  kindred  speeches,  should  indi- 
cate the  love  that  Macbeth  feels  for  his  wife. — £d.  ii. 

26.  our  peace]  Knight  :  The  repetition  of  the  word  <  peace '  seems  very  much 
in  Shakespeare's  manner ;  and  as  every  one  who  commits  a  crime,  such  as  that  of 
Macbeth,  proposes  to  himself,  in  the  result,  happiness,  which  is  another  name  for 
peace, — as  the  very  promptings  to  the  crime  disturb  his  peace, — we  think  there  is 
something  mnch  higher  in  the  sentiment  conveyed  by  the  original  word  than  in  that 
^ place.  In  the  very  contemplation  of  the  murder  of  Banquo,  Macbeth  is  vainly 
seeking  for  peace.  Banquo  is  the  object  that  makes  him  eat  his  meal  in  fear  and 
sleep  in  terrible  dreams.  His  death,  therefore,  is  determined,  and  then  comes  the 
fearful  lesson,  '  Better  be  with,'  etc.  There  is  no  peace  with  the  wicked. — Elwin  : 
The  alteration  of  F,  destroys  the  force  of  the  original  antithesis,  as  the  decui  have 
not  place, — Dyce  (ed.  i.) :  The  lection  of  F,  is  not  to  be  hastily  discarded,  when 
we  consider  what  a  fondness  Shakespeare  has  for  the  repetition  of  words. — K  eight- 
ley  (p.  64) :  The  first '  peace '  was  probably  suggested,  in  the  usual  manner,  by  the 
second.  We  might  read  seat  or  some  such  word.  There  is  one  most  remarkable  case 
of  substitution  to  which  sufficient  attention  has  never  been  given  by  the  critics.  It 
may  be  temied  reaction  or  repetition j  and  arises  from  the  impression  made  by  some 
particular  word  on  the  mind  of  the  transcriber  or  printer,  or  even  of  the  writer  himself. 
— Clarendon  :  There  is  no  necessity  to  make  any  change.  For  the  first '  peace ' 
compare  III,  i,  59,  60 :  <  To  be  thus  is  nothing ;  But  to  be  safely  thus ' ;  and  for  the 
second,  IV,  iii,  207,  and  note. — Hudson  :  Peace  is  nowise  that  which  Macbeth  has 
been  seeking ;  his  end  was  simply  to  gain  the  throne,  the  place  which  he  now  holds, 
the  fear  of  losing  which  is  the  very  thing  which  keeps  peace  from  him. — Singer 
(ed.  ii.):  Shakespeare  would  hardly  have  written  'to  gain  onr  peace.'  Macbeth 
gained  his  place  by  the  murder  of  Duncan,  but  certainly  did  not  obtain  <  peace,'  in 
any  sense  of  the  word. — Lettsom  (ap.  Dyce,  ed.  ii. )  :  The  possessive  pronoun 
*  our*  is  fatal  to  the  reading  of  F,. . .  .  The  editor  of  F,  could  not  have  been  offended 
by  a  quibble,  for  he  must  have  been  <to  the  manner  bom.'  He,  no  doubt,  felt 
that  the  notion  of  obtaining  peace  by  murdering  a  king  was  absurd,  and  could  never 


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194 


THE  TR AGED  IE  OF  MACBETH     [act  hi.  sc  iL 


Then  on  the  torture  of  the  Minde  to  lye 

In  reftleffe  extafie. 

Duncane  is  in  his  Graue : 

After  Lifes  fitful!  Feuer,  he  fleepes  well, 

Treafon  ha^s  done  his  worft :  nor  Steele,  nor  Poyfon, 

Mallice  domeftique,  forraine  Leuie,  nothing. 

Can  touch  him  further. 

Lady.     Come  on : 
Gentle  my  Lord,fleeke  o're  your  rugged  Lookes, 
Be  bright  and  louiall  among  your  Guefts  to  Night. 

Macb.    So  fliall  I  Loue,  and  fo  I  pray  be  you : 
Let  your  remembrance  apply  to  BanquOj 


27 


30 


35 


38 


28, 29.  In  reftleffe,,,  Graue']  One  line, 
Rowe  et  seq. 

28.  extafie.']  extafie :  Ffl 

29.  Duncane  is  in  his]  Ihmcan^s  in^s 
Walker. 

32,  domeftiqui]  domeftiek  F^F^. 
forraine]  foreign  F\F^. 

33-4a  Can  touch,„wee]  Lines  end: 
Lord^..,  louiali,,.  Loue^ ...  remembrance 
,..bctk,,,wee  Cap.  Var.  '78,  '85,  '21,  Mai. 
Ran.  Sing.  i«  Walker,  Dyce  ii*  iii,  Huds. 


Uy  ui. 

33.  further]  farther  Coll.  Wh.  L 
34-36.  Come  ...  Night]   Lines    end : 

Lord,  ...  louiali  ...  Night,   Var.  '73, 

Sing,  it 

36.  among]    *mong    FT,    Rowe,  +  , 
Steev.  Var.  *03, '13. 

37.  I  Loue,]  I,  love,  F^^. 

38.  rememh^ance]rememieraneeK.'dj, 
Wh.  ii,  conj. 

afpfy]  jmiajfffy  Ff,  Rowe,  + . 


bare  entered  into  the  head  of  a  public  man. — Dyce  (ed.  iL)  :  CooqMre  what  Lady 
Macbeth  has  previously  said,  I,  v,  78. 

27.  on]  Clarendon  :  The  '  tcntare  of  the  mind'  is  compared  to  the  nurk;  hence 
the  use  of  this  preposition. 

28.  eztaaie]  Nares:  In  the  usage  of  Shakespeare  it  stands  for  every  species 
of  alienation  of  mind,  whether  temporary  or  permanent,  proceeding  from  joy,  sonow, 
wonder,  or  any  other  ezdting  cause. 

33.  touch]  Staunton  {Cjrm.  I,  i,  135) :  A  touch,  in  old  language,  was  often  used 
to  express  a  /ang,  a  toound,  or  any  acute  pain,  moral  or  physical,  as  in  this  passage 
from  Cym. 

35.  Gentle  my  Lord]  D*Hugues  :  Mrs  Jameson  has  utterly  friiled  to  understand 
that  Lady  Mad)eth  is  simfdy  sneering  at  her  husband  and  that  she  has  nothii^  bat 
scorn  for  his  weakness. — Ed.  ii. 

35.  sleeke]  Clarendon  :  This  is  not  used  elsewhere  as  a  verb  by  Shake^ware. 
In  Milton's  Cbmus,  882,  we  have '  Sleeking  her  soft  alluring  lodes.'  The  word, 
verb  or  adjective,  is  almost  always  applied  to  the  hair. 

36.  Be  bright  and  louiall]  Bell  (p.  307) :  [Mrs  Siddons's  tone  was  here] 
mournful ;  a  forced  cheeifrdness  breaking  through  iL — Ed.  ii. 

37.  Loue]  IVHUGUES :  Mad)eth  is  not  lacking  in  sweet  words :  he  calls  his  wife 
'  love,'  he  will  presently  call  her  *  dearest  chudc'  All  this  but  serves  to  make  this 
pair  of  tigers  the  more  hateful. — Ed.  ii. 

38.  remembrmnce]  A  quadrisyllable.   See  Walker,  Vers,  p.  7 ;  Abbott,  §  477. 


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ACT  III.  sc.  ii.]      THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  195 

Prefent  him  Eminence^  both  with  Eye  and  Tongue : 

Vnfafe  the  while,  that  wee  muft  laue  40 

Our  Honors  in  thefe  flattering  ftreames, 

And  make  our  Faces  Vizards  to  our  Hearts, 

Difguifmg  what  they  are. 

Lady.    You  muft  leaue  this. 

Macb.  0,full  of  Scorpions  is  my  Minde,deare  Wife  :  45 


39,  40.   Tongue  :,..whiiey  thaf]  tongue  i,  Sta.  Cam.  Wh.  iL 

unsafe,.,,wkile  that  A.  Gray  (N.  &  Qu.  40.  Vn/afe  the  white]  Vouchsafe  the 

38  Ap.  1888).   tongue^  To  us  and  all;,,,  whUe  your  presence.     ^,  Bulloch.     One 

while  that  Mull.  chafes  the  while  Bailey  (ii,  32). 

40-43.  Vnfafe  ...  are]    Ff,   Wh.    i.  41. /aUering]  so  flattering  Vsme^-^, 

Lines  end:  Honors„,ftreames^„- Hearts^  42.  And]  ^^r"// Robertson. 

...are,  Rowe.     Honors  ,„  Faces  ,.,  are.  Visards]    vizors   Theob.   Warb. 

Pope,+,Coll.  Huds.i,  Hal.    Honors,,,  Johns.  Var.  '73.     visards  Dyce,  Glo. 

...  Vutards„,are,  Var.  *78,  et  cet.  Cam. 

4a  Vnfafe, „that  wee]  Separate  line,  to  our]  t*our  Pope,  +  . 
Steev.  Var.  '03,  '13,  Knt,  Sing,  ii,  Dyce 

39.  Eminence]  Warburton  :  Do  him  the  highest  honours. — Clarendon  :  Ob- 
serve that  Lady  Macbeth  as  yet  knows  nothing  of  her  husband's  designs  against 
Banquo's  life. 

40-43.  Vnsafe  .  .  .  are]  Steevrns  :  It  is  a  sure  sign  that  our  royalty  is  unsafe 
when  it  must  descend  to  flattery,  and  stoop  to  dissimulation.  And  yet  I  cannot  help 
suppoang  (from  the  hemistich,  <  Unsafe  the  while  that  we ')  some  words  to  be  want- 
ing which  originally  rendered  the  sentiment  less  obscure.  Shakespeare  might  have 
written  :  *  Unsafe  the  while '  it  is  for  us,  *  that  we,'  etc. — Dyce  (ed.  i.)  :  I  think 
Steevens  is  right  in  supposing  that  some  words  have  dropped  out  which  originally 
rendered  the  sentiment  less  obscure. — R.  G.  White  :  It  seems  impossible  to  make  any 
improvement  in  this  speech  upon  the  versification  of  the  Folio. — Cowden  Clarke  : 
As  the  passage  stands,  we  must  elliptically  understand  Ah  /  how  before  '  unsafe,' 
and  is  ours  before  '  the  while ' ;  since  the  word  *  eminence '  appears  to  supply  the 
particular  here  referred  to. — Clarendon  :  Something  has  doubtless  dropped  out, 
and  perhaps  also  the  words  which  remain  are  corrupt  Steevens' s  suggestion  is 
tame.  The  words  should  express  a  sense  both  of  insecurity  and  of  humiliation  in 
the  thought  of  the  arts  required  to  maintain  their  power.— Abbott  (§  284) :  Since 
•that'  represents  different  cases  of  the  relative,  it  may  mean  «in  that,*  «for  that,* 
*  because '  ( •  quod ' ),  or  *  at  which  time '  ( *  quum ' ) .  *  Unsafe  the  while  (  in  or  for) 
that  we,'  etc— [MOBERLY :  'Unsafe  the  while'  is  a  nominative  absolute,  it  being 
unsafe, — Schmidt  {Lex,)  :  Metaphorically :  keep  our  honours  dean  and  free  from 
attaint  by  thus  flattering  others.— Mull  (p.  Ixxxix.):  The  meaning  is,  *we  are, 
nevertheless,  in  danger  from  him  to  whom  we  feel  forced  to  show  these  honours, 
burying  our  own  in  so  doing.'  The  sense  of  *  lave '  is  here  submerged,  which  gives 
a  transparent  meaning  to  the  passage,  and  it  has  also  the  merit  of  corresponding  to 
the  action  expressed  in  the  next  line — viz.  that  of  <  our  hearts  being  buried  or  hidden 
by  our  visors.' — Ed.  ii.] 


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196  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH     [act  hi,  sc.  ii. 

Thou  know'ft  that  Banquo  and  his  Fleans  hues.  46 

Lady.    But  in  them,  Natures  Coppie's  not  eteme. 
Macb.    There^s  comfort  yet,  they  are  affaileable, 

Then  be  thou  iocund  :  ere  the  Bat  hath  ilowne 

His  Cloyfter'd  flight,  ere  to  black  Heccats  fummons  50 

46.  liues\  live  Han.  Coll.  Huds.  Wh.  49-53*  ere  the  Bat  ...  note,'\  Mne- 
i,  Dyce  ii.  monic,  Warb. 

47.  eteme\  ^/irrwa/Pope,  +  ,  Var.  '73.  50.  Heccats]  Hecat's  Rowey  +  »  Ktly. 
etem  Cap.  Hecate s  Steev.  et  cct. 

46.  Hues]  For  instances  of  the  inflection  in  j,  with  two  singular  nouns  as  the  sub- 
ject, see  Abbott,  §  366.    Compare  I,  iii,  167. 

47.  But .  . .  eteme]  Fletcher  (p.  134)  :  The  natural  and  unrestrained  mean- 
ing is,  at  most,  nothing  more  than  this,  that  Banquo  and  his  son  are  not  immortal.  It 
is  not  she,  but  her  husband,  that  draws  a  practical  inference  from  this  harmless  propo- 
sition. That  *  they  are  assailable '  may  be  *  comfort,'  indeed,  to  him ;  but  it  is  evi- 
dently none  to  her,  and  he  proceeds  to  tell  her  that  *  there  shall  be  done  A  deed  of 
dreadful  note.'  Still  proyokingly  unapprehensive  of  his  meaning,  she  asks  him 
anxiously,  '  What's  to  be  done  ?'  But  he,  after  trying  the  ground  so  far,  finding  her 
utterly  indisposed  to  concur  in  his  present  scheme,  does  not  dare  to  communicate  it  to 
her  in  plain  terms,  lest  she  should  chide  the  f^g  that  prompt  him  to  this  new  and 
gratuitous  enormity,  by  virtue  of  the  very  same  spirit  that  had  made  her  combat  those 
which  had  withheld  him  from  the  one  great  crime  which  she  had  deemed  necessary 
to  his  elevation.  It  is  only  through  a  misapprehension,  which  unjustly  lowers  tbfe 
generosity  of  her  character  and  unduly  exalts  that  of  her  husband,  that  so  many 
critics  have  represented  this  passage  ('Be  innocent  of  the  knowledge,'  etc)  as 
spoken  by  Macbeth  out  of  a  magnanimous  desire  to  spare  his  wife  all  guilty  par- 
ticipation in  an  act  which  at  the  same  time,  they  tell  us,  he  believes  will  give  her 
satisfaction.     It  is,  in  fact,  but  a  new  and  signal  instance  of  his  moral  cowardice. 

47.  Coppie's]  Johnson  :  The  copy^  the  leasey  by  which  they  hold  their  lives  from 
nature,  has  its  time  of  termination  limited. — Ritson  :  The  allusion  is  to  an  estate 
for  lives  held  by  c^  of  court-roll.—^.  Mason  :  We  find  Macbeth  alluding  to  that 
great  bond yfhich  'makes  [sic]  me  pale.'  Yet  perhaps  by  'nature's  copy'  Shake- 
speare may  only  mean  the  human  form  divine. — Steevens  :  I  once  thought  that 
Shakespeare  meant  man,  as  formed  after  the  Deity,  though  not,  like  him  immor- 
tal.— Knight  :  Although  the  expression  may  be  somewhat  obscure,  does  not  every 
one  feel  that  the  copy  means  the  individual, — the  particular  cast  fix>m  nature's 
mould, — a  perishable  copy  of  the  prototype  of  man  ? — Clarendon  :  The  deed  by 
which  man  holds  life  of  Nature  gives  no  right  to  perpetual  tenure. . . .  '  Copyhold, 
Tenura  per  copiam  rotuU  curia^  is  a  tenure  for  which  the  tenant  hath  nothing  to 
shew  but  the  copy  of  the  rolls  made  by  the  steward  of  the  lord's  court.  . .  .  Some 
copyholds  are  fineable  at  will,  and  some  certain  :  that  which  is  fineable  at  will,  the 
lord  taketh  at  his  pleasure.' — Cowel's  Law  Diet,  s.  v. — [Bell  (p.  308):  [Mrs 
Siddons  here  showed]  a  flash  of  her  former  spirit  and  energy. — Ed.  ii.] 

50.  Cloyster'd]  Steevens  :  The  bats  wheeling  round  the  dim  cloisters  of  Queen's 
College,  Cambridge,  have  frequently  impressed  on  me  the  singular  propriety  of  this 
original  epithet 


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ACT  ni,  sc  ii.]      THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  197 

The  fhard-bome  Beetle,  with  his  drowfie  hums,  51 

Hath  rung  Nights  yawning  Peale, 

There  fliall  be  done  a  deed  of  dreadful!  note. 

Lady,  What's  to  be  done  ? 

Macb.^t.  innocent  of  the  knowledge, deareft  Chuck,  55 

Till  thou  applaud  the  deed  :  Come,  feeling  Night, 

51.  Jhard-bome\    Jhard-bom    FJF^,  52,  53.  Hath,,, note,']  Ff,  Knt,  Del. 

Rowe, +,  Cap.  Var.  '73.      sham-bode  Lines  end:  done,„note,  Rowe,  et  cet. 
Finnegan.     sham-bom    Upton    (Rem.  S^-^S-  Mnemonic,  Warb. 

p.  109).  56.  feeling]  seeding  Rowe,  Pope. 

51.  shard-borne]  Steevens  :  The  beetle  borne  along  by  its  shards  or  scaly 
wings ;  as  appears  from  a  passage  in  Gower,  Confessio  AmantiSy  [vol.  iii,  p.  68,  ed. 
F&uli],  *  She  sigh,  her  thought,  a  dragon  tho,  Whose  scherdes  shynen  as  the  sonne.* 
Ben  Jonson,  in  his  Sad  Shepherd,  says :  *  The  scaly  beetles  with  their  habergeons. 
That  make  a  humming  munnur  as  they  fly,*  [Act  II,  p.  296,  ed.  Gifford. — Ed.  ii.]. 
See  also  Cymb,  III,  iii,  20.  Such  another  description  of  the  beetle  occurs  in  Chap- 
man's Eugenia,  1 614  :  *  The  beetle .  .  .  with  his  knoll-like  humming  gave  the  dor 
Of  death  to  men^  [Vigiliae  Tertiae  Inductio.— Ed.  ii.].— Tollet  :  The  *  shard-bom 
beetle  *  is  the  beetle  bom  in  dung.  Aristotle  and  Pliny  mention  beetles  that  breed  in 
dung.  Poets  as  well  as  natural  historians  have  made  the  same  observation.  See 
Drayton's  Ideas,  31  :  *I  scorn  all  earthly  ^««^-^r^^  scarabies.'  So,  Jonson,  [ed. 
Gifford,  vol.  i,  p.  61]  :  <  But  men  of  thy  condition  feed  on  sloth,  As  doth  the  beetle 
on  the  dung  she  breeds  in.'  That  shard  signifies  dung  is  well  known  in  the  North 
of  Staffordshire,  where  cowshard  is  the  word  generally  used  for  cow-dung, — Patter- 
son (p.  65):  The  beetle's  wings  are  protected  from  external  injury  by  two  very 
hard,  homy  wing-cases,  or  elytra.  . .  .  These  shards  or  wing-cases  are  raised  and 
expanded  when  the  beetle  flies,  and  by  their  concavity  act  like  two  parachutes  in 
supporting  him  in  the  air.  Hence  '  the  shard-borae  beetle,*  a  description  embod- 
ied in  a  single  epithet. — Clarendon  :  <  Shard '  is  derived  from  the  Anglo-Saxon 
sceard,  a  fragment,  generally  of  pottery.  .  .  .  Toilet's  reading  is  unquestionably 
wrong,  though  <  shard '  means  '  dung '  in  some  dialects. 

53.  note]  Clarendon  :  That  is,  notoriety.  There  is  perhaps  in  this  passage  a 
reference  to  the  original  meaning  of  the  word,  *  a  mark  or  brand,'  so  that  <  a  deed 
of  dreadful  note '  may  signify  *  a  deed  that  has  a  dreadful  mark  set  upon  it'  Com- 
pare Lov^s  Lab.  L.  IV,  iii,  125. 

55.  dearest  Chuck]  R.  H.  Hiecke  (p.  31) :  Must  all  the  reiterated  terms  of  en- 
dearment in  this  scene,  these  manifold  inflections  in  ever  softer  modulations,  be 
deemed  meaningless  to  such  a  poet  as  Shakespeare  ? ...  Of  all  the  deeply  tragic 
passages  of  this  drama,  this  is  the  deepest  Unintentionally  and  unconsciously  there 
here  breathes  from  Macbeth' s  soul  an  echo  of  that  happier  time  when  the  mutual 
esteem  of  a  heroic  pair  was  accompanied  by  the  delicate  attentions  of  first  love. 
.  . .  Ambition  has  caused  their  love  for  each  other  to  cool,  until  we  see  them  united 
solely  by  a  fiendish  alliance  in  pursuit  of  an  ambitious  end, — so  here  this  love, 
grown  cold,  was  murdered  in  the  murder  of  the  King,  and  the  tenderness  in  this 
scene  is  naught  but  a  dirge,  rising  unconsciously  from  the  soul,  over  the  sentiments 
of  an  earlier  time,  [p.  468,  ed.  1873. — Ed.  ii.]. 

56-66.  Come,  seeling  Night .  . .  with  me]    Beljame,  whose  translation  of 


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198  THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH     [act  hi,  sc.  u. 

Skarfe  vp  the  tender  Eye  of  pittifuH  Day,  57 

And  with  thy  bloodie  and  inuifible  Hand 

Cancell  and  teare  to  pieces  that  great  Bond, 

Which  keepes  me  pale.     Light  thickens,  60 

And  the  Crow  makes  Wing  toth'Rookie  Wood : 

58.  bloodUl  bhudy  FjF^.  60.  Lighf^  Night  Warb.  conj. 

59.  Bond^  band  Ktly. 

Macbeth  was  crowned  by  the  French  Academy,  thus  renders  this  passage :  '  Viens, 
nuit  qui  silles  les  paupidres,  Bande  les  tendres  yeux  du  jour  pitoyable,  Et  de  ta  main 
sanglante  et  invisible  Annule  et  d^chire  en  morceaux  ce  grave  contrat  Qui  fait  mon 
visage  pAle ! — La  lumidre  s'^paissit,  et  la  comeille  Gagne  ^  tire-d'aile  le  bois  hant£ 
des  freux ;  Les  honn€tes  creatures  du  jour  commencent  ^  languir  et  ^  s*assoupir,  Pen- 
dant que  les  noirs  agents  de  la  nuit  s'^veillent  pour  leur  proie.  Tu  t'£tonnes  de  mes 
paroles ;  mais  sois  patiente :  Les  choses  commenc^es  par  le  mal  se  fortifient  par  le 
mal.     Ainsi,  je  t*en  prie,  suis-moi.' — En.  ii. 

56.  seeling]  Dyce  {Gloss J)  :  'Siller  les  yeux.  To  seele,  or  sew  up,  the  eye- 
lids (&  thence  also),  to  hoodwinke,  blinde,  keep  in  darknesse,  deprive  of  dght* — 
Cotgrave. 

59.  Bond]  Steevens:  This  may  be  explained  by  [Cancel  his  bond  of  Life, 
dear  God,  I  pray],  Rich,  HI:  IV,  iv,  77,  and  Cymb,  V,  iv,  27. — Keightley  :  We 
should  read  band^  riming  with  <  hand.' — [Moberly  :  '  That  great  Bond '  may  mean 
either  Banquo's  life,  or  it  may  mean  the  bond  of  destiny  announced  by  the  weird 
sisters. — Libby:  The  existence  of  Banquo  reminded  him  of  the  'indissoluble  tie' 
to  which  Banquo  alludes ;  it  means :  {a)  Their  common  guilt  in  trusting  to  the  evil 
sisters,  {if)  Their  common  guilty  silence  in  ruiniug  Cawdor,  {c)  Their  common 
guilty  knowledge  of  Duncan's  murder,  (d)  The  hope  of  Banquo,  and  fear  of  Mac- 
beth, that  Banquo' s  heirs  would  succeed  Macbeth. — Ed.  ii.] 

60.  pale]  Staunton  {A/hmaum^  26  Oct.  1872) :  The  context  requires  a  word 
implying  restraint,  abridgment  of  freedom,  etc.,  rather  than  one  denoting  dread. 
My  impression  has  long  been  that  the  word  should  hepaJed.  In  the  same  sense  as 
Macbeth  afterwards  exclaims  in  III,  iv,  31. 

60,  61.  Light  .  .  .  Wood]  Mrs  Kemble  {Macmillan^s  Maga.  May,  1867) :  We 
see  the  violet-coloured  sky,  we  feel  the  soft  intermitting  wind  of  evening,  we  hear 
the  solemn  lullaby  of  the  dark  fir-forest,  the  homeward  flight  of  the  bird  suggests 
the  sweetest  images  of  rest  and  peace ;  and,  coupled  and  contrasting  with  the  gradual 
falling  of  the  dim  veil  of  twilight  over  the  placid  face  of  nature,  the  remote  ^orror 
of '  the  deed  of  fearful  note,'  about  to  desecrate  the  solemn  repose  of  the  approach- 
ing night,  gives  to  these  harmonious  and  lovely  lines  a  wonderful  effect  of  mingled 
beauty  and  terror. 

60.  thickens]  Steevens  :  So  in  Fletcher's  Faithful  Shepherdessy  Act  I,  sc.  ult: 
*  Fold  your  flocks  up,  for  the  air  'Gins  to  thicken,^ — M alone  :  Again,  in  Spenser's 
Calendar y  15 79:  'But  see,  the  welkin  thicks  apace,'  \^March^  1.  126;  ed.  Grosart 
—Ed.  ii.]. 

61.  Rookie]  Roderick  (Edwards,  p.  274,  1765) :  I  should  imagine  Shake- 
speare intended  to  give  ns  the  idea  of  the  gloominess  of  the  woods  at  the  close 
of  the  evening;  and  wrote:  <to  th'  murky  (or  dusky)  wood':  words  used  by  him 


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ACT  III,  sc.  ii.]       THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  199 

Good  things  of  Day  begin  to  droope,and  drowfe,  62 

Whiles  Nights  black  Agents  to  their  Prey's  doe  rowfe. 

on  other  like  occasions,  and  not  very  remote  from  the  traces  of  that  in  the  text — 
Steevens  :  This  may  mean  damp,  misty ,  steaming  with  exhalations.  It  is  only  a 
North-Country  variation  of  dialect  from  reeky.  In  CorioL  III,  iii,  121,  we  have 
*  the  reek  o'  the  rotten  fens.*  *  Rooky  wood,'  indeed,  may  signify  a  rookery,  the 
wood  that  abounds  with  rooks ;  yet  merely  to  say  of  the  crow  that  he  is  flying  to 
a  wood  inhabited  by  rooks,  is  to  add  little  immediately  pertinent  to  the  succeeding 
observation,  viz.:  that  <  —  things  of  day  begin  to  droop  and  drowse.'  I  cannot, 
therefore,  help  supposing  our  author  wrote :  '  makes  wing  to  rook  V  th*  wood.' 
That  is,  to  roost  in  it — Harry  Rowe  :  A  rooky  wood  is  simply  a  wood  where 
there  are  rookeries,  and  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  <  reek  of  rotten  fens.' — FoRBY : 
That  is,  foggy.  Any  East  Anglian  plough-boy  would  have  instantly  removed  the 
learned  commentator's  doubt  whether  it  had  anything  to  do  with  rooks,  [The  same 
meaning  is  given  in  Carr'S  Craven  Dialect,  1828 ;  Brockett's  North  Country 
Words,  1829,  and  in  Morris's  Glossary  of  Fumess,  1869.  The  last  adds :  '  Icel. 
rakr.  «  Roky,  or  mysty,  nebulosus. " — Promp,  Parv.* — Ed.]— MiTFORD  {^Gent, 
Afaga.  Aug.  1844,  p.  1 29)  :  'Crow'  is  the  common  appellation  of  the  'rook,'  the 
latter  word  being  used  only  when  we  would  spea}^  with  precision,  and  never  by  the 
country  people,  as  the  word  '  crow-keeper '  will  |erve  to  show,  which  means  the 
boy  who  keeps  the  rooks  (not  carrion  crows)  off  the  seed-corn.  The  carrion  crow, 
which  is  the  crow  proper,  being  almost  extinct,  the  necessity  of  distinguishing  it 
from  the  rook  has  passed  away  in  common  usage.  The  passage,  therefore,  simply 
means,  *  the  rook  hastens  its  evening  flight  to  the  wood  where  its  fellows  are  already 
assembled,'  and  to  our  mind  '  the  rooky  wood '  is  a  lively  and  natural  picture :  the 
generic  term  *  crow '  is  used  for  the  specific  •  rook.' 

62.  Good  things  .  .  .  drowse]  Dowden  (p.  244) :  This  line,  uttered  as  the 
evening  shadows  begin  to  gather  on  the  day  of  Banquo's  murder,  we  may  repeat  to 
ourselves  as  a  motto  of  the  entire  tragedy.  It  is  the  tragedy  of  thick  twilight  and 
the  setting-in  of  thick  darkness  upon  a  human  soul.  We  assist  at  the  spectacle 
of  a  terrible  sunset  in  folded  clouds  of  blood.  To  the  last,  however,  one  thin 
hand's-breadth  of  melancholy  light  remains — the  sadness  of  the  day  without  its 
strength.  Macbeth  is  the  prey  of  a  profound  world- weariness.  And  while  a  huge 
ennui  pursues  crime,  the  criminal  is  not  yet  in  utter  blackness  of  night.  When  the 
play  opens  the  sun  is  already  dropping  below  the  verge.  And  at  sunset  strange 
winds  arise,  and  gather  the  clouds  to  westward  with  mysterious  pause  and  stir,  so 
the  play  of  Macbeth  opens  with  movement  of  mysterious,  spiritual  powers,  which 
are  auxiliary  of  that  awful  shadow  which  first  creeps,  and  then  strides,  across  the 
moral  horizon. — Ed.  ii. 

63.  Agents]  Steevens  :  Thus  in  Sydney's  Astrophel  and  Stella :  '  In  ni^t, 
of  sprites  the  ghastly  powers  do  stir,'  [v.  xcvi,  1.  10].  Also  in  Ascham's  Toxo- 
philus,  [p.  52,  ed.  Arber]  :  *  For  on  the  nighte  tyme  and  in  comers,  Spirites  and 
theaes,  etc.,  vse  mooste  styrringe,  when  in  the  daye  l3rght,  and  in  open  places 
whlche  be  ordejmed  of  God  for  honeste  thynges,  they  darre  not  ones  come ;  whiche 
thinge  Euripides  noteth  verye  well,  sayenge — Iph,  in  Taur.:  **  II  thynges  the  night, 
good  thinges  Ae  daye  doth  haunt  and  vse."  *  [This,  doubtless,  is  Ascham's  own 
translation  of  1.  1027,  *  KXeirrw  yap  ^  vv|,  Tfjad*  ahfieiac  rd  ^.' — Ed.  ii.] 


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200  THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH,    [act  hi,  sc.  iii. 

Thou  maruelPft  at  my  words :  but  hold  thee  ftill, 

Things  bad  begun^make  ftrong  themfelues  by  ill :  65 

So  pry  thee  goe  with  me.  Exeunt. 


Scena  Tertia. 


Enter  three  Murtherers.  2 

1.  Scene  II.  Rowe.  Scene  IV.  Rowe.  A  Park :  Gate  leading  to  4e 
Pope,  +  .     Scene  om.  Booth,  Irving.  Palace.  Cap.  et  scq.  (subs.) 

A  Park,  the  Castle  at  a  Distance. 

64,  65.  Thou  ...  ill]  Clarendon  :  This  couplet  reads  like  an  interpolation. 
It  interrupts  the  sense. 

66.  goe]  Delius  :  This  can  hardly  mean  that  he  asks  Lady  Macbeth  to  leave  the 
stage  with  him,  but,  in  connection  with  what  has  preceded,  it  is  rather  a  request 
that  she  should  aid  him,  or  suffer  him  quietly  to  carry  out  his  plan.  As  in  Lear^  I, 
i,  107  :  *  But  goes  thy  heart  witMfiis  ?' 

2.  Enter  three  Murtherer8]^LLAN  Park  Paton  {NoUs  and  Qtieries  11  Sept., 
13  Nov.  1S69)  broached  and  maintained  the  theory  that  the  Third  Murderer  was 
Macbeth  himself,  and  adduced  in  proof  eight  aiguments.  First:  Although  the 
banquet  was  to  commence  at  seven,  Macbeth  did  not  go  there  till  near  midnight 
Second:  His  entrance  to  the  room  and  the  appearance  of  the  murderer  are  almost 
simultaneous.  Third :  So  dear  to  his  heart  was  the  success  of  this  plot,  that 
during  the  four  or  five  hours  before  the  banquet  he  must  have  been  taken  up  with 
the  intended  murder  some  way  or  other.  He  could  not  have  gone  to  the  feast 
with  the  barest  chance  of  the  plot  miscarrying.  Fourth  :  If  there  had  been  a  Third 
Murderer  sent  to  superintend  the  other  two,  he  must  have  been  Macbeth' s  chief 
confidant,  and  as  such  in  all  probability  would  have  been  the  first  to  announce  the 
result  Fifth  :  The  <  twenty  mortal  murthers '  was  a  needless  and  devilish  kind  of 
mutilation,  not  like  the  work  of  hirelings.  Sixth  :  The  Third  Murderer  repeated 
the  precise  instructions  given  to  the  other  two,  showed  unusual  intimacy  with  the 
exact  locality,  the  habits  of  the  visitors,  etc.,  and  seems  to  have  struck  down  the 
light,  probably  to  escape  recognition.  Seventh  :  There  was  a  levity  in  Macbeth*  s 
manner  with  the  murderer  at  the  banquet,  which  is  quite  explicable  if  he  personally 
knew  that  Banquo  was  dead.  Eighth  :  When  the  Ghost  rises,  M^beth  asks  those 
about  him  *  which  of  them  had  done  it,'  evidently  to  take  suspicion  off  himself,  and 
he  says,  in  effect,  to  the  ghost,  '  In  yon  black  struggle  you  could  never  know  me7\ 
— ^E,  Hills  (Notes  and  Queries^  2  Oct.  1869)  thus  replies  to  Paton,  whose  aigu- 
ments, to  save  space,  will  be  referred  to  numerically  (First)  :  *  I  should  not  dwell 
much  on  this;  for  Shakespeare  is  thoroughly  careless  about  the  unities  of  time 
or  place,  or  indeed  any  unity.  Besides,  did  Macbeth  not  go  there  until  midnight  ? 
I  think  Sc.  iv.  occupies  several  hours,  but  obviously  it  would  not  be  convenient  to 
break  it  up  into  three  or  four  parts.  This  idea  will,  of  course,  explain  [Paton' s 
second  and  third  arguments].  The  murder,  I  admit,  comes  before  Sc.  iv. ;  but  that 
was  necessary  for  the  audience,  and  is  a  highly  dramatic  method. .  . .  [Fourth"]  :  I 


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ACT  III.  sc.  iii.]     THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  20I 

[2.  Enter  three  Murtherers] 
suppose  the  First  and  Second  Murderers  to  have  been  retainers  formerly  of  Banquo, 
m  which  case  they  would  know  nothing  of  the  locality  of  Macbeth's  residence. 
So  the  third  was  a  servant  (and  creature)  of  Macbeth,  who  went  to  inform  them 
of  the  time  of  Banquo's  return.  That  Macbeth  had  plenty  of  such  confidants  is 
certain  from  [III]>  iv,  162-3.  This  supposition  would  also  account  for  the  First 
Murderer  telling  the  tale,  as  it  would  be  better  for  the  servant  to  keep  out  of  the 
way,  whereas  the  First  and  Second  Murderers  would  be  unknown  to  the  house- 
hold. \Ftfih'\  :  Macbeth  had  told  them  « to  leave  no  botches  in  the  work."  Further- 
more they  were  private  enemies.  \Sixih'\  :  Here  Paton  seems  to  have  written 
from  memory.  The  Third  Murderer  neither  gives  nor  repeats  any  orders  at  all. 
He  simply  replies  <'  Macbeth." '  [In  a  subsequent  article  Hills  admits  that  he 
was  *a  little  too  hasty  in  saying  that  the  Third  Murderer  << gives  no  orders."  He 
certainly  <<  repeats  no  orders,"  for  the  orders  relate  simply  to  the  time  and  the  post 
of  action.']  *I  do  not  think,'  continues  Hills,  'that  the  Third  Murderer  was  the 
first  to  hear  the  sound  of  horses :  for  the  First  Murderer  says :  "  now  [«V]  near 
approaches  The  object  [«V]  of  our  watch."  When  did  the  Third  Murderer 
identify  Banquo  ?  Did  he  strike  out  the  light,  who  asked  why  it  was  done  ?  Obvi- 
ously the  First  Murderer  struck  it  out — the  man  who  answers  '<  Was't  not  the  way?" 
Now  why  the  First  or  Second  Murderer  should  strike  it  out  is  plain,  if  the  idea 
of  their  being  retainers  be  taken ;  1.  e,  if  Banquo  or  Fleance  did  escape  they  did 
not  care  to  be  recognised.  And  this  conduct  would  appear  strange  to  the  Third 
Murderer,  Macbeth's  servant  Lastly,  if  Macbeth  was  the  Third  Murderer,  how 
was  it  that  neither  the  First  nor  Second  recognised  him  ?  [Seventh'\  :  Even  if  there 
were  any  great  levity  in  Macbeth's  speeches,  which  I  myself  cannot  see,  how  far 
would  that  go  in  an  author  who  has  made  characters  reason  the  most  quietly  in  the 
most  awkward  predicaments?  Besides,  would  Shakespeare  put  such  lines  as  "Then 
comes  my  fit  again"  [HI,  iv,  27]  or  "There  the  grown  serpent  lies"  [HI,  iv,  37] 
in  the  mouth  of  a  man  who  had  been  present  at  the  murder,  and  who  therefore  knew 
the  issue  of  it  ?  \_Eigkih  ]  :  I  think  the  words  "  Thou  canst  not  say  /  did  it "  just  the 
sort  of  words  a  murderer  by  deputy  would  use.  To  make  the  man  actually  engaged 
in  a  murder  speak  so,  would  seem  to  make  nonsense  of  Shakespeare.'  This  called  forth 
a  reply  from  Paton,  in  which  he  said,  <  The  entertaiimient  began  (the  hour  specified 
must  be  dwelt  on)  at  seven,  and  the  banquet  begins  with  the  fourth  scene  of  the  third 
act;  not  far  from  the  time  when  night  is  "  almost  at  odds  with  morning."  Macbeth 
having  just  joined  his  guests  in  another  part  of  the  palace,  comes  with  them  into  the 
hall  where  the  banquet  is  prepared.  Giving  as  his  reason  that  it  would  make 
society  the  more  welcome  to  him,  he  had  said  he  would  keep  himself  "  till  supper- 
time  alone."  This  is  supper- time ;  ^  bids  the  company  be  seated  at  the  table, 
and  wishes  to  all  appetite  and  healthjEo  the  sugg^on  by  Hills  that  the  Third 
Murderer  might  be  a  creature  of  MacbethVrATON  objected  on  the  ground  that  Mac- 
beth would  not  have  been  likely  to  entrust  a  share  in  the  designed  murder  to  such  a 
one — a  mere  gatherer  of  gossip  and  political  opinion^In  Notes  and  Queries^  30  Oct. 
1869,  T.  S.  Baynes  maintains  that  he  anticipated  Paton.—IlLVING  {^Nineteenth  Cen- 
tury^ April,  1877) :  A  theory  on  the  subject  [of  the  Third  Murderer]  has  struck 
me,  which  has  not,  so  far  as  I  am  aware,  been  hitherto  advanced.  What  I  wish  to 
contend  is,  that  [the  character  designated  as  an]  'Attendant'  is  the  Third  Murderer. 
My  reasons  are  as  follows :  Macbe^  utters  what  little  he  does  say  ^€,  this  i>tfi>ffH|tipt 
in  a  tone  nf  "jff^^Ml  ^^"♦^"'pf— fi^rj^pyy^jy  suggestive,  to  my  mind,  of  his  being 


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202 


THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH     [act  hi,  sc.  iiL 


[2.  Enter  three  Murtherers] 
.sop^e  wret^]|fif^  rrt^t^rp^  ^TT^r^^Y  '°  Macbyth's  po^^f-  The  tone  of  contempt  [in 
lines  54,  58,  86,  Act  III,  i.]  is  obvious.  ai^«^  ^Iso  the  fart  thaf  f^jp  ftttwiaant  ^aH 
been  t^l^ep  i^^^  Wi  "W'^tff  i^  rn'"^^'*"^r  The  next  direction  is :  '  Enter  Servant  with 
two  Murderers ' ;  when  Macbeth  says  to  him,  in  the  same  tone  and  manner,  *  Now 
go  to  the  door  and  stay  there  till  we  call.'  Tf  t^^  attendant  left  »^ft  rhnrr*^' 
by  one  dnyr  and  \\^  mprdgr<*rs  \^  f  nother|  and  if  Macbeth  used  the  former  c^ess^ 
the  suggestion  would  be.  tha^  ^\  t^if  mni^ont^^  tMI*^  ^^  ^fP*  ^^'r  ff^"rderers  waitii^^^ 
§nd  in  expectation  f>f  g^«>iny  l^in^  ?if"^"  ^*  I'll  call  upon  you  straight — abide  within'), 
be  went  after  the  atten<1ft|^|  and  gave  him  his  instnict^^ng^  Macbeth  thus  secures  to 
Jiimself  a  check  upon  the  two  murderers  in  the  person  of  this  attendant,  who  is 
ma^e  an  accomplice.  A  very  slight  change  in  the  accepted  stage  business  would 
make  all  this  stratagem  clear  to  the  audience,  and  it  fits  in  with  my  theory  ^ha^  ^^i^ 
attendant  was  a  trusty,  and  not  a  compon.  servant.  Had  he  been  otherr^^.  the 
most  momentous  and  secret  transaction  of  the  play  would  never  have  been  committed^ 
to  him.  Coming  now  to  the  murder  of  Banquo  (III,  iii.),  we  find  that  nnp  pian  jy  | 
stranger  to  the  other  two — ^\  ^.py  rate  so  far  as  his  privity  to  the  enterprise  is 
concerned^  But  the  manny  in  wl^jrh  the  Second  Murderer  satisfies  the  Fiist 
strengthens  mv  theory.  For  either  tl^e  Second  Murderer  did  not  recogi^se  the^_ 
stranger  at  all,  owiny  ^  the  darkness  of  the  night,  or  else  perhaps  they  did  not 
recopiise  hi^  as  tl^e  attendant  whom  th^y  had  seen  before  \  in  which  case  also  they 
would  have  been  chary  of  confiding  in  him.  Indeed,  the  mstant  reply  of  the  Second 
Murderer  would  lavour  the  assumption  that  the  stranger  was  a  man  they  already 
knew^  and  tJie  exact  familiarity  which  the  Third  N^urderer  shows  with  the  surround^ 
ings  of  ^y^t^  pf  Inre  and  the  readiness  with  which  his  information  is  accepted  by  the 
others,  suggest  that  he  must  have  been  somebody  quite  conversant  with  the  palace 

iisnyr^g  apd  appp^arhgg^^     My  theory  WOuld  account  frf  |hj^  fgynilinr  arqimin^y^r<>  gyT 

the  part  of  the  Third  Murderer  without  recourse  to  anv  such  violent  improbability. 
as  that  the  Third  Murderer  was  Macbeth  himself.     Think  of  jhe  effect  of  the  Finy 

sj^d- 


^^ssi^23xsnx!ssp:^^^^^^ 


\  atten< 


by  dij^g  theghastli^^recital  iaTme 
\  would  De  no  intrinsic  absurdity  in 


and  th^atter 


anQue^|^rt)om  br  the  ati 
^JpM^g^^^  If 
absurdity  in  the  appearance  of  the  strange  man  at  the 


t!s  expedient  were  adopted, 
there  ^ 

feast  He  might  come  there  with  a  secrecy  the  more  effectual  because  of  its  apparent 
openness,  for  he  would  be  in  the  company  of  one  of  Macbeth' s  chief  retainers.  The 
conversation  so  conducted,  only  just  out  of  earshot  of  the  whole  company,  might  be 
no  violation  of  probability,  even  though  the  deadliest  secret  were  clothed  under  the 
natural  disguise.  But  the  effect  upon  the  audience  would  be  widely  different  from 
that  of  the  present  almost  unmanageable  tradition,  which  necessitates  an  improba- 
bility so  absurd  as  to  rendej^lmost  ridiculoug  what  might  be  one  of  the  most  thrill- 
ing horrors  of  the  tragedyJ-HuDSON  (ed.  lii.)  I  am  by  no  means  sure  but  [Paton] 
is  right  .  .  .  Perhaps  the  strongest  point  against  this  view  is,  that  Macbeth  seems 
surprised,  and  goes  into  a  rapture,  on  being  told  that  <  Fleance  is  'scaped';  but  this 
may  not  be  very  much ;  he  may  there  be  feigning.  On  the  other  hand,  Macbeth' s 
actual  sharing  in  the  deej  of  murder  would  go  far  to  account  for  his  terrible  hallu- 
cination at  the  banquet — MoY  Thomas  {Athenaumy  14  Ap.  1877)  shows  that  the 
stage-directions  whereon  Irving  lays  stress  are  not  to  be  found  in  the  Folio; 
and  concludes  that :  *  If  [the  Third  Murderer  and  the  Attendant]  were  the  same 
person  they  would  almost  necessarily  have  been  represented  by  the  same  actor. 
On  this  supposition,  however,  it  is  obvious  that  the  stage-directions  are  singularly 


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ACT  III,  sc.  iii.]     THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  203 

I.     But  who  did  bid  thee  ioyne  with  vs  ?  3 

3.     Macbeth. 

3,  4,  5,  etc.  I.  3.  2.  etc.]  Ff.  First  Mard.  Second  Mord.  Third  Murd.  Dyce» 
Cam.  CoU.  iii»  Wh.  ii.     i  Mur.     2  Mar.     3  Mur.   Rowe,  et  cet. 

deficient,  and  are  certainly  likely  to  cause  confusion  in  the  prompter's  box.  To  the 
argument  that  the  Third  Murderer  evidently  knew  <*  all  the  surroundings  of  the  pal- 
ace" and,  therefore,  was  likely  to  be  the  attendant  previously  introduced,  it  is 
enough  to  answer  that,  whoever  he  was,  he  must  have  been  in  close  connection 
with  Macbeth.'-ffjBBY  (see  note  on  I,  ii,  53)  :  If  Ross  is  the  Third  Murderer,  as 
we  hope  to  estabusn,  then  it  is  clear  that  it  is  because  Shakespeare  is  dealing  with 
the  spy-system  that  he  refuses  to  give  up  the  name  of  this  villain.  It  should  be 
remembered  that  Shakespeare  does  not  merely  neglect  to  name  the  Third  Mur- 
derer, he  emphasizes  the  mystery  in  every  possible  way  to  arouse  our  curiosity, 
once  more  masking  the  business  for  weighty  reasons.  [Libby  here  quotes  Paton's 
eight  arguments  in  proof  that  Macbeth  is  the  Third  Murderer.]  In  replying  to 
these  arguments  it  may  be  said  generally  that  most  of  them  apply  well  to  Macbeth, 
but  better  to  Ross.  More  particularly  they  are  met  as  follows :  (i)  Macbeth  went 
to  the  banquet  as  soon  as  Ross  had  returned  by  a  short  way  and  reported.  (2)  The 
murderer  (who  certainly  did  not  know  the  short  way  home)  reached  Macbeth  about 
twenty  minutes  later  than  Ross.  (3)  Macbeth  had  passed  a  terrible  time  of  inactivity 
before  Ross  returned,  and  that  unhinged  his  mind :  he  is  more  unhinged  by  that 
horrible  imagining  than  he  had  been  by  the  murder  of  Duncan.  (4)  Ross  was 
Macbeth' s  chief  confidant  at  this  time,  and  was  the  first  to  announce  the  result. 
(5)  The  twenty  mortal  murthers  was  extremely  characteristic  of  that  poltroon  Ross, 
panic-stricken  and  stabbing  in  the  dark  a  rival  who  had  recognised  him.  (6)  Ross 
knew  the  place  and  the  guests  as  only  such  a  spy  could  know  them :  he  struck  down 
after  the  terrible  recognition  of  Banquo's  *  O,  Slave,'  which  applies  infinitely  better 
to  this  spy  than  to  Macbeth.  Ross  owed  his  power  to  his  service  of  Macbeth.  If 
Macbeth  might  have  been  recognised  by  Banquo,  as  Paton  says,  why  was  he  not 
recognised  by  the  murderers?  (7)  Macbeth  was  amused  by  the  comparison  of  the 
account  of  the  murderer  with  that  of  Ross.  The  fact  that  he  had  the  news  accounts 
for  his  levity.  Ross  had  given  Macbeth  hopes  that  the  murderers  might  have 
pursued  Fleance,  and  the  only  point  Macbeth  really  wants  information  about  is  the 
death  or  escape  of  Fleance.  (8)  When  the  ghost  arises  Macbeth  asks  those  about 
him  '  which  of  them '  had  done  it,  because  he  suspects  his  colleague  in  crime.  On 
returning  to  the  room  he  sees  the  man  whom  Ross  and  the  Murderer  at  the  door 
had  sworn  to  be  dead ;  he  suspects  his  colleague  naturally.  Ross  endeavors  to  mis- 
lead the  other  nobles  at  the  banquet  and  to  defend  Macbeth.  When  Paton  says 
that  Macbeth  says  in  effect  to  the  ghost  *  In  yon  black  struggle  you  could  never 
know  me,'  he  probably  alludes  to  the  speech  of  Macbeth  :  *  Thou  canst  not  say  I 
did  it,'  which  means  that  he  was  not  present  at  the  murderJ-DEiGHTON  refers  to 
Paton*s  and  Bayne's  theory  in  r^;ard  to  the  Third  MurderS  being  Macbeth,  but 
thinks  that  <  the  anxiety  shown  by  Macbeth  in  the  next  scene  seems  far  too  real  to 
be  mere  acting.' — Ed.  ii.] 

3.  But]  Capell  (p.  16)  :  Bid  implies  a  previous  matter  discours'd  of.  The  third 
murderer  appears  as  forward  as  the  others,  but  more  clever,  for  'tis  he  who  observes 
his  comrades'  mistake  about  the  '  light' 


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204  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH    [act  hi,  sc.  liL 

2.  He  needes  not  our  miftnift^  fmce  he  deliuers  5 
Our  Offices,  and  what  we  haue  to  doe, 

To  the  direction  iuft. 

1.  Then  (land  with  vs  : 

The  Weft  yet  glimmers  with  fome  ftreakes  of  Day. 

Now  fpurres  the  lated  Traueller  apace,  10 

To  gayne  the  timely  Inne,  end  neere  approches 

The  fubieft  of  our  Watch. 

3.  Hearke,!  heare  Horfes.  J 
Banquo  within.     Giue  vs  a  Light  there,  hoa. 

2.  Then  *tis  hee  :  1 5 
The  reft,  that  are  within  the  note  of  expe6lation, 

5.  He.„mr\  We  rued  not  to  Warb.         Pope,+  .     Give  light  Han. 

conj.  ap.  Theob.  MS  (ap.  Cam.)  14-18.  Giue.„adout}  The  lines  end: 

our"]  to  Pope.  Aoa,  ,.,'witAin.,.Atreadie...adout.  (read- 

6.  to  doe,^  to  do,  [Speaking  to  the  ing  it  is  for  *tis,  line  15,  and  in  for  i\ 
First  Han.  line  17)  Walker. 

6,  7.  doe,  To,..iu/l'\  do, — To„.justf  15,  16.  Then,„Tke  refi]   One  line, 

Johns,  conj.  Pope  et  seq. 

10.  lated"}  KUeft  Ff,  Rowe.  15.   Then  'tis  hee}  Then  it  is  he  Pope, 

11,  end]  and  F,.  +,  Var.  Mai.  Steev.  Var.  Sing.  i.    'Its 
neere}  here  Coll.  MS.  he  Cap. 

14.  Giue  vs  a  Light]  Give  us  light  16.  that  are}  Om.  Steev.  conj. 

7.  To]  Abbott  (§  187)  :  *  To/  even  without  a  verb  of  motion,  means  motion  to 
the  side  of.  Hence  mction  to  and  consequent  rest  near.  Hence  by  the  side  of,  in  com^ 
parison  with,  as  in  III,  iv,  81.  Hence  up  to,  in  proportion  to,  according  to,  as  in 
the  present  case.     See  note  on  IH,  i,  63,  and  I,  ii,  16. 

9.  The  West  . .  .  Day]  Corson  (p.  229) :  The  Poet  appears  to  have  been  so 
filled  with  the  spirit  of  his  theme  that  that  spirit  radiated  upon  all  the  aspects  of  the 
natural  world,  and  was  reflected  therefrom.  In  the  moral  world  which  he  is  repre- 
senting, there  are  yet  some  glimmerings  of  moral  light :  but  these  glimmerings  are 
soon  to  be  swallowed  up  in  moral  darkness.  And  it  is  to  be  remarked,  too,  that  the 
murder  of  Banquo  and  the  appearance  of  his  ghost  at  the  banquet,  marks  the  point 
where  all  light  goes  out  for  Macbeth  and  his  queen. — Ed.  ii. 

II.  timely]  Clarendon:  That  is,  welcome^  opportune.  Unless,  indeed,  we  take 
it  as  a  poetical  metathesis  for  '  to  gain  the  inn  timely,  or  betimes.' 

II.  neere]  Dyce  (Few  Notes ,  etc)  :  The  First  Murderer  knew,  from  the  coming 
on  of  night,  that  Banquo  was  not  far  off;  but,  before  hearing  the  tread  of  horses  and 
the  voice  of  Banquo,  he  could  not  know  that  the  victim  was  absolutely  near  at  hand. 

14.  a  Light]  DEiftjs  :  Banquo  calls  for  a  light  from  one  of  his  servants,  because 
he  and  Fleance  are  aElbut  to  strike  ofif  into  the  footway,  while  the  servants  make  a 
circuit  to  the  casde,  with  the  horses. 

16.  note]  Steevens  :  They  who  are  set  down  in  the  list  of  guests,  and  expected 
to  supper. — Clarendon  :  For  *  note,*  in  this  sense,  see  Winter's  Tale,  IV,  iii,  49. 
Also  in  Rom.  6s*  Jul.  I,  ii,  36. — [Libby  :  This  otherwise  purposeless  remark  is  quite 
dramatic  when  we  consider  that  Ross  is  one  of  the  invited  guests. — Ed.  ii.] 


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ACT  III.  sc.  iii.]     THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  205 

Alreadie  are  i'th^  Court  17 

1.  His  Horfes  goe  about. 

3.    Almoft  a  mile :  but  he  does  vfually, 
So  all  men  doe,  from  hence  toth^  Fallace  Gate  20 

Make  it  their  Walke. 

Enter  Banquo  and  FleanSyWiih  a  Torch. 

2.  A  Light,  a  Light 

3.  'Tis  hee. 

I.   Stand  too't.  25 

Ban.     It  will  be  Rayne  to  Night 

I.  Let  it  come  downe. 

Ban.     O,  Trecherie ! 
Flye  good  FleanSy  flye,  flye,  flye, 
Thou  may'ft  reuenge.  O  Slaue !  30 

17.  Alreadie]  Om.  Steev.  conj.  assault  Banquo]  Theob.  et  seq.  (subs.) 
TO,  from]  Om.  Seymour.  28,  29.  O.^^flye^]  One  line,  Han.  et 
22.  Enter...Torch.]  Enter  B.  and  F.         seq. 

Servant,  with  a  Torch  before  them.  Cap.  29.  good]  godd  F,.    Om.  Popc,  +  . 

Steev.  Var.  Sing,  i,  Knt.     After  1.  25,  30.  O  Slaue/]  O  Slave  [Dies.  Rowe. 

Dyce,  Sta.    After  I.  24,  Wh.    After  1.  Dies.   Fl.  and  ser.  fly.  Cap.  Steev.  Var. 

23,  GIo.  Cam.  Wh.  ii.     After  1.  21,  Ff,  Sing,  i,  Knt.    Dies.    Fleanoe  escapes, 

Fumess,  et  cet.  Pope,  et  cet. 
27.  come  downe.]  come  downe  [They 

18.  Horses]  Horn  (i,  81) :  Shakespeare,  who  dared  do  all  that  poet  ever  dared, 
nevertheless  did  not  dare  to  bring  upon  the  stage — a  horse.  And  very  properly ;  for 
there — where  noble  poets  represent  the  world's  history  upon  the  'boards  that  imitate 
the  world,'  there — no  brutes  should  be  allowed.  But  in  the  present  scene  it  is  hard 
to  avoid  introducing  a  horse,  and  the  Poet  has  to  obviate  the  difficulty  in  four  almost 
insignificant  lines,  in  order  to  account  for  the  absence  of  the  steeds.  It  is,  after  all, 
undoubtedly  better  not  to  shrink  from  two  or  three  such  trivial  lines  than  to  have  a 
horse  come  clattering  on  the  stage.  Would  that  Schiller  had  thought  of  this  passage 
and  so  have  spared  us  in  his  noble  Tell  that  mounted  Landv(^ ! 

r"V>,  21.  So.  .  .  Walke]  Libby  :  The  others  did  not  know  the  short  cut  to  the 
I  castle  and  would  not  attempt  it  in  the  dark.  This  tells  us  that  the  third  murderer 
freached  home  first — Ed.  ii. 

22.  with  a  Torch]  Collier  (ed.  i.) :  Here  again  Fleance  carries  the  torch  to 
light  his  father ;  and  in  the  old  stage-direction  nothing  is  said  about  a  servant,  who 
would  obviously  be  in  the  way,  when  his  master  was  to  be  murdered.  The  servant 
is  a  merely  modem  interpolation. 
^0.  O  Slaue]  Libby  :  Banquo  recognises  Ross. — Ed.  ii. 
30.  Horn  (i,  82) :  Banquo's  death  must  take  place  before  our  eyes  in  order  to 
prepare  us  for  his  ghost  at  the  banquet.  His  murder  must  appear  important  and 
of  moment,  but  it  must  pass  quickly  before  us  ;  after  the  preparation  that  we  had  for 
Duncan's  death,  the  second  victim  must  have  less  prominence. 


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206  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH    [act  iu.  sc  iv, 

3.   Who  did  ftrike  out  the  Light?  31 

1,  Was't  not  the  way/ 

3.   There's  but  one  downe:  the  Sonne  is  fled. 

2.  We  haue  loft 

Beft  halfe  of  our  Af&ire.  35 

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

Exeunt,  37 


SccBfia  Quurta. 


Banquet  prepof^d.    Enter  Macbeth  y  Lady^  Roffe^  Lenox y  2 

Lords  J  and  Attendants, 

Macb.     You  know  your  owne  degrees,  fit  downe  : 
At  firft  and  laft,the  hearty  welcome.  5 

Lards,    Thankes  to  your  Maiefty. 

33-35-  There s,,.Affaire\  Ending  the  A  Room  of  State.  Rowe.    A  Hall 

lines  at  Sonne. . ,  Affaire  Pope,  + .  of  State  in  the  Palace.  Cap.  et  seq.  (sabs.) 

34f  35'  lVe,„Affaire'\  One  line,  Var.  2.  Banquet  prepared]  A  Banquet  set 

Mai.  Ran.  Steev.  Var.  Sing.  Knt,  Coll.  out.     Flourish.  Cap. 

Huds.  Sta.  4,  5.  Ytm„Jaft'\  One  line,  Del. 

34.  We  haue'\  Wive  Pope,  +  ,  Dyce  Lines    end:    firft  ...  welcome, 

ii,  Huds.  ii.  Johns,  conj.  (Obs. )  Cap.  et  seq. 

loft^  lost'  Allen.  downe:  At  fir/T^  down  at  first 

I.  Scene  III.  Rowe,  Booth,  Irring.  Johns,  oonj.  (Obs.) 

Scene  V.  Pope,  +  .  5.  ^/]  ^W  Rowe  ii,  Pope,  Han.  Cap. 

I  31.  Who  .  .  .  Light]  LiBBY  :  Why  does  Shakespeare  not  tell  us  this  in  a  stage- 
direction  ?    Surely  because  as  usual  he  obscures  the  acts  of  Ross. — Ed.  ii. — Manly  : 
Apparently  it  was  not  the  Third  Murderer,  as  Paton  suggests,  but  the  first,  who 
[struck  out  the  light — Ed.  ii. 

34,  35.  lost  Best]  That  is,  'lost  the  Best.'  See  Allen's  note,  I,  iv,  5.— Manly: 
In  life  this  would  be  a  queer  remark  to  come  from  one  who  had  undertaken  the 
murder  for  the  sake  of  revenge  on  Banquo,  [and]  gives  little  countenance  to  the 
view  that  the  third  murderer  thought  the  others  had  pursued  Fleance,  and  that  con- 
sequently Macbeth  might  fairly  expect  from  the  first  murderer  later  information. — 
Ed.  ii. 

5.  At  first]  Johnson  i  I  believe  the  true  reading  is  •  sit  down. — ^To  first  And 
last,'  etc.  But  for  Mast'  should  then  be  written  next.  All,  of  whatever  degree, 
from  the  highest  to  the  lowest,  may  be  assured  that  their  visit  is  well  received.'— 
Anon.  (qu.  Litchfield?)  :  The  meaning  is  perhaps  this,  *  Once  for  all,  you  are  wel- 
come.    From  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  the  feast  dismiss  all  irksome  restraint !' 

6.  Maiesty]  Walker  ( Vers,  p.  174) :  Majesty— especially  in  the  forms  Your 
Majesty^  His  Majesty,  etc — ^is  usually  a  disyllable. — ^Abbott  (§  468)  :  See  II,  iv,  13. 


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ACT  III,  sc.  iv.]     THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH  207 

Macb.     Our  felfe  will  mingle  with  Society,  7 

And  play  the  humble  Holl : 
Our  Hofteffe  keepes  her  State,  but  in  bed  time 
We  will  require  her  welcome.  lO 

La.     Pronounce  it  for  me  Sir,  to  all  our  Friends, 
For  my  heart  fpeakes,they  are  welcome. 
Enter  firjl  Murtkerer. 

Macb.Soe  they  encounter  thee  with  their  harts  thanks 
Both  fides  are  euen :  heere  He  fit  i'th'mid'ft,  15 

Be  large  in  mirth,  anon  wee'l  drinke  a  Meafiire 
The  Table  round.    There's  blood  vpon  thy  fece.  17 

8,9.  ^if^...i(^^j]  One  line,  Ktly.  17,  rotmd.']    rMtnd,     [Approaching 

9.  dfjl}  ike  Ifefi  Ff,  Rowe.  the    door.    Wh.    Glo.    Knt  ii,   Huds. 

10.  weUome.'\    welcome,     [They   sit.  iii,  Dtn. 

Rowe,+.     After  line  5,  Cap.  7^'-]    /»^«      [To     the     Mur. 

12.  they  are'\  they're  Pope,+.    their  Rowe,+  (subs.) 

Anon.  ap.  Cam.  17^40.  Therms ...  againe.']  Marked  as 

13.  Enter  firft  Mortherer.]  Enter...        an  Aside,  Cap.  Ktly. 

to  the  door.     After  1.   15,  Cap.  Var.  17,95,118,151,152,156,167.  Blood'\ 

Dyce,  Sta.    After  round.  1. 17,  Huds.  ii.         Bloud  F^F^. 

9.  State]  GiFFORD  (The  Bondman^  Massinger,  p.  15,  ed.  1805) '  ^^  '^  used  by 
Dryden,  but  it  seems  to  have  been  growing  obsolete  while  he  was  writing ;  in  the 
first  edition  of  MacFleckno,  the  monarch  is  placed  on  a  '  state ' ;  in  the  subsequent 
ones  he  is  seated,  like  his  fellow  kings,  on  a  throne ;  it  occurs  also,  and  I  believe 
for  the  last  time,  in  Swift :  'As  she  affected  not  the  grandeur  of  a  state  with  a 
canopy,  she  thought  there  was  no  offence  in  an  elbow  chair.' — Hist,  of  John 
Bull,  ch.  i. — Clarendon  :  The  'state'  was  originally  the  canopy;  then  the  chair 
with  the  canopy  over  it  Compare  Cotgrave :  <  Dais,  or  Daiz.  A  doth  of  Estate, 
Canopie,  or  Heauen,  that  stands  ouer  the  heads  of  Princes  thrones ;  also,  the  whole 
State,  or  seat  of  Estate.'  See  also  Bacon's  New  Atlantis  (Works,  iii,  148,  ed. 
Spcdding)  :  *Over  the  chair  is  a  state,  made  round  or  oval,  and  it  is  of  ivy.' 

10.  require]  Clarendon  :  That  is,  ask  her  to  give  us  welcome.  *  Require '  was 
formeriy  used  in  the  simple  sense  of  to  ask,  not  with  the  meaning  now  attached  to 
it  of  asking  as  a  right  See  Ant,  &•  Cleo,  III,  xii,  12,  and  also  the  Prayer-book 
Version  of  Psalm  xzxviii,  16. 

13.  Enter  first  Murtherer]  Booth  :  Enter  First  Murderer  with  the  Servants, 
who  bring  dishes. — First  Murderer  has  a  few  drops  of  blood  upon  his  cheek. — He 
brings  a  goblet  of  wine  to  Macbeth. — Ed.  ii. — Sherman  :  On  the  supposition  that 
Macbeth  and  the  Third  Murderer  are  the  same  person,  it  is  evident  that  the  First 
Murderer  cannot  now  be  coming  to  <  say  how  much  is  done '  for  the  first  time.  He 
must  have  come  much  earlier,  and  failing  to  find  Macbeth,  must  have  been  dis- 
patched by  the  Third  Murderer,  still  with  him,  to  search  for  Fleance.  Only  now, 
after  the  quest  has  proved  fruitless,  and  Banquo  has  been  buried  (1.  26),  does  he 
appear. — Ed.  ii. 

16.  anon]  Dbuus  :  This  alludes  to  the  fact  that  Macbeth  has  just  caught  sight  of  the 
Murderer  standing  in  the  door,  and  wishes  to  dismiss  him  before  pledging  the  measure. 


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208  THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH    [act  hi,  sc.  iv. 

Mur.     *Tis  Banquds  then.  i8 

Macb.    'Tis  better  thee  without,  then  he  within. 
Is  he  difpatchM  ?  20 

Mur.     My  Lord  his  throat  is  cut,  that  I  did  for  him. 

M(u.    Thou  art  the  beft  o'th'Cut-throats, 
Yet  hee's  good  that  did  the  hke  for  Fleans : 
If  thou  did'ft  it,  thou  art  the  Non-pareill. 

Mur.     Moil  Royall  Sir  25 

Fleans  is  fcapM. 

19.  he\  him  Han.  Cap.  G)U.  (MS),  22.  e^tA^'ic/iAeVopCt-^.     o' tkeCsL^. 

Ktly,  Huds.  il,  iii.  et  seq. 

21.  Line  divided  at  cut^  Ktly.  23.  good'\   as  good  Long  MS,   ap. 

that  Idid^  I  did  that  Pope,  Han.  Cam. 

22-24.   TTum.^Nan-pareiUlYl^QxXi.  25,26.  ^e/?.../<rtf/</]  One  line.  Coll. 

Huds.  Ktly.     Lines  end:  good..,ity.„  Huds.  i,  ii,  Ktly. 
Non-pareiU.  Rowe,  et  cet 

19.  Johnson  :  '  I  am  more  pleased  that  the  blood  of  Banqao  should  be  on  thy 
face  than  in  his  body.'  Shakespeare  might  mean  :  '  It  is  better  that  Banquo's  blood 
were  on  thy  face  than  he  in  this  room.' — Hunter:  Anything,  almost,  is  to  be  pre- 
ferred to  the  common  explanation  that  Macbeth  addresses  this  sentence  to  the  Mur- 
derer. I  would  submit  as  the  Poet's  intention,  that  Macbeth  goes  to  the  door,  and 
there  sees  the  Murderer  with  the  evidence  of  the  crime  upon  him :  and  with  that 
infirmity  of  purpose  which  belongs  to  him,  that  occasional  rising  of  the  milk  of 
human  kindness,  he  is  deeply  shocked  at  the  sight,  especially  contrasting  it  with  the 
gaiety  of  the  banquet ;  he  retires  from  the  door,  meditates,  and  then,  feeling  the 
importance  to  him  of  having  got  quit  of  Banquo,  he  utters  the  expression  aside, 
'  'Tis  better  thee  without  than  he  within ' :  that,  horrible  as  it  is,  thus  in  the  midst 
of  the  feast,  to  behold  the  assassin  of  his  fnend  just  without  the  door,  it  is  still  better 
than  that  Banquo  himself  should  be  alive  and  within  the  hall  a  guest  at  this  enter- 
tainment He  thus  recovers  himself,  and  then  goes  to  the  door  again  to  ask  if  the 
deed  had  been  done  efTectually,  'Is  he  dispatch' d?'  In  what  follows,  we  cannot 
suppose  that  Macbeth  speaks  so  as  to  be  heard  by  the  Murderer,  much  less  speaks 
to  him,  revealing  the  secret  purpose  and  thoughts  of  his  mind.  They  are  €iside 
speeches. — Clarendon  :  It  is  better  outside  thee  than  inside  him.  In  spite  of  the 
defective  grammar,  this  must  be  the  meaning,  or  there  would  be  no  point  in  the 
antithesis.  For  a  similar  instance  of  loose  coi^struction,  see  Cymb.  II,  iii,  153. — 
[LiBBY  (see  note  on  I,  ii,  53)  :  If  this  were  an  aside  it  might  mean,  "Tis  better  to 
be  thee  without  than  Ross  within.'  '  Thee '  would  pass  for  a  predicate  better  than 
'he'  for  an  objective. — Chambers  disagrees  with  Clarendon  and  follows  Hunter's 
interpretation, '  It  is  better  that  the  murderer  should  be  "without"  the  banquet  than 
that  Banquo  be  inside  as  a  guest.'  He  adds :  *■  I  conceive  that  Macbeth  speaks  with 
the  murderer  at  a  curtained  door,  unseen  by  the  banqueters.' — Ed.  ii.] 

23.  hee's]  CowDEN  Clarke  :  Probably  an  elision  for  he  is  as^  not  he  is. 

24.  Non-pareill]  Deuus:  Shakespeare  always  uses  the  definite  article  with 
*  nonpareil,'  except  in  Temp.  Ill,  ii,  108. 


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ACT  in.  sa  iv.]     THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  209 

Macb.    Then  comes  my  Fit  againe :  27 

I  had  elfe  beene  perfeft ; 
Whole  as  the  Marble,  founded  as  the  Rocke, 
As  broad,  and  generally  as  the  cafmg  Ayre:  30 

But  now  I  am  cabin'd,  cribM,  confinM,  bound  in" 
To  fawcy  doubts,  and  feares.     But  Banquets  fafe  ? 

Mur.     I,  my  good  Lord  :  fafe  in  a  ditch  he  bides, 
With  twenty  trenched  gafhes  on  his  head ; 
The  lead  a  Death  to  Nature.  35 

Macb,     Thankes  for  that: 
There  the  growne  Serpent  lyes,  the  worme  that's  fled 
Hath  Nature  that  in  time  will  Venom  breed. 
No  teeth  for  th'prefent.     Get  thee  gone,  to  morrow 
WeeU  heare  our  felues  againe.  Exit  Murderer.  40 

27.  Macb.]  Macb.  [Aside.]  Hunter,  38.  I/ath'\  Hath'  Allen  MS. 

Wh.  Cam.  Cla.  40.  lVe^l'\  Well  Y^^, 

27,  28.   Then  ...  perfe^'\   One   line,  heare  our /elites']  hear't  ourselves 

Pope  et  seq.  Theob.  Waib.  Johns,     hear  thee  our- 

27-32.  Mnemonic,  Warb.  selves  Han.  Cap.  Ktly.     hear^  ourselves 

31.  I  am]  Pm  Pope,  +  ,  Dyceii,  iii,  Var.  Mai.  Ran.  Steev.  Var.  Knt  hear^ 
Hnds.  ii.  ourselves^  Dyce,  Glo.      heat^t^  ourself^ 

32.  fawcy]  saucy  Cap.  et  seq.  Huds.  iii. 

37.   There]     [Aside.]      There.    Wh.  our  felues]    ourself  Cap.   conj. 

Cam.  Hnds.  iii.  Huds.  iii. 

37-39.  Mnemonic,  Warb. 

31.  crib'd]  Clarendon:  A  still  stronger  word  than  'cabin'd,'  which  explains 
it,  and  perhaps  suggested  it  to  the  Author.  It  does  not,  we  believe,  occur  else- 
where. 

32.  sawcy  doubts,  and  feares]  Delius  :  These  are  the  fellow-prisoners  of  such 
confinement  and  imprisonment 

132.  But  Banquo's  safe]  Libby  (see  note  on  I,  ii,  53)  :  He  wants  confirmation 
jof  Ross's  account.  The  asides  of  this  passage  should  convince  anyone  that  Macbeth 
(was  not  an  eye-witness  of  Banquo's  death. — Ed.  ii. 

37.  worme]  Nares:  Frequently  used  by  Elisabethan  writers  for  a  seipent. 
Wyrm^  in  Anglo-Saxon,  means  a  serpent  or  dragon — ^the  modem  meaning  is  only 
a  secondary  one. 

39.  No  .  • .  present]  Booth  :  Macbeth  is  about  to  drink ;  but  the  colour  of  the 
wine  sickens  him,  and  he  gives  the  goblet  back  to  the  Murderer,  who  places  it  on 
the  table,  and,  at  Macbeth's  next  words  spoken  simultaneously  with  this  action, 
quietiy  slinks  out  of  the  room. — ^Ed.  ii. 

40.  our  selues  againe]  Clarendon  :  We  will  talk  with  one  another  again. . . . 
Bat  the  expression  is  awkward  if  both  the  king  and  the  murderer  are  included  in 
'ourselves';  if  by  *  ourselves'  is  meant  Macbeth  only,  we  require,  as  Capell  conjec- 
tured, ourself, — [Hudson  (ed.  iii.)  :  I  suspect  the  true  reading  to  be,  'We'll  hear 
yoa  tell'/  again.'     The  pronoun  *  our '  seems  quite  out  of  place  here ;  and  we  have 


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2IO  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH    [act  in.  sc  hr. 

Lady.     My  Royall  Lord,  41 

You  do  not  giue  the  Cheere,  the  Feaft  is  fold 
That  is  not  often  vouch'd,  while  'tis  a  making  : 
Tis  giuen,  with  welcome  :  to  feede  were  beft  at  home : 
From  thence,  the  fawce  to  meate  \s  Ceremony,  45 

Meeting  were  bare  without  it. 

Enter  the  Ghojl  of  BanquOy  and  Jits  in  Macbeths  place.  47 

42.  fold'\  cold  Pope.  Han.  43.  a making'\a'makif%g'^^6&j\yftJt^ 
4$.  voucA'df}      xnnufud^      Rowe.+  .        Cam.  CoU.  iii.  Wh.  it 

vcucfCd  Cap.  Coll.  i.  Sing.  ii.  44.  giuen\  gkfn  Pope,  Han. 

whiU  ^Hs  a  making:']  whiU  ^tis  gi^^^  ttn/A"]  givem  with  F^F^ 

making:  YU  Rowe,  Theob.     while' Hi  47.  Enter...]  After  line  55,  SUl  After 

makings  Pope.  Han.    while  'tis  making  line  58,  KUy,  Huds.  ii.    After  line  5I9 

Warb.  Johns.  Var.  '73.     the  while  'tis  Cap.  et  cet. 

making:  CoU.  (MS),    while  'tis  a  mak-  Enter...]  The  Ghost  of  Banqao 

ing^  Var.  '78,  et  cet  rises...  Rowe,  + ,  Cap. 

many  instances  of  <  our '  and  your  confounded,  as  also  of  your  and  you  ;  and  tell*t 
might  easily  be  misprinted  '  selves,'  when  the  long  s  was  used.  I  cannot  now  recover 
the  soorce  of  the  proposed  reading. — Ed.  ii.] 

42-44.  Feast .  .  .  welcome]  Dyce  (Remarks^  etc.  p.  196)  :  That  feast  can  only 
be  considered  as  sold,  not  given,  daring  which  the  entertainers  omit  soch  courtesies 
as  may  assure  their  guests  that  it  is  given  with  welcome. 

43.  a  making]  Clarendon  :  The  prefix  *  a,*  equivalent  to  on  in  Old  English, 
and  generally  supposed  to  be  a  corruption  of  it,  was  in  Shakespeare's  time  much 
more  rarely  used  than  in  earlier  days,  and  may  now  be  said  to  be  obsolete,  excq>t 
in  certain  words,  as  a-hunting^  asleep,  etc     [See  ABBOTT,  §§  24,  I40.] 

44.  feede]  Harry  Rows  :  My  audience  often  consisting  of  cow-keepers,  grooms, 
ostlers,  post-boys,  and  scullion-wenches,  I  was  apprehensive  that  they  would  take 
offence  at  the  word  *  feed ' ;  so,  by  advice  of  my  learned  puppet.  Doctor  Faustus,  I 
have  changed  the  line  into  *  Then  give  the  welcome:  To  eaty'  etc.;  the  word  'feed  * 
belonging,  as  he  says,  to  iSoAprona  atque  ventri  obedientia.  But  what  kind  of  men 
and  women  these  prona  atque  ventri  obedientia  are,  I  confess  I  know  not 

45.  Ceremony]  Staunton  (note  on  All's  Well^  II,  iii,  185) :  It  has  never,  that 
we  are  aware,  been  noticed  that  Shakespeare  usually  pronounces  cere  in  ceremony, 
ceremonies,  ceremonials  (but  not  in  ceremonious,  ceremoniously^),  as  a  monosyllable, 
like  cerecloth,  cerement.  Thus  Merry  Wives,  IV,  vi,  51 ;  Mid,  N,  D,  V,  i,  55  ; 
Jul,  Obs,  I,  i,  70,  and  Ihid,  II,  ii,  13. — Walker  (Crit,  ii,  73) :  It  i^pears  that  cere- 
mony and  ceremonious  were  pronounced  by  our  ancient  poets, — very  frequently  at 
least, — ceremony  and  cer'monous.  We  should  therefore  perh^  arrange  this  line  : 
*  From  thence  the  sauce  to  meat  is  ceremony ;  meeting '  in  order  to  avoid  [  Vers,  p. 
272]  the  trisyllabic  termination  of  the  next  line  [<  remembrancer '],  which  is  so  fre- 
quent  in  the  dramatists  of  a  later  age,  but  which  occurs  very  seldom  indeed  in 
Shakespeare. — Lettsom  (foot-note  to  preceding  Crit,  ii,  73]  :  Some  of  the  writers 
quoted  by  Walker  seem  to  have  even  pronounced  cermny,  cermnous, 

45, 46.  meate  . . .  Meeting]  Ciarendon  :  No  play  upon  words  is  intended  here. 
'Meat'  was  in  Shakespeare's  time  pronounced  mate.     Two  Gent,  I,  ii,  68,  69. 
47.  the  Qhost  of  Banquo]  Seymour  :  I  think  two  Ghosts  are  seen :  Duncan's 


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ACT  in.  SC.  iv.]      THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  211 

[47.  the  Ghost  of  Banquo] 
first,  and  afterwards  that  of  Banquo ;  for  what  new  terror,  or  what  augmented  per- 
turbation, is  to  be  produced  by  the  reappearance  of  the  same  object  in  the  same 
scene  ?  or,  if  but  one  dread  monitor  could  gain  access  to  this  imperial  malefactor, 
which  was  the  more  likely  to  harrow  the  remorseful  bosom  of  Macbeth — '  the  gra- 
cious Duncan'  or  Banquo,  his  mere  'partner'?  Besides  this  obvious  general  claim 
to  precedence  on  the  part  of  Duncan,  how  else  can  we  apply  these  lines  ? — *  If  char- 
nel-houses and  our  graves,'  etc.  For  they  will  not  suit  Banquo,  who  had  no  grave 
or  charnel-house  assigned  to  him  ;  but  must  refer  to  Duncan.  . . .  Besides,  to  whom, 
except  Duncan,  can  the  words  apply :  <If  I  stand  here,  I  saw  him'?  If  Banquo 
were  the  object  here  alluded  to,  it  must  be  unintelligible  to  the  Lady,  who 
had  not  yet  heard  of  Banquo' s  murder.  The  Ghost  of  Duncan  having  departed, 
Macbeth  is  at  leisure  to  collect  his  thoughts,  and  he  naturally  reflects  that  if 
the  grave  can  thus  cast  up  the  form  of  buried  Duncan,  Banquo  may  likewise 
rise  again,  regardless  of  the  <  trenched  gashes  and  twenty  mortal  murders  on  his 
crown.'  The  Lady  interrupts  this  revery  and  he  proceeds  to  *  mingle  with  society,' 
and  when  he  pledges  the  health  of  his  friend,  just  at  that  moment  his  friend's 
ghost  confronts  him. — Mrs  Jameson  (ii,  331) :  Mrs  Siddons,  I  believe,  had  an 
idea  that  Lady  Macbeth  beheld  the  spectre  of  Banquo,  and  that  her  self-control 
and  presence  of  mind  enabled  her  to  sunnount  her  consciousness  of  the  ghastly 
presence.  This  would  be  superhuman,  and  I  do  not  see  that  either  the  character  or 
the  text  bears  out  this  supposition. — Campbell  iJLife  of  Mrs  Siddons^  ii,  185)  : 
The  idea  of  omitting  the  ghost  of  Banquo  was  suggested  to  Kemble  by  some  verses 
of  the  poet  Edward  Lloyd.  It  was  a  mere  crotchet,  and  a  pernicious  departure 
from  the  ancient  custocn.  There  was  no  rationality  in  depriving  the  spectator  of  a 
sight  of  Banquo' s  ghost  merely  because  the  company  at  Macbeth' s  table  are  not 
supposed  to  see  it.  But  we  are  not  Macbeth' s  guests.  We  are  no  more  a  part  of 
their  company  than  we  are  a  part  of  the  scenes  or  the  scene-shiftera.  We  are  the 
Poet's  guests,  invited  to  see  Macbeth  :  to  see  what  he  sees,  and  to  fed  what  he  feels, 
caring  comparatively  nothing  about  the  guests.  I  may  be  told,  perhaps,  that,  accord- 
ing to  this  reasoning,  we  ought  to  see  the  dagger  in  the  air  that  floats  before  Mac- 
beth. But  the  visionary  appearance  of  an  inanimate  object  and  of  a  human  being 
are  by  no  means  parallel  cases.  The  stage-spectre  of  a  dagger  would  be  ludicrous ; 
but  not  so  is  the  stage-spectre  of  a  man  appearing  to  his  murderer.  Superstition 
sanctions  the  latter  representation  ;  and  as  to  the  alleged  inconsistency  of  Banquo' s 
ghost  being  visible  to  us  whilst  it  is  unseen  by  the  guests,  the  argument  amounts  to 
nothing.  If  we  judge  by  sheer  reason,  no  doubt  we  must  banish  ghosts  from  the 
stage  altogether,  but  if  we  regulate  our  fancy  by  the  laws  of  superstition,  we  shall 
find  that  spectres  are  privileged  to  be  visible  to  whom  they  will ;  so  that  the  exclu- 
sion of  Banquo,  on  this  occasion,  was  a  violation  of  the  spiritual  peerage  of  the 
drama,  an  outrage  on  the  rights  of  ghosts,  and  a  worthier  spectre  than  Ban- 
quo' s  never  trod  the  stage.  [Dr  Foiman's  Journal ^  under  date  20th  of  April, 
1610,  contains  an  allusion  to  the  appearance  on  the  stage  of  Banquo' s  ghost. 
See  Appendix^  Forman's  ,/wfWtf/.]— Knight  :  We  are  met  on  the  threshold  of 
this  argument  [viz.:  that  it  was  Duncan's  Ghost  that  first  appeared,  a  point  to 
which  Knight's  attention  was  called  by  a  <gendeman  personally  unknown'  to  him, 
to  whom  in  turn  it  had  been  propounded  by  '  one  who  called  himself  an  actor.' 
— ^Ed.]  by  the  original  stage-direction.  We  should  be  inclined,  with  Kemble, 
Capel  Lofit,  and  Tieck,  to  reject  any  visible  ghost  aUogether^  but  for  this  stage- 


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212  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH    [act  iii.  sc.  iv. 

[47.  the  Ghost  of  Banquo] 
direction,  and  it  equally  compels  us  to  admit  in  this  place  the  Ghost  of  Banquo.  Is 
theie  anything  in  the  text  inconsistent  with  the  stage-direction  ?  It  is  a  piece  of  consum- 
mate art  that  Macbeth  should  see  his  own  chair  occupied  by  the  vision  of  him  whose 
presence  he  has  just  affected  to  desire,  in  line  53.  His  first  exclamation,  line  66,  is 
the  oonmion  evasion  of  one  perpetrating  a  crime  through  the  instrumentality  of 
another.  If  it  be  Duncan* s  ghost,  we  must  read:  'Thou  canst  not  say  I  did  it.' 
The  same  species  of  argument  which  makes  lines  89-91  apply  only  to  Duncan  is 
equally  strong  against  the  proposed  change.  If  the  second  ghost  be  that  of  Banquo, 
how  can  it  be  said  of  him,  '  Thy  bones  are  marrtnvUss  r  There  can  be  no  doubt 
that  these  terms,  throughout  the  scene^  must  be  received  as  general  expressions  of  the 
condition  of  death  as  opposed  to  that  of  life,  and  have  no  more  direct  reference  to 
Duncan  than  to  Banquo.  There  is  a  coincidence  of  passages  pointed  out  by  our 
correspondent  which  strongly  makes,  as  admitted  by  him,  against  the  opinion  which 
he  communicates  to  us.  It  is  found  in  the  '  twenty  trenched  gashes  on  his  head,' 
mentioned  by  the  Murderer,  and  the  '  twenty  mortal  murthers  on  their  crowns,' 
alluded  to  by  Macbeth.  But  there  is  no  direction  in  the  Folio  for  the  disappearance 
of  the  Ghost  before  Macbeth  exclaims,  *  If  I  stand  here,  I  saw  him.'  The  direction 
which  we  find  is  modem.  After  *•  Give  me  some  wine,  fill  full,'  we  have  in  the 
Folio,  *  Enter  Ghost.*  Now  then  arises  the  question,  Is  this  the  ghost  of  Banquo? 
To  make  the  ghost  of  Banquo  return  a  second  time  at  the  moment  when  Macbeth 
wishes  for  the  presence  of  Banquo  is  not  in  the  highest  style  of  art  The  stage- 
direction  does  not  prevent  us  arguing  that  here  it  may  be  the  ghost  of  Duncan.  The 
terror  of  Macbeth  is  now  more  intense  than  on  the  first  appearance ;  it  becomes 
desperate  and  defying.  In  the  presence  of  the  ghost  of  Banquo,  when  he  is  asked, 
*Are  you  a  man  ?'  he  replies,  <Ay,  and  a  bold  one  that  dare  look  on  that  Which 
might  appal  the  devil.'  Upon  the  second  apparition  it  is,  *Avaunt  and  quit  my 
sight' — *Take  any  shape  but  that* — <  Hence,  horrible  shadow!'  Are  not  these 
words  applied  to  some  object  of  greater  terror  than  the  former?  Have  there  not 
been  two  spectral  appearances,  as  implied  in  the  expressions,  '  Gin  such  things  be  ?' 
and  '  When  now  I  think  you  can  behold  such  sights  P  We,  of  course,  place  little 
confidence  in  this  opinion,  although  we  confess  to  a  strong  inclination  towards  it. — 
COLUER  (ed.  i.):  [It  was  from  H.  Crabb  Robinson  that  Collier  learned  that  Mt 
was  the  opinion  of  the  late  Benjamin  Strutt '  that  the  second  ghost  <  was  that  of 
Duncan  and  not  of  Banquo.']  This  opinion  deserves  to  be  treated  with  every 
respect,  but  it  seems  rather  one  of  those  conjectures  in  which  original  minds  indulge, 
than  a  criticism  founded  upon  a  correct  interpretation  of  the  text.  Macbeth  would 
not  address  < And  dare  me  to  the  desert  with  thy  sword '  to  the  shade  of  the  vener- 
able Duncan  ;  and  « Thou  hast  no  speculation  in  those  eyes,'  etc.  is  the  appearance 
that  eyes  would  assume  just  after  death. — Dyce  {Remarks^  etc.  p.  197) :  I  am 
arrogant  enough  to  think  that  Strutt' s  opinion  is  worthy  of  all  contempt.  In  the 
first  place,  it  is  certain  that  the  stage-directions  which  are  found  in  the  early  editions 
of  plays  were  designed  solely  for  the  instruction  of  the  actors^  not  for  the  benefit  of 
the  readers ;  and  consequently,  if  Shakespeare  had  intended  the  Ghost  of  Duncan  to 
appear  as  well  as  the  Ghost  of  Banquo,  he  would  no  doubt  have  carefully  distin- 
guished them  in  the  stage-directions,  and  not  have  risked  the  possibility  of  the 
wrong  Ghost  being  sent  on  by  the  prompter.  Secondly,  it  is  certain  that  when  Dr 
Forman  saw  Macbeth  acted  at  the  Globe,  the  Ghost  of  Duncan  did  not  appear.  [In 
reply  to  a  remark  of  Knight's  given  above,  Dyce  adds :]  I  cannot  help  thinking 


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ACT  III,  sc.  iv.]     THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  21 3 

[47.  the  Ghost  of  Banquo] 
that  the  intzoduction  of  two  ghosts  would  have  been  less  artistic  than  the  bringing 
hack  the  ghost  of  Banquo ;  we  have,  indeed,  in  Rich.  HI:  V,  iii,  eicven  ghosts  on  the 
stage  at  once ;  but  there  is  a  vast  difference  between  ghosts  walking  in  and  out  of  a 
banqueting-hall  crowded  with  company,  and  ghosts  standing,  in  the  dead  of  night, 
before  the  tents  of  two  sleeping  princes.  If  Shakespeare  had  brought  in  the  Ghost 
of  Banquo  a  third  time,  and  had  also  made  the  murder  of  Lady  Macduff  precede  the 
banquet,  no  doubt  some  ingenious  gendeman  would  have  come  forward  to  prove 
that  the  third  ghost  was  Lady  Macduff* s, — Hunter  :  I  cannot  but  incline  to  the 
opinion  di  those  who  think  that  the  Ghosts  of  both  Duncan  and  Banquo  appear  at 
the  banquet ...  In  questions  like  these  we  must  be  content  with  probabilities.  The 
chief  probability  lies  here :  that  the  figure  presented  to  the  mind's  eye  of  Macbeth 
was  that  kA  a  person  who  had  been  buried,  see  lines  89-91.  Now  Banquo  was  then 
so  recently  dead  that  there  had  been  no  interment  of  him,  while  Duncan  had  been 
honourably  entombed,  see  II,  iv,  46-48.  Then  that  the  second  ghost  is  Banquo' s 
appears  probable  firom  this  circumstance,  that  it  is  the  ghost  of  a  soldier,  not  of  a 
peaceable  person  such  as  Duncan  was.  I  cannot  go  the  length  of  affirming  that 
the  words  of  Fonnan  are  conclusive  against  the  appearance  of  any  other  ghost. 
Again  Macbeth  seems  to  speak  of  more  than  one  when  he  says,  <  such  sights,*  line 
140.  It  might  undoubtedly  be  but  the  seeing  twice  the  same  figure,  but  the  con- 
struction would  rather  lead  us  to  believe  that  Ross  understood  Macbeth  to  speak 
of  more  objects  than  one.  Lastly,  when  Macbeth  utters  lines  167-169,  it  seems  as 
if  the  visions  he  had  just  witnessed  had  brought  both  his  great  victims  to  his  remem- 
brance, and  placed  them  in  the  light  of  his  countenance. — [Wilson  (p.  640) :  Tal- 
boys. ...  I  am  inclined  to  think,  sir,  that  no  real  Ghost  sits  on  the  Stool — ^but  that 
Shakespeare  meant  it  as  with  the  Daggers.  On  the  stage  he  appears — ^that  is  an 
abuse. . . .  Had  Mad>eth  himself  continued  to  believe  that  the  first-seen  Ghost 
was  a  real  Ghost,  he  would  not,  could  not  have  ventured  so  soon  after  its  dis- 
appearance to  say  again,  'And  to  our  dear  friend  Banquo.'  He  does  say  it — and 
then  again  diseased  imagination  assails  him  at  the  rash  words.  Lady  Macbeth 
reasons  with  him  again,  and  he  finally  is  persuaded  that  the  Ghost,  both  times, 
had  been  but  brain-sick  creations.  'My  strange  and  self-abuse  Is  the  initiate 
fear  that  wants  hard  use: — I  am  [xtV]  but  young  in  deed.'  Bullcr,  That  cer- 
tainly looks  as  if  he  then  did  know  he  had  been  deceived.  But  perhaps  he  only 
censures  himself  for  being  too  much  agitated  by  a  real  ghost.  Taiboys.  That  won't 
do.  North.  But  go  back,  my  dear  Taiboys,  to  the  first  enacting  of  the  Play.  What 
could  the  audience  have  understood  to  be  happening,  without  other  direction  of  their 
thoughts  than  the  terrified  Macbeth' s  bewildered  words?  He  never  mentions  Ban- 
quo' s  name — and  recollect  that  nobody  then  sitting  there  then  knew  that  Banquo 
had  been  murdered.  The  dagger  is  not  in  point  Then  the  spectators  heard  him 
say,  *  Is  this  a  dagger  that  I  see  before  me  ?'  And  if  no  dagger  was  there,  they 
could  at  once  see  that  it  was  phantasy.  Taiboys.  Somethixsg  in  that  Bullcr.  A 
setder.  North.  I  entirely  separate  the  two  questions — first,  how  did  the  Manager 
of  the  Globe  Theatre  have  the  King's  Seat  at  the  Feast  filled ;  and  second,  what 
does  the  highest  poetical  Canon  deliver  ?  I  speak  now,  but  to  the  first  Now  here 
the  rule  is — <  The  audience  must  understand^  and  at  once,  what  that  which  they  see 
and  hear  means' — ^That  rule  must  govern  the  art  of  the  drama  in  the  Manager's 
practice.  You  allow  that,  Taiboys  ?  Taiboys.  I  do. . . .  North.  Well,  then,  suppose 
Macbeth  acted  for  the  first  time  to  an  audience  who  are  to  establish  it  for  a  stock- 


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214  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH    [act  hi.  sc.  iv. 

[47.  the  Ghost  of  Banquo] 
play  or  to  damn  it.  Would  the  Manager  commit  the  whole  power  of  a  scene  which 
is  perhaps  the  most — singly— effective  of  the  whole  Play  to  the  chance  of  a  true 
divination  by  the  whole  Globe  audience  ?  I  think  not  The  argument  is  of  a  vulgar 
tone,  I  confess,  and  extremely  literal,  but  it  is  after  the  measure  of  my  poor  faculties. 
Seward,  In  confirmation  of  what  you  say,  sir,  it  has  been  lately  asserted  that  one  of  the 
two  appearings  at  least  is  not  Banquo' s — ^but  Duncan's.  How  is  that  to  be  settled 
but  by  a  real  Ghost — or  Ghosts  ?  North,  And  I  ask  what  has  Shakespeare  him- 
self undeniably  done  elsewhere?  In  Henry  VHL  Queen  Katherine  sleeps  and 
dreams.  Her  Dream  enters  and  performs  various  acts — somewhat  expressive — 
minutely  contrived  and  prescribed.  It  is  a  mute  Dream,  which  she  with  shut  eyes 
sees — which  you  in  pit,  boxes,  and  gallery  see — ^which  her  attendants,  watching 
about  her  upon  the  stage,  do  not  see.  Seward,  And  in  Richard  HI, — He  dreams, 
and  so  does  Richmond. .  .  .  My  friends.  Poetry  gives  a  body  to  the  bodiless. 
The  Stage  of  Shakespeare  was  rude  and  gross.  In  my  boyhood,  I  saw  the  Ghosts 
appear  to  John  Kemble  in  Richard  III,  Now  they  may  be  abolished  with  Ban- 
quo.  So  may  be  Queen  Katherine' s  Angels.  But  Shakespeare  and  his  Audi- 
ence had  no  difficulty  about  one  person's  seeing  what  another  does  not— or  one's 
not  seeing,  rather,  that  which  another  does.  Nor  had  Homer,  when  Achilles 
alone,  in  the  Quarrel  Scene,  sees  Minerva.  Shakespeare  and  his  Audience  had  no 
difficulty  about  the  bodily  representation  of  Thoughts — the  inward  by  the  outward. 
...  I  am  able  to  believe  with  you,  Talboys,  that  Banquo' s  Ghost  was  understood  by 
Shakespeare,  the  Poet,  to  be  the  Phantasm  of  the  murderer's  guilt-and-fear-shaken 
soul ;  but  was  required  by  Shakespeare,  the  Manager  of  the  Globe  Theatre,  to 
rise  up  through  a  trap-door,  mealy-faced  and  blood-boultered,  and  so  make  *  the 
Table  full.' — Ed.  ii.] — R.  G.  White  :  Macbeth's  first  words  to  the  apparition  are, 
<  Thou  canst  not  say  /  did  it,'  which  was  exacdy  what  Duncan  could  have  said. 
That  this  first  ghost  is  Banquds  is  bejrond  a  doubt ;  and  that  the  second  is  also 
his,  seems  almost  equally  dear  from  like  considerations  of  Macbeth's  mental  pre- 
occupation with  the  recent  murder,  and  the  appearance  of  the  Ghost  again  upon 
a  renewed  bravadoing  attempt  to  forestall  suspicion  by  the  complimentary  men- 
tion of  Banquo' s  name.  To  all  which  must  be  added  Dr  Forman's  testimony. — 
BucKNiLL  (p.  27) :  It  is  markworthy  that  the  ghost  of  Banquo  is  seen  by  no  one 
but  Macbeth,  differing  in  this  respect  from  that  of  Hamlet's  father.  Moreover,  Ban- 
quo' s  ghost  is  silent,  indicating  that  it  is  an  hallucination,  not  an  apparition.  The 
progress  of  the  morbid  action  is  depicted  with  exquisite  skill.  First,  there  is  the 
horrible  picture  of  the  imagination  not  transferred  to  the  sense ;  then  there  is  the 
sensual  hallucination  whose  reality  is  questioned  and  rejected  ;  and  now  there  is  the 
sensual  hallucination  whose  reality  is  fully  accepted.  Are  we  to  accept  the  repeated 
assurance,  both  from  Macbeth  and  his  wife,  that  he  is  subject  to  sudden  fits  of 
mental  bereavement  ?  or  was  it  a  ready  lie,  coined  on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  as  an 
excuse  for  his  strange  behavior?  Macbeth,  at  this  juncture,  is  in  a  state  of  mind 
closely  bordering  upon  disease,  if  he  have  not  actually  passed  the  limit.  He  is  hal- 
lucinated, and  he  believes  in  the  hallucination.  The  reality  of  the  air-drawn  dagger 
he  did  not  believe  in,  but  referred  its  phenomena  to  their  proper  source.  Between 
that  time  and  the  appearance  of  Banquo  the  stability  of  Macbeth's  reason  had  under- 
gone a  fearful  ordeal.  He  lacked  *the  season  of  all  natures — sleep';  or  when  he 
did  sleep,  it  was  <  In  the  affliction  of  those  terrible  dreams  That  shake  us  nightly.' 
Waking,  he  made  his  companions  of  the  *  sorriest  fancies ' ;  and  '  on  the  torture  of 


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ACT  ni,  sc.  iv.]      THE  TR AGED  IE  OF  MACBETH  215 

[47.  the  Ghost  of  Banquo] 
the  mind '  he  lay  '  in  restless  ecstaqr.'  In  the  point  of  view  of  psychological  criti- 
cisniy  the  fear  of  his  wife  in  II,  ii,  44,  45,  appears  on  the  eve  of  being  fulfilled  by 
the  man,  when  to  sleepless  nights  and  days  of  brooding  melancholy  is  added  that 
ondeniable  indication  of  insanity,  a  credited  hallucination.  It  was  in  reality  fulfilled 
in  the  case  of  the  woman,  although,  at  the  point  we  have  reached,  she  offers  a  charac- 
ter little  likely,  on  her  next  appearance,  to  be  the  subject  of  profound  and  fatal 
insanity.  Macbeth,  however,  saved  himself  from  actual  insanity  by  rushing  from 
the  maddening  horrors  of  meditation  into  a  course  of  decisive,  resolute  action. 
From  henceforth  he  gave  himself  no  time  to  reflect ;  he  made  the  firstlings  of  his 
heart  the  firstlings  of  his  hand ;  he  became  a  fearful  tyrant;  but  he  escaped  madness. 
This  change  in  him,  however,  effected  a  change  in  his  relations  to  his  wife,  which 
in  her  had  the  opposite  result  Up  to  this  time  her  action  had  been  that  of  sustain- 
ing him  ;  but  when  he  waded  forward  in  a  sea  of  blood,  when  his  thoughts  were 
acted  ere  they  were  scanned,  then  her  occupation  vras  gone.  Her  attention,  hereto- 
fore directed  to  her  husband  and  to  outward  occurrences,  was  forced  inwards  upon 
that  wreck  of  ill-content  which  her  meditation  supplied.  The  sanitary  mental  influ- 
ence of  action  is  thus  impressively  shown. — Hudson  (ed.  ii.) :  I  have  long  been 
fixed  in  the  thought  that  the  reappearance  of  the  dead  Banquo  ought,  by  all  means, 
to  be  discontinued  on  the  stage.  In  Shakespeare's  time  the  generality  of  the 
people  could  not  possibly  conceive  of  a  subjective  ghost,  but  it  is  not  so  now. — 
[R.  L.  Stevenson  {Academy^  15  Ap.  1876;  also  Stevenson's  collected  works, 
HUstU  Edition^  xxii,  p.  211)  :  Salvini  closed  his  visit  to  Edinburgh  by  a  perform- 
ance of  Macbeth, .  . .  but  the  whole  third  act  was  marred  by  a  grievously  humor- 
ous misadventure.  Several  minutes  too  soon  the  ghost  of  Banquo  joined  the  party, 
and,  after  having  sat  helpless  awhile  at  table,  was  ignominiously  withdrawn. 
Twice  was  this  ghastly  }ack-in-the-Box  obtruded  on  the  stage  before  his  time; 
twice  removed  again ;  and  yet  he  showed  so  little  hurry  when  he  was  really  wanted, 
that,  after  an  awkward  pause,  Macbeth  had  to  begin  his  apostrophe  to  empty  air. 
The  arrival  of  the  belated  spectre  in  the  middle,  with  a  jerk  that  made  him  nod 
all  over,  was  the  last  accident  in  the  chapter,  and  worthily  topped  the  whole.— 
Chambers  :  The  theory  that  there  are  two  ghosts ...  is  both  fanciful  and  untrue 
to  psychology.  Coleman  (Gentleman's  Maga.  March,  1889)  :  In  [Charles]  Kean's 
revival  of  Macbeth  [at  the  Princess's  Theatre,  1853],  ^^  vao'sli  remarkable  scenic 
feature  was  the  apparition  of  Banquo' s  ghost  in  one  of  the  pillars  of  the  rude  arch 
which  supported  the  roof  of  the  Banqueting  Hall.  These  pillars  were  built  out  of 
the  solid.  By  an  ingenious  contrivance  they  were  made  to  appear  either  opaque  or 
transparent,  as  the  exigencies  demanded.  When  the  ghost  appeared  the  lights  on 
the  stage  remained  nnafiected,  but  the  lime-light,  then  in  its  infancy,  threw  a  ghasdy 
sepulchral  glare  upon  the  blood-boltered  Banquo.— Booth  omitted  the  Ghost  of 
Banquo.  After  line  58  he  has  this  stage-direction,  *  Macbeth  stares  in  horror.^  After 
•  Behold,  looke,  loe,  how  say  you '  (line  87)  he  has  this :  *  Stares  at  imaginary  spectre^ 
After  <  And  all  to  air  (line  115),  ^  Stares  at  chair:  After 'Vnreal  mock' ry  hence' 
(line  132),  <  Spectre  is  supposed  to  cwimA.'— Irving  has  the  Ghost  enter  after  <  Ma/t 
please  your  Highnesse  sit'  (line  51)  and  vanish  after  *  our  Monuments  Shall  be  the 
Mawes  of  Kytes '  (11.  90,  91).  The  Ghost  then  re-enters  after  *  Our  duties,  and  the 
pledge'  (line  116),  and  again  vanishes  after  line  132,  as  with  Booth. — Symons  (p. 
22) :  When  Banquo' s  ghost  appears  Macbeth's  acting  breaks  down.  He  is  in  the 
hold  of  a  fresh  sensation,  and  honor  and  astonishment  overwhelm  all.     After 


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2l6  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH    [act  iii.  sc.  iv. 

Macb.    Sweet  Remembrancer :  48 

Now  good  digeftion  waite  on  Appetite^ 
And  health  on  both.  50 

Lenox.     May't  pleafe  your  Highnefle  fit. 

Macb.  Here  had  we  now  our  Countries  Honor,  roofM, 
Were  the  gracM  perfon  of  our  Banquo  prelent : 
Who,  may  I  rather  challenge  for  vnkindnefre. 
Then  pitty  for  Mifchance.  ^^ 

Rojfe.     His  abfence  (Sir) 
Layes  blame  vpon  his  promife.     Pleas't  your  HighneiTe 
To  grace  vs  with  your  Royall  Company  ? 

Macb.    The  Tablets  full. 

Lenox.    Heere  is  a  place  referuM  Sir.  60 

Macb.    Where  ? 

Lenox.    Heere  my  good  Lord. 
What  is't  that  moues  your  Highnefle  f 

Macb.    Which  of  you  haue  done  this  ? 

Lords.   What,  my  good  Lord  ?  65 

51.  MayWl  May  it  D»Av.  Var.  Mai.  Dyce,  Glo.  Huds.  ii,  iii. 

Ran.  Steev.  Var.  Knt,  Coll.  Hads.  Sing.  59.  fitU.'\  fuU  [Starting.   Rowe,-!-, 

ii,  Hal.  Cap. 

54.  Who\  Whom  Pope,  +  ,  Huds.  Wh.  60.  Heere  u\  Her^s  Pope  ii,  Theob. 
KUy.  Warb.  Sing.  Huds.  i,  CoU.  ii,  KUy. 

55.  Mi/chance,'\  mischance  I  Pope  et  62,63.  Heere  .„  Htghnejfe  f\  One 
seq.  line,  Cap.  et  seq. 

57.  PleasW\  Please  it  \zx,  Mai.  Ran.  62.  my  good  Lord,}  my  /on/ (reading 
Steev.  Var.  Knt,  Coll.  Huds.  i,  Sing,  ii.  Where  f.^Highneffe  as  one  line),  Steev. 
Hal.  KUy.  Var. '03, '13. 

58.  Comp€tnyf'\      company,     D'Av.  64-67.  Mnemonic,  Waib. 

having  thought  himself  at  last  secure  I  It  is  always  through  the  superstitious  side 
of  his  nature  that  Macbeth  is  impressible.  His  agitation  at  the  sight  of  the  Ghost  is 
not,  I  think,  a  trick  of  the  imagination,  but  the  horror  of  a  man  who  sees  the  actual 
ghost  of  the  man  he  has  slain.  Thus  he  cannot  reason  it  away,  as,  before  the 
fancied  dagger  (a  heated  brain  conjuring  up  images  of  its  own  intents),  he  can  ex- 
claim :  *  There's  no  such  thing  1* — Ed.  ii.] 

53.  grac'd]  Clarendon:  That  \sy  gracious,  endued  with  graces.  Compare  the 
sense  of  'guUed,'  f.  e.  guileful,  in  Mer,  ofVen,  HI,  ii,  97  ;  Ibid,  IV,  i,  z86,  <blest*; 
and  /  Hen,  IV:  I,  iii,  183, '  disdained.'  We  have  '  graced '  in  much  the  same  sense 
as  here  in  Lear,  I,  iv,  267,  *A  graced  palace.'  It  is  possible,  however,  that  the 
word  in  the  present  case  may  mean  '  honoured,'  '  favoured,'  as  in  Tioo  Gent.  I, 
iii,  5^- 

54.  Who]  Abbott  (§374):  The  inflection  of  <who'  is  frequendy  neglected. 
[See  III,  i,  147.] 


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ACT  III,  sc.  iv.]     THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH  217 

Macd.    Thou  canft  not  fay  I  did  it :  neuer  (hake  66 

Thy  goary  lockes  at  me. 

Hoffe.    Gentlemen  rife,  his  Highneffe  is  not  well. 

Lady.    Sit  worthy  Friends :  my  Lord  is  often  thus, 
And  hath  beene  from  his  youth.    Pray  you  keepe  Seat,  70 

The  fit  is  momentary,  vpon  a  thought 
He  will  againe  be  well.     If  much  you  note  him 
You  (hall  offend  him,  and  extend  his  Paffion, 
Feed,  and  regard  him  not.    Are  you  a  man  ? 

Mac6.     I,  and  a  bold  one,  that  dare  looke  on  that  75 

Which  might  appall  the  Diuell. 

7a  Pray]    *pray  Steey.  Var.    Knt,  to  M.  and  aai^  to  him.  Coll.  ii.   Guests 

Huds.  Sing,  ii,  Ktly.  endeavor  not  to  notice  what  follows. 

71.  momentary']  momentany  Ft  Booth. 

tpon"]  on  Pope,  + .  74-103.  Are.,M,'\  Marked  as  an  aside. 

74.  noi,"]  not,    [To  Macbeth.  Rowe.  Cap. 
To  Macb.  aside.  Pope,  + ,  Ktly.  Coming  76.  DiueW]  Devil  FjF^. 

66.  Thou  .  .  .  did  it]  Werder  (p.  97)  :  To  be  appreciated  this  scene  must  be 
heard — ^must  be  seen ;  to  read  it  is  nothing ;  it  can  only  be  acted.  In  the  tones 
of  the  actor's  voice  the  auditor  would  hear  more  than  the  words,  for  Macbeth  is 
struggling  under  the  weight  of  horror,  and  this  before  everything  is  the  point ;  horror 
here  is  given  tongue.  The  banquet-hall  should  not  be  too  large,  and  certainly  not 
UHn  the  modem  fashion,  but  with  the  fitful  light  of  torches. — Ed.  ii. 

1^08.  Gentlemen  .  .  .  weU]  Libby  (see  note  on  I,  ii,  53,  and  III,  iii,  2) :  Since 
Ross  is  the  one  who  actually  '  did  it,'  his  speech  is  perfectly  clear.  Unless  Ross  is 
guilty,  how  are  these  speeches  to  be  explained  ?    He  was  full  of  curiosity,  and  just 

Ithe  man  to  show  a  prying  desire  to  draw  Macbeth  out — £d.  ii. 

69.  Sit  worthy  Friends]  W.  Carleton  {Appendix  to  Lady  Martin's  Some  of 
Skakespear^s  Female  Characters^  p.  403):  In  Miss  Faudt's  acting  there  was  visible 
a  wish  to  conceal  her  husband's  crime,  which  was  indeed  natural,  together  with 
the  ill-suppressed  anguish  of  a  gentle  spirit,  and  a  perceptible  struggle  to  subdue 
the  manifestations  of  that  guilt,  whilst  attempting  to  encourage  and  sustain  her  hus- 
band.—Ed.  ii. 

70.  keepe  Seat]  Clarkndon:  Used  like  keep  house ^  keep  place,  keep  pace,  keep 
promise. 

71.  thought]  Stbbvkns:  That  is,  as  speedily  as  thought  can  be  executed.  So 
in  /  Hen.  IV:  II,  iv,  241. 

73.  shall]  Abbott  (§315):  'Shall,'  meaning  to  otoe,  is  connected  with  ought, 
must,  it  is  destined.  Hence  *  shall '  was  used  by  the  Elizabethan  authors  with  all 
three  persons  to  denote  inevitable  futurity  without  reference  to  will  (desire).  As  in 
the  present  instance  :  *  You  are  sure  to  offend  him.*     So  probably  IV,  iii,  56. 

73.  Passion]  Johnson  :  Prolong  his  suffering ;  make  his  fit  longer. — Claren- 
don :  *  Passion  *  is  used  of  any  strong  emotion,  especially  when  outwardly  manifested. 

74.  Are  jrou  a  man]  Bell  (p.  310)  :  [Mrs  Siddons  here]  comes  up  to  him  and 
catches  his  hand.    Voice  suppressed. — Ed.  ii. 


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2l8  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH    [act  iii,  sc.  iv. 

La.     O  proper  ftuffe :  Tj 

This  is  the  very  painting  ol  your  feare : 
This  is  the  Ayre-drawne-Dagger  which  you  faid 
Led  you  to  Duncan.     O,  thefe  flawes  and  darts  80 

(Impoftors  to  true  feare)  would  well  become 
A  womans  ftory,  at  a  Winters  fire 
AuthorizM  by  her  Grandam  :  ftiame  it  felfe, 
Why  do  you  make  fuch  faces  ?   When  alPs  done 
You  looke  but  on  a  ftoole.  8$ 

Macb.     Prythee  fee  there  : 
Behold,  looke,  loe,  how  fay  you  : 
Why  what  care  I ,  if  thou  canft  nod,  fpeake  too.  88 

77.  O]  Om.  Pope,  Han.  postorsofHtm.  Impostures  of  Ca.^,   The 

78.  Aside.  Pope, +  .  postures  of 'BtSiej  (\\,^z),    Imposters  to* 
78-83.  Mnemonic,  Warb.  (  »  /<?  a)  Allen  MS. 

79.  Ayre'drawne'Dagger'\  Ff,  +  ,Var.  86,  87.  One  line,  Cap.  et  seq. 

*73f ' 78* '85' <»''•<''•«««  ^*^g2r«'>  Cap.  et  87.  ^^^m  .•]  you!  [Pointing    to   the 

cet  Ghost  Rowe,  +  . 

81.  Impoftors  to'\  Impofters  to  F,.  Im- 

77-83.  O  . . .  her  Grandam]  Bell  (p.  310)  :  [Mrs  Siddons  here  was]  peevish 
and  scornful. — Ed.  li. 

77.  proper  stuffe]  Clarendon  :  That  is,  mere  or  absolute  nonsense^  rubbish. 
We  have  '  proper '  used  in  a  contemptuous  exclamation  in  Much  AdOy  I,  iii,  54,  and 
IV,  i,  312.— [Compare  Scot,  IHscoverie  of  Witchcrafts  Bk,  5,  ch.  i:  *Now  tharT 
may  with  the  very  absurdities  contained  in  their  own  authors . . .  confound  them 
that  maintain  transubstantiations  of  witches :  I  will  show  you  certain  proper  stuffe, 
which  Bodin  hath  gathered,  etc.*— Ed.  ii.] 

80.  flawes]  Dyce  {Gloss.)  :  A  sudden  commotion  of  mind.  [Under  its  primary 
signification,  as  we  have  it  in  Coriol.  V,  iii,  74,  Dyce  dtes],  'A  flaw  (or  gust)  of 
wind.  TourbiiloH  de  v«f/.'— Cotgrave.  ^Kftaw  of  wind  is  a  gust,  which  is  very 
violent  upon  a  sudden,  but  quickly  endeth.' — Smith's  Sea  Grammar^  1627,  p.  46. 

81.  Impostors]  M.  Mason  {Comments^  etc.,  p.  145):  That  is,  impostors  when  com- 
pared with  true  fear ;  that  is  the  force  of  « to'  in  this  place.  [For  «to'  used  in  the  sense 
of  in  comparison  with,  see  Abboit,  §  187  ;  and,  for  numerous  examples,  Schmidt, 
Lex.  s.  V.  6.]— Theobald  (Nichols,  Lit.  HI.  ii,  525)  :  I  have  guessed  'Importers' 
— i.  e.  that  convey,  bring  in,  lead  to.  [Theobald  did  not  repeat  this  in  his  edi- 
tion.]—Johnson  :  These  symptoms  of  terror  might  better  become  impostures  true 
only  to  fear,  etc. 

ZZ.  Authoriz'd]  Walker  {Vers.  194):  Auth6rixed.  [Abbott  (§  491)]— 
Clarendon  :  Used  in  the  sense  of  Justify  in  Sonn.  xxxv,  6.  The  word  is  not 
found  in  Milton's  poetical  works.  Diyden  uses  it  with  the  accent  either  on  the  first 
or  second  syllable. 

83-85.  shame  it  selfe  .  . .  stoole]  Bell  (p.  310)  :  [Mrs  Siddons  spoke  this]  in 
his  ear,  as  if  to  bring  him  back  to  objects  of  common  life.  Her  anxiety  makes  yon 
creep  with  apprehension ;  uncertain  how  to  act. — ^Ed.  ii. 


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ACT  III,  sc.  iv.]      THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  219 

If  Chamell  houfes,  and  our  Graues  mufl  fend 

Thofe  that  we  bury,  backe;  our  Monuments  90 

Shall  be  the  Mawes  of  Kytes. 

La.     What?  quite  vnmann'd  in  folly. 

Macb.     If  I  ftand  heere,I  faw  him. 

La.     Fie  for  fhame. 

Macb.     Blood  hath  bene  fhed  ere  now,  I'th^olden  time  95 

Ere  humane  Statute  purged  the  gentle  Weale  : 

91.  Kytes.'\   kUes.   [Exit  Ghoft.  Ff,        mour. 

Cam.  Ghost  vanishes.  Rowe.    Recovers  95-98.  Mnemonic,  Warb. 

himself.  Huds.  ii.    Sinks  on  her  bosom.  96.  humane]  Ff,  Cam.  Cla.  Huds.  ii, 

Booth.  iiL  human  Theob.  ii,  Fumess,  et  cet 

92.  Whatr^.foUy.]  What,  ,,,foUyf  Statute]  Statue  F^F^,  Rowe  i. 
Cap.  Dyce,Cam.Wh.  ii.   What ! ,„folly !                   gentle]    general    Warb.    Theob. 
Kdy.   What t,., folly?  Var.  '73,  et  cet  Cap.  Walker,    ungentle  C.  Lofft.  (?  ap. 

in  folly]  Om.  Steev.  conj.  Seymour. ) 

95.  naWfi^th*]  mm.     Fth  Daniel.  humane  „,  gentle]   gentle  ,..  hu- 
olden]  olde  Rowe  i.  elden  Sey-        mane,  Leo. 

91.  Kytes]  Steevens  :  The  same  thought  occurs  in  Spenser's  Faerie  Queene,  II, 
c  viii,  V.  16,  <  What  herce  or  steed  (said  he)  should  he  have  dight.  But  be  entombed 
in  the  raven  or  the  kight?' — Harry  Rowe:  It  was  a  vulgar  notion  that  the  food 
<^  carnivorous  birds  passed  their  stomachs  undigested.  For  this  illustration  I  am 
indebted  to  a  book  written  many  years  ago  by  Dr  Brown,  under  the  title  of  Vulgar 
Errors. — CLARENDON:  'Gorgias  Leontinns  called  vultures  "living  sepulchres," 
ywref  ift^x^^  rd^i,  for  which  he  incurred  the  censure  of  t^nginus.* --Jbrtin. 

96.  humane]  Walker  (Crit,  ii,  244)  :  Human  is  here,  I  think,  civiltMei/, — 
Clarendon  :  The  two  meanings,  human  and  '  humane'  (like  those  of  *  travel '  and 
•  travail' — ^11,  iv,  10),  were  not  in  Shakespeare's  time  distinguished  by  a  different 
spelling  and  pronunciation.  In  both  cases  the  word  was  pronounced  by  Shakespeare 
with  the  accent  on  the  first  syllable.  See,  for  instance,  CorioL  III,  i,  327.  There 
seems  to  be  one  exception  in  Wtnt,  Tale,  III,  ii,  166.  In  0th.  II,  i,  243,  it  occurs 
in  prose.  Milton  observes  the  modem  distinction  in  sense  and  pronunciation  be- 
tween human  and  'humane.'  There  are,  as  might  be  expected,  some  passages  in 
Shakespeare  where  it  is  difficult  to  determine  which  of  the  two  senses  best  fits  the 
word.  Indeed  both  might  be  blended  in  the  mind  of  the  writer.  [See  I,  v,  17,  and 
note.] 

96.  gentle]  Warburton:  I  have  reformed  the  text,  *  general  weal'  [see  Text. 
Notes,  I,  vi,  7]  ;  and  it  is  a  very  fine  periphrasis  to  signify :  ere  civil  societies  were 
instituted.  For  the  early  murders  recorded  in  Scripture  are  here  alluded  to ;  and 
Macbeth' s  apologizing  for  murder  from  the  antiquity  of  the  example  is  veiy  natural. 
[Walker  (Crit.  ii,  244)  makes  the  same  conjecture.] — ^Johnson  :  The  peaceable 
community,  the  state  made  quiet  and  safe  by  human  statutes. — Capell  (Holes,  ii, 
18)  :  A  weal  that  wanted  purging  by  laws  is  improperly  distinguished  by  the  epithet 
gentle. — M.  Mason  :  Read  golden,  in  allusion  to  the  Golden  Age,  that  state  of  inno- 
cence which  did  not  require  the  aid  of  human  laws  to  render  it  quiet  and  secure. — 
Clarendon:  'Gentle'  is  here  to  be  taken  proleptically :  'Ere  humane  statute 


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220  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH    [act  in,  sc.  iv. 

I,  and  fince  too,  Murthers  haue  bene  perform^  97 

Too  terrible  for  the  eare.     The  times  has  bene, 

That  when  the  Braines  were  out,  the  man  would  dye. 

And  there  an  end :  But  now  they  rife  againe  100 

With  twenty  mortall  murthers  on  their  crownes. 

And  pufli  vs  from  our  (looles.    This  is  more  ftrange 

Then  fuch  a  murther  is. 

La.     My  worthy  Lord 
Your  Noble  Friends  do  lacke  you.  105 

M(zcb.     I  do  forget: 
Do  not  mufe  at  me  my  moft  worthy  Friends, 
I  haue  a  ftrange  infirmity,  which  is  nothing  108 

97.  hmul  hath  Johns.  Wh.  ii,  conj. 

98.  Hnus  has]  time  has  Wh.  Cam.  102.  Jiooles.  ThW]  stools:  this  F^F^. 
Qa.  Dyoe  ii,  iii.  times  have  Ff,  ct  104.  [Returning  to  her  state]  Coll.  ii. 
cet.  Aside  Ktly. 

loi.  murthers"]  gashes  Huds.  ii,  iii,  lo6.  do  forget]  forgot  Vo^^  Han. 

purged  the  common  weal  and  made  it  gentle.'  Compare,  for  the  same  construction, 
I,  vi,  7,  and  Rich,  //.•  II,  iii,  94.  For  *  weal,'  see  V,  ii,  35.  The  word  was  used 
by  Milton,  as  it  is  used  now,  only  in  the  phrase  '  weal  and  woe.' 

98-100.  The  ...  an  end]  Darmesteter  :  A  vague  allusion  to  Duncan,  who  did 
not  return  as  a  ghost  to  haunt  his  murderer. — Ed.  ii. 

98.  times  has]  Dyce  (ed.  ii.) :  The  reading  of  F,  is  very  objectionable  on  account 
of  the  *have  been '  in  the  preceding  line. — Cowden  Clarke  :  We  think  the  read- 
ing of  F,  is  more  probably  the  original  sentence,  inasmuch  as  Macbeth  is  referring 
to  two  former  periods, — before  human  laws  existed,  and  since  then. — Clarendon  : 
This,  like  all  the  corrections  made  in  F,,  is  merely  a  conjectural  emendation. 

loi.  mortall  murthers]  Walker  {Crit,  i,  302) :  Murders  occurs  four  lines  above, 
and  murder  two  lines  below.  This,  by  the  way,  would  alone  be  sufficient  to  prove 
that  murders  was  corrupt  *  Mortal  murders,'  too,  seems  suspicious;  compare 
*  deadly  murder,'  Nen.  V:  III,  iii,  32.  [See  Rom,  &*  Jul,  III,  v,  233.]— Lett- 
SOM  (ap.  Dyce  ii.) :  Read  *  mortal  gashes,*  He  is  thinking  of  what  he  has  just 
heard  from  the  murderer.  [Bailey  and  Staunton  make  the  same  conjecture.— 
MOBERLY:  Though  Shakespeare  could  not  remember  Damley's  murder  (which 
happened  when  he  was  three  years  old),  yet  the  accession  of  James  seems  to  have 
directed  his  thoughts  that  way,  as  the  murder  and  remarriage  in  Hamlet  may  show. 
And  thus  the  words  'push  us  from  our  stools '  may  here  refer  indirectly  to  Mary's 
dethronement — ^Ed.  ii.] 

107.  muse]  For  other  instances  where  *  muse '  means  in  amau,  see  Schmidt, 
Zex. 

108.  I  haue  a  strange  infirmity]  D'Hugues:  This  completely  refutes  the 
theory  of  those  who  wish  to  make  of  Macbeth  a  man  possessed  or  mad :  it  is  well 
known  that  madmen  are  never  conscious  that  their  visions  are  hallucinations. — 
Ed.  iL 


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ACT  ni,  sc.  iv.]     THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  221 

To  thofe  that  know  me.     Come^loue  and  health  to  all^ 

Then  He  fit  downe  :  Giue  me  fome  Wine,  fill  fiiU :  no 

Enter  Ghojl. 
I  drinke  to  th'generall  ioy  o'thVhole  Table, 
And  to  our  deere  Friend  Banquo^  whom  we  mifTe  : 
Would  he  were  heere  :to  all,  and  him  we  third, 
And  all  to  all.  115 

Lards.  Our  duties,  and  the  pledge. 

-^^.  Auant,  &  quit  my  fight,  let  the  earth  hide  thee: 
Thy  bones  are  marrowleffe,  thy  blood  is  cold  :  118 

109.  Come\  Om.  Pope,  Han.  Cap.  Mai.  Var.    Enter  Banquo's  Ghost. 

III.  Enter  Ghoil]    Ff,  Rowe,  Knt,  Seymour.       Enter     Duncan's     Ghost 

Coll.     After  line  112,  Var.  Mai.  Ran.  Strutt.      Re-enter  Ghost  Var.  '73,  et 

Steev.  Var.  Sing.  Huds.  i,  ii.   After  line  cet. 

115,  Wh.i.  After  line  1 16,  Pope,  et  cet  112.  <^]   Ff,   Jen.    Dyce,   Wh.  Glo. 

Enter...]    As    he    is    drinking  Huds.  ii.     of  Rowe,  et  cet 

the  Ghost  rises  again  just  before  him.  114.  aU^  and'\  all ;  ami  Ft    all  and 

Rowe.    The  Ghost  rises  again.  Pope,  + »  Cam.  Rife,  Huds.  iii. 

115.  all  to  all]  Wa&burton  :  All  good  wishes  to  all ;  such  as  he  had  named 
aboye,  lave,  health  and  joy, — ^JoHNSON  :  I  once  thought  it  should  be  hail  to  all. — 
Clarendon  :  See  Timon,  I,  ii,  234  2  'All  to  you.*  Also  Hen,  VHI:  I,  iv,  38.— 
Staunton  {Alhemntm,  19  October,  1872)  :  I  conceive  we  should  read  *  call  to  all,' 
i.  e.  I  challenge  all  to  drink  the  toast  with  me.  To  which  the  lords  respond.  And 
at  the  same  time  the  ghost  of  Banquo  again  rises,  as  in  obedience  to  the  call.  Per- 
haps in  the  original  arrangements  of  the  feast  upon  the  stage  the  ghost,  on  his 
second  appearance,  bore  a  goblet  in  his  hand.  I  am  not  sure  that  there  b  a  mis- 
print in  this  place,  but  if  '  all  to  all '  is  right,  it  certainly  needs  elucidation. 

117.  Aiiant,  ft  quit  my  sight]  Fitzgerald  (ii,  p.  71):  Garrick,  in  his  behaviour 
to  the  ghost,  was,  on  the  first  nights,  too  subdued  and  faint  when  he  said  [this  line]— 
still  carrying  out  his  idea  of  Macbeth  being  utterly  oppressed  and  overcome  by  the 
sense  of  his  guilt.  But  an  anonymous  critic  pointed  out  to  him  that  Macbeth  was 
not  a  coward ;  and  with  that  good  sense  and  modesty  which  always  distinguished  him, 
he  adopted  the  advice.  It  is  curious  to  think  that  even  twenty  years  later,  another 
anonymous  critic  wrote  to  him,  to  object  to  this  amended  view,  and  said  that  Macbeth 
shoti/d  show  signs  of  terror.  But  Garrick  recollected  his  old  critic's  argument,  and 
reproduced  it  in  answer  to  his  new  one.  *  My  notion,  he  says,  *  as  well  as  execution, 
of  the  line  are,  I  fear,  opposite  to  your  opinion.  Should  Macbeth  sink  into  pusil- 
lanimity, I  imagine  that  it  would  hurt  the  character,  and  be  contrary  to  the  opinions 
of  Shakespeare.  The  first  appearance  of  the  spirit  overcomes  him  more  than  the 
second ;  but  even  before  it  vanishes  at  first,  Macbeth  gains  strength — "  If  thou  canst 
nod,  speak  too,"  must  be  spoke  with  horror,  but  with  a  recovering  mind;  and 
in  the  next  speech  with  him  he  cannot  pronounce  "Avaunt  and  quit  my  sight!" 
without  a  stronger  exertion  of  his  powers.  I  certainly,  as  you  say,  recollect  a  degree 
of  resolution,  but  I  never  advance  an  inch  ;  for,  notwithstanding  my  agitation,  my 
feet  are  immovable.' — Ed.  iL 


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222  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH    [act  hi,  sc.  iv. 

Thou  haft  no  fpeculation  in  thbfe  eyes 

Which  thou  doft  glare  with.  120 

La.    Thinke  of  this  good  Peeres 
But  as  a  thing  of  Cuftome  :  'Tis  no  other, 
Onely  it  fpoyles  the  pleafure  of  the  time. 

Macb.    What  man  dare,  I  dare  : 
Approach  thou  like  the  rugged  Ruffian  Beare,  125 

The  armM  Rhinoceros,  or  th^Hircan  Tiger, 
Take  any  (hape  but  that,  and  my  firme  Nerues 
Shall  neuer  tremble.     Or  be  aliue  againe. 
And  dare  me  to  the  Defart  with  thy  Sword :  129 

I1&-120.  Mnemonic,  Warb.  Cap.     the  Hyrcan  Var.  '73,  et  cet. 

126.  M'  Hircan\    th'  Hyrcan    FjF^,  127-132.  Mnemonic,  Warb. 

Rowe.     Hyrcanian  Pope,  Theob.  Han.  128.  Or  be\  O  be  Rowe  ii.    Be  Pqje, 

Warb.     Hyrcan  Johns,     the  Hircanian  Han. 

119.  speculation]  Steevens:  So  in  Psalm  czy,  5:  ' — eyes  have  they,  but 
they  see  not.' — Singer  :  Bullokar,  Expositor^  1616 :  <  Speculation^  the  inward  knowl- 
edge, or  beholding  of  a  thing.* — Clarendon  :  Johnson,  quoting  this  passage,  explains 
*■  speculation '  by  the  power  of  sight :  but  it  means  more  than  this, — the  intelligence 
of  which  the  eye  is  the  medium,  and  which  is  perceived  in  the  eye  of  a  living  man. 
So  the  eye  is  called  '  that  most  pure  spirit  of  sense/  in  Tro,  &*  Cress,  III,  iii,  106 ; 
and  we  have  the  haste  that  looks  through  the  eyes,  I,  ii,  56,  of  this  play,  and  a  sim- 
ilar thought,  in,  i,  154. 

123.  Onely]  For  the  transposition  of  adverbs,  see  Abbott  (§  420). 

z  24-132.  What  man  dare  . . .  mock'ry  hence]  Bell  (p.  311)  :  Kemble  chid 
and  scolded  the  ghost  out!  and  rose  in  vehemence  and  courage  as  he  went  on. 
Macready  began  in  the  vehemence  of  despair,  but  overcome  by  terror  as  he  contin- 
ued to  gaze  on  the  apparition,  dropped  his  voice  lower  and  lower  till  he  became 
tremulous  and  inarticulate,  and  at  last  uttering  a  subdued  cry  of  mortal  agony  and 
horror,  he  suddenly  cast  his  mantle  over  his  face  and  sank  back  almost  lifeless  on 
his  seat. — Ed.  ii. 

126.  Hircan]  Malone  :  So  Daniel,  Sonnets,  1594 :  *  —  restore  thy  fierce  and 
cruel  mind  To  Hyrcan  tygers,  and  to  ruthless  beares.' — Reed  :  In  Riche's  Second 
Part  of  Simonidesy  1584,  we  have  *  Contrariewise  these  souldiers,  like  to  Hircan 
tygers,  revenge  themselves  on  their  own  bowelles.' — Clarendon  :  The  name  *  Hyr- 
cania  *  was  given  to  a  country  of  undefined  limits  south  of  the  Caspian,  which  was 
also  called  the  Hyrcanian  Sea.  The  English  poets  probably  derived  their  ideas  of 
Hyrcania  and  the  tigers  from  Pliny,  Natural  History ,  Bk,  viii,  c.  18,  but  through 
some  other  medium  than  Holland's  translation,  which  was  not  published  till  1601. 
It  is  perhaps  worth  notice  that  the  rhinoceros  is  mentioned  in  Holland's  Ptiny  on  the 
page  opposite  to  that  on  which  he  speaks  of  <  tigers  bred  in  Hircania.' 

129.  Desart]  Malone:  We  have  nearly  the  same  thought  in  Rich.  II:  IV,  i,  73. 
— Forsyth  (p.  82) :  Another  example  of  similarity  is  somewhat  curious  as  involv- 
ing a  singular  kind  of  defiance  which  it  was  probably  customary,  in  Shakespeare's 
days,  to  use.    Imogen  says  of  Cloten  [Cymb,  I,  i,  167],  when  she  heard  he  had 


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ACT  III,  sc.  iv.]     THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  223 

If  trembling  I  inhabit  then,  proteft  mee  130 

130.  trembling  I  inhabif^  bUnching  conj.     /  inhibii  thee^  Steey.  conj.  Mai. 

/  evade  it  Bailey  (i,  78).  Var.  Ran.  Dyce  ii,  iii.     tremblingly  in- 

I  inhabit  then'\  I  inhabit^  then  habiU  then  Becket.    /  inhMt  there  Dd. 

Ff,  Jolms-  Var.  '73,  '78,  '85,  Coll.     /  conj.     /  inhibU^  then  Allen  MS.     / 

inhibit^  then  Pope,  Theob.  Han.  Warb.  unknight  me  then  Bulloch. 
Hal.     /  inhibit  then^  Cap.  Elwin.     /  130.  proteftl  proua  F^. 

inherit  then  Jen.     I  in  habit  then.  Id. 

drawn  his  sword  on  her  banished  Posthomns :  '  I  would  they  were  in  Afrie  both 
together.'  Volumnia  [Coriol.  IV,  ii,  24]  expresses  a  similar  wish  to  Sicinius  regard- 
ing Coriolanus :  '  I  would  my  son  Were  in  Arabia  and  thy  tribe  before  him.'  etc. 

130.  inhabit]  Theobald  {Sh.  Restored,  p.  186) :  Inhibit  is  always  neuter;  if 
therefore  it  be  the  word  here  (which  I  am  not  absolutely  satisfied  about)  we  must 
correct  thus :  <  If  trembling  me  inhibit,'  etc. — i.  e,  if  the  influence  of  fear  prevent  me 
from  following  thee,  etc. — ^Warburton  :  Inhibit  for  refuse. — ^Johnson  :  Suppose  we 
read,  eviuie  it, — Robinson  {Gent.  Maga.  vol.  lix,  p.  1201,  1789) :  Perhaps  it  should 
be  exhibit,  and  the  participle  considered  as  a  substantive.  [This  anticipates  Collier's 
MS.] — Steevkns  :  Shakespeare  uses  inhibit  frequently  in  the  sense  here  required. 
See  Oth,  I,  vii,  79 ;  Hamlet,  II,  u,  346.  To  inhibit  is  to  forbid,— ViKuy^iB. :  I  have 
not  the  least  doubt  that  *  inhibit  thee '  is  the  true  reading.  In  AWs  Well,  I,  i,  157, 
we  find  in  F,FjF^  *  the  most  inhabited  sin  of  the  canon '  instead  of  *  inhibited.'  The 
same  error  is  found  in  Stowe's  London,  1618  :  <In  the  year  1506, .  .  .  the  said  stew- 
houses  in  Southwarke  were  for  a  season  inhabited,  and  the  doores  closed  up,  but  it 
was  not  long  . .  .  ere  the  houses  there  were  set  open  again.'  Steevens's  correction 
[thee  for  *  then ']  is  strongly  supported  by  the  punctuation  of  the  old  copy. — Hen- 
ley :  <  Inhabit '  needs  no  alteration.  The  obvious  meaning  is,  <  Should  you  chal- 
lenge me  to  encounter  you  in  the  desert,  and  I,  through  fear,  remain  trembling  in 
my  castle,  then  protest  me,'  etc.  Shakespeare  here  uses  the  verb  *■  inhabit '  in  a 
neutral  sense,  to  express  continuance  in  a  given  situation.  So  also  Milton  :  *  Mean- 
while inhabit  lax,  ye  powers  of  heaven  !'  [Paradise  Lost,  Bk,  vii,  1.  162]. — Steev- 
ENS  :  To  <  inhabit '  may  undoubtedly  have  a  meaning  like  that  suggested  by  Henley. 
As  in  As  You  Like  It,  III,  iii,  10.  It  is  not,  therefore,  impossible  that  by  '  inhabit ' 
Shakespeare  capriciously  meant  'stay  within  doors.' — '  If,  when  you  have  challenged 
me  to  the  desert,  I  skulk  in  my  house,'  etc. — DoucB:  Until  we  are  furnished 
with  examples  of  the  neutral  use  of  '  inhabit '  it  may  be  boldly  said,  and  without 
difficulty  maintained,  that  inhibit,  in  point  of  meaning,  was  Shakespeare's  word. 
Nor  is  it  a  paradox  to  affirm  that  inhabit  is  also  right,  because  this  may  be  a 
case  where  the  same  word  has  been  spelled  in  different  ways. — Nares  :  « Inhabit ' 
is  evident  nonsense.  Pope's  emendation  appears  indubitable.— Coluer  (ed.  i.) : 
Supposing  the  arguments  equally  balanced,  we  should  prefer  the  reading  of  the  Ff. 
Macbeth  means  to  say  that  he  will  not  refuse  to  meet  the  Ghost  in  the  desert — 
Dyce  {Remarks,  etc.,  p.  199)  :  For  my  own  part,  though  I  think  Nares  was  rather 
bold,  I  must  yet  entertain  strong  doubts  whether  '  inhabit '  can  be  right ;  and  the 
more  so,  because  Malone  had  adduced  two  passages  where  *  inhabited*  is  unques- 
tionably an  error  of  the  press  for  *  inhibited.' — Hunter  :  If  the  comma  is  put  after 
'inhabit,'  as  in  the  Ff,  and  not  after  'then,'  there  seems  to  t>e  little  difficulty  in 
admitting  that  we  have  a  just  and  proper  reading :  <  If  I  remain  at  home,'  or,  possi- 
bly, *  If  I  remain  inactive.'     Capell  says  that  in  Hamlet,  III,  ii,  346,  '  Inhibition ' 


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224  ^^^  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH     [act  hi,  sc.  iv. 

The  Baby  of  a  Girle.     Hence  horrible  (hadow,  131 

Vnreall  mock'ry  hence*     Why  fo,  being  gone 

131.  horribie]  terribU  Theob.  ii,  is  supposed  to  vanish.  Booth.  After 
Warb.  Johns.  moct^ty  heme.  Sing,  ii,  Dyce,  Sta.  After 

132.  g(me'\   gone,    [Ghost  Tanishes.        line  131.  Ff,  et  cet. 

Rowe,+.    Ghost  disappears.  Mai.    Re-  1^.  being  g&ne"]  be  gone  Y^^^Voi^, 

covers  himself  again.  Huds.  ii.    Spectre        Han. 

is  put  for  *  not  acting,  ceasing  to  exhibit.'  So  if  *  inhibit '  be  preferred,  the  text  in 
other  respects  might  be  justified. — Elwin  :  Macbeth  sets  whai  he  would  say^  under 
other  circumstances,  in  opposition  to  what  he  has  said,  under  those  in  which  he 
stands.  He  has  fearingly  forbidden  the  Ghost  of  Banquo  his  presence  (*Avaunt ! 
and  quit  my  sight !' )  ;  but,  he  adds,  take  any  form  but  that,  and  if  trembling  I 
inhibit  or  forbid  then,  protest  me,  etc. — White  :  If  I  then  am  encompassed  by 
trembling,  and  so,  if  I  inhabit  trembling — a  use  of  '  inhabit '  highly  figurative  and  ex- 
ceedingly rare,  but  which  is  neither  illogical  nor  without  example.  '  But  thou  art  holy, 
O  thou  that  inhabitest  the  praises  of  Israel. ' — Psa/m  xxii,  3. — Deuus  :  Those  editors 
who  adopt  inhibit  thee  lose  sight  of  the  fact  that  inhibit,  in  the  sense  of  forbidding  by 
virtue  of  superior  authority,  does  not  accord  with  <  trembling.* — Haluwell  :  I  sus- 
pect that  there  were  two  words  in  the  original,  the  second  being  it,  and  the  inhab  some 
unaccountable  corruption,  perhaps  for  evade.  *  If  trembling  I  evade  it,'  that  is,  the 
meeting,  a  kind  of  loose  construction  very  common  in  Shakespeare. — Keigutley 
{Expositor,  etc.,  p.  334)  ;  I  read  eidtate  it.  'Since  therein  she  doth  evitate  and  shun.' 
— Merry  Wives,  V,  v,  241 .  The  printer  might  easily  make  inhab  olevitaie  badly  written. 
We  might  also  read  etnsde  or  avoid  it.  — Clarendon  :  A  conjecture,  first  published 
in  the  Cambridge  Shakespeare,  is,  'If  trembling  I  inherit,'  etc.,  where  'trembling' 
must  be  taken  as  the  accusative  governed  by  '  inherit.'  But  this  seems  a  strange 
expression,  notwithstanding  that  Shakespeare  uses  '  inherit,'  as  well  as  *  heir,'  in  a 
more  general  sense  than  it  is  used  now-a-days. .  .  .  We  can  find  no  other  example  of 
'inhabit*  used  according  to  Home  Tooke's  interpretation. . .  .  Retaining  'inhabit,' 
a  more  satisfactory  sense  would  be  made  by  substituting  here  for  *  then,'  an  easy 
change. — D.  C.  T.  (A''.  ^  Qu.  17  August,  1872)  :  I  suggest  flinch  at  it.  If  the 
letters  /,  /,  c,  were  in  any  way  illegible,  a  careless  printer,  by  substituting  b  for 
/  in  at,  would  most  easily  arrive  at  a  word  with  which  he  might  make  shift. 

131.  Baby]  Walker  {Crit,  iii,  256) :  That  is,  a  little girPs  doll;  call  me  a  mere 
puppet,  a  thing  of  wood.  For  baby,  in  the  sense  of  doll,  see  Johnson's  Bartholomew 
Fair  passim.  Sidney,  Arcadia,  Bk,  iii,  p.  267,  1.  2 :  '  —  and  that  we  see,  young 
babes  think  babies  of  wondrous  excellency,  and  yet  the  babies  are  but  babies.'  As- 
trophel  and  Stella,  Fifth  Song,  p.  552,  '  Sweet  babes  must  babies  have,  but  shrewd 
girls  must  be  beaten.'  {Babe  was  used  only  in  the  sense  of  infant ;  baby  might 
mean  either  infant  or  doU^  ...  I  have  noticed  it  as  late  as  Farquhar,  or  some  other 
comic  writer  of  that  age. — R.  G.  White  :  Girls  still  retain  this  use  of  the  word  in 
'baby-house.'  They  rarely  or  never  say,  <  doll -house,'  or  'doll's  house.' — Dyce 
{Ghss^  :  A  doll. — Clarendon  :  The  infant  of  a  very  young  mother  would  be  likely 
to  be  puny  and  weak.  Shakespeare  does  not  elsewhere  use  '  baby '  in  the  sense 
attached  to  it  by  Walker,  The  passage  firom  Hamlet,  I,  iii,  101-105,  tends  to  con- 
firm the  former  interpretation.  When  Walker  laid  down  the  limitation  [that  bcdte 
was  used  only  in  the  sense  of  infanf^,  he  forgot  the  passage  in  King  John,  III,  iv, 
58.     Florio  {Ital.  Diet  J)  has  'Pupa,  a  baby  or  puppet  like  a  girle.' 


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ACT  III,  sc.  iv.]     THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  225 

I  am  a  man  againe  :  pray  you  fit  ftill.  133 

La.     You  haue  difplac'd  the  mirth, 
Broke  the  good  meeting,  with  moft  admir'd  diforder.  135 

Macb.     Can  fuch  things  be, 
And  ouercome  vs  like  a  Summers  Clowd, 
Without  our  fpeciall  wonder?     You  make  me  ftrange 
Euen  to  the  difpofition  that  I  owe,  139 

133.  pray\  'Pray  Huds.  Sing,  ii,  135,  136.  diforder,  Macb.  Can^dU- 
Ktly.                                                                 order  Can't  Warb.  conj. 

>?i//.]    stUl    [The   Lords  rise.  139.  to'\  at  Han. 

Rowe,  +  .  oTve]  knew  Johns,  conj.  (Obs. 

134.  135.  You„.meeting'\  One  line,        withdrawn). 
Rowe  et  seq. 

131,  132.  Hence  .  •  •  mock'iy  hence]  Rbes  (p.  266) :  We  called  Edwin  For- 
rest's attention  to  his  reading  of  this  passage  as  a  direct  deviation  from  the  text 
Thns :  '  Hence  !  horrible  I  shadow  !    Unreal  1  mockery !  hence !' — Ed.  ii. 

132.  mock'ry]  Schmidt  gives  other  passages  wherein  'mockery'  is  used  in  the 
sense  of  mimickry^  counterfeit  presentment.  He  interprets  it  in  Tro,  &*  Cress.  Ill, 
iu>  I53»  ^  meaning  sulyect  of  laughter  and  derision, — Ed.  iL 

132.  so  being  gone]  Anon.  (Morning  Herald^  10  June,  1819 ;  Macready,  p. 
155,  foot-note) :  Instead  of  intimidating  the  Ghost  into  a  retreat,  [Macready]  fell 
back,  sank  into  a  chair,  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  then  looked  again,  per- 
ceived the  Ghost  had  disappeared,  and  upon  being  relieved  from  the  fearful  vision 
recovered  once  more  the  spring  of  his  soul  and  body. — Ed.  ii. 

133.  sit  still]  JsNNENS :  Qu.  whether  it  would  not  be  most  proper  for  the  Lords 
to  rise  immediately  upon  Macbeth' s  breaking  out :  'Avaunt,  and  quit  my  sight,'  etc., 
and  that  upon  perceiving  them  standing,  after  he  had  recovered  from  his  fright,  it  is 
that  he  says, '  Pray  you  sit  still.' 

135.  admir'd]  Clarendon:  As  < admired'  is  found  here  in  the  sense  of  worthy 
of  wonder ^  so  we  have  *  despised*  for  *  despicable,'  Rich,  II :  II,  iii,  95  ;  'detested* 
for  <  detestable,*  Ibid.  II,  iii,  109 ;  *  unavoided '  for  '  unavoidable,'  Ibid,  II,  i,  268 ; 
*  unvalued '  for  *  invaluable,'  Rich,  III:  I,  iv,  27.  ^^ 

136.  Can]  Warburton  :  'Overcome'  is  used  for  deceived, — ^Johnson  :  Can  such* 
wonders  as  these  pass  over  as  without  wonder,  as  a  casual  summer  cloud  passes 
over  us? — Farmer  :  'Overcome'  in  this  sense  is  to  be  found  in  Spenser's  Faerie 
Queene,  Bk,  iii,  c.  vii,  v.  4 :  '  —  A  little  valley — All  cover* d  with  thicke  woodes 
that  quite  it  overcame.' 

138.  strange]  Heath  (p.  399) :  You  make  even  my  own  disposition,  which  I 
am  so  well  acquainted  with,  a  matter  of  wonder  and  astonishment  to  me,  when  I  see 
that  those  horrid  sights,  which  so  much  afinght  me,  make  not  the  least  impression 
on  yon. — Steevens  :  You  prove  to  me  how  false  an  opinion  I  have  hitherto  main- 
tained of  my  own  courage,  when  yours,  on  the  trial,  is  found  to  exceed  it. — Reed  :  I 
believe  it  only  means :  You  make  me  amazed. — Clarendon  :  Macbeth  is  not  address- 
ing his  wife  alone,  but  the  whole  company. 

139.  disposition]  Clarendon  :  This  word  is  used  by  Shakespeare  not  only  in 
its  modem  sense  of  settled  character,  ^Bo^t  but  also  in  the  sense  of  temporary  mood^ 

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226  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH    [act  ill.  sc.  iv. 

When  now  I  thinke  you  can  behold  fuch  fights,  140 

And  keepe  the  naturall  Rubie  of  your  Cheekes, 
When  mine  is  blanchM  with  feare. 

Rojfe.    What  fights,  my  Lord  ? 

La^    I  pray  you  fpeake  not :  he  growes  worfe  &  worfe 
Queftion  enrages  him  :  at  once,  goodnight.  145 

Stand  not  vpon  the  order  of  your  going. 
But  go  at  once. 

Len.    Good  night,  and  better  health 
Attend  his  Maiefty.  149 

140.  When  now]  New  when  Han.  143.  tr]  Fr,  +  ,  Cap.  Jen.  Wh.  i,  DeL 

now   I  thinke\    I  think   how  Cam.    are  Mai.  et  cet. 

Bailey.  143.  fights^  fignes  Ff  {figm  FJ. 

Z41.  C>i^/M]  ^ii^^>&  Han.  Johns.  Cap.  Lordf^  Lard  F   [Macbeth  sinks 

Wh.  i.  at  the  foot  of  the  throne.  Booth. 

and  in  this  latter  sense  we  think  it  is  used  here.    Compare  Lear^  I,  !▼,  241 ;  ffamiet^ 
I,  ▼.  172- 

139.  owe]  Wkdgwood  :  A  Yorkshireman  says,  Who  owes  this  ?  who  is  the  pos- 
sessor of  this,  to  whom  does  it  belong  ?  [For  <  owe '  in  sense  of  to  possess^  to  have^ 
see  Shakespeare  passim,'\ 

142.  mine  is]  Jennkns  :  It  is  the  *  ruby '  of  the  <  cheeks/  and  not  the  cheek,  that 
'  is  blanch' d.* — Malonb  :  The  alteration  now  made  [are  for  <  is '  of  the  Ff  ]  is  only 
that  which  every  editor  has  been  obliged  to  make  in  every  page  of  these  plays. 
Perhaps  it  may  be  said  that  <  mine '  refers  to  *  ruby,'  and  that  therefore  no  change  is 
necessary.  But  this  seems  very  harsh. — R.  G.  White:  We  should  read  cheek 
here,  because  Shakespeare  when  he  makes  the  cheek  a  sign,  or  exponent,  or  type, 
uses  the  word  in  the  singular  number.  The  s  was  added  in  this  instance  by  the 
carelessness  in  that  respect  so  often  elsewhere  noted.  [See  note  by  Walker,  III, 
i,  81.] — Dyce  (ed.  ii.):  Assuredly  <mine'  does  not  refer  to  <niby.'  The  plural 
*  cheeks '  is  obviously  right ;  for  Macbeth  is  speaking,  not  of  the  face  of  an  indi- 
jidnal,  but  of  the  faces  of  the  guests  in  general. 

I  I43.  What  sights]  Libby  :  Ross  believes  Macbeth  to  have  recovered  his  reason 
when  he  says,  <  I  am  a  man  again,*  and  as  a  shrewd  colleague  he  gives  Macbeth  an 
opportunity  of  explaining  his  strange  conduct  by  saying  with  great  contempt  and 
seeming  incredulity,  '  What  sights,  my  Lord  ?*  It  is  not  unlikely  that  if  Lady  Mac- 
beth had  not  interfered  Macbeth  might  have  taken  Ross's  bold  hint  and  placed  his 
L conduct  in  a  better  light,  but  Lady  Macbeth  did  not  know  that  Ross  was  a  friend. — 
Ed.  ii. 

144.  I  pray  . . .  not]  Bell  (p.  311)  :  [Mrs.  Siddons  here]  descends  from  throne 
in  great  eagerness;  voice  almost  choked  with  anxiety  to  prevent  their  questioning; 
alarm,  hurry,  rapid  and  convulsive,  as  if  afraid  he  should  tell  of  the  murder  of  Dun- 
can.— Ed.  ii. 

146.  Stand  not]  Verity  :  Note  that  Macbeth  does  not  speak  a  word  of  farewell 
to  his  guests :  there  seem,  at  the  moment,  to  be  but  two  realities— the  Ghost  and  the 
Wife  who  had  goaded  him  into  crime. — ^Ed.  ii. 


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ACT  III.  sc.  iv.]     THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  22/ 

La.    A  Idnde  goodnight  to  all.  Exit  Lords.         150 

Mac6.     It  mil  haue  blood  they  fay : 
Blood  will  haue  Blood  : 
Stones  haue  beene  knowne  to  moue,&  Trees  to  fpeake :         153 

iSa  JHnde]  Om,  Pope,  +  .  151.  6lood  tkty  fay:^    Yl^   Rowe. 

Exit  Lords.]   Ezeant...   Ff,  +  .  bloody  they  say  Yo^^lAajL.     bloody  they 

Ezeant  Ross,  Lennox,  Lords  and  Attend-  say;  Theob.  Warb.  Cap.  Var.  '78,  Mai. 

ants.  Cap.  Om.  Var.  '85.     Exeunt  all  Coll.   Sta.  Wh.  i,  Del.      blood.— They 

except  Macbeth    and    Lady  Macbeth.  say^  Johns.  Var.  '73.     blood;  they  say^ 

T>jcit.  Whallej  (ap.  Mai.),  et  cet. 

151,  153.  //...^i^MK/]  One  line,  Rowe  153,  154.  fpeahe:    Augures'\    speak 

et  seq.  Augnres  Sing,  i,  conj.  (withdrawn). 

150.  Exit  Lords]  Booth  (p.  56) :  After  dismissing  the  guests.  Lady  Macbeth 
tnms  sternly  and  fiercely  to  Mabbeth,  bat,  seeing  him  so  utteily  crushed,  she  relents, 
and  comes,  lovingly  and  yezy  quietly,  towards  him. — Anon.  {Sunday  Tlumes,  Lon- 
don, 30  Dec.  1888) :  Macbeth  [Irving]  throws  himself  down  on  a  seat  quite  over- 
come, at  one  side  of  the  hall,  while  the  queen  [Ellen  Terry]  drops  into  the  throne 
at  the  other.  There  is  a  temporary  silence,  and  then  they  sit  together  side  by  side, 
she  trying  to  comfort  him.  The  feminine  side  of  her  nature  comes  out  too  strongly, 
her  nerves  have  given  way,  and  the  two  guilty,  weary  creatures  break  down  together. 
—Ed.  iL 

151.  they  say]  Johnson  {Obs.  etc.) :  Macbeth  justly  infers  that  the  death  of 
Duncan  cannot  pass  unpunished,  '  It  will  have  blood !'  then,  after  a  short  pause, 
declares  it  as  the  general  observation  of  mankind,  that  murderers  cannot  escape. — 
Capell  {NoteSf  19  a)  :  How  is  this  line  injured  in  the  solemnity  of  its  movement 
by  the  second  and  fourth  modems  [t.  e.  Pope  and  Hanmer ;  Capell  uniformly  desig- 
nated his  six  predecessors  as  ' modems'  and  numbered  them  chronologically],  who 
have  no  stop  at  *  say  !'  the  proverb's  naked  repeating  coming  after  words  that  insin- 
uate it,  has  great  effect— [E.  K.  Chambers  :  Macbeth' s  vague  dread  resolves  itself 
into  a  definite  fear  of  discovery,  through  some  unnoticed  and  unlikely  means.  And 
his  suspicions,  so  awaked,  fix  themselves  on  Macduff.  Already  the  Second  Crime  is 
leading  to  the  Third,  as  it  was  itself  lead  to  by  the  I^lrst — Ed.  ii.] 

153.  Stones]  Clarendon  :  Probably  Shakespeare  here  alludes  to  some  story  in 
which  the  stones  covering  the  corpse  of  a  murdered  man  were  said  to  have  moved 
of  themselves  and  so  revealed  the  secret— Paton  {J\^.  and  Qu,  6  Nov.  1869)  :  Such 
a  superstition  as  that  referred  to  in  the  Clarendon  edition  would  only  reveal  the  mur- 
dered man,  not  the  secret  murderer.  May  not  the  allusion  be  to  the  rocking  stones, 
or  '  stones  of  judgment,'  by  which  it  was  thought  the  Druids  tested  the  guilt  or 
innocence  of  accused  persons?  At  a  slight  touch  of  the  innocent,  such  a  stone 
moved,  but  *  the  secret  man  of  blood  '  found  that  his  best  strength  could  not  stir  it. 
If  Shakespeare  visited  Macbeth' s  country  to  naturalise  his  materials  (as  I  believe  he 
did),  he  could  not  avoid  having  his  attention  drawn  to  several  of  these  'dacha 
breath.'  One  was  dose  to  Glands  casde.— [Bt^iTNER  (p.  42)  diffidently  asks  if  this 
may  not  refer  to  the  stone  image  of  the  Commendatore  in  Don  Giovanni,  which  on 
being  interrogated  carries  his  questioner  off  to  the  infernal  regions. — ^Ed.  ii.] 

153.  Trees]  Steevsns  :  Alluding  perhaps  to  the  tree  whidi  revealed  the  murder 
of  Pblydonis,  Virgil,  jEneid^  iii,  2»-68.— [It  is  more  than  likely  that  Steevens  dted 


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228  THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH    [act  in,  sc.  iv. 

Augures,  and  vnderilood  Relations,  haue 

By  Maggot  Pyes,&  Choughes,&  Rookes  brought  forth         155 

154.  Augures\  Yi^  Rowe,  Pope,  Sing.  Warb.  Johns,     and  indistinct  Coll.  Hi, 

Cam.  Qa.     Auguries  Steey.  conj.  Ran.  oonj. 
Augurs  Theob.  Fumess,  et  cet,  155.  Maggot  Pyes,  &*]  mag-pUsyond 

and  vnderftood\  that  understood  by  Pope,  + ,  Cap. 
Rowe,+,  Cap.  Jen.     thai  understand  Chcughes']  cougAs  Vfad}.  Johns. 

this  from  memory ;  had  he  looked  more  closely  it  would  have  been  apparent  that  it 
was  not  the  tree  which  revealed  the  murder,  but  the  ghostly  voice  of  Polydonis 
himself,  '  gemitus  lacrimabilis  imo  Auditur  tumulo,  et  vox  teddita  feitur  ad  aures.* — 
III,  39,  40.  In  Soot's  Discoverie  of  Witchcrafts  Bk,  8,  ch.  vi,  p.  165,  ed.  15S4, 
there  is  the  following :  '  This  practise  [by  coosening  oraclers]  began  in  the  okes 
of  Dodona,  in  the  which  was  a  wood,  the  trees  thereof  (they  saie)  could  speake.' 
Again  in  Bk,  11,  ch.  zviii,  p.  208:  'Divine  auguries  were  such,  as  men  were 
made  bdeeve  were  done  miraculouslie,  as  when  dogs  spake ...  or  when  trees  spake, 
as  before  the  death  of  Qtsar,*  There  are  indications  that  Shakespeare  had  read 
the  Discoveries  and  Malone  conjectured  that,  at  the  time  of  the  writing  of  Macbeth^ 
Shakespeare  was  also  meditating  and  reading  on  the  subject  oi  Julius  Casar,  Is  it 
not  likely,  therefore,  that  Soot  and  not  Virgil  suggested  the  speaking  trees?  Soot 
may  have  been  indebted  to  Virgil  for  his  statement  in  r^ard  to  the  trees  at  the  death 
of  Caesar.  In  the  Georgics^  i,  476,  speaking  of  the  portents  before  that  event,  Virgil 
says :  '  Vox  quoque  per  lucos  vulgd  exaudita  silentes  Ingens.' — Ed.  ii.] 

154.  Augures]  Stekvsns  :  Perhaps  we  should  read  auguries;  i.  e.  prognostica- 
tions by  means  of  omens. — Clarendon  :  In  Florio,  161 1,  '  augure'  is  given  as  the 
equivalent  both  for  augurio,  soothsaying,  and  auguro,  a  soothsayer.  In  the  edition 
of  1598  '  augure '  b  only  given  as  the  translation  of  augurio^  and  it  is  in  this  sense 
that  it  is  used  here.  The  word  occurs  nowhere  else  in  Shakespeare.  For  <  augur,* 
in  our  modem  sense,  he  uses  'augurer.'  We  find  'augure'  used  in  the  sense  of 
'  augur,'  or  *  augurer,'  in  Holland's  /Vmy,  Bk,  viii,  c.  28,  which  was  published  in 
j6oi. 

154.  Relations]  Johnson  :  By  this  word  is  understood  the  connection  of  effects 
with  causes ;  to  understand  relations  as  an  augur  is  to  know  how  those  things  relate 
to  each  other  which  have  no  visible  combination  or  dependence. — Heath  :  By 
relations  it  is  not  improbable  that  Shakespeare  might  understand  those  hidden  ties 
by  which  every  part  of  nature  is  linked  and  connected  with  every  other  part  of  it,  in 
virtue  whereof  the  whole  of  created  nature,  past,  present,  and  to  come,  is  truly  and 
properly  one.  If  this  be  his  meaning,  as  I  believe  it  is,  his  own  natural  good  under- 
standing had  opened  to  him  a  vein  of  philosophy  which  has  since  done  so  much 
honour  to  the  name  of  Mr  Leibnitz. — [Hudson  (ed.  iii.)  :  A  passage  very  obscure 
to  general  readers,  but  probably  intelligible  enough  to  those  experienced  in  the 
course  of  criminal  trials ;  where  two  or  three  litde  facts  or  items  of  testimony  may 
be  of  no  significance  taken  singly  or  by  themselves ;  yet,  when  they  are  put  tc^ether 
and  their  relations  understood^  they  may  be  enough  to  convict  or  acquit  the  accused. 
—Ed.  ii.] 

155.  Maggot  Pyes]  Skeat  (Concise  Diet.)  :  Also  called  maggoty-pie.  Mag  is 
short  for  Magot,  French  Margot,  a  Jhmiliar  form  of  Marguerite,  also  used  to  denote  a 
magpie.  This  is  firom  Latin  Margarita,  Greek  fjuipyapiriKf  ft  pearl.  Pie  is  equivalent 
to  French  pie,  from  Latin  pica,  a  magpie. — Ed.  ii. 


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ACT  III,  sc  ivj     THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  229 

The  fecret'ft  man  of  Blood.    What  is  the  night?  156 

La.    Almoft  at  oddes  with  morning,  which  is  which. 
Macb.  How  {k/^  thou  that  Macduff  denies  his  perfon 

At  our  great  bidding. 

La\    Did  you  fend  to  him  Sir  ?  160 

i6a  5t>/]  Om.  Coll.  ii,  conj. 

155.  Choughes]  Mur&ay  {N.  E,  Z>.)  :  A  bird  of  the  crow  family ;  fonnerly 
applied  somewhat  widely  to  all  the  smaller  chattering  species,  bat  especially  to  the 
common  jackdaw.  [For  discussion  on  '  msset-pated  chough/  see  Mid,  N,  /^.^  p. 
133,  this  edition. — Ed.  ii.] 

156.  The  . .  .  Blood]  Booth  (p.  56) :  Lady  Macbeth  places  her  hand  gently 
on  his  shoulder.  At  this  he  starts,  and,  seeing  her,  changes  in  mood  as  he  asks  the 
question. — Ed.  ii. 

156.  secret'st]  Steevens  :  Such  a  story  may  be  found  in  Thomas  Lupton's 
Thousand  Notable  TMngs^  etc.,  no  date,  p.  100,  and  Goulart's  AdmirakU  Histories^ 
\(xfiy  p.  425. — [In  Lupton's  Volume,  4th  Book,  aph.  72  (ed.  1627),  there  is  related 
the  following  anecdote,  which,  although  its  application  to  the  present  passage  is 
not  exact,  it  is  probably  the  parallel  Steevens  had  in  mind :  <  A  certaine  wicked 
fellow  that  killed  his  father,  did  sit  in  company  with  his  companions,  eating  and 
drinking,  oner  whose  head  there  was  a  Swallowes  nest,  with  3rong  Swallows  in  the 
same,  at  which  time  the  said  Swallows  made  a  great  noyse,  and  chattering,  when 
suddenly  the  said  wicked  fellowe  got  a  long  powle,  and  burst  the  Swallows  nest : 
whereby  the  Swallows  fell  downe  and  he  trode  on  them  and  crushed  them  in  peeces. 
Being  asked  of  one  of  them,  why  he  did  so  :  I  haue  good  cause  so  to  doe,  sayd  hee : 
for  did  you  not  heare,  said  hee,  how  they  told  that  I  killed  my  father.  Whereupon 
he  was  suspected,  examined,  and  so  confessed,  and  therefore  executed.  Plutarchus.' 
The  same  anecdote  is  related  by  Montaigne,  Bk,  ii,  chap.  ▼.  *Of  CtmscunceJ* — 
Ed.  ii.] 

156.  What]  For  examples  where  '  what'  is  used  for  in  what  state — i.  e.  how  far 
advanced-— xt  Abbott,  §  253. 

157.  at  oddes]  Deuus  :  Night  presses  so  closely  upon  morning  that  they  con- 
tend with  each  other  which  is  which. — [Bell  (p.  31 1 ) :  [Mrs  Siddons  here  appeared] 
very  sorrowful.  Quite  exhausted. — Corson  (p.  248)  :  Here  is  the  point  where  she 
entirely  breaks.  She  has  made  one  additional  effort  to  sustain  her  husband,  and 
can  do  no  more.  Charlotte  Cushman,  in  her  impersonation  of  Lady  Macbeth,  ren- 
dered this  line  with  great  effect  Right  upon  Macbeth' s  question,  *  What  is  the 
night  V  she  dropped  passively  into  a  chair,  and  uttered  the  words  with  an  intonation 
of  entire  hopelessness,  which  told  the  whole  story. — Ed.  ii.] 

158.  How  say'st  thou]  M.  Mason  (p.  146)  :  It  appears  from  Lady  Macbeth' s 
answer  that  she  had  not  told  Macbeth  that  Macduff  refused  to  come  to  him,  and  it 
appears  from  III,  vi,  44,  that  Macbeth  had  summoned  him,  and  that  he  refused  to 
come.  I  think,  therefore,  that  what  Macbeth  means  to  say  is  this :  •  What  do  you 
think  of  this  circumstance,  that  Macduff  denies  to  come  to  our  great  bidding?-^ 
What  do  you  infer  from  thence  ?— What  is  your  opinion  of  that  matter?' 

160.  Sir]  Maginn  (p.  181) :  This  word  is  an  emphatic  proof  that  she  is  wholly 
subjugated.  Too  well  is  she  aware  of  the  cause,  and  the  consequence,  of  Macbeth' s 
sending  after  Macduff;  but  she  ventures  not  to  hint.     She  is  no  longer  the  stem- 


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230  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH    [act  m,  sc.  iv. 

Mcub.    I  heare  it  by  the  way  :  But  I  will  fend :  i6i 

There's  not  a  one  of  them  but  in  his  houfe 
I  keepe  a  Seruant  Feed.    I  will  to  morrow 
(And  betimes  I  will)  to  the  weyard  Sifters. 
More  fliall  they  fpeake :  for  now  I  am  bent  to  know  16$ 

By  the  worft  meanes^  the  worft,  for  mine  owne  good. 
All  caufes  fhall  giue  way.     I  am  in  blood 
Stept  in  fo  farre,  that  (hould  I  wade  no  more, 
Returning  were  as  tedious  as  go  ore  :  169 

161.  kearel  heard  KUy.  164.  weyard^  D'Av.  Ktly.     witard 

162.  Therms  not  a  one\  Then  is  not  Ff,  Rowe.  wayward  F6pe,  Waib. 
one  Pope,  Hads.  iii.  Johns,     weird  Theob.  Han.  Var.  '73, 

a  one"]  a  Thane  Theob.+,  Cap.        '78,  '85,  Ran.     weird  Cap.  et  cet. 
a  man  Wh.  Hads.  ii.  165.  /ai»]  Pm  Pope,+,  Dyce  ii,  iii, 

163.  Iheepe^  PU  keep  Coll.  (MS).  Huds.  ii. 

163,164.  lAnts^jAi  Feed.  ,„will),..  i66.  worft,  far„.goodi\  worsts  for... 

Sixers.  Walker.  good;  Rowe,  Pope,  Han.    worst,  fof 

164.  And  betimes. ..to]  Betimes. ..unto  ...good.  Theob.VfBxh.  worst: for. ..goad. 
Pope,  + ,  Cap.  Steev.  Var.  '03,  *  X  3.   And  Var.  '21.  worst.  For  good  Johns,  et  cet 
betimes. ..unto  Ran.    Ay,  and  betimes...  i68.  Stept"]  Spent  Ff,  Rowe.   stepfd 
to  Anon.  ap.  Cam.  Hads.  iii.  Knt,  Dyce,  Sta.  Wh.  ii. 

I  will]  will  I  Lettsom,  Ktly.  169.  go]  going  Han. 

tongued  lady  aiging  on  the  work  of  death,  and  taunting  her  husband  for  his  hesita- 
tion. She  now  addresses  him  in  the  humbled  tone  of  an  inferior ;  we  now  see  fright 
and  astonishment  seated  on  her  fiiu^e. 

162.  a  one]  Theobald  (Sh,  Restored,  p.  x86) :  Macbeth  wonld  subjoin  that 
there  is  not  a  Man  of  Macduff's  Quality  in  the  Kingdom,  but  he  has  a  Spy  under 
his  Roof.  Correct,  as  it  certainly  ought  to  be  restored :  '  not  <i  Thane  of  them.' — 
R.  G.  White  :  '  A  one '  is  an  expression  of  which  only  Shakespeare's  own  hand 
and  seal  could  convince  me  that  he  was  guilty,  especially  when,  if  he  had  wished  to 
use  the  general  noun,  the  most  natural  expression  would  have  been,  *  There  is  not 
one  of  them.'  Theobald's  change  is  violent ;  for  the  slighter  one  [*  a  man ']  I  am 
responsible. — ^Walker  {Crii,  ii,  91] :  One,  in  Shakespeare's  time,  was  commonly 
pronounced  un  (a  pronnndation  not  yet  obsolete  among  the  common  folk),  and 
sometimes  apparently  (as  in  Two  Gent.,  H,  i,  3),  on. .  . .  Note,  too,  that  our  old 
poets  ordinarily,  so  far  as  I  have  observed,  write  an  one,  not  a  one.  .  . .  See  IV,  iii, 
79 :  'Than  such  an  one  to  reigne.' — Lettsom  :  Yet  in  the  very  same  column  we 
have,  *  If  such  a  one  be  fit'  etc.— Clarendon  :  We  still  say  « never  a  one,'  *  many 
a  one,'  'not  a  single  one.' — Abbott  (§  81)  :  In  this  instance  and  in  Cymb.  I,  i,  24, 
*a'  seems  used  for  any~A,  e.  ane-y,  or  one-y.     [See  II,  i,  62.] 

167,  168.  in  ...  In]  For  the  repetition  of  preposition,  see  Walker,  Crit.  ii,  82, 
and  Abbott,  §  407. 

168,  169.  Steevens  :  This  idea  is  borrowed  by  Dryden,  in  his  (Edipus,  IV,  i : 
< —  I  have  already  pass'd  The  middle  of  the  stream ;  and  to  return  Seems  greater 
labour  than  to  venture  o'er.' 

169,  as  go  ore]  Abbott  (§  384) :  The  Elizabethans  seem  to  have  especially  dis- 


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ACT  m,  sa  iv.]     THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  23 1 

Strange  things  I  haue  in  head,  that  will  to  hand,  170 

Which  muft  be  a6led,  ere  they  may  be  fcand. 

La.    You  lacke  the  feafon  of  all  Natures,  fleepe. 

Macb.  Come,  wee'l  to  fleepe :  My  ftrange  &  felf-abufe 
Is  the  initiate  feare,  that  wants  hard  vfe : 
We  are  yet  but  yong  indeed.  Exeunt.        17$ 

171.  fcand]  /canned  FjF^  et  seq.  175.  We  are]  W^re  Pope,+,  Huds. 

172.  Natures]  Natures  T^eob.  ii,  iii. 

173.  to]  too  Warb.  indeed]  Yl^  Rowe,  Pope,     in 

deeds  Han.     in  deed  Theob.  et  cet 

liked  the  repetition  which  is  now  considered  necessary  in  the  latter  of  two  dauses 
connected  by  a  relatiye  or  conjunction.  Thus  <  His  ascent  is  not  so  easy  as  (the 
ascent  of )  those  who/  etc — Corid,  II,  ii,  50.  Here  in  Macbeth^  *  as  tedious  as  (to) 
go  o'er.* 

170.  171.  Strange  things  . .  .  scand]  Corson  (p.  337) :  He  is  now  in  the  firm 
grip  of  fate.  The  free  agency  which  he  might  have  exercised  at  the  outset,  when 
he  received  the  wise  caution  of  Banquo,  he  has  forfeited ;  his  self-determination  is 
lost ;  and  he  is  now  given  over  to  the  powers  of  evil.  And  it  should  be  noted  that 
this  speech  is  in  the  scene  be/ore  that  in  which  Hecate  appears  and  says,  *  He  shall 
spurn  fate,  scorn  death,  and  bear  His  hopes  'bove  wisdom,  grace,  and  fear.'  She 
only  Aarps  what  is  already  in  his  mind  and  purpose.  And  this  is  true  throughout 
of  the  relations  of  the  weird  sisters  to  Macbeth.  They  originate  nothing.  This  is 
the  great  fact  to  be  noted  in  the  play ;  but  it  has  not  been  noted  by  many  of  the  com- 
mentators.— Ed.  ii. 

171.  scand]  Steevens  :  That  is,  examine  nicely.    Thus  also,  Hamlet,  III,  iii,  75. 

172.  season]  Johnson  :  You  want  sleep  which  seasons,  or  gives  the  relish  to  all 
nature. — ^Whiter  (p.  147)  :  It  is  that  which  preserves  nature,  and  keeps  it  fresh 
and  lasting. — Malone  :  An  anonymous  correspondent  thinks  the  meaning  is :  '  You 
stand  in  need  of  the  time  or  season  of  sleep,  which  all  natures  require.' — [Bell  (p. 
312)  :  [Mrs  Siddons  here  portrayed  Lady  Macbeth  as]  feeble,  and  as  if  preparing 
for  her  last  sickness  and  final  doom. — Corson  (p.  238)  :  She  is  broken.  The  Lady 
Macbeth  of  the  early  part  of  the  play  is  no  more.  The  strong  will,  at  first  untram- 
melled by  any  considerations  of  consequences,  by  any  of  her  husband's  *  horrible 
imaginings,'  gives  place  to  remorse  (capabilities  of  which,  it  becomes  evident,  she 
possessed  in  a  high  degree). — Ed.  ii.] 

173.  Come,  wee'l  to  sleepe]  Booth  :  With  a  look  and  tone  of  dreary  and  for- 
lorn bitterness. — Ed.  ii. 

173.  ft]  Deuxts  :  The  use  of  the  copula  is  justified  by  the  fact  that  Shakespeare 
considered  *self'  as  an  adjective,  and  did  not  consider  'self-abuse'  (which  is  the 
apparition  which  appeared  to  Macbeth)  as  one  word. 

173.  abuse]  Dyce  ( Gloss.) :  Deception. — Clarendon  :  Shakespeare  also  em- 
ploys the  word  in  the  sense  of  Hi  usage  and  in  that  of  reviling. 

174.  initiate]  Steevens  :  The  fear  that  always  attends  the  first  initiation  into 
guilt,  before  the  mind  has  grown  callous. 

174.  bard]  Capell  :  That  is,  use  that  makes  hardy. 

175.  We  . . .  indeed]  Booth  :  As  Macbeth  lifts  his  hand  to  press  his  brow  he 


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232  THE  TR AGED  IE  OF  MACBETH     [act  hi,  sc  v. 


Scena  Quinta. 


Thunder.    Enter  the  three  Witches^  meeting  2 

Hecat. 

I.    Why  how  now  Hecat ^  you  looke  angerly?  4 

1.  Scene  IV.    Rowe.      Scene  VI.        Witches.  Cap.  Mai. 

Pope»  +  .    Scene  omitted,  Booth,  Irying.  3.  Hecat.]  Hecate  F^F^  et  seq. 

The  Heath.  Rowe  et  seq.  (sabs.)  4.  Hecat]    F„   Cap.    Ktly.     Hecat* 

2.  Enter...]     Enter,    from    opposite  Pope,  +  ,  Var.  Mai.  Ran.     Hecate  Y^^^ 
sides,    Hecate    and    the    other    three  et  cet. 

touches  the  crown.  He  removes  it,  and  gazes  upon  it  with  looks  of  loathing.  As 
he  does  this,  Lady  Macbeth  gradually  sinks  to  the  floor  on  her  knees.  (SUnv  Cur- 
tain,)— Werder  (p.  104) :  He  is  himself  unconscious  of  the  bitter  irony  here,  be 
speaks  in  sober  earnest — and  so  it  should  be  spoken,  therein  consists  the  horror 
in  his  words — in  sober  earnest,  as  though  in  delirium,  added  to  an  utter  weariness ; 
so  completely  has  terror  unhinged  him. — Ed.  ii. 

I.  For  a  comparison  between  this  scene  and  Middleton's  WUch^  see  Appendix, 

3.  Hecat]  Steevens:  Shakespeare  has  been  censured  for  introducing  Hecate, 
\          and,  consequently,  for  confounding  ancient  with  modem  superstitions.     He  has, 

however,  authority  for  giving  a  mistress  (0  the  witches. — Warton  :  The  Gothic  and 
Pftgan  fictions  were  frequently  blended  and  incorporated.  The  Lady  of  the  Lake 
floated  in  the  suite  of  Neptune  before  Queen  Elizabeth  at  Kenilworth ;  Ariel  assumes 
the  semblance  of  a  sea-njrmph,  and  Hecate,  by  an  easy  association,  conducts  the 
rites  of  the  weird  sisters  in  Macbeth. — ToLLET :  Scot's  Disccvery  of  Witchcrafts 
Bk,  3,  chaps,  i.  and  xvi,  and  Bk,  12,  chap,  iii,  mentions  it  as  the  common  opin- 
ion of  all  writers,  that  witches  were  supposed  to  have  nightly  'meetings  with 
Herodias  and  the  Pagan  gods,'  and  'that  in  the  night-times  they  ride  abroad 
with  Diana,  the  goddess  of  the  Pagans,'  etc. — ^Their  dame  or  chief  leader  seems 
always  to  have  been  an  old  Pagan,  as  *  the  Ladie  Sibylla,  Minerva,  or  Diana* — 
Todd:  In  Jonson's  Sad  Shepherd,  II,  iii,  Maudlin,  the  witch,  calls  Hecate  the 
mistress  of  witches,  *  our  Dame  Hecate.* — Douce  (Illust,  etc.  i,  382-394)  gives  a 
long  note  on  this  passage,  but  as  it  is  chiefly  '  an  investigation  of  the  fairy  supersti- 
tions of  the  Middle  Ages,  so  far  as  they  are  connected  with  the  religion  of  the  andent 
Romans,'  it  seems  scarcely  germane  as  an  illustration  of  Shakespeare. — R.G.  White: 
Shakespeare  has  been  censured  for  mixing  Hecate  up  with  vulgar  Scotch  witches,  smell- 
ing of  snuff  and  usquebaugh.  But  he  sinned  in  this  regard  with  many  better  scholars 
than  himself;  and,  had  he  not  such  companionship,  his  shoulders  could  bear  the 
blame,  as  they  also  could  that  of  pronouncing  her  name  as  a  disyllable. — Clarendon  : 
Witches  were  believed  in  by  the  vulgar  in  the  time  of  Horace  as  implicitly  as  in  the 
time  of  Shakespeare.  And  the  belief  that  the  Pagan  gods  were  really  existent  as 
evil  demons  is  one  which  has  come  down  from  the  very  earliest  ages  of  Christianity. 
The  only  passage  of  Shakespeare  in  which  *  Hecate '  is  a  trisyllable  is  in  i  Hen.  VI: 
III,  ii,  64. — [RoLFE  {^Poet-Lore,  vol.  xi,  No.  4,  1899)  believes  the  part  of  Hecate 
to  be,  not  Shakespeare's,  but  the  work  of  '  some  hack  writer  in  the  theatre.'     He 


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ACT  III,  sc.  v.]       THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH  233 

Hec.     Haue  I  not  reafon  (Beldams)  as  you  are  ?  5 

Sawcy,and  ouer-bold,  how  did  you  dare 
To  Trade,  and  Trafficke  with  Macbeth^ 
In  Riddles,  and  Affaires  of  death  ; 
And  I  the  Miftris  of  your  Charmes, 

The  clofe  contriuer  of  all  harmes,  lO 

Was  neuer  called  to  beare  my  part. 
Or  (hew  the  glory  of  our  Art  ? 
And  which  is  worfe,  all  you  haue  done 
Hath  bene  but  for  a  wayward  Sonne, 

Spightfull,and  wrathfull,who  (as  others  do)  15 

Loues  for  his  owne  ends,  not  for  you. 

5.  reafon  {Beldamsy]  reason^ beldams  are^.^over-bold P  Cap.  ct  cet 
Knt,  Coll.  Dyce,  Sta.  Wh.  Cam.  Hal.  9.  Miftris'l  Miftress  FjF^. 

Huds.  ii.     reason^  BeldamSy  Rowe,  et  14.  wayward^weywardVo^^lYLtx^i^ 

cet.  Warb.  Johns.  Cap.  Mai. 

5,6.  are  f  „.  ouer-bold,'\    Ff,   Pope,  15.   SpightfuU'\   Ff,    Rowe,  +  ,  Var. 

Han.  Jen.     are  f ,, .overbold !  Theob,  +  .  Mai.  Ran.     spiteful  Cap.  et  cet. 

points  out  that  <  Hecate  speaks  in  iambics,  while  the  eight-syllable  lines  that  Shake* 
speare  puts  into  the  mouth  of  supernatural  beings  are  r^[ularly  trochaic'  Further- 
more, that  all  Hecate's  speeches  are  absurdly  out  of  keeping  with  the  context.  The 
reference  to  '  trading  and  trafficking '  seem  to  imply  a  bargain  between  Macbeth  and 
the  witches,  but  there  has  been  no  mention  of  such.  What  were  the  <  gains '  in 
which  they  were  all  to  share  ?  <  Macbeth  has  offered  the  witches  no  bribe,  nor  have 
they  intimated  that  they  desire  or  expect  any.  Besides,  Hecate  has  no  reason  to 
find  fault  with  what  they  have  done.  She  could  not  have  managed  the  affair  better. 
How,  so  far  as  the  Witches  are  concerned,  has  Macbeth  proved  a  "  wayward  son, 
spiteful  and  wrathful "?...!  may  remind  the  reader  that  the  managers  of  Shake- 
speare's day  were  much  given  to  these  sensational  additions  to  Shakespeare's  plays. 
The  Hymen  of  As  You  Like  It  and  the  vision  in  Cytnb,  are  dear  instances  of  the 
kind.' — For  a  further  discussion  bearing  somewhat  on  these  questions,  see  IV,  i,  41. 
—Ed.  ii.] 

4.  angerly]  Abbott  (§  447) :  The  -ly  represents  like^  of  which  it  is  a  corrup- 
tion.    So  also  '  manly '  in  IV,  iii,  275. 

7,  8.  To  Trade  .  .  .  death]  Fletcher  (p.  149)  :  The  weird  sisters  are  not  rep- 
resented as  the  original  tempters  of  Macbeth.  Hecate  here  chaises  them,  not  as 
having  presumed  without  her  concurrence  to  lead  him  into  temptation^  but  as  having 
simply  taken  part  in  his  wicked  intentions. — Ed.  ii. 

10.  close]  Delius  :  This  word  signifies  that  it  is  in  appearance  merely  that  all 
these  <  harms'  proceed  from  the  witches ;  in  reality  they  come  from  their  secret  con- 
triver, Hecate. 

15-  SpightfuU  .  . .  do]  Steevens  :  Inequality  of  metre,  tc^ther  with  the  un- 
necessary and  weak  comparison,  '  as  others  do,'  incline  me  to  think  that  this  line 
ran  thus :  *A  spiteful  and  a  wrathful,  who.' 

16.  Loues]  Halliwell  :  The  accurac}*  of  this  reading  has  not  been  suspected. 


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234  ^^^  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH     [act  m.  sa  v. 

But  make  amends  now :  Get  you  gon,  17 

And  at  the  pit  of  Acheron 

Meete  me  i'th'Moming :  thither  he 

Will  come,  to  know  his  Deftinie.  20 

Your  Veffels,  and  your  Spels  prouide. 

Your  Charmes^and  euery  thing  befide ;  22 

but  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  it  is  an  error  for  Hues. — Staunton  {AtAenaum,  2 
Not.,  1872)  :  I  conjecture  od  meirum^  as  well  as  for  the  sense,  the  true  lection  is 

*  Loves  evil  for,'  etc.  HalliweH's  change  is  neat  and  ingenious,  but  does  not  the 
prosody  of  the  companion  line  admonish  us  that  a  foot  is  wanting  in  this  ? — [Manly  : 

*  Loves,'  interpreted  in  its  ordinary  sense,  is  altogether  out  of  harmony,  not  only  with 
the  character  of  Macbeth  and  his  attitude  towards  the  weird  sisters,  but  equally  so 
with  the  character  of  those  uncanny  but  dignified  beings.  Assuming  the  scene  to 
be  an  interpolation,  however,  this  is  at  once  recognisable  as  belonging  to  the  dass 
of  ideas  exploited  in  Middleton's  IVUcA  ;  there,  indeed,  gaining  the  love  of  mortal 
men  is  the  main  object  of  thought  and  endeavor  on  the  part  of  the  witches. — 
Ed.  ii.] 

18.  Acheron]  Steevsns:  Shakespeare  seems  to  have  thought  it  allowable  to 
bestow  this  name  on  any  fountain,  lake,  or  pit,  through  which  there  was  vulgarly 
supposed  to  be  a  communication  between  this  and  the  infernal  world.  The  true 
original  'Acheron'  was  a  river  in  Greece ;  and  yet  Virgil  gives  this  name  to  his  lake 
in  the  valley  of  Amsancius  in  Italy. — Malone  :  Shakespeare  was  led  by  Scripture 
(as  Mr  Plumtre  observed  to  me)  to  make  his  witches  assemble  at  Acheron,  See 
2  Kings ^  i,  2-7 :  '  Is  it  not  because  there  is  not  a  God  in  Israel,  that  thou  sendest 
to  inquire  of  Baal-zebub  the  god  oi  Ekronf*  [In  the  Bishop's  Bible,  1602,  this 
word  is  spelt  Ekrom, — Ed.  ii.] — Dyce  {FewNoteSy  etc,  p.  127)  :  Did  these  matter- 
of-fact  commentators  [Malone  and  '  a  Mr  Plumtre ']  suppose  that  Shakespeare  him- 
self, had  they  been  able  to  call  him  up  from  the  dead,  could  have  told  them  '  all 
about  it'?  Not  he — ^no  more  than  Fairfax,  who,  in  his  translation  of  the  Gerusa- 
lemme  (published  before  Macbeth  was  produced),  has  made  Ismeno  frequent  'the 
shores  of  Acheron^*  without  any  warrant  from  Tasso:  *  He ^  from  deepe  canes  by  Ache- 
rons  darke  shores  (Where  circles  vaine  and  spds  he  vs'd  to  make),  T'  aduise  his 
king  in  these  extremes  is  come,'  etc. — Bk,  ii,  st  2.  (The  original  has  merely :  '  Ed 
or  dalle  spelonche,  ove  lontano  Dal  vulgo  esercitar  suol  I'arti  ignote,  Vien,*  etc.) — 
[At  III,  ii,  378,  Mid,  N.  />.,  this  edition,  the  editor  quotes  from  Sylvester,  The  Voca- 
Hon,  1.  532,  ed.  Grosart :  *  In  Groon-land  field  is  found  a  dungeon,  A  thousand-fold 
more  dark  than  Acheron^*  adding,  'And  if  it  be  urged  that  Sylvester  has  here  fallen 
into  the  same  error,  and  overlooked  the  fact  that  Acheron  is  a  river,  so  be  it.  Shake- 
speare has  a  good  companion,  then,  to  bear  half  the  disgrace  of  his  oversight  in 
McubethJ* — Ed.  ii. —  Rolfe  (Poet-Lore^  vol.  vi.  No.  4,  1899) :  I  suspect  that 
Shakespeare  had  in  mind  the  blasted  heath  where  Macbeth  first  encountered  the 
Witches.  However  that  may  be,  the  reference  of  Hecate  to  Acheron  is  best  explained 
as  one  of  the  many  incongruities  in  this  poor  stuff  thrust  into  the  play  by  some  hack 
writer  at  the  suggestion  of  some  theatrical  manager.— Ed.  ii.] 

22.  euery  thing]  Elze  (n.  452) :  '  Every  thing '  frequently  serves  as  conclusion 
to  a  succession  of  synonym  or  other  nouns,  enumerated  without  connectives  and  fre- 
quently assuming  the  character  of  a  climax ;  it  is,  if  I  am  allowed  to  borrow  a  simile 


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ACT  III,  sc.  v.]       THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  235 

I  am  for  th'Ayre :  This  night  He  fpend  23 

Vnto  a  difmall,  and  a  Fatall  end. 

Great  bufinefTe  muft  be  wrought  ere  Noone.  25 

Vpon  the  Comer  of  the  Moone 

There  hangs  a  vaporous  drop,  profound, 

He  catch  it  ere  it  come  to  ground ; 

And  that  diftillM  by  Magicke  flights, 

Shall  raife  fuch  Artificiall  Sprights,  30 

As  by  the  ftrength  of  their  illufion. 

Shall  draw  him  on  to  his  Confufion. 

He  ftiall  fpume  Fate,  fcome  Death,  and  beare 

His  hopes  'boue  Wifedom,  Grace,  and  Feare: 

And  you  all  know.  Security  35 

Is  Mortals  cheefeft  Enemie. 

Mufickefind  a  Sang.  37 

23.  M']   Ff,    Rowe,  +  ,  Jen.  Wh.  i,  30.  rai/e]  rifeY^, 

Dyce  ii,  iil,  Hnds.  ii,  iu.     the  Cap.  et  36.  Mortals\  Ff,  Theob.  i.    morta/*s 

cet.  Rowe,+,  Sing.   Knt,   Ktly.     mortals' 

24.  di/ma//,  and  a  Fatali'\  dismal^        Theob.  ii,  et  cet. 

/f /a/ Pope,  + ,  Cap.  dismal-fatal  Stiwr.  37.  Muficke,andaSong]  Ff,Rowe,+, 

conj.  (ap.  Var.  '85),  Steev.  Var.  '03,  '13.  Var.  '73,  '78,  '85,  Ran.    Song  without, 

29.  Jlights'\  sleights  Coll.  Dyce,  Hal.  Come  Away,  Come  Away.  Sta.   ...with- 

Wh.  i,  Glo,  Cam.  Huds.  ii,  iii.  in :  Come  away,  come  away.  Cap.  et  cet 

from  cazd-playing,  the  last  trump,  after  all  the  rest  have  been  played.  Compare  As 
You  Like  It,  II,  vii,  166 ;   Twelfth  Night,  III,  i,  i6l.— Ed.  ii. 

26.  Moone]  Stssvens  :  Shakespeare's  mythological  knowledge,  on  this  occasion, 
appears  to  have  deserted  him ;  for  as  Hecate  is  only  one  of  three  names  belonging  to 
the  same  goddess,  she  could  not  properly  be  employed  in  one  character  to  catch  a 
drop  that  fell  from  her  in  another.  In  Afid,  N.  D.  V,  i,  391,  however,  he  was 
sufficiently  aware  of  her  threefold  capacity. 

27.  profound]  Johnson  :  That  is,  a  drop  that  has  profound,  deep,  or  hidden 
qualities. — Steevens:  This  vaporous  drop  seems  to  have  been  meant  for  the  same 
as  the  virus  lunare  of  the  ancients,  being  a  foam  which  the  moon  was  supposed  to 
shed  on  particular  herbs,  or  other  objects,  when  strongly  solicited  by  enchantment. 
Lucan  introduces  Erictho  using  it:  'et  virus  large  lunare  ministrat'— ^-*arf«/fVi, 

Bk,  vi,  666.— Clarendon  :  That  is,  deep,  and  therefore  ready  to  fall Whatever 

be  the  meaning,  the  word  rhymes  to  'ground,'  which  is  the  main  reason  for  its 
introduction  here.  Milton  is  fond  of  using  two  epithets,  one  preceding,  the  other 
foUowing,  the  noun ;  as  '  the  lowest  pit  profound,'  Translation  of  Psalm  viii. 

29.  slights]  Dyce  {Gloss.)  \  Artifices.  *A  sleight,  Dolus,  astutia.'— Coles's 
Lett,  and  Eng,  Diet, 

35.  Security]  Clarendon  :  That  is,  carelessness,  Webster,  Duchess  of  Malfi, 
V,  ii,  has  the  following  strong  metaphor :  *  Security  some  men  call  the  sid>iitb8  of 
hell.  Only  a  dead  wall  between.' 

37.  a  Song]  See  Appendix,  The  Witch. 


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236  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH   [act  in.  sc.  vi. 

Hearke,  I  am  callM  :  my  litde  Spirit  fee  38 

Sits  in  a  Foggy  cloud,  and  ilayes  for  me. 

Sing  within.    Come  away^  come  away^  &c.  40 

I   Come,  let's  make  haft,  fliee'l  foone  be 
Backe  againe.  Exeunt,  42 


SccBfta  Sexta. 


Enter  Lenox ^and  another  Lord.  2 

Lenox.     My  former  Speeches, 
Haue  but  hit  your  Thoughts  4 

39.  me,'\  me,   [Exit  Cap.  et  seq.  Pope,+.      Scene    omitted.   Booth,  Ir- 

40.  Sing  within...  a  way]  Ff. +,  Jen.        ving. 

Ran.  A  Chamber.   Theob,       Foris.   A 

41.  42.  Come  ...  againe, ^   One    line.        Room  in  the  Palace.  Cap. 

Pope  et  seq.  3,  4.  i^...7)i<»^^]  One  line,  Rowe 

I.  Scene  V.   Rowe.     Scene  VII.        et  seq. 

38.  caird]  Clarendon  :  From  this  it  is  probable  that  Hecate  took  no  part  in  the 
song,  which  perhaps  consisted  only  of  the  first  two  lines  of  the  passage  from  Mid- 
dleton. 

42.  Backe  againe]  Elwin  :  These  words  are  usually  made  to  terminate  the 
line ;  but  <  be '  is  the  concluding  word  of  the  line  in  F^,  and  is  intended  to  rhyme 
with  <  see '  and  *  me '  in  the  two  preceding  lines,  the  witches  addressing  each  other 
in  a  kind  of  chant. 

1.  Scsena  Sexta]  Fletcher  (p.  166) :  This  scene,  at  present  wholly  omitted  on 
the  stage,  is  clearly  necessary  in  order  to  make  us  understand  the  full  import  of  Mac- 
beth's  cruel  revenge  upon  Macduff's  family. — Ed.  ii. — G.  Crosse  [Notes  atul 
Queries^  22  Oct  1898)  conjectures  that  this  scene  should  follow  Act  IV,  i,  since 
Lenox  and  the  nameless  iLord'  converse  on  matters  which  have  not  yet  occurred, 
and  of  which  Macbeth  was  necessarily  ignorant  until  informed  by  Lenox  at  the  end 
of  IV,  i.  He  suggests,  as  an  explanation  of  its  present  position,  that  it '  was  shifted 
when  III,  v.  was  inserted,  in  order  to  prevent  the  two  witch  scenes  from  coining 
together,  a  necessary  precaution  when  there  were  no  changes  of  scene  and  no  inter- 
vals between  the  scenes.'  If  this  transposition  of  scenes,  which  occurred  to  me  inde- 
pendently, be  adopted,  how  can  we  recondle  the  fact  that  it  is  Lenox  who,  at  the 
end  of  IV,  i,  informs  Macbeth  of  Macduff's  flight  to  England? — Ed.  ii. 

2.  another  Lord]  Johnson  :  It  is  not  easy  to  assign  a  reason  why  a  nameless 
character  should  be  introduced  here,  since  nothing  is  said  that  might  not  with  equal 
propriety  have  been  put  into  the  mouth  of  any  other  disaffected  man.  I  believe, 
therefore^  that  in  the  original  copy  it  was  written  with  a  very  common  form  of  con- 
traction, *  Lenox  and  An*  for  which  the  transcriber,  instead  of  'Lenox  and  Angus^ 
set  down,  'Lenox  and  another  Lord? — Dyce:  Here,  in  my  copy  of  the  Folio, 
'another  Lord'  is  altered,  in  old  handwriting,  to  'RosSy*  and  perhaps  rightly. 


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ACT  III,  sc.  vi.]     THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  237 

Which  can  interpret  farther :  Onely  I  fay  5 

Things  haue  bin  ftrangely  borne.    The  gracious  Duncan 

Was  pittied  of  Macbeth :  marry  he  was  dead  : 

And  the  right  valiant  Banquo  walk'd  too  late, 

Whom  you  may  fay  (ift  pleafe  you j  Fleans  kill'd, 

For  Fleans  fled  :  Men  muft  not  walke  too  late.  10 

Who  cannot  want  the  thought,  how  monflrous 

5.  farther]  further  Johns.  Var.  '73,         Steev.  Var. 

'78/85,  Steev.  Var.  Sing,  i,  Huds.  i,  ii.    Who  cannot  wanf\  You  cannot 

ii,  Dyce,  Wh.  ii.  want  Han.    IVho  can  want^  or  Who  can 

6.  20.  borne]  bom  D*Av.  F^,  Rowe,  have  Jen.  conj.  Who  care  not^  want 
Pope,  Han.  Cap.  Jen.  Jackson.     Who  can   now  want    Cart- 

7.  he  was]  he  is  Lettsom.  wright,  Huds.  iii. 

8.  right  valiant]  right-valiant  Theob.  monjlrous]  monstrous  too  Pope,  + . 
et  scq.  monsterous  Cap.  Ran.  Ktly. 

9.  ift]  if  it  Cap.  Var.  Mai.   Ran. 

5.  Onely]  See  III,  iv,  123. 

6.  borne]  Clarendon  :  That  is,  carried  on,  conducted.  So  in  line  20  and  in 
Much  Ado,  II,  iii,  229. 

8-10.  And  .  .  .  too  late]  G.  Sarrazin  (Englische  Studien,  xxi,  2,  1895) :  Com- 
pare Kyd,  Spanish  Tragedy,  [p.  77,  ed.  Haz.-Dods.]:  *  Why  hast  thou  thus  unkindly 
kiird  the  man  ?    Why  ?  because  he  walked  abroad  so  late.' — Ed.  ii. 

8-1.  And  the  .  .  .  Fleans  fled]  Wilson  (p.  652) :  'North.  Who  told  him  all 
this  about  Banquo  and  Fleance  ?  He  speaks  of  it  quite  familiarly  to  the  '<  other 
Lx)rd,"  as  a  thing  well  known  in  all  its  bearings.  But  not  a  soul  but  Macbeth,  and 
the  three  Murderers  themselves,  could  possibly  have  known  an3rthing  about  it! 
The  body  may,  perhaps,  in  a  few  days  be  found  and  identified  as  Banquo's ;  but 
DOW  all  is  hush ;  and  Lenox,  unless  endowed  with  second  sight,  could  know  nothing 
of  the  murder.  Yet  from  the  way  he  is  speaking  of  it,  one  might  imagine  crowner's 
quest  had  sitten  on  the  body — and  the  report  been  in  the  Times  between  supper  and 
that  after-supper  confab  !* — Ed.  ii. 

II.  Who  cannot  want]  M  alone:  The  sense  requires  Who  can.  Yet  I  believe 
the  text  is  not  corrupt.  Shakespeare  is  sometimes  incorrect  in  these  minutiae. — 
fBECKBT  (note  in  Lear,  i,  152)  observes  that  *  the  inmiediately  preceding  hemistich, 
«  Men  must  not  walk  too  late,"  now  printed  with  a  full  stop  at  "late,"  should  there 
have  a  comma.  "Men  must  not  walk  too  late  at  night,  who  cannot  want  the 
thought" — (.  e,  "Men  must  not  walk  when  darkness  covers  the  earth,  who  cannot 
be  wanting  in  thought,  or  who  cannot  hide  their  thoughts^  The  inference  to  be 
drawn  from  which  is,  that  they  who  should  not  so  pretend  or  counterfeit,  would 
be  in  danger  from  Macbeth.'  That  this  note  occurs  in  Lear  probably  accounts  for 
its  omission  by  subsequent  commentators  on  Macbeth,  It  was  pointed  out  by  J. 
Crosby  in  a  private  note,  and  anticipates  R.  G.  White's  suggestion  in  his  Shake- 
speare Scholar  (p.  403),  which  MoBERLY  adopted  in  his  text,  and  occasioned  Lett- 
som's  marginal  MS  comment  *  Good  I*  in  a  copy  of  White's  volume.  White's  note 
is,  nevertheless,  here  reproduced  for  the  sake  of  Dyce's  comment  thereon. — Ed.  ii.] 
— Elwin  :  To  want  is  here  used  to  signify  needful,  compulsory  desire.  The  sen- 
tence expresses.  Who  cannot  desire,  as  a  strong  necessity  of  his  nature,  to  think  such 


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238  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH    [act  hi.  sc.  vL 

[II.  Who  cannot  want] 
a  crime  monstioas. — ^White  :  (Sh,  Scholar^  etc.,  p.  403) :  May  we  not  remoye  the 
point  alter  the  last '  late'  [line  10]  and  read  thus,  making  the  passage  declarative  in- 
stead of  interrogative  ?  *  —  men  must  not  walk  too  late  Who  cannot  want  the/  etc. 
That  is,  '  men,  who  will  think  that  the  alleged  murder  of  Duncan  by  his  sons  is  a  crime 
too  monstrous  for  belief,  must  be  careful  not  to  walk  too  late.' — Dyce  :  My  kind 
friend,  Mr  Grant  White,  must  allow  me  to  say  that  I  think  his  change  of  the  punc- 
tuation in  this  passage  quite  wrong,  and  his  explanation  over-subtle :  surely,  Mac- 
beth's  chief  reason  for  getting  rid  of  Banquo  was,  not  'because  Banquo  more  than 
suspected  who  was  the  real  perpetrator  of  the  crime,'  but  because  the  Witches  had 
declared  that  Banquo  was  to  be  <  father  to  a  line  of  kings';  hence  Macbeth' s  injunc- 
tion to  the  Murderers,  III,  i,  163.  [Compare  Holinshed  in  Appendix, '\-~Qxi\AXEBi 
(ed.  ii.)  :  Who  cannot  but  think. — R.  G.  White:  A  careful  consideration  of  this 
passage,  and  a  recollection  of  the  mistakes  that  I  have  made  myself  and  known 
others  to  make,  have  led  me  unwillingly  to  the  belief  that  Malone  may  have  been 
right  in  his  opinion  that,  although  the  sense  requires  '  Who  can  want  the  thought,'  the 
text  is  as  Shakespeare  wrote  it,  and  that  the  disagreement  between  the  words  and 
the  thought  is  due  to  a  confusion  of  thought  which  Shakespeare  may  have  sometimes 
shared  with  inferior  intellects. — Keightley  :  This  passage  as  it  stands  is  evident 
nonsense,  which  Shakespeare  never  wrote,  and  if  we  read  We  for  '  Who,'  we  have 
the  very  word  he  wrote,  and  most  excellent  sense. — Deuus  :  As  Shakespeare  some- 
times, in  order  to  express  a  simple  negative,  multiplies  the  negatives  not^  nar^  never^ 
etc.,  so,  on  the  other  hand,  he  sometimes  adds  them,  as  in  this  case,  to  negative  verbs 
or  particles,  without  altering  the  sense.  Thus  in  Wint.  Taie,  III,  ii,  55,  '  That 
any  of  these  bolder  vices  wanted  Less  impudence,'  and  in  Cymb,  I,  iv,  23,  *a  beggar 
without  less  quality,'  the  negative  <  less '  merely  strengthens  the  negative  already 
included  in  '  wanted '  and  '  without — Dalgleish  :  The  affirmative  interrogation  is 
equal  to  the  negative  response,  *  no  one  can  want,'  etc.  See  I,  v,  30. — Clarendon  : 
This  construction  arises  from  a  confusion  of  thought  common  enough  when  a  nega- 
tive is  expressed  or  implied,  and  is  so  frequent  in  Greek  as  to  be  almost  sanctioned 
by  usage.  Compare  e.g.  Herodotus,  iv,  118  :  ijiui  yAp  6  ILkpaiK  ovdiv  ri  fiaXXov  hr 
ifiiac  ^  ov  Kol  iirl  vfika^f  and  Thucydides,  iii,  36,  Lfibv  rh  pobXtvfia  ir6hv  6A17V 
Sia^elpat  naTJuw  f^  o»  rov^  atrlov^-  It  would  be  easy  to  find  instances  in  all  Eng- 
lish writers  of  Shakespeare's  time.  Take  the  following  from  his  own  works.  Win- 
ter's Tate,  I,  ii,  260 ;  Xing  Lear^  II,  iv,  140:  '  I  have  hope  You  less  know  how  to 
value  her  desert  Than  she  to  scant  her  duty.'— Baynks  (p.  275) :  The  passage  as  it 
stands  is  perfectly  good  sense,  and  perfectly  good  English  of  Shakespeare's  day,  as 
it  still  remains  perfectly  good  Northern  English  or  Lowland  Scotch  of  our  own  day. 
In  these  dialects  the  verb  <  want,'  especially  when  construed  with  negative  partides, 
has  precisely  the  meaning  which  the  critics  insist  the  sense  requires.  If  a  farmer  in 
the  North  of  England,  or  the  Scotch  Lowlands,  send  to  borrow  a  neighbor's  horse, 
and  receives  a  negative  reply,  it  would  probably  be  convejred  in  some  such  form  as, 
<  He  says  he  cannot  want  the  horse  to-day,'  t.  e,  he  cannot  do  without  the  horse ;  he 
must  have  the  horse  for  his  own  use.  In  the  same  way,  if  an  Edinburgh  porter  say 
to  his  comrade,  *  I'll  no  want  a  gill  of  whiskey  the  mom,'  he  would  express  in  a 
strong  form  his  determination  to  have  one.  This  use  of  the  verb  was  not  uncom- 
mon amongst  English  writers  in  Shakespeare's  day.  Thus,  in  7^  Country  Farm^ 
translated  from  the  French,  1600,  we  have,  *  Ploughing,  an  art  that  a  householder 
cannot  want.*    And  Markham,  speaking  of  the  herb  purslane^  says,  '  —  a  ground 


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Acrin.sc.  vi.]    THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH  239 

It  was  for  Makolme^  and  for  Donalbane  12 

To  kill  their  gracious  Father  ?  Damned  Fa6l, 

How  it  did  greeue  Macbeth  ?  Did  he  not  llraight 

In  pious  rage,  the  two  delinquents  teare,  15 

That  were  the  Slaues  of  drinke,  and  thralles  of  fleepe  ? 

Was  not  that  Nobly  done  ?  I,  and  wifely  too  : 

For  'twould  haue  angered  any  heart  aliue 

To  heare  the  men  deny't     So  that  I  fay, 

He  ha's  borne  all  things  well,  and  I  do  thinke,  20 

That  had  he  Duncans  Sonnes  vnder  his  Key, 

(As,andH  pleafe  Heauen  he  (hall  not)  they  fliould  finde  22 

14.  UdidgreeuelAw^ivfCcir\Yi,  didit  19.  </m//]  deny  it  Cap.  Var.  Mai. 

grieve  Macbeth  f  Pope,-f .  it  did  grieve  Ran.  Steev.  Var.  Siag.  Knt,  KUy. 

Macbeth  I  Cap.  et  cet.  21.  his  Key\  the  key  Ff,  Rowe. 

17.  not  that}  that  not  YJF^,  Rowe,  22.  and't}  an*t  Tbeob.  ii.  et  seq. 

Pope.  Jkould]  JhaU  Ff,  Rowe  i. 
atuf}  Om.  Pope,+. 

once  possessed  by  tbem  will  seldom  want  tbem.'  Many  words  and  pbrases,  now 
peculiar  to  the  Scotch  Lowlands,  were  common  to  both  countries  in  Shakespeare's 
day,  and  every  one  of  the  so-called  Scotticisms  to  be  found  in  his  dramas  is  used  by 
contemporary  English  writers.  As  a  mere  English  writer,  therefore,  Shakespeare 
was  entided  to  use  this  verb  in  what  is  now  its  Northern  signification,  and  he 
appears  to  have  done  so  elsewhere.  It  might,  however,  then  as  now,  be  character- 
istic of  the  North,  where  alone  it  has  survived,  and  would  thus  naturally  find  a  place 
in  Macbeth,  which  contains  other  Scotticisms,  such  as  loon,  for  example. — [Hudson 
(ed.  iii,  p.  197) :  The  reading  who  can  now,  proposed  by  Cartwright,  occurred  to 
me  independendy. — Ed.  ii.] 

II.  monstrous]  See  Walker  {Vers.  p.  11)  for  instances  where  this  word  not 
only  must  be  pronounced  as  a  trisyllable,  but  is  even  spelled  monsterous  and  mon- 
struous.    See  also  Abbott  (§  477). 

13.  Fadt]  Delius  :  Shakespeare  continually  uses  this  word  in  a  bad  sense,  as 
of  an  evil  deed ;  nowhere  does  he  use  it  in  the  sense  of  reality  as  opposed  to  fiction. 
— Dyce  (Gloss.)  :  A  deed,  a  doing, — an  evil  doing.  [Schmidt  gives  no  definition 
of  'fact'  other  than  evU deed,  crime. — ^Ed.  ii.] 

14.  15.  Did  .  .  .  teare]  Davibs  (ii,  108)  :  Lenox  was  present  when  Macbeth 
killed  the  sleeping  grooms,  and  however  better  instructed  he  seems  to  be  at  present, 
he  then  justified  the  act. 

15.  teare]  Clarendon  :  Comparing  Macbeth  to  a  beast  of  prey.  But  the  com- 
parison is  anything  but  apt.  We  suspect  that  this  passage  did  not  come  from  the 
hand  of  Shakespeare.  [Compare  Othello,  III,  iii,  341 :  <  I'll  tear  her  all  to  pieces.' 
—Ed.  u.] 

22.  As  .  . .  not]  Delius  :  This  parenthesis  is  to  be  heard  only  by  the  audience, 
not  by  Lenox's  companion. 

22.  and]  Murray  {N.  E.D.):  C.  conj.  conditional «  If.  This  was  a  common 
use  of  Middle  High  German  unde,  ...  It  may  have  originated  from  ellipsis,  as 


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240  THE  TR AGED  IE  OF  MACBETH    [act  hi,  sc.  vi. 

What  'twere  to  kill  a  Father :  So  fhould  Fleam.  23 

But  peace ;  for  from  broad  words,  and  caufe  he  fayPd 

His  prefence  at  the  Tyrants  Feaft,  I  heare  25 

Macduffe  liues  in  difgrace.     Sir,  can  you  tell 

Where  he  beftowes  himfelfe  ? 

Lord.     The  Sonnes  of  Duncane 
(From  whom  this  Tyrant  holds  the  due  of  Birth) 
Liues  in  the  Englifh  Court,  and  is  receyu'd  30 

Of  the  moft  Pious  Edward^  with  fuch  grace. 
That  the  maleuolence  of  Fortune,  nothing 
Takes  from  his  high  refpeft.     Thither  Macduffe 
Is  gone,  to  pray  the  Holy  King,  vpon  his  ayd 
To  wake  Northumberland, and  warlike  Seywardy  35 

That  by  the  helpe  of  thefe  (with  him  abouej 
To  ratifie  the  Worke)  we  may  againe 
Giue  to  our  Tables  meate,  fleepe  to  our  Nights : 
Free  from  our  Feafts,  and  Banquets  bloody  kniues ;  39 

24.  cau/e\  *  cause  Pope  et  seq.  '13,  Ktly.     Om.  Anon.  ap.  Cam. 

28,  45,  56.  Lord]  Ang.  Harry  Rowe.  34.  vpon   his]   in  Anon.   ap.    Cam* 

28.  Sonnes']  F^Fj.     Sons  F^,  Rowe,  on's  Lettsom. 

Pope,     son  Theob.  et  seq.  36.  aboue)]  aboue  Ff.  et  seq. 

30.  Liues]  Live  Ff,  Rowe,  Pope.  39.  Free]     Keep    Lettsom,    Buley, 

is]  are  Rowe,  Pope.  Huds.  iii.     Rid  Kinnear. 

33,  34.  Lines  end  :  gone,,, .ayd  Var.  Free. ..kniues]  From  bloody  knives 
Mai.  Ran.  our  feasts  and  banquets  free  Wh.  ii, 

34.  Holy]  Om.  Pope,  +  .  conj. 

vpon]   on  Cap.  Steev.  Var.  '03,  bloody]  bloudy  F^F^. 

in  the  analogous  use  of  soy  e.  g.  '1 11  cross  the  sea,  so  it  please  my  lord  *  (Shake- 
speare) ;  cf.  '  and  it  please ' ;  or  it  may  be  connected  with  the  introductory  and  in 

*  And  you  are  going  V  A  direct  development  from  the  original  prepositional  sense, 
though  d  priori  plausible,  is  on  historical  grounds  improbable.  Modem  writers, 
chiefly  since  Home  Tooke,  have  treated  this  as  a  distinct  word,  writing  it  an^  a 
spelling  occasionally  found  circa  i6cx>,  especially  in  ar^t^  equivalent  to  and  it. — 
Ed.  ii. 

24.  for  from  broad  words]  D'Hugues:  From  this  time  Lenox  seems  to  cast 
aside  the  pmdence  he  had  hitherto  observed  ;  but  here  he  should  lower  his  voice,  in 
such  a  way  as  to  show  his  companion  that  all'  which  has  gone  before  was  in  pure 
irony.     He  would  not  dare  call  Macbeth  a  tyrant  openly. — Ed.  ii. 

25.  Tyrants]  Clarendon  :  Here  used  not  in  our  modem  sense,  but  in  that  of 

*  usurper,'  as  is  shown  by  j  Hen,  VI:  HI,  iii,  69-72.  So  in  IV,  iii,  80,  *  a  tyranny* 
means  'usurpation,'  as  interpreted  by  what  follows.  [Schmidt  (Lex.)  cites  As  You 
Like  Ity  II,  i,  61,  as  another  instance  where  <t3rrant '  is  used  in  the  sense  of  usurper. 
—Ed.  ii.] 

39.  Malone:  The  constroction  is.  Free  our  feasts  and  banquets  from  bloody 


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ACT  III,  sc.  vi.]     THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  24I 

Do  faithful!  Homageyand  receiue  free  Honors,  40 

All  which  we  pine  for  now.     And  this  report 
Hath  fo  exafperate  their  King,  that  hee 
Prepares  for  fome  attempt  of  Warre. 

Len.     Sent  he  to  Macduffe  ?  44 

40.  free\  fair  QjoW,  iii,  conj.  42.  their  Aing'}  Ff,  Rowe,  +  ,  Mai. 

42.  exa/peraie\  exasptrated  Rowe  ii,  Del.      our  king  Anon.  ap.  Cam.      the 

Johns.    Jen.    Var.    '73.        exasf  rated  king  Han.  et  cet. 

Pope,+.     exasperate  Allen  MS.  43-  of  Warre]  Om.  Pope,  Han.  Cap. 

knives.  Perhaps  the  words  are  transposed,  and  the  line  originally  stood:  'Our  feasts 
and  banquets  free  from  bloody  knives.'  [Rann  and  Hudson  (ed.  ii.)  adopted  this 
reading.] — Stsevens:  Possibly  the  compositor's  eye  caught  the  word  *free'  from 
the  line  immediately  following.  We  might  read,  fright^  or  fray ,  but  any  change, 
perhaps,  is  needless. — Clarendon  :  This  seems  a  strange  phrase.  Compare  Temp. 
Epilogue,  18. 

39.  kniuea]  Harry  Rowe  :  This  seems  to  allude  to  the  savage  custom  anciently 
observed  in  the  Highlands  of  Scotland,  of  sticking  their  Dirks  into  the  table  when- 
ever they  sat  down  to  eat  with  a  mixed  company. 

40.  free  Honors]  Johnson  :  '  Free '  may  be  either  honours  freely  bestowed^  not 
purchased  by  crimes ;  or  honours  without  slavery^  without  dread  of  a  tyrant 

41-43.  And  this  .  . .  Warre]  Wilson  (p.  653) :  The  *  other  Lord,'  who  is 
wonderfully  well-informed  for  a  person  strictly  anonymous,  minutely  describes  Mac- 
duff's surly  reception  of  the  King's  messenger,  and  the  happy  style  of  that  official  on 
getting  the  Thane  of  Fife's  *  absolute  Sir,  not  I.'  I  should  like  to  know  where 
and  when  these  two  gifted  individuals  picked  up  all  this  information  ?  The  King 
himself  had  told  the  Queen  that  same  night  that  he  had  not  sent  to  Macduff— but  that 
he  had  heard  '  by  the  way '  that  he  was  not  coming  to  the  banquet — and  he  only 
learns  of  the  flight  of  Macduff  after  the  Cauldron  Scene  [IV,  i,  169].  For  an 
Usurper  and  a  Tyrant,  his  Majesty  is  singularly  ill-informed  about  the  movements 
of  his  most  dangerous  Thanes  !  But  Lenox,  I  think,  must  have  been  not  a  little 
surprised  at  that  moment  [IV,  i,  169]  to  find  that  so  far  from  the  exasperated 
Tyrant  having  •  prepared  for  some  attempt  of  war  *  with  England — he  had  not  till 
then  positively  known  that  Macduff  had  fled  ! . .  .The  whole  dialogue  between  Lenox 
and  the  Lord  is  miraculous.  It  abounds  with  knowledge  of  events  that  had  not 
happened— on  the  showing  of  Shakespeare  himself.  . . .  You  would  think,  from  the 
way  they  go  on,  that  one  ground  of  war,  one  motive  of  Macduff's  going,  is  the  mur- 
der of  Banquo — perpetrated  since  he  is  gone  off! — Ed.  ii. 

42.  exasperate]  Clarendon  :  This  [omission  of  the  d  final  in  the  participle 
passive]  is  most  common  in  verbs  derived  from  the  passive  participle  of  Latin  verbs 
of  the  first  conjugation,  but  it  is  not  confined  exclusively  to  them.  [For  many  in- 
stances of  forms  of  *  past  tenses  and  participles,  from  verbs  ending  in  /,  and  also 
(though  less  numerous)  in  </,  where  the  present  remained  unaltered,'  see  Walker 
(Crii,  ii,  pp.  324-343)  or  Abbott  (§§  34I»  342).  See  also  Allen,  Rom,  and  Jul, 
p.  429,  this  edition.] 

42.  their]  Malone:  *  Their'  of  the  Ff.  refers  to  the  son  of  Duncan,  and  Mac- 
duff.—Anon,  (qu.  Litchfield?):  'Their'  is  necessary  to  distinguish  Macbeth,  their 
king,  from  'the  pious  Edward,'  the  king  of  England. 
16 


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242  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH    [act  in.  sc.  vi. 

Lord.     He  did  :  and  with  an  abfolute  Sir^not  I  45 

The  dowdy  Meffenger  tumes  me  his  backe. 
And  hums;  as  who  fhould  fay,  youU  rue  the  time 
That  clogges  me  with  this  Anfwer. 

Lenox.    And  that  well  might 
Aduise  him  to  a  Caution,  thold  what  diftance  50 

His  wifedome  can  prouide .     Some  holy  Angell 
Flye  to  the  Court  of  England,  and  vnfold 
His  Meflage  ere  he  come,  that  a  fwift  blefling 
May  foone  retume  to  this  our  fuffering  Country, 
Vnder  a  hand  accurs'd.  55 

Lord.     He  fend  my  Prayers  with  him.  Exeunt. 

45.  A>,  not  I'\  Sir, -not' I  Cap.  firing  Cap.  conj. 

50.  to  a  Caution,  tAoW]  Ff,  Jen.  Wh.  55.  Vnder]  Lying  under  Cap.  conj. 

to  a  care  to  Pope,+.     caution  and  to  56.  lie  /end]  Om.  Steey.  Var.  '03, 

Steev.  conj.    to  a  caution  to  Cap.  et  cet.  '  13. 

54.  fuffering  Country]  country,  fuf- 

45.  I]  Dyce  {Remarks,  etc.,  p.  199) :  The  semicolon  placed  after  '  Sir,  not  I ' 
[as  in  Collier's  edition]  destroys  the  meaning  of  the  passage.  The  construction  is, 
'and  the  cloudy  messenger  turns  me  his  back  with  an  absolute  "Sir,  not  I''  [re> 
cdved  in  answer  from  Macduff],  and  hums,  as  who  should  say,'  etc. 

46.  clowdy]  Deuus  :  That  is,  foreboding,  ominous, 

46.  me]  For  other  instances  of  this  ethical  dative,  see  Abbott,  §  220,  or  Shake- 
speare/oiJim. 

47.  as  who]  Abbott  (§  257) :  Who  is  used  for  any  one.  Compare  Mer.  of 
Ven.  I,  ii,  45,  and  I,  i,  93 ;  Rick,  II:  V,  \v,  8.  In  these  passages  it  is  possible  to 
understand  an  antecedent  to  '  who,'  <as,  or  like  (one)  who  should  say.'  But  in  [a 
passage  from  North's  Plutarck  and  one  from  Gower]  it  is  impossible  to  give  this 
explanation.     Possibly  an  if  is  implied  after  the  <  as '  by  the  use  of  the  subjunctive. 

54.  sufiFering]  See  Walker  (  Crit,  i,  160)  for  instances  of  this  peculiar  construc- 
tion with  the  adjective.  See  also  Rom,  and  Jul,  III,  i,  58. — Abbott  (§  419  a): 
When  an  adjective  is  not  a  mere  epithet,  but  expresses  something  essential,  and 
implies  a  relative,  it  is  often  placed  after  a  noun.     [See  V,  viii,  1 1,  12.] 

56.  He  .  . .  him]  Walker  ( Vers,  273)  :  Single  lines  of  four  or  five,  or  six  or 
seven,  syllables,  interspersed  amidst  the  ordinary  blank  verse  of  ten,  are  not  to  be 
considered  as  irregularities ;  they  belong  to  Shakespeare's  system  of  metre.  On  the 
other  hand,  lines  of  eight  or  nine  syllables,  as  they  are  at  variance  with  the  general 
rhythm  of  his  poetry  (at  least,  if  my  ears  do  not  deceive  me,  this  is  the  case),  so 
they  scarcely  ever  occur  in  his  plays, — it  were  hardly  too  much  to  say,  not  at  all. . . . 
With  regard  to  the  other,  or  legitimate  short  lines,  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  some- 
times, though  very  rarely,  two  lines  of  this  sort  occur  consecutively  in  Shakespeare, 
for  there  are  passages  which  cannot  be  otherwise  arranged  without  destroying  the 
harmony,  as  seems  to  me.  So  arrange,  *  Under  a  yoke  [sic]  accurst  I  [one  line]. 
Lord,  I'll  send  my  prayte  with  him.'  [another  line].  A  conclusion  of  a  scene 
quite  in  Shakespeare's  manner. 


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ACT  IV,  sc.  L]        THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  243 


A£ius  Quartus.  Scena  Prima. 


Thunder.        Enter  the  three  WUches.  2 

1.  Adbis  QuAitas.]  Actns  Quintus.  A  dark  Caye,  in  the  middle  a  great 
Ff.     Act  IV.  Rowe.                                      Cauldron  burning.  Rowe  et  seq.  (sabs.) 

2.  Enter  the  three  Witches]  Knowles  (p.  64)  :  Macready  suggested  the  fol- 
lowing arrangement  of  this  scene  :  Let  the  Witches  be  placed  in  different  parts  of 
the  cavern.  Suppose  one  at  the  mouth,  intently  on  the  watch  ;  another  near  the 
cauldron,  cowering  over  the  livid  flame,  which,  by  the  way,  should  be  placed  under 
the  channed  pot  and  not  in  it ;  the  Third  Witch  on  the  side  opposite  the  entrance, 
seated  perhaps  upon  a  fragment  of  stone,  her  anns  folded,  and  rocking  to  and  fro, 
upon  the  rack,  as  it  weie,  of  impatience.  Let  not  a  word  be  spoken,  till  the  audience 
have  had  time  to  study  the  picture.  'Tis  to  the  point,  and  they  are  sure  to  feel  it, 
if  you  will  allow  them.  The  familiars— the  brinded  cat,  the  hedge-pig,  and  Harper 
— are  supposed  to  be  stationed  outside  the  cavern  to  give  notice  of  the  approach  of 
Hecate.  The  First  Witch  hears  her  familiar :  '  Thrice  the  brinded  cat  hath  mewed.' 
The  eyes  of  the  other  Witches  are  instantly  turned  towards  her :  a  pause  ensues 
during  which  they  all  remain  motionless.  The  Witch  near  the  cauldron  hears  her 
funiliar ;  she  starts  from  her  cowering  attitude :  'Thrice ;  and  once  the  hedge-pig 
whined.'  Another  pause  here.  Now  at  length  the  Third  Witch  springs  upon  her 
feet :  '  Harper  cries ' ;  and  then  addressing  her  sisters,  and  not  putting  words  into 
Harper's  mouth,  which  Shakespeare  never  intended  for  him :  "Tis  time,  'tis  time.' 
[The  familiars  do  not,  however,  give  notice  of  the  approach  of  Hecate,  which  occurs 
at  line  41,  but  show  when  the  conditions  are  favourable  for  the  beginning  of  the 
charm. — Ed.  ii.] — Fleay  (Sh.  Manual^  p.  250) :  What  are  the  witches  of  this  scene? 
are  they  the  'weird  sisters,'  fairies,  nymphs,  or  goddesses?  or  are  they  ordinary 
witches  or  wizards,  as  we  should  expect  from  the  narrative  in  Holinshed,  and 
entirely  distinct  from  the  three  mysterious  beings  in  I,  iii.  ?  I  hold  the  latter  view. 
In  order  to  support  it,  it  will  be  necessaiy  to  show  that  they  are  not  weird  sisters 
in  the  higher  sense :  to  give  a  hypothesis  as  to  how  they  got  confused  with  them : 
to  tiy  to  present  some  idea  of  Shakespeare's  intentions  regarding  them.  Now  lines 
3-49  in  this  scene  are  admitted  by  all  critics  to  be  greatly  superior  to  the  corre- 
sponding passage  in  I,  iii,  3-40.  Clark  and  Wright  hold  it  to  be  Shakespeare, 
except  the  Hecate  bit  [See  Appendix^  The  WitcA."]  I  agree  with  them ;  but  then 
I  cannot  identify  these  witches  with  the  Nornae  of  I,  iii,  53-74.  The  witches  in  IV, 
i.  are  just  like  Middleton's  witches,  only  superior  in  quality.  They  are  cleariy  the  orig- 
inals from  whom  his  imitations  were  taken.  Their  charms  are  of  the  sort  popularly 
believed  in Of  themselves  they  have  not  the  prophetic  knowledge  of  the  weird  sis- 
ters, the  all-knowers  of  Past,  Present,  and  Future ;  they  must  get  their  knowledge  from 
their  masters^  or  call  them  up  to  communicate  it  themselves.  Nor  do  they  call  themselves 
weird  sisters,  although  the  three  in  the  early  rejected  part  of  I,  iii,  do  so ;  their  knowl- 
edge is  from  the  pricking  of  their  thumbs ;  they  are  submissive  to  the  great  King  who 
calls  them  filthy  hags,  secret^  blacky  and  midnight  hags;  the  oracles,  their  masters,  are 
ambiguous,  delusive :  those  of  the  weird  sisters  were  pithy,  inevitable ;  the  witches  are 


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244  ^^^  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH      [act  iv,  sc.  i. 

I  Thrice  the  brinded  Cat  hath  mew'd.  3 

3, 4,  5,  etc.   I,  2,  3,  etc]  i  Witch,  2  Witch,  3  Witch,  etc  Rowe  et  seq.  (subs.) 

of  the  Middle  Ages,  a  growth  of  the  popular  superstitions ;  the  Nomae  are  of  the  old 
Aryan  mythology  and  worthy  of  their  parentage.     But  however  strongly  I  may  feel 

this  difference  between  the  supernatural  beings  of  I,  iii.  (latter  part)  and  IV,  L and 

I  think  any  one  who  can  read  these  two  scenes  divested  of  old  associations  will 
agree  with  me ; — however  sure  I  may  feel  that  Shakespeare  could  not  have  given  up 
the  *  destiny  goddesses '  of  his  authority  for  this  play  so  as  to  lower  them  to  the 
witches  and  wizards  of  Macbeth' s  later  time^  there  is  a  great  stumbling-block  in  our 
way.  In  III,  iv,  164,  and  IV,  i,  160,  Macbeth  calls  the  witches  of  IV,  i.  *the 
weird  sisters.'  It  is  true  that  he  has  called  ^en^fiUky  hags^  that  he  describes  them 
as  riding  on  the  air,  that  he  is  surprised  that  Lenox  did  not  see  them  pass  by  him, 
that  they  may  have  left  the  stage  in  the  ordinary  way,  that  Macbeth  never  alludes 
to  them  afterwards  as  he  does  to  the  real  *  weird  sisters/  but  only  mentions « the 
spirits '  or  <  the  fiend.'  All  this  is  true ;  but  if  my  theory  be  true  also,  those  two 
passages  must  be  explained.  This  is  a  real  difficulty  and  I  cannot  satisfactorily 
solve  it  at  present.— [To  the  foregoing  assertion  that  the  witches  *  may  have  left 
the  stage  in  the  ordinary  way '  Fleay  adds  a  foot-note,  as  follows :  *  I  feel  certain 
on  this  point.  The  stage-direction  '*  vanish  with  Hecate,"  is  Middleton's.'  But 
is  it  not  Clark  and  Wright's  ?  It  is  nowhere  to  be  found  until  it  appears  in  the 
Globe  Edition  in  1864.  See  Text,  Notes,  line  155,  this  scene.— Ed.  ii.]— Dowden 
(referring  to  Fleay' s  foregoing  remarks) :  It  is  hardly  perhaps  a  sound  method  of 
criticism  to  invent  a  hypothesis,  which  creates  an  insoluble  difficulty. — Ed.  ii. — 
Snider  (i,  191) :  The  turning  point  of  the  drama  begins  with  the  second  appear- 
ance of  the  Weird  Sisters.  The  theme  of  this  second  movement  is  retribution — not, 
however,  the  internal  retribution  of  the  imagination,  but  the  external  retribution, 
which  brings  home  to  the  guilty  man  the  true  equivalent  of  his  deeds. — Ed.  ii. 

3.  brinded]  Murray  (A^.  E,  D.)i  (Primary  form  apparently  ^r^n^A/,  whence 
on  one  side  branded,  on  the  other  brinded.  Brende,  which  occurs  in  Lydgate,  is 
identical  with  one  of  the  contemporary  forms  of  burnt,  burned;  nevertheless,  taken 
with  the  fuller  brended,  it  points  to  a  secondary  verb  brenden,  a  possible  derivative 
of  brand,  'burning  brand.'  The  sense  appears  to  be  'marked  as  by  burning'  or 
'  branding.'  Professor  Skeat  compares  Icelandic  brondbttr,  brindled,  from  brand, 
fire-brand.)  Of  a  tawny  or  brownish  colour,  marked  with  bars  or  streaks  of  a 
different  hue;  also  generally  streaked,  spotted ;  brindled.  1430.  Lydgate,  Minor 
Poems,  202 :  *  On  them  she  wyl  have  a  bonde.  As  weel  of  bajrard  as  of  brende  And 
yit  for  sorrelle  she  wyl  stonde.  .  .  .'  1589,  Greene,  Menaph,  (Arb.)  86:  *Ah, 
Doron, .  .  .  thou  art  as  white  As  is  my  mother's  Calfe,  or  brinded  Cow.' — Ed.  ii. 

3.  Cat]  Warburton  :  A  cat,  from  time  immemorial,  has  been  the  agent  and 
favourite  of  witches.  This  superstitious  fancy  originated  perhaps  thus:  When 
Galinthia  was  changed  into  a  cat  by  the  Fates  (says  Antonius  Liberalis,  Metam, 
cap.  xxix),  by  Witches  (says  Pausanias  in  his  Bceotics),  Hecate  took  pity  of  her,  and 
made  her  her  priestess.  Hecate,  herself  too,  when  Typhon  forced  all  the  gods 
and  goddesses  to  hide  themselves  in  animals,  assumed  the  shape  of  a  ra/. — ^John- 
son :  A  witch,  who  was  tried  about  half  a  century  before  the  time  of  Shakespeare, 
had  a  cat  named  Rutterkin,  as  the  spirit  of  one  of  these  witches  was  Grimalkin. — 
Douce  :  We  know  that  the  Egyptians  typified  the  moon  by  this  animal.     Some  of 


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ACTiv,sc.i.]        THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH  245 

2  Thrice,  and  once  the  Hedge-Pigge  whin'd  4 

4.  Tkrice^   and'\    Ff,   Rowc,   Pope,  cet 

Cap.     TWf^-,  a»</ Theob.  +  ,  Var.  *73.  4.  Hedge-Pigge]    Hedges    Pigge  F,. 

Thrice  and  Jen.  Sta.  Del.  Glo.  Cam.  Hedges  Pig  F^F^,  Rowe  i.     hedge-pig 

Dyce  ii,  iii.     Thrice;  andV9x,'^%^  et  D*Av.  et  cet. 

the  andents  have  supposed  that  the  cat  became  fat  or  lean  with  the  increase  or  wane 
of  the  moon ;  that  it  usually  brought  forth  as  many  young  as  there  are  days  in  a 
lanar  period  ;  and  that  the  pupils  of  its  eyes  dilated  or  contracted  according  to  the 
changes  of  the  planet — [Agnes  Repplier  (p.  32) :  Innumerable  legends  cluster 
around  the  cat  during  these  picturesque  centuries  of  superstition  [the  Dark  Ages] 
when  men  were  poor  in  letters,  but  rich  in  vivid  imaginings ;  when  they  were 
densely  ignorant,  but  never  dull.  Even  after  the  Dark  Ages  had  grown  light,  there 
was  no  lifting  of  the  gloom  which  enveloped  the  cat's  pathway ;  there  was  no  vis- 
ible softening  of  her  lot  The  stories  told  of  her  impish  wickedness  have  the  same 
general  character  throughout  Europe.  We  meet  them  with  modest  variations  in 
France,  in  Germany,  in  Sweden,  Denmark,  England,  Scotland,  and  Wales.  .  . . 
Again  and  again  she  figures  with  direful  prominence  in  the  records  of  demonology. 
A  black-hearted  Scottish  witch  confessed  in  the  year  1 591  that  she  had  impiously 
christened  a  cat ;  and  that  she  and  other  witches  had  carried  this  animal  '  sayling 
in  their  Riddles  or  Gives  into  the  middest  of  the  sea,  and  so  left  it  before  the  towne 
of  Leith ;  whereupon  there  did  arise  such  a  tempest  at  sea,  as  a  greater  hath  not  been 
seen.  .  .  .'  Evidence  of  a  most  disastrous  character  was  brought  against  the  cat  in 
countless  other  trials.  We  can  hardly  wonder  at  the  deep  suspicion  with  which 
men  regarded  an  animal  so  mysterious  and  so  closely  allied  to  the  supernatural. 
Even  when  her  behaviour  was  harmless  or  beneficial,  they  feared  a  lurking  malice 
which  never  lacked  the  power  for  evil  things. — Ed.  ii.] 

4.  once]  Theobald  :  I  read  htnce  and  once;  because,  as  Virgil  has  remarked, 
•  Numero  Deus  impare  gaudet,'  [Eel.  VIII,  75]  ;  and  three  and  nine  are  the  num- 
bers used  in  all  Inchantments. — Steevens  :  The  Second  Witch  only  repeats  the 
number  which  the  First  had  mentioned,  in  order  to  confirm  what  she  had  said ; 
and  then  adds,  that  the  hedge-pig  had  likewise  cried,  though  but  once.  Or  what 
seems  more  easy,  the  hedge-pig  had  whined  thrice,  and  after  an  interval  had  whined 
once  again. — Elwin  :  As  even  numbers  were  considered  inappropriate  to  magical 
operations,  the  Second  Witch  makes  iht  fourth  cry  of  the  hedge- pig  an  odd  number , 
by  her  method  of  counting.  She  tells  three,  and  then  begins  a  new  reckoning. — 
Clarendon  :  The  witch's  way  of  saying  four  times, — [Nicholson  {New  Sh.  Soc, 
TVans,  1880-2,  part  i,  p.  106) :  I  hold  with  those  who  have  it  that  the  second 
witch's  'thrice'  is  the  repetition  of  the  first  one's  'Thrice  the  brinded  cat  hath 
mewed,'  and  should  therefore  be  pointed  with  a  comma  or  semicolon  afler  it,  the 
'  once '  being  the  number  of  times  that  the  hedge-pig  has  whined. — Ed.  ii.] 

4.  Hedge-Pigge]  Warton  :  The  urchin,  or  hedge-hog,  from  its  solitariness, 
the  ugliness  of  its  appearance,  and  from  a  popular  opinion  that  it  sucked  or  poisoned 
the  udders  of  cows,  was  adopted  into  the  demonologic  system,  and  its  shape  was 
sometimes  supposed  to  be  assumed  by  mischievous  elves. — Krauth  {Notes  on  The 
Tempesty  p.  33) :  The  urchin,  or  hedge-hog,  is  nocturnal  in  its  habits,  weird  in  its 
movements ;  plants  wither  where  it  works,  for  it  cuts  off  their  roots.  Fairies  of  one 
class  were  supposed  to  assume  its  form.     Urchin  came  to  mean  fairy  without  ref« 


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246  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH      [act  iv.  sc.  i. 

3  Harpier  cries,  'tis  time,  'tis  time.  5 

I  Round  about  the  Caldron  go : 
In  the  poyfond  Entrailes  throw 
Toad,  that  vnder  cold  ftone,  8 

5.  Harpier\   Harper  Pope,  +  ,  Cap.  7.  Mrw]  Mnw.  Rowe  et  seq.  [They 

Var.  Mai.  Ran.  Steev.  Var.  Sing.  Coll.  march  round  the  Cauldron,  and  throw 

Huds.  Hal.  Wh.  ii.    Harpy  Steev.  conj.  in  the   several  Ingredients  as  for  the 

Dyce  ii,  iii,  Huds.  ii,  iii.   Hark  her  cries  Fteparation  of  their  Chann.  Rowe,+. 

Jackson.     Harrier  Sprenger.  8.  Toad^  that^  Toadstool  Bulloch. 

<-n>j,  'tisi  Ff,  Rowe,  +  ,  Cap.  Jen.  vnder  coid^  under  the  coid  Rowe 

KUy.     cries.-^'Tis  CoU.  Huds.  i,  Wh.  u,  +  ,  Cap.  Var.  Mai.  Ran.  Coll.  i,  Wh. 

Glo.  Fumess.     cries  "Tlr  Cam.    cries;  i,  Dyce  ii,  Huds.  ii,  iii.    under  coldest 

'Tis  Dtn.     cries:-'  'tis  Var.   '73,   et  Steev.  Var.  Sing.  i.     under  a  cold  St^ 

c^*  conj.    under  cold,  cold  Anon.  ap.  Cam. 

7.  poy/ond]  poison*d  Rowe  et  seq.  under  coldi  Allen  (MS),    under  cursid 

Entrailes'\  entremes  Warb.  conj.  Kinnear. 


erence  to  the  hedge-hog  shape ;  hence,  because  fairies  are  little  and  mischievous,  it 
came  to  be  applied  to  a  child. 

5.  Harpier]  Steevens  :  It  may  be  only  a  misspelling,  or  a  misprint,  for  harpy. 
So  in  Marlowe's  Taniburlaine,  etc.,  1590 :  'And  like  a  harper  tyers  upon  my 
life.' — COLUER  (ed.  ii.)  :  In  the  8vo  ed.,  which  is  of  the  same  date,  it  stands 
Harpy.  Dyce's  Marlowe,  i,  51.— Dycb  (ed.  ii.)  :  It  is  doubtless  as  Steevens  sug- 
gested.— Clarendon  :  The  Hebrew  word  Habar,  *  incantare,*  mentioned  in  Scot's 
Discovery  of  Witchcrafts  Bk,  12,  ch.  i,  may  be  the  origin  of  the  word. — GuizoT : 
Probably  some  animal  which  the  witch  thus  designates  on  account  of  the  resem- 
blance of  its  cry  to  the  sound  of  a  harp-string. — Jordan  :  Hecate's  attendant 
is  only  indicated  as  a  little  spirit  sitting  in  a  thick  fog,  and  each  of  the  other 
three  witches  have  attendants  in  the  shape  of  animals,  such  as  a  cat,  an  urchin, 
and  a  toad.  I  have  conjectured,  therefore,  with  tolerable  certainty,  that  Shake- 
speare here  wrote:  herpler,  i.  e.  waddler  (IVatschler). — [Nicholson  (Notes  and 
Queries,  7  Feb.  1880):  I  am  led  to  believe  that  this  is  not  a  name  for  the 
animal  whose  shape  was  assumed  by  the  familiar,  but  the  proper  name  of  the 
familiar  himself,  just  as  other  spirits  were  called  Puckle,  Hoppo,  Tiffen,  etc.  Not 
improbably, — for  Shakespeare  was  a  man  who  disregarded  precedent  and  history  in 
unimportant  matters, — ^it  was  a  fancy  name,  invented  as  suggesting  by  its  sound  and 
association  a  being  ravenous,  evil-disposed,  and  talon-clawed. — Ed.  ii.] 

5.  'tis  time]  Steevens  :  This  Familiar  does  not  cry  out  that  it  is  time  for  them  to 
begin  their  enchantments ;  but  cries,  i.  e.  gives  them  the  signal,  upon  which  the 
Third  Witch  communicates  the  notice  to  her  sisters. 

7.  Clarendon  :  The  imagination  of  the  poets  contemporary  with  Shakespeare 
ran  riot  in  devising  loathsome  ingredients  for  witches'  messes.  Compare  Webster, 
Duchess  of  Malfi,  ii,  I,  p.  67,  ed.  Dyce :  '  One  would  suspect  it  for  a  shop  of  witch- 
craft, to  find  in  it  the  fat  of  serpents,  spawn  of  snakes,  Jews'  spittle,'  etc  Lucan 
perhaps  excels  them  all.     See  Pharsalia,  Bk,  vi,  667-681. 

8.  vnder  cold]  Steevens  :  The  slight  change  I  have  made  has  met  the  appro- 
bation of  Dr  Farmer,  or  it  would  not  have  appeared  in  the  text. — Knight  :  The  line 
is  certainly  defective  in  rhythm,  for  a  pause  here  cannot  take  the  place  of  a  syllable, 
unless  we  pronounce  'cold' — co-old*     There  is  no  natural  retardation. — Collier: 


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ACTiv.sc.i.]        THE  TRAGED IE  OF  MACBETH  247 

Dayes  and  Nights,  ha's  thirty  one : 

Sweltred  Venom  fleeping  got,  10 

Boyle  thou  first  i'th'charmed  pot. 

AU.     Double,  double,  toile  and  trouble  ; 
Fire  bume,  and  Cauldron  bubble.  13 

9.  ka's\    F,.      has^   Pope,  +  ,  Jen.  Sing.  Del.  Ktly. 

hast,  Han.     host  Cap.  Var.  Mai.  Ran.  II.  charmed^  charrridQM^.  charmid 

Steev.  Var.  Sing,  i,  Knt,  Dyce,  Ktly,  Dyce. 

Huds.  ii,  iii.  12,22,37.  DoubU,    doubU,'\    Ff,  +  , 

one .]  Ff,  Rowe.     one.  Pope, + ,  Cap.  Knt,  Sing,  ii,  Ktly.   Double^  double 

Jen.    one  Cap.  et  cet.  Var.  '73,  et  ceL 
10.  Venom  Jleepingi  venom,  sleeping 

Laying  only  due  and  expressive  emphasis  upon  <  cold,'  it  may  be  doubted  whether 
the  line  be  defective.  There  seems  no  reason  for  preferring  the  superlative  d^;ree 
[of  Steevens],  and  it  is  more  likely  that  the  definite  article  [of  Pope]  dropped  out  in 
the  printing. — Hudson  (ed.  I) :  To  our  ear  the  extending  of  *  cold '  to  the  time  of  two 
syllables  y^^/r  right  enough. — Delius  :  In  order  to  weaken  the  force  of  the  consecu- 
tive consonants,  an  involuntary  pause  should  perhaps  occur  between  'cold'  and 
« stone';  just  as  in  Mid,  N.  D.  II,  i,  7,  'Swifter  than  the  moon's  sphere.' — R.  G. 
White  :  The  line  in  the  Folio  is  so  detrimenUUy  defective  that  we  gladly,  though 
perhaps  unwarranUbly,  accept  Pope's  emendation. — ^Dyce  (ed.  ii.) :  The  article, 
which  is  required  not  only  for  the  metre,  but  for  the  sense,  has  been  omitted  by  mis- 
take. Yet  the  mutilated  line  has  found  its  defenders  and  admirers  (who,  we  may  be 
sure,  if  the  Folio,  in  As  You  Like  It,  II,  v,  instead  of  *  Under  the  greenwood  tree,' 
etc.,  had  given  us  Umler  greenwood  tree,  etc.,  would  have  defended  and  admired 
that  mutilated  line  also). — Keightley:  I  read  *  iinAtTneath,*  as  in  Jonson's  line, 
'Underneath  this  stone  doth  lie.' — Clarendon:  Perhaps  the  line  is  right  as  it 
stands,  the  two  syllables,  'cold  stone,'  when  slowly  pronounced  being  equiv- 
alent to  three,  as  Temp.  IV,  i,  no:  'Earth's  increase,  foison  plenty.' — Abbott 
(§  484)  :  See  I,  ii,  10.  [See  Mid.  N.  D.  II,  i,  7,  this  edition.  Note  by  Guest.— 
Ed.  ii.] 

10.  Sweltred]  Steevens  :  This  word  seems  to  signify  that  the  animal  was  moist- 
ened with  its  own  cold  exudations. — Clarendon  :  This  word  is  generally  used  of 
the  effect  of  heat.    Webster  defines  it, '  To  exude  like  sweat.' 

10.  Venom]  Hunter  :  There  is  a  paper  by  Dr  Davy  in  the  Philosophical  Trans- 
actions of  1826,  in  which  it  is  shown  that  the  toad  is  venomous,  and  moreover  that 
'sweltered  venom'  is  peculiarly  proper,  the  poison  Ijring  diffused  over  the  body 
immediately  under  the  skin.  This  is  the  second  instance  in  this  play  of  Shake- 
speare's minute  exactness  in  his  natural  history.  ['All  manner  of  Toads,  both  of 
the  earth  and  of  the  water  are  venomous,  although  it  be  held  that  the  Toads  of  the 
earth  are  more  poysonful  then  the  Toads  of  the  water. .  .  .  But  the  Toads  of  the 
land,  which  do  descend  into  the  marishes,  and  so  live  in  both  elements,  are  most 
venomous.'— Topscll,/fiij/w7^/^  Serpents,  p.  730,  ed.  1658. — Ed.  ii.] 

12,  13.  Abbott  ($  504) :  The  verse  with  four  accents  is  rarely  used  by  Shake- 
speare except  when  witches  or  other  extraordinary  beings  are  introduced  as  speak- 
ing. Then  he  often  uses  a  verse  of  four  accents  with  rhyme.  [For  sundry  transla- 
tions of  these  lines  into  German,  see  Appendix."] 


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248  THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH      [act  iv.  sc.  L 

2  Fillet  of  a  Fenny  Snake, 

In  the  Cauldron  boyle  and  bake  :  15 

Eye  of  Newt,  and  Toe  of  Frogge, 

Wool  of  Bat,  and  Tongue  of  Dogge  : 

Adders  Forke,  and  Blinde-wormes  Sting, 

Lizards  legge,  and  Howlets  wing : 

For  a  Charme  of  powrefull  trouble,  20 

Like  a  Hell-broth,  boyle  and  bubble. 

AU.     Double,  double,  toyle  and  trouble, 
Fire  bume,  and  Cauldron  bubble. 

3  Scale  of  Dragon,  Tooth  of  Wolfe, 

Witches  Mummey,  Maw,  and  Gulfe  25 

14.  2  Fillet^  I  Witch.     Fillet  Pope  20.  pcwrefuU^powerfiillY^y  pofwer- 

ii,  Theob.  Warb.  Johns.  Mai.  Ran.  Jul  F^. 

18.  Blinde-wormes] blifKl'VM>rmVa^.  25.  ^f^r^j]  Ff,  Rowe,  Pope,  Theob. 

19.  Howlets]  owlet's  Pope,  +  ,  Cap.  i.  »^rA'j  Sing,  i,  Huds.  Ktly.  Witches' 
Var.  '73,  Steev.  Var.  Knt,  Coll.  Huds.  Theob.  ii,  et  ceL 

Sing,  ii,  Sta.  Hal.  Wh.  Ktly. 

14.  Fillet]  Schmidt  (Lex.)  :  Meat  rolled  together  and  tied  roand.— Manly  :  A 
slice  of  snake  from  the  fens. — Ed.  ii. — [Compare  Lucan,  Pharsalia^  vi,  656 :  '  Et 
coma  vipereis  substringitur  horrida  sertis.'  This  may  possibly  indicate  another  inter- 
pretation of  '  fillet/  in  the  sense  of  a  head-band.  According  to  Lowndes,  the  earliest 
translation  of  Pharsalia  is  that  of  Arthur  Gorges,  1614. — Ed.  ii.] 

18.  Blinde-wormes]  Stbevens:  The  slow- worm.  So  Drayton,  Noah's  Flood: 
'  The  small-eyed  slow- worm  held  of  many  blind/  [vol.  iv,  p.  1538,  ed.  Reeve,  1753. 
— Ed.  ii.]. — Clarendon:  In  Timon,  IV,  iii,  182,  'the  eyeless  venom' d  wonn.' — 
[Murray  {M  E,  D.):  Compare  Danish  blindorm:  so  called  from  the  smallness 
of  its  eyes.  A  reptile  (Anguis  fragilis)  also  called  Slow- worm.  (Formerly  applied 
also  to  the  Adder.)  c,  1450  Gloss,  in  Wr.-Wolcker  Voc.  706,  *  Hec  saOula,  b. 
blyndeworme.  . .  .'  Mid,  M  Dream,  II,  ii,  1 1  :  '  Newts  and  blinde  wonnes  do  no 
wrong.' — Ed.  ii.] 

19.  Howlets]  Murray  {J\r.  E.  D.) :  Apparently  adapted  from  French  hulotte^ 
in  1 6th  centaiy  hulote,  a  word  of  diminutive  form,  of  which  the  stem  appears  to  be 
the  same  as  in  German  eule^  Middle  Low  German  <0/<f,  perhaps  altered  under  the 
influence  of  huer  to  hoot :  cf.  the  synonym  huette, — Ed.  ii. 

24.  Hudson  :  Shakespeare  so  weaves  his  incantations  as  to  cast  a  spell  upon  the 
mind,  and  force  its  acquiescence  in  what  he  represents ;  explode  as  we  may  the 
witchcraft  he  describes,  there  is  no  exploding  the  witchcraft  of  his  description ;  the 
effect  springing  not  so  much  from  what  he  borrows  as  from  his  own  ordering  thereof. 

25.  Mummey]  Nares  :  Egyptian  mummy,  or  what  passed  for  it,  was  formerly 
a  regular  part  of  the  Materia  Medica.  The  Dean  of  Westminster  [William  Vin- 
cent], in  his  Commerce,  &*c.,  of  the  Ancients,  says  that  it  was  medical,  <not  on  ac- 
count of  the  cadaverous,  but  the  aromatic,  substance.' — Dyce  (note  on  <  Your  fol- 
lowers Have  swallow' d  you  like  mununia.' — The  IVhite  Devil,  I,  i.  Webster, 
Works,  vol.  i,  p.  10) :  The  most  satisfactory  account  of  the  different  kinds  of  mummy 


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ACT  IV,  sc.  L]        THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  249 

Of  the  rauin'd  fait  Sea  fharke :  26 

26.  ratfiVi/]  rav^fiiVi;^  Pope, +,  Jen.  sea-shark  Pope,  +  y  Var. '73.  salt-sea 
ravin  Mason,  Ran.  shark  Cap.  et  cet 

/alt  Seajharkel  ¥f^  Rowe.     salt 

fonnerly  used  in  medicine  is  to  be  found  in  a  quotation  from  Hill's  Materia  Medica 
in  Johnson's  Diet.,,  s.  v. '  The  Egyptian  mummies,'  says  Sir  Thomas  Browne,  <  which 
Cambyses  or  time  hath  spared,  avarice  now  consumeth.  Munmiie  is  become  mer- 
chandise, Mizraim  cures  wounds,  and  Pharaoh  is  sold  for  balsams.' — Um-Burialy  p. 
28,  ed.  1658. — Clarendon  :  Sir  Thomas  Browne,  in  his  Fragment  on  Mummies, 
tells  us  that  Francis  the  First  always  carried  mummy  with  him  as  a  panacea  against 
all  disorders.  Some  used  it  for  epilepsy,  some  for  gout,  some  used  it  as  a  styptic. 
He  goes  on :  '  The  common  opinion  of  the  virtues  of  munmiy  bred  great  consump- 
tion thereof,  and  princes  and  great  men  contended  for  this  strange  panacea,  wherein 
the  Jews  dealt  largely,  manufacturing  mummies  from  dead  carcasses  and  giving  them 
the  names  of  kings,  while  specifics  were  compounded  from  crosses  and  gibbet- 
leavings.' — [Johnson  (Diet,  s.  v, — noted  by  Dyce)  :  We  have  two  substances  for 
medicinal  use  under  the  name  of  mummy  :  one  is  the  dried  flesh  of  human  bodies 
embalmed  with  myrrh  and  spice  ;  the  other  is  the  liquor  running  from  such  mum- 
mies when  newly  prepared,  or  when  affected  by  great  heat ;  this  is  sometimes  of  a 
liquid,  sometimes  of  a  solid  form,  as  it  is  preserved  in  vials  or  suffered  to  dry :  the 
first  kind  is  brought  in  large  pieces,  of  a  friable  texture,  light  and  spungy,  of  a 
blackish-brown  colour,  and  often  black  and  clammy  on  the  surface ;  it  is  of  a  strong 
but  not  agreeable  smell ;  the  second  in  its  liquid  state  is  a  thick,  opake,  and  vis- 
cous fluid,  of  a  blackish  and  a  strong,  but  not  disagreeable,  smell ;  in  its  indurated 
state  it  is  a  dry,  solid  substance,  of  a  fine  shining  black  colour  and  close  texture, 
easily  broken,  and  of  a  good  smell :  this  sort  is  extremely  dear,  and  the  first  sort  so 
cheap  that  we  are  not  to  imagine  it  to  be  the  ancient  Egyptian  mummy.  What  our 
druggists  are  supplied  with  is  the  flesh  of  any  bodies  the  Jews  can  get,  who  fill  them 
with  the  common  bitumen  so  plentiful  in  that  part  of  the  world,  and,  adding  aloes 
and  some  other  cheap  ingredients,  send  them  to  be  baked  in  an  oven  till  the  juices 
are  exhaled  and  the  embalming  matter  has  penetrated.  Hill's  Materia  Medica, — 
Ed.  ii.] 

25.  Gulfe]  Clarendon  :  Gulf,  in  the  sense  of  arm  of  the  sea,  is  derived  from 
the  French  golfe,  Italian  golfo,  and  connected  with  the  Greek  K6'k'Koq ;  but  in  the 
sense  of  whirlpool  or  swallowing  eddy,  it  is  connected  with  the  Dutch  gulpen,  our 
gulp,  to  swallow,  and  with  the  old  Dutch  golpe^  a  whirlpool.  So  Wedgwood. 
*Gulf,'  with  the  latter  derivation,  is  applied  also  to  the  stomach  of  voracious 
animals. 

26.  rauin'd]  Steevens  :  That  is,  glutted  with  prey.  Ravin  is  the  ancient  word 
for  prey  obtained  by  violence.  So,  in  Drayton's  Polyolbion,  Song  7  :  * — but  a  den 
for  beasts  of  ravin  made.'  See  Meas,  for  Meas,  I,  ii,  123. — M.  Mason  :  It  does 
not  follow  that  because  ravin  may  signify  prey,  ravined  should  signify  glutted 
with  prey,  I  believe  we  ought  to  read  ravin.  As  in  AWs  Well,  III,  ii,  120. 
Ravined  cannot  mean  glutted  with  prey,  but  the  reverse. — Steevens  :  In  Phineas 
Fletcher's  Locusts,  1627  [Canto  iii,  St.  18. — Clarendon],  ravened  occurs  as  in  the 
present  text:  *■ — But  with  his  raven' d  prey  his  bowells  broke.' — Malone:  To 
ravin,  according  to  Minsheu,  is  to  devour,  or  eat  greedily.  Ravined  is  used  for 
ravenous,  the  passive  participle  for  the  adjective. 


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250  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH       [act  iv,  sc.  i. 

Roote  of  Hemlocke,  digged  Pth'darke :  27 

Liuer  of  Blafpheming  lew, 

Gcdl  of  Goate,  and  Slippes  of  Yew, 

Sliuer'd  in  the  Moones  Ecclipfe  :  30 

Nofe  of  Turke,and  Tartars  lips : 

Finger  of  Birth-ftrangled  Babe, 

Ditch-deliuer'd  by  a  Drab, 

Make  the  Grewell  thicke,  and  flab. 

Adde  thereto  a  Tigers  Chawdron,  35 

30.  Sliuer^dl  Si^'r'd  D'Av.  Rowe  35.  Ckawdron]    Ff,    Rowe,  +  ,  Var. 

ii,  Hal.  »73.     chauldron  Sing,  ii,  Ktly.     ckau- 

35.  Tigers]  tigars  F,.  drm  Cap.  et  cet. 

29.  Yew]  Ewe  or  Yew  is  altogether  Tenomoiis,  and  against  man's  nature.  The 
birdes  that  eate  the  redde  berryes,  e]rther  dye,  or  cast  theyr  fethers. — ^Batnum  Uppon 
Bartholomew  xvii,  ch.  161  (cited  by  Douce). — Ed.  ii. 

30.  Sliuer'd]  Steevens  :  A  common  word  in  the  North,  meaning  to  cat  a  piece, 
or  a  slice.  See  Lear^  IV,  ii,  34. — Dyce  {Gloss,^  :  To  cleave,  to  split,  to  cut  off,  to 
slice  off,  to  tear  off.     (« To  Slive,  Sliver,  Findo: ^Coles* %  Lot,  and Eng.  DicL) 

30.  Ecclipse]  Clarendon:  A  most  unlucky  time  for  lawful  enterprises,  and 
therefore  suitable  for  evil  designs.  Compare  Milton,  Paradise  Losty  i,  597 :  <  As 
when  the  sun  . . .  from  behind  the  moon  In  dim  eclipse  disastrous  twilight  sheds.' 
And  in  Lycidas^  he  says  of  the  unlucky  ship  that  was  wrecked,  line  loi, '  It  was 
that  fatal  and  perfidious  barque  Built  in  the  eclipse.' 

32.  Finger]  Johnson  :  It  is  observable  that  Shakespeare  on  this  great  occasion, 
which  involves  the  late  of  a  king,  multiplies  all  the  circumstances  of  horror.  The 
babe,  whose  finger  is  used,  must  be  stnmgled  in  its  birth ;  the  grease  must  not  only 
be  human,  but  must  have  dropped  from  a  gibbet,  the  gibbet  of  a  murderer ;  and  even 
the  sow,  whose  blood  is  used,  must  have  offended  nature  by  devouring  her  own  lar- 
row.     These  are  touches  of  judgement  and  genius. 

34.  slab]  Clarendon  :  That  is,  thick^  slimy.  The  same  word  is  found  as  a  sub- 
stantive, meaning  mttd  or  slime.  There  is  also  slabber^  a  verb,  to  soil.  Another  fonn 
of  the  adjective  is  slobby.  We  find  no  other  example  of  the  adjective  slab.'  Etymo- 
logically  it  is  doubtless  related  to  slobbery.     See  Hen,  V:  III,  v,  13. 

35.  Chawdron]  Steevens  :  That  is,  entrails ^  a  word  formerly  in  common  use 
in  the  books  of  cookeiy,  in  one  of  which,  printed  in  1597,  I  meet  with  a  receipt  to 
make  a  pudding  of  a  calf's  chaldron.  Again,  in  Decker's  Honest  Whore,  1635 : 
'  Sixpence  a  meal,  wench,  as  well  as  heart  can  wish,  with  calves'  chaldrons  and 
chitterlings,'  [Part  i,  sc.  vii.].  At  the  coronation  feast  of  Elizabeth  of  York,  queen 
of  Henry  VII,  among  other  dishes,  one  was  '  a  swan  with  chaudron,  meaning  sauce 
made  with  its  entrails. — ^Whitb  :  This  seems  to  have  been  the  omentum  or  rim ;  it 
was  certainly  some  part  of  the  entrails. — Dyce  (Gloss,) :  'A  Calves  chauldron,  Echi- 
nus vituli,* — Coles's  Lat,  and  Eng,  Diet, — Clarendon  :  Probably  like  the  German 
Kaldauneny  with  which  it  is  connected,  '  chaudron '  is  a  plural  noun  and  should  be 
spelt  chaudren.  It  is  spelt  chaldem  in  Cotgrave,  who  gives  '  calves  chaldem '  as  a 
translation  of  Fraise,  We  find,  however,  *  chaudrons,'  or  <  chaldrons,'  in  one  of 
Middleton's  plays,  vol.  iii,  p.  55,  ed.  Dyce,  1840. 


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ACTiv,sc.i.]        THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  251 

For  th'Ingredience  of  our  Cawdron.  36 

All.    Double,  double,  toyle  and  trouble, 
Fire  burne,and  Cauldron  bubble. 

2  Coole  it  with  a  Baboones  blood, 
Then  the  Charme  is  firme  and  good.  40 

Enter  Hecatyand  the  other  three  Witches. 

56.  Ingredimce\  ingredienU  Rowe.  Knt  ii,  Fomess.      Enter  Hecate  and 

39,  73.  hlood^  hhmd  ¥^F^.  other  Witches.  Coll.     Enter  Hecate  to 

41.  Enter  ...  Witches]   Ff,    (Hecate  the  other  three  Witches.  Glo.Cam.Wh. 

F  F^),  Steey.  Var.  Sing.  Knt  i.     Enter  ii.      Enter   Hecate    and    other    three 

Hecate.  Ritson,  Dyce,  Sta.  Wh.  i,  Hal.  Witches.  Rowe,  et  cet. 

36.  Ingredience]  See  note,  I,  vii,  15. 

39.  Baboones]  Murray  {M  £.  D.):  Adopted  from  French  daium  (13th  c), 
modem  babouin,  or  adaptation  of  mediseval  Latin  babewynus  (used  in  England  1295, 
see  Da  Cange),  found  also  in  the  forms  babomnusy  baboynus,  babaynos  (some,  if  not 
all,  of  which  are  merely  Latinized  from  French  or  English) ;  equivalent  to  Italian 
babbuinoy  Spanish  babuino.  French  has  also  babum,  treated  by  Littrt  as  a  distinct 
wordy  but  in  English  identified  with  baboon^  and  the  source  of  Low  German  bavian^ 
Dutch  baviaan^  High  German  pavum^  baboon.  The  earlier  history  of  the  word  is 
unknown. — Ed.  ii. — ^Walkbr  (Crit,  ii,  27)  calls  attention  to  the  accent  b&bwm;  as 
also  in  Pericles^  IV,  yi,  189. 

41.  Enter  Hecat]  G.  Crosse  {Nota  and  Queries,  22  Oct  1898)  :  The  intro- 
duction of  Hecate  here  is  quite  objecdess.  After  the  entrance  of  Macbeth  she 
neither  speaks  nor  takes  part  in  the  action.  This  suggests  that  her  one  speech  is  an 
interpolation,  probably  inserted  to  harmonise  with  a  former  interpolation  (Act  III, 
sc  v.),  and  to  introduce  the  song  '  Black  spirits.'  In  the  same  way  lines  146-153 
may  have  been  inserted  to  lead  up  to  the  witch  dance.  The  idea  of  the  witches 
dancing  in  order  to  <  cheer  up '  Macbeth  seems  scarcely  Shakespearian.  [See  note 
by  Crosse,  III,  v,  i.— Ed.  ii.] 

41.  Enter  Hecat . . .  Witches]  Ritson  :  The  insertion  of  these  words  '  and 
the  o/Aer  Three  Witches*  in  the  Folio  must  be  a  mistake.  There  is  no  reason  to 
suppose  that  Shakespeare  meant  to  introduce  more  than  Three  Witches  upon  the 
scene. — Steevens  :  Perhaps  they  were  brought  on  for  the  sake  of  the  approaching 
dance.  Surely  the  original  triad  of  hags  was  insu£Bident  for  the  performance  of  the 
*  antic  round*  introduced  in  line  155. — ^Anonymous  (qu.  Litchfield?)  :  Shakespeare 
probably  wrote  *  the  other  witches.'  The  word  *  three '  having  been  introduced  in  all  * 
the  former  instances,  might  have  crept  in  through  the  inadvertency  of  the  printer. — 
Dyce  {^Remarks,  etc.,  p.  200)  :  What  other  three  Wiches  are  intended  is  plain  enough 
—the  three  who  now  enter  for  the  first  time,  there  being  already  three  on  the  stage : 
the  number  of  Witches  in  this  scene  is  sa.— Hunter  (ii,  163):  The  play  opens 
with  three  witches  only.  At  their  interview  widi  Macbeth  and  Banquo  there  are 
three  only.  In  III,  v,  when  Hecate  is  first  introduced,  there  are  only  three.  At 
the  opening  of  IV.  we  find  the  three  aroond  their  cauldron,  when  after  awhile  occurs 
this  stage-direction  [in  the  Folio,  tU  supra].  What  other  three?  We  have  had  no 
witches  so  &r,  except  the  three  to  whom  Hecate  enters ;  and  when  Macbeth  enters, 


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252  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH       [act  iv,  SC  i. 

[41.  Enter  Hecat . . .  Witches] 
it  is  manifest  that  it  is  the  same  three  witches  whom  we  have  had  fixnn  the  begin- 
ning, who  declare  his  fortune  to  him,  and  no  other ;  so  that  if  three  strange  witches 
enter  with  Hecate,  they  are  mute,  and,  moreover,  have  nothing  to  do. — Dyce 
(Few  Notes ^  etc.,  p.  128) :  When,  in  my  Remarks y  etc.,  I  said  that  *the  number 
of  Witches  in  this  scene  is  six,'  I  made  a  great  mistake,  which  was  obligingly  pointed 
out  to  me  by  Mr  Macready.  *Tke  other  three  Witches*  means  the  three  already  on 
the  stage, — they  being  the  other  three,  when  enumerated  along  with  Hecate,  who 
may  be  considered  as  the  chief  Witch.  Three  Witches  are  quite  su£Bident  for  the 
business  of  the  scene ;  and,  as  fiar  as  concerns  the  effect  to  be  produced  on  the  spec- 
tators, are  even  more  impressive  than  six. — Ibid.  (Edition)  :  Various  dramas,  written 
long  after  Macbeth^  afford  examples  of  stage-directions  worded  in  the  same  unintelli- 
gible style.  E,  g,  Cowley's  Cutter  of  Coleman  Street  opens  with  a  soliloquy  by  True' 
man  Junior  :  his  father  presently /mmj  Atm,  and  the  stage-direction  is, '  Enter  True- 
man  Senior,  and  Trueman  Jun.'  Again,  the  second  act  of  that  play  commences 
with  a  soliloquy  by  Aureiia;  and,  when  JsLne  Joins  her^  we  find,  '  Enter  Aureua, 
Jane.*— [Nicholson  (New  Sh.  Soc,  Trans,  1880-2,  pt.  i,  p.  105)  :  There  is  neither 
evidence  nor  probability  that  these  other  witches  joined  in  the  incantations  round  the 
cauldron.  They  were  mute  attendants  on  Hecate,  their  queen,  during  the  magic 
rites  and  shows.  But  when  Hecate— or  as  in  D*Avenant,  the  First  Witch — would 
delight  Macbeth  and  *  charm  the  air  *  <  While  you  perform  your  antic  round,'  they 
left  their  mistress  and  joined  the  dance. . . .  The  only  word  that  can  be  found  fault 
with  is  '  the,'  because  it  may  be  said  that  these  '  other  three  witches '  have  not  yet 
been  seen.  But,  first,  they  may  have  been  attendants  on  Hecate  when  she  first 
appears  in  what  D'Avenant  calls  the  machine.  Secondly,  even  if  this  were  not  the 
case,  a  writer  conversant  with  the  stage  management  would  know  that  six  witches 
had  been  prepared,  and  would  naturally  make  the  slip,  if  slip  it  can  be  called,  and 
use  'the'  for  the  three  still  in  waiting.  [In  some  of  the  foregoing  references  there  is 
confusion  of  the  text  of  F,  and  that  of  the  D'Avenant  version — 1674  presumably. 
It  is  not,  for  instance,  the  First  Witch  in  D'Avenant,  but  Hecate,  who  utters  the 
lines :  'I'll  charm  the  air  to  give  a  sound  While  you  perform  your  antic  round.'  In 
F,  these  lines  are  given  to  the  First  Witch.— Ed.  ii.]— D'Hugues  :  This  stage-direc- 
tion evidently  indicates  that  the  witches,  after  having  filled  the  cauldron,  seek  the  pres- 
ence of  Hecate,  their  sovereign  mistress,  and  re-enter  with  her.^  The  words  'other 
three'  imply  simply  that  Hecate  is  herself  considered  as  a  witch. — E.  K.  Chambers 
(p.  128)  :  It  is  most  unlikely  that  Shakespeare  meant  to  introduce  six  witches,  but 
possible  that  the  interpolator  did  so  for  the  sake  of  his  dance. ...  If  the  passages 
just  bracketed  in  my  text  [11.  4i->47  and  147-154]  we  disregarded,  there  are  no  real 
inconsistencies  of  tone  left  between  the  remaining  scenes ;  nor  is  there  any  reason  to 
suppose  that  so  large  a  portion  of  the  play  is  by  another  hand  than  Shakespeare's. — 
Flray  (Sh.  Manual,  p.  249)  points  out  the  marked  difference  between  the  witches 
of  I,  iii,  42  et  seq,  and  those  of  the  present  scene ;  this  he  considers  strong  evidence  of 
Middleton's  having  *  worked  over '  parts  of  the  play.  And  remarks  that :  'The  three 
witches  are  already  on  the  stage.  The  "other  three"  must  mean  the  weird  sisters 
who  appear  in  I,  iii,  to  Macbeth  in  the  Shakespeare  part  of  the  play,  and  are  identi- 
fied with  the  Middleton  witches  in  I,  iii,  32.  They  are  quite  distinct  from  the 
Shakespeare  witches  of  IV,  i.  The  attempts  made  to  evade  the  evidence  of  this  stage- 
direction  as  being  a  blunder  should  be  supported  by  instances  of  similar  blunders ; 
for  instance,  where  characters  already  on  the  stage  are  described  as  entering ;  omis- 


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ACT  IV,  sc.  i.]        THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  253 

Hec.    O  well  done :  I  commend  your  paines,  42 

And  euery  one  ftiall  fhare  Tth^gaines : 
And  now  about  the  Cauldron  fmg 

Like  Elues  and  Fairies  in  a  Ring,  45 

Inchanting  all  that  you  put  in. 

Muficke  and  a  Sang.    Blacke  Spirits  ^  6rc. 

2  By  the  pricking  of  my  Thumbes,  48 

42.  O]  Om.  Anon.  ap.  Cam.  Var.   Mai.    Ran.  Steev.  Var.  Sing,  i, 

46.  InckanHng\  Enchanting  Steev.         Elwin,  Huds.  ii,  Irving. 

etseq.  47.  Blacke  Spirits,  &c.]  Hecate  re- 

47.  a  Song.]  Stanza  of  four  lines  (see  tires.  Glo.  Cam.  Exit.  Sta.  Exit 
Appendix)  inserted  by  Rowe,+,  Jen.        Hecate.  Dyce,  et  cet. 

sions  of  such  directions  are  easy  to  understand ;  their  insertion  without  cause  is 
unexplained,  and  I  think  inexplicable.'     [For  the  instances  of  '  similar  blunders  * 
desired  by  Fleay,  see  Dyce  supra.     See  also  Appendix:  The  ff^rA.— Ed.  ii.] 
42-50.  See  Clarendon,  Appendix. 

47.  Song]  Steevens  :  In  a  former  note  [ed.  1778]  I  had  observed  that  the 
original  edition  contains  only  the  first  two  words  of  this  song ;  but  have  since  dis- 
covered the  entire  stanxa  in  The  WUch^  by  Middleton.  The  song  was,  in  all 
probability,  a  traditional  one.  Perhaps  this  musical  scrap  (which  does  not  well 
accord  with  the  serious  business  of  the  scene)  was  introduced  by  the  players. — 
Malone  :  Scot,  Discovery  of  Witchcrafts  1584,  enumerating  the  different  kinds 
of  spirits,  particularly  mentions  white,  blach,  gray^  and  red  spirits.  [The  enu- 
meration mentioned  by  Malone  is  to  be  found  in  that  portion  of  the  Discoverie 
of  Witchcraft  devoted  to  the  Discovery  of  Divcls  and  Spirits^  ch.  xxxiii,  near 
the  beginning :  '  Now,  how  Brian  Darcies  he  spirits  and  shee  spirits,  ...  his 
white  spirits  and  blacke  spirits,  graie  spirits  and  red  spirits, . . .  agree  herewithall, 
...  let  heaven  and  earth  judge.' — Ed.  ii.]— Collier  :  Doubtless  it  does  not 
belong  to  Middleton  more  than  to  Shakespeare ;  but  it  was  inserted  in  both  dra- 
mas because  it  was  appropriate  to  the  occasion. — Dyce  [quotes  Collier  and  adds,] 
but  qy? — [W.  ScoTT  (iii,  45) :  Kemble  introduced  four  bands  of  children,  who 
rushed  on  the  stage  at  the  invocation  of  the  witches,  to  represent  the  <  Black  spirits 
and  white.  Blue  spirits  and  gray.'  There  was  perhaps  little  taste  in  rendering 
these  aerial  beings  visible  to  •the  eye,  especially  when  the  same  manager  had  made 
an  attempt  to  banish  even  the  spirit  of  Banquo.  But  he  was  obliged  to  discard  his 
imps  for  a  special  reason.  Mr  Kelly  infonns  us  [Reminiscences,  ii,  65]  that,  egged 
on,  and  encouraged  by  one  of  their  number,  a  black-eyed  urchin,  ycleped  Edmund 
Kean,  they  made  such  confusion  on  the  stage  that  Kemble  was  fain  to  dismiss  them 
to  the  elements. — D'Hugues  :  The  interpolation  of  the  four  lines  from  Middleton' s 
Witch  does  not  seem  sufficiently  justified.  In  III,  v.  we  have  a  similar  stage-direc- 
tion :  '  Song  within  :  Come  away,  come  away/  etc.  Shakespeare  has  likewise  here 
written,  <  Music  and  a  Song :  Black  spirits,'  etc.  If  this  song  of  the  Fourth  Act  should 
be  inserted,  why  not  that  of  the  third?  It  is  likely  that  Hecate  disappeared  after 
the  song  by  the  witches,  and  that  she  took  no  part  in  the  subsequent  conversation 
with  Macbeth.— Ed.  ii.] 

48.  pricking]  Steevens  :  It  is  a  very  ancient  superstition  that  all  sudden  pains 


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2S6  THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH      [act  iv.  sc  L 

I  Say,ifth'hadft  rather  heare  it  from  our  mouthes,  70 

Or  from  our  Mafters. 

Macb.     Call  'em  :  let  me  fee  'em. 

I  Powre  in  Sowes  blood,  that  hath  eaten 
Her  nine  Farrow:  Greaze  that's  fweaten 

From  the  Murderers  Gibbet,  throw  75 

Into  the  Flame. 

All.     Come  high  or  low : 
Thy  Selfe  and  Office  deaftly  fhow.  Thunder. 

I .  Apparation^  an  Armed  Head.  79 

70.  th'kadji\  Yiy  Rowe,  +  ,  Jen.  74.  Greaze\greaceYi,YLo^^\.  grace 
thou'dst  Cap.  et  cet                                        Rowe  ii.    grease  Pope  et  scq. 

71.  iWiz/?^  Ff,  Huds.  iii,  Rife,  mas-  78.  deaftly\  deftly  YL 

ters?    Pope,+,  Var.   '73,   Jen.    Dyce,  79.  i.  Apparation...Head]  Ff,  (Ap- 

Glo.  Cam.   Del.    Hads.  ii.     masters^  f  parition  F  F  ).    Apparition  of  an  anned 

Cap.  et  cet  Head  rises.  Rowe, +,  Cap.  MaL  Ran. 

72.  Vm...'rm]M^m...M^inCap.Steey.  Steev.  Var.  Huds.  iii. 
Var.  Sing,  i,  Knt. 

72.  'em]  Collier  :  Some  modem  actors  lay  a  peculiar  emphasis  on  them^  which 
could  not  be  meant  by  Shakespeare  if  he  wrote  the  contraction  of  <  'em '  for  tkem  in 
both  instances. 

73.  Sowes]  Steevens  :  Shakespeare  probably  caught  this  idea  from  the  laws 
of  Kenneth  II.  of  Scotland :  '  If  a  sowe  iate  hir  piggesy  let  hyr  be  stoned  to  death 
and  buried.* — Holinshed's  History  of  Scotland^  edit  1577,  p.  i8l. 

74.  Farrow]  Skeat  {DicL^ :  To  produce  a  litter  of  pigs.  *  That  thair  sow  ferryit 
was  thar'  =that  their  sow  had  fanowed. — Barbour's  Bruce,  xvii,  701.  Cf.  Danish 
ftire,  to  farrow.  Formed,  as  a  verb,  from  Middle  English  ftirh,  which  means  (not 
a  litter,  but)  a  single  pig.  The  word  is  scarce,  but  the  plural,  faretty  occurs  in  King 
Alisaundery  244 1. — Ed.  ii. 

74.  sweaten]  For  instances  of  irr^[ular  participial  formation,  see  Abbott,  §  344. 

75.  Gibbet]  Douce:  Apuleius,  in  describing  the  process  used  by  the  witch, 
Milo's  wife,  for  transforming  herself  into  a  bird,  says  that  <  she  cut  the  lumps  of 
flesh  of  such  as  were  hanged.'  See  Adlington's  translation,  1596,  p.  49,  a  book 
certainly  used  by  Shakespeare  on  other  occasions. 

78.  deaftly]  Clarendon  :  That  is,  aptly,  fitly.  It  is  coxmected  with  Anglo- 
Saxon  gedoeften,  p.  p.  gedceft,  to  be  fit,  ready,  prepared. 

79.  an  Armed  Head]  Upton  :  The  armed  head  represents  symbolically  Mac- 
beth's  head  cut  off  and  brought  to  Malcolm  by  Macduff.  The  bloody  child  is  Mac- 
duff untimely  ripped  from  his  mother's  womb.  The  child  with  a  crown  on  his  head, 
and  a  bough  in  his  hand,  is  the  royal  Malcolm,  who  ordered  his  soldiers  to  hew 
them  down  a  bough  and  bear  it  before  them  to  Dunsinane. — Clarendon  :  [Up- 
ton's interpretation]  gives  additional  force  to  the  words  <  He  knows  thy  thought' — 
[Booth:  This  head  is  < made-up'  to  resemble  Macbeth. — ^Mull  (p.  xiii.)  says 
that  the  'armed  head'  is  intended  to  prefigure  'warlike  Siward';  and  the  'bloody 
child,*  the  son  of  Macduff  slain  by  Macbeth. — W.  Scx)TT  (iii,  45) :  We  ourselves 
once  witnessed  a  whimsical  failure  in  Macbeth,  which  we  may  mention  as  a 


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ACT  IV,  sc.  L]        THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  257 

Macb.     Tell  me,  thou  vnknowne  power.  80 

I  He  knowes  thy  thought : 
Heare  his  fpeech,  but  fay  thou  nought. 

I  Appar.     Macbethj Macbeth^  Macbeth: 
Beware  Macduff e^ 

Beware  the  Thane  of  Fife  :  difmiflfe  me.  Enough.  85 

He  Defcends. 

-^^*. What  ere  thou  art,  for  thy  good  caution,  thanks 
Thou  haft  harpM  my  feare  aright.    But  one  word  more. 

1  He  will  not  be  commanded  :  heere's  another 

More  potent  then  the  firft.  Thunder.  90 

2  Apparition^  a  Bloody  Childe. 

2  Appar.    Macbeth^  Macbeth^  Macbeth.  92 

So.  pawer.'\  pcwer^  Rowe  et  seq.  88.  harfd'\  happed  Becket 

(sabs.)  »wf^.]Ff,Cap.  more — Rowe,-f» 

83,  S4.    Macbeth  ...  Macduffe]    One  Var.  '73,  '78,  '85.   more:—  Mai.  et  seq. 

line,  Rowe  et  seq.  91.  2  Apparition  ...  Childe]  Appari- 

86.  He]  Om.  Rowe  et  seq.  tion  of  a  bloody  Child  rises.  Rowe^  +  y 

88.  Thou   haft'\     Thou'st    Pope,-f ,  Cap.  Mai.  Ran.  Steer.  Var.  Huds.  iii. 

Dyce  ii,  iii,  Hnds.  ii,  iii.  Bloody]  blondy  FgF^. 

warning  to  those  managers  who  pot  too  mnch  faith  in  such  mechanical  aids.  It 
occurred  when  the  armed  head  ought  to  have  arisen,  but  when,  though  the  trap- 
door gaped,  no  apparition  arose.  The  galleries  began  to  hiss;  whereupon  the 
scene-shifters  in  the  cellarage,  redoubling  their  exertions,  and  overcoming,  peribroe, 
the  obstinacy  of  the  screw  which  was  to  raise  the  trap,  fairly,  out  of  too  great  and 
uigent  zeal,  overdid  their  business,  and  produced  before  the  audience,  at  full  length, 
the  apparition  of  a  stout  man,  his  head  and  shoulders  arrayed  in  antique  helmet  and 
plate,  while  the  rest  of  his  person  was  humbly  attired  after  the  manner  of  a  fifth-rate 
performer  of  these  degenerate  days — that  is  to  say,  in  a  dimity  waistcoat,  nankeen 
breeches,  and  a  very  dirty  pair  of  cotton  stockings.  To  complete  the  absurdity,  the 
poor  man  had  been  so  hastily  promoted  that  he  could  not  keep  his  feet,  but  pros- 
trated himself  on  his  nose  before  the  audience,  to  whom  he  was  so  unexpectedly 
introduced.  The  effect  of  this  accident  was  not  recovered  during  the  whole  even- 
ing, though  the  play  was  perfonned  with  transcendant  ability.— Ed.  ii.] 

82.  8«y  thou  nottght]  Stkevkns:  Silence  was  necessary  during  all  incanta- 
tions. So,  in  Doctor  Fausfus,  1604 :  *  demand  no  questions, — But  in  dumb  silence 
let  them  come  and  go.'  [Sc  x,  ed.  1616,  p.  303,  ed.  Bullen.  See  also  Ibid.  Sc  xiv, 
p.  271 :  *Be  silent  then  for  danger  is  in  words.' — Ed.  iL]  Again  in  Temp.  IV,  i, 
126. 

85.  Enough]  Staunton  :  It  was  the  ancient  belief  that  spirits  called  to  earth  by 
spdls  and  incantations  were  intolerant  of  question  and  eager  to  be  dismissed.  See 
a  Hen.  VI:  I,  iv,  31. 

9a  Clarendon  :  Observe,  too,  that  the  second  aj^Muitiont  Maodnfi^  is  <  more 
potent  than  the  first,'  Macbeth. 
17 


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2S8  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH       [act  iv,  sc.  i. 

Macb.     Had  I  three  eares,  Il'd  heare  thee.  93 

2  Appar.    Be  bloody,  bold,&  refolute : 

Laugh  to  fcorne  95 

The  powre  of  man  :  For  none  of  woman  borne 
Shall  harme  Macbeth.  Defcends. 

Mac.   Then  liue  Macduffei-whsX  need  I  feare  of  thee? 
But  yet  He  make  affurance :  double  fure, 

And  take  a  Bond  of  Fate :  thou  fhalt  not  liue,  100 

That  I  may  tell  pale-hearted  Feare,  it  lies ; 
And  fleepe  in  fpight  of  Thunder.  Thunder 

3  Apparatiofiy  a  Childe  Crowned ^  with  a  Tree  in  his  hand. 
What  is  this,  that  rifes  like  the  ifTue  of  a  King, 

And  weares  vpon  his  Baby-brow,  the  round  105 

And  top  of  Soueraig^ty  ? 

93~~97*  •^'Stt/ /...Macbeth]  Lines  end:  103.  3  Appantion ...  hand]  (Appari- 

3<7A/,...OTaif /...Macbeth.  Var.  '03,  '13,  tion    F^F^).      Apparition    of  ...  rises. 

'21,  Sing.  i.  Rowe,  +  ,  Cap.  Mai.  Var.  Hads.  iii. 

99.  ilouble  fure\  doubie-sure  Huds.  105.  Baby-brottf]  Ff,  Rowe,+,  Cap. 

ii,  iii.  Var.  '73,  Dyce,  Glo.  Cam.  Wh.  ii.    biOy 

102-104.  And»,.X%ng'\    lines   end :  brow  Jen.  et  cet 
tkiSf,„Xifig^,  Rowe  et  seq. 

96,  97.  For  none  . .  .  Macbeth]  < . . .  A  certeine  witch,  whome  hee  had  in 
great  trust,  had  told  that  he  should  neuer  be  slaine  with  man  borne  of  anie  woman, 
nor  vanquished  till  the  wood  of  Bemane  came  to  the  castell  of  Dunsinane.  By  this 
prophesie  Makbeth  put  all  feare  out  of  his  heart,  supposing  he  might  doo  what  he 
would,  without  anie  feare  to  be  punished  for  the  same,  for  by  the  one  prophesie  he 
beleeued  it  was  vnpossible  for  anie  man  to  vanquish  him,  and  by  the  other  vnpossi- 
ble  to  slea  him.' — Holinshed. 

99.  double]  RUSHTON  {SA,  a  Lawyer ^  p.  20) :  Referring  not  to  a  single,  but  to 
a  conditional,  bond,  under  or  by  virtue  of  which,  when  forfeited,  double  the  prin- 
cipal sum  was  recoverable. — Lord  Campbell  (p.  iii) :  Macbeth  did  not  consider 
what  should  be  the  penalty  of  the  bond,  or  how  he  was  to  enforce  the  remedy,  if  the 
condition  should  be  broken.  He  goes  on,  in  the  same  legal  jargon,  to  say  that  he 
<  shall  live  the  lease  of  nature.'  But  unluckily  for  Macbeth,  the  lease  contained  no 
covenants  y^  title  or  quiet  enjoyment : — there  were  V^tiYnsit  forfeitures  to  be  incurred 
by  the  tenant, — ^with  a  clause  of  re-entry^ — and  consequently  he  was  speedily  ousted. 
— Clarendon  :  By  slaying  Macduff  he  will  bind  fate  to  perform  the  promise. — 
[Manly  (p.  152) :  Contrary  to  Holinshed,  Shakespeare  makes  Macbeth  change  his 
intention  in  regard  to  Macduff  at  once ;  this  obviates  the  necessity  of  introducing  a 
motive  for  the  change,  which  would  impede  the  rapid  movement  of  the  play. — 
Ed.  ii.] 

106.  top]  Theobald  (Nichols's  Lit,  Illmt,  ii,  529)  :  Is  the  Crown  properiy  the 
top  of  sovereignty,  or  only  the  emblem  and  distinguishing  mark  of  that  high  rank  ? 
I  would  read  type.  So  in  j  Hen,  VI:  I,  iv,  121  ;  and  Hick,  III:  IV,  iv,  244. — 
Johnson  :  The  round  is  that  part  of  the  crown  that  encircles  the  head.     The  top  is 


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ACT  IV,  sc  i.]       THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  259 

AU.    Liften,  but  fpeake  not  too't  107 

3  Appar.    Be  Lyon  metled,  proud,  and  take  no  care: 

Who  chafes,  who  frets,  or  where  Confpirers  are : 

Macbeth  fhall  neuer  vanquifh'd  be,  vntill  no 

Great  Bjrmam  Wood,  to  high  Dunfmane  Hill 

107.  /^V]  Om.  Pope,  +  ,  Cap.  Var.  /^/]  (Dunfinane  Ff.)  Bimam-wood.,. 
'73,  Steev.  Var.  '03,  '13.  DunHnane-hill  Kdy. 

108.  LyoHm£tUd'\li{m-mettUdiyK9»  1 11.  high  Ihtn/man/]  Dunsinan^s 
et  seq.  high  Pope,  + .    Ihinsinane  high  Cap. 

III.  Bymam     Wood  ...  Dun/mane 

the  ornament  that  rises  above  it. — R.  G.  White  :  Shakespeare  makes  Macbeth  call  the 
crown  '  the  round  of  sovereignty '  here  and  elsewhere — ^first,  obviously,  in  allusion 
to  the  form  of  the  ornament.  That  is  prose ;  but  immediately  his  poetic  eye  sees 
that  a  crown  is  the  external  sign  of  the  complete  possession  of  the  throne.  It  is  the 
▼isible  evidence  that  the  royalty  of  its  wearer  lacks  nothing,  but  is  <  totus^  Ures^  atpu 
rotundus  * — that  it  is  finished,  just  as  <  our  little  life  is  rounded  with  a  sleep.'  But 
the  crown  not  only  completes  (especially  in  the  eye  of  Macbeth,  the  usurper)  and 
rounds,  as  with  the  perfection  of  a  circle,  the  claim  to  sovereignty,  but  it  is  figura- 
tively the  top,  the  sunmiit,  of  ambitious  hopes.  Shakespeare  often  uses  <  top '  in  this 
sense — e.  g,  '  the  top  of  admiration,'  *  the  top  of  judgement,'  *  the  top  of  honor,' 
<  the  top  of  happy  hours.'  All  this  flashed  upon  Shakespeare  through  his  mind's 
eye,  as  he  saw  the  circlet  upon  the  top  of  the  child's  head. 

III.  Bymam]  See  V,  iv,  9. 

III.  Dunsmane]  Ritson:  The  present  quantity  of  Dunsinam  is  right  In 
every  subsequent  instance  the  accent  is  misplaced.  Thus,  in  Herve3r's  Life  of  King 
Robert  Bruce^  1 729  (a  good  authority)  :  'Whose  deeds  let  Bimam  and  Dunsinnan 
tdl.  When  Canmore  battled,  and  the  villain  fell.' — Steevens  :  This  accent  may  be 
defended  on  the  authority  of  Andrew  of  Wyntown's  Cronykil,  b.  vi,  ch.  xviii :  *A  gret 
hows  for  to  mak  of  were  A-pon  the  hycht  of  Dwnsynftne.' — v.  120.  It  should  be  ob- 
served, however,  the  Wjrntown  employs  both  quantities.  Thus,  in  b.  vi,  ch.  zviii,  v. 
190 :  '  —  the  Thane  wes  thare  Of  Fyfe,  and  till  Dwnsyn&ne  fare  To  byde  Makbeth.' — 
French  (p.  288) :  The  modem  mode  of  spelling  Macbeth'  s  castle,  Dunsinnan,  seems  to 
determine  the  proper  manner  of  pronouncing  it ;  but  according  to  the  way  in  which 
it  is  usually  written,  Dunsinane,  the  last  syllable  must  be  accented  long ;  and  as 
such  it  occurs  throughout  the  play  in  every  instance  but  one ;  the  exception  is  the 
line  in  Act  IV,  Scene  i. — [Chalmers  (Caledonia^  i,  p.  414) :  The  celebrated  name 
of  Dunsinan  is  said  to  signify,  in  Gaelic,  the  '  hill  of  ants ';  with  an  allusion  to  the 
great  labour  which  was  necessary  for  collecting  the  immense  materials  of  so  vast  a 
bnilding.  Gaelic  scholars,  who  delight  to  fetch  from  afar  what  may  be  found  at 
home,  approve  of  this  etymon  as  very  apt.  Yet  is  it  Dun-seangain  in  the  Irish, 
which  would  signify  the  hill  of  ants.  Dun-sinan  signifies,  in  the  Scoto-Irish,  a  hill, 
resembling  a  nipple;  and,  in  fact,  this  fiimous  hill  does  appear,  at  some  distance,  to 
resemble  what  the  Scoto-Irish  word  describes,  with  the  usual  attention  of  the  Gaelic 
people  to  picturesque  propriety  in  their  local  names. — ^J.  H.  Crawford  (Good 
Words ^  Jane,  1893)  :  Dunsinane  is  in  the  south-east  comer  of  Perthshire,  and  is  the 
last  height  of  any  importance  on  the  western  side  of  the  Sidlaws.  The  fort  which 
crowns  the  summit  is  thought  to  be  of  a  sterner  and  earlier  sort  than  the  palisaded 


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26o  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH      [act  iv.  sc.  L 

Shall  come  againft  him.  Defcend.         112 

Macb.    That  will  neuer  bee : 
Who  can  imprefle  the  Forreft,  bid  the  Tree 
Vniixe  his  earth-bound  Root?  Sweet  boadments, good:         115 
Rebellious  dead,  rife  neuer  till  the  Wood 
Of  Byman  rife,  and  our  high  plac'd  Macbeth 
Shall  liue  the  Leafe  of  Nature,  pay  his  breath 
To  time,  and  mortall  Cuftome.    Yet  my  Hart 
Throbs  to  know  one  thing :  Tell  me,  ii'your  Art  120 

Can  tell  fo  much :  Shall  Banquets  ifliie  euer 
Reigne  in  this  Kingdome  ?  122 

112.  Defcend]   Descends.    Rowe  et  117.  Byman]  Bymam  F,F,.     Bir- 

seq.  nam  F^  et  seq. 

116.  Rebettunts    dead]     Ff,    D^At.  M<r]^0tirLettsom(ap.  Dyceii.) 

Rowe,   Pope,    Hal.      Rebellion's  head  rife^  and]  rise  I    ^lu/ Mull. 

Theob.  conj.    Han.  Coll.  (MS)  ii,  iii,  cur]  old  Kixmear. 

Sing,  ii,  Dyce,  \Vh.  Glo.  Cam.  Hads.  119.   Yet]  And  y^  Wh.  ii,  conj. 

ii,  iii.     Rebellious  head  Theob.  et  cet  121.  Can]  Call  Hal.  (misprint). 

mounds  with  their  enclosed  stmctures. . .  .  Whether  it  was  still  in  use  in  Macbeth' s 
time  or  no  it  were  hard  to  say. — ^Ed.  ii.] 

114.  impresse]  Johnson  :  That  is,  who  can  command  the  forest  to  serve  him 
like  a  soldier  impressed? 

1 16.  Rebellious  dead]  Theobald  :  It  looks  to  me  as  if  [the  Editors]  were  con- 
tent to  believe  the  Poet  genuine,  wherever  he  was  mysterious  beyond  being  under- 
stood. The  Emendation  of  one  Letter  gives  us  dear  Sense,  and  the  very  Thing 
which  Macbeth  should  be  supposed  to  say  here.  We  must  restore :  <  Rebellious 
Head'  [or  'Rebellion's  Head,'— 5>l.  Restored^  p.  187],  u  e.  Let  Rebellion  never 
make  Head  against  me,  till  a  Forest,  etc  [For  examples  of  head  used  in  sense 
<yf  armed force^  see  Schmidt  (Lex,), — Ed.  ii.]— Haluwell  :  The  modem  readings, 
rebellious  head^  or  rebelHoM^s  head^  do  not  agree  with  the  context ;  for  Macbeth, 
relying  on  the  statements  of  the  apparition,  was  firmly  impressed  with  the  belief 
that  none  of  woman  bom  could  prevent  his  living  '  the  lease  of  nature.'  Confid- 
ing in  the  literal  troth  of  this  prophecy,  his  fears  were  concentrated  on  the  prob- 
able reappearance  of  the  dead,  alluding  more  especially  to  the  ghost  of  Banqno ; 
and  these  fears  were  then  conquered  by  the  apparent  impossibility  of  the  movement 
of  Bimam  wood  to  Dunsinane.  The  first  prophecy  relieves  him  from  the  fear  of 
mortals ;  the  second,  from  the  fear  of  the  dead. — ^Clarendon  :  The  expression  is 
evidently  suggested  to  Macbeth  by  the  apparition  of  the  armed  head. — [Darmes- 
TETER :  Referring  to  Banquo,  who  had  already  risen  from  the  tomb  to  oust  Macbeth 
from  his  chair. — Spragub:  There  is  no  need  of  changing  'dead'  to  head;  but  if 
we  do  so  change  it,  let  us  believe  that  the  head  is  that  of  the  murdered  but  still 
livfbg  Banquo. — Ed.  ii.] 

117.  our]  For  instances  oi  your  misprinted  for  *our,'  see  Walker  {Crit,  ii.). — 
Clarendon:  [Whether  'our'  or  your]  the  words  seem  strange  in  Macbeth' s 
mouth. 


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ACT  IV,  sc.  i.]        THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  261 

AIL    Seeke  to  know  no  more.  123 

McLcb.     I  will  be  fatisfied.     Deny  me  this. 
And  an  eternall  Curfe  fall  on  you :  Let  me  know,  j  125 

Why  fmkes  that  Caldron  f  &  what  noife  is  this  ?    Hoboyes 

1  Shew. 

2  Shew. 

3  Shew. 

All.    Shew  his  Eyes,  and  greeue  his  Hart,  130 

Come  like  fhadowes,  fo  depart. 

AJhew  of  eight  Kings ,  and  Banquo  lajl^wiih  a  glaffe 

in  his  hand.  133 

123.  more,']    mare.     [The    Caldron  132.  A  (hew]  An  apparition  Wh.  i. 

sinks  into  the  ground.  Rowe,  +  .  A  (hew... Kings]  Ff,  Var.  '73, 

125.  Let  me  Jhuna]  Separate  line,  Ab-  '78,  '85,  Coll.  Sing,  ii,  Glo.  Cam.  Ktly. 
bott,  §  485.  Eight  Kings  appear  in  order  and  pass 

Jhtaw,']   Ff,   Pope,  Han.  Coll.  over  the  stage.     Theob.  et  cet 
Hal.  Glo.  Ktly,  AVh.  ii.    Jhtow  Walker,  132,  133.  and    Banquo...hand.]   Ff, 

Wh.  i.    Jhunu: —  Var.  '73,  et  cet.  Rowe,  Pope,  Theob.  Warb.  Johns,   and 

[Thunder ;    and  the  Cauldron  Banquo  first  and  last...hand  Coll.  MS. 

sinks.     Horrid  Musick.  Cap.  and  Banquo,  the  last  king  bearing  a  mir- 

126.  Hoboyes]  F^,.  Hoboys  F^.  ror.  Wh.  i.  the  last  holding  a  glass  in 
Om.  Cap.     Hautboys  Theob.  his  hand  :  with  Banquo  following  them. 

131.  iiJte}  light  Knt  i.  Han.  et  cet  (subs.) 

126.  noise]  Steevens  (note  on  2  Hen,  IV:  II,  iv,  13) :  A  noise  of  musicians 
anciently  signified  a  concert  or  company  of  them.  In  PVestward  Hoe,  by  Dekker 
and  Webster,  1607 :  'AH  the  noise  that  went  with  him,  poor  fellows,  have  had  their 
fiddle-cases  pulled  over  their  ears,'  [V,  i,  a^^if.].— Gifford  {Tke  Silent  IVoman, 
Jonson's  IVorks^  vol.  iii,  p.  402) :  This  term,  which  occurs  perpetually  in  our  old 
dramatists,  means  a  company  or  concert,  . . .  When  this  term  went  out  of  use  I 
cannot  tell  ;  but  it  was  familiar  in  Dryden's  time,  who  has  it  in  his  Wild  Gallant 
[*  Hark,  what  noise  is  that  1  Is  this  music  of  your  providing,  Setstone?'  V,  iii. — 
Ed.  ii.]  and  elsewhere :  '  I  hear  him  coming,  and  a  whole  noise  of  fiddlers  at  his 
heels.' — Maiden  Queen,  [III,  i.]. — Dyce  {Gloss,) :  I  may  also  mention  that  Wycher- 
ley  uses  the  word  in  the  sense  of  '  a  company,'  without  any  reference  to  music  :  *  a 
whole  noise  of  flatterers.' — The  Plain  Dealer,  I,  i. — Anonymous  (qu.  Litchfield?): 
When  J.  P.  Kemble  revived  this  tragedy,  in  1803,  this  noise  was  represented  by  a 
shriek;  a  novelty  quite  inconsistent  with  the  Poet's  intentions.  [After  'fitdl  on  yon' 
Booth's  stage-direction  is:  *  Macbeth  descends  from  rocks.  The  cauldron  sinks. 
Thunder  and  discordant  sounds,  shrieks,  etc.,  are  heard,"* — Ed.  ii.] 

132,  133.  Dyce  {Remarks,  etc.,  p.  200)  :  [This  direction  of  the  Ff  ]  makes  Ban- 
quo  bear  a  glass  in  his  hand ;  while,  on  the  contrary,  Macbeth  exclaims  that  he  sees 
the  eighth  King  bearing  it,  and  Banquo  coming  after  hhn. — Coluer  (ed.  ii. )  :  It 
is  not  clear  from  the  (MS)  in  what  way  the  <  show '  was  managed,  nor  whether,  in 
fact,  Banquo  led,  as  wall  as  closed,  the  procession. — Hunter:  Shows  like  this 
were  among  the  deceptions  practised  by  magicians  in  Shakespeare's  own  time. 
'  Only  I  have  sometimes,  not  without  amazement,  thought  of  the  representation 


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262  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH      [act  iv.  sc.  L 

Macb.   Thou  art  too  like  the  Spirit  olBanquo\  Down: 
Thy  Crowne  do's  feare  mine  Eye-bals.    And  thy  haire  135 

135.  Eye-bals,     And  thy  haire\  eye-  135.  haire'\   air  Johns.   Warb.  Var. 

balls .-—  and  thy  hair^  Coll.  (MS).  Mai.  Var.  '21,  Hads.  iii.    heir  Jackson. 

which  a  celebrated  magician  made  unto  Catharine  de  Medicis,  the  French  Queen, 
whose  impious  cruelty  led  her  to  desire  of  him  a  magical  exhibition  of  all  the  kings 
that  had  hitherto  reigned  in  France,  and  were  yet  to  reign.  The  shapes  of  all  the 
kings,  even  unto  the  husband  of  the  Queen,  successively  showed  themselves  in  the 
enchanted  circle  in  which  the  conjuror  made  his  invocations ;  and  they  took  as  many 
turns  as  there  had  been  years  in  their  government.  The  kings  that  were  to  come 
did  thus  in  like  manner  successively  come  upon  the  stage,  namely,  Francis  II, 
Charles  IX,  Henry  III,  Henry  IV ;  which  being  done,  then  two  Cardinals,  Riche- 
lieu and  Mazarine,  in  red  hats,  became  visible  in  the  spectacle.  But  after  these 
cardinals  there  entered  wolves,  bears,  tigers,  and  lions  to  consummate  the  entertain- 
ment'— Magnalia  Christi  Americana^  by  Cotton  Mather,  1702,  Bk,  ii,  p.  29. 
Shakeq>eare  has  shown  his  art  in  not  suffering  more  than  eight  kings  to  appear  in 
the  procession,  the  rest  being  shown  only  on  the  mirror. — Delius  :  A  <  show,'  in 
theatrical  language,  is  a  procession,  or  pantomine  in  which  the  actors  remained 
silent,  hence  usually  called  a  <dumb  show.' — [Chambers  (p.  130) :  The  'eight 
Kings'  are  Robert  II.  (1371),  Robert  III,  and  the  six  Jameses.  Those  in  the 
glass  are  the  success€>rs  of  James. — ^Tolmak  (p.  13)  :  Why  is  Mary  Stuart  omitted, 
who,  between  the  reigns  of  James  V.  and  James  VI,  v&s  the  nominal  sovereign  for 
a  full  quarter  of  a  century  ?  To  be  sure  the  literal  promise  to  Banquo  was,  *  Thou 
shalt  get  kings ' ;  but  Mary  was  a  sovereign,  if  not  a  king ;  and  what  a  fine  fitness 
would  there  have  been  in  bringing  into  this  drama,  though  but  for  a  moment,  her 
bewitching  form.  Though  Shakespeare  had  paid  compliments  to  Elizabeth,  the 
antagonist  of  the  Stuart  queen,  he  was  now  the  loyal  subject  of  James  I.  ^e 
naturally  felt,  we  may  suppose,  that  it  would  be  impolitic  to  remind  his  sovereign 
and  his  audiences  of  the  character  and  fate  of  the  king's  mother. — Ed.  ii.] 

134.  Thou  .  . .  Banquo]  Hunter  (ii.  196) :  This  is  finely  imagined.  Macbeth 
does  not  compare  what  he  saw  to  Banquo,  but  to  the  fearful  image  of  Banquo 
which  he  lately  beheld.— [BOttner  (p.  46)  tells  us  that  the  '  ghost  of  Robert  II. 
bears  an  unmistakable  family  likeness  to  Banquo  himself.' — Ed.  ii.] 

134-146.  Booth  :  This  is  said  as  the  line  passes. — Ed.  ii. 

135.  haire]  Johnson  :  As  Macbeth  expected  to  see  a  train  of  kings,  and  was 
only  inquiring  from  what  race  they  would  proceed,  he  could  not  be  surprised  that 
the  hair  of  the  second  was  bound  with  gold  like  that  of  the  first ;  he  was  offended 
only  that  the  second  resembled  the  first,  as  the  first  resembled  Banquo,  and  therefore 
said,  *  thy  air,*  etc — Steevens  :  So  in  Wint,  Tale^  V,  i,  127  :  *  Your  father's  image 
is  so  hit  in  you.  His  very  air,  that  I  should  call  you  brother.' — M.  Mason  :  It 
means  that  the  hair  of  both  was  of  the  same  colour,  which  is  a  natural  feature  more 
likely  to  mark  a  family-likeness  than  the  air^  which  depends  upon  habit,  and  a 
dandng-master. — Collier  :  Had  air  been  intended,  the  pronoun  before  it  would 
probably  have  been  printed  thine,  and  not  'thy.' — Dyce  (ed.  ii.)  :  Air  certainly 
receives  some  support  from  Wint,  Tale  [ut  supra]. — [Does  not  *thy'  here  refer 
specifically  to  the  ^r^w /'—Murray  (A^.  E,  D.)  (6)  gives  five  quotations,  from 
1387-1625,  of  'hair'  used  in  the  sense  'of  one  colour  and  external  quality;... 
stamp,  character.' — Ed.  ii.] 


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ACT  IV,  sc.  i.]        THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  2&1 

Thou  other  Gold-bound-brow,  is  like  the  firft  :  136 

A  third,  is  like  the  former.     Filthy  Hagges, 

Why  do  you  ftiew  me  this  ? A  fourth  ?  Start  eyes ! 

What  will  the  Line  ftretch  out  to Wcracke  of  Doome  ? 

Another  yet  ?  A  feauenth  ?  He  fee  no  more  :  140 

And  yet  the  eight  appeares,  who  beares  a  glade, 

Which  ftiewes  me  many  more :  and  fome  I  fee, 

That  two-fold  Balles,  and  trebble  Scepters  carry. 

Horrible  fight :  Now  I  fee  'tis  true,  144 

136.  Gold'bound'brow\    Ff,     Rowe,  141.  eighfl  eighth  F^F^. 

Pope.     Gold  bound'brtrw  \y  K^»    gold-  144.  Aiw]  Aiiy,  iww  Pope, +  ,  Cap. 

'bound  brow  Theob.  et  seq.  Ay^  now^  Steey.  Var.  '03,  '13. 

is]  art  Coll.  (MS).  [The  Witches  Tanish  as  Banquo 

138.  eyes\  eye  ¥f,  Rowe,  +  .  appears.  Booth. 

138.  Start  eyes]  Clarendon  :  Start  from  your  sockets,  so  that  I  may  be  spared 
the  horror  of  the  vision.  [Compare  Hamlet,  I,  iv,  17  :  'Make  thy  two  eyes,  like 
stars,  start  from  their  spheres.' — £d.  ii.] 

139.  cracke]  Steevbns  :  That  is,  the  dissolution  of  nature. — Clarendon  :  The 
thunder-peal  announcing  the  Last  Judgement.     [See  I,  ii,  45,  and  note.] 

141.  glasse]  Steevbns  :  This  method  of  prophecy  is  referred  to  in  Meas.  for 
Meas,  II,  ii,  95.  So  in  an  Extract  from  the  Penal  Linus  Against  Witches,  it  is 
said  that  <  they  do  answer  either  by  voice,  or  else  do  set  before  their  eyes  in  glasses, 
chrystal  stones,  etc.,  the  pictures  of  images  of  the  persons  or  things  sought  for.' 
Spenser,  Faerie  Queene,  III,  c.  ii,  w.  18,  19,  has  given  a  very  circumstantial  account 
of  the  glass  which  Merlin  made  for  King  Ryence.  A  mirror  of  the  same  kind  was 
presented  to  Cambuscan  in  The  Squiei^s  Tale  of  Chaucer,  and  in  Alday's  trans,  of 
Boisteau's  Theatrum  Mundi,  etc.:  *  Acertaine  philosopher  did  the  like  to  Pompey, 
the  which  shewed  him  in  a  glasse  the  order  of  his  enemies  march.'  [<  But  the  won- 
drous devices,  and  miraculous  sights,  and  conceits  made  and  contained  in  glasse, 
doe  far  exceed  all  other  ;  whereto  the  art  perspective  is  very  necessary,  ...  for  yon 
may  have  glasses  so  made,  as  what  image  or  favour  soever  you  print  in  your  imagi- 
nation, you  shall  thinke  you  see  the  same  therein, .  .  .  others  wherein  you  may  see 
one  comming,  and  another  going ;  others  where  one  image  shall  seem  to  be  one 
hundred,  etc' — Scot,  IHscoverie  of  Witchcraft,  Bk,  13,  ch.  xix. — Ed.  ii.] 

143.  two-fold  Bailee,  and  trebble  Scepters]  Warburton  :  This  was  intended 
as  a  compliment  to  King  James  the  First,  who  first  united  the  two  islands  and  the 
three  kingdoms  under  one  head ;  whose  house  too  was  said  to  be  descended  from 
Banquo. — Steevens  :  Of  this  last  particular  Shakespeare  seems  to  have  been  thor- 
oughly aware,  having  represented  Banquo  not  only  as  an  innocent,  but  as  a  noble 
character ;  whereas,  according  to  history,  he  was  confederate  with  Macbeth  in  the 
murder  of  Duncan. — Clarendon  :  The  '  two-fold  balls '  here  mentioned  probably 
refer  to  the  double  coronation  of  James,  at  Scone  and  at  Westminster. — [Manly  : 
The  style  and  title  assumed  by  James  I,  after  October  24,  1604,  was :  '  The  Most 
High  and  Mightie  Prince,  James,  by  the  Grace  of  God,  King  of  Great  Britaine, 
France,  and  Ireland,  Defender  of  the  Faith.'  This  is  the  treble  sceptre,  and  not 
that  of  the  three  kingdoms  of  England,  Scotland,  and  Ireland. — ^Ed.  ii.] 


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264  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH      [act  nr.  sc.  L 

For  the  Blood-bolter'd  Banquo  fmiles  vpon  me,  145 

And  points  at  them  for  his.     What?  is  this  fo  ? 

I  I  Sir^all  this  is  fo«     But  why 
Stands  Macbeth  thus  amazedly  ? 
Come  Sifters,  cheere  we  vp  his  fprights,  149 

146.  [Apparitions vanish.  Glo.Wh.ii.  147-154.  I  Sir^.,,pay,'\  Om.  as  spu- 
Whatf  is]  What  is  Ff,  Rowe.        nous.  Anon.  ap.  Cam. 

Wkai,  is  Pope  et  seq.  149.  fprightsl    sprites    Knt,     Coll. 

147.  I  /  .St>»]   Hec  Ayt  sir  Cam.         Hods.  %ce,  Sta.  Hal.  Wh.  Cam. 
conj. 

145.  Blood-bolter'd]  Murray  (N.  E.  D.  s.  v.  Baiter,  5) :  To  fonn  tangled 
knots  or  dots,  to  stick  together  by  coagulation.  Holland,  P/iny,  XII,  zvii.  (1607), 
<  It  (a  goat's  beard)  baltereth  and  duttereth  into  knots  and  balls.' — ^Ed.  ii. 

147-154.  Fletcher  (p.  151):  [This  passage  is]  now-a-days  unaccountably 
omitted  on  the  stage,  to  the  great  damage  of  this  scene,  since  it  is  not  only  remazka- 
ble  as  the  final  communication  made  by  these  evil  beings  to  their  wicked  consulter, 
but  is  the  most  pointedly  characteristic  of  their  diabolical  nature.  It  is  the  exulting 
mockery  with  which  the  fiend  pays  off  the  presumptuous  criminal  who  has  so  inso- 
lendy  dared  him.  [Irving  restored  this  passage,  which  is  omitted  in  the  version 
given  in  Inchbald's  British  Theatre^  and  also  in  Booth's  acting  copy. — Ed.  ii.] — 
For  Clarendon  on  this  passage,  see  Appendix  :  The  IVUch. 

149-154.  Rolfe  (Poet- Lore f  vol.  zi,  1899,  p.  604)  considers  these  6  lines  fu- 
rious— *the  interpolation  of  some  hack-writer  of  the  theatre' — being  thrust  in  to  pre- 
pare the  way  for  the  dance  which  follows.  '  What  could  be  more  ridiculous,'  asks 
Rolfe,  '  than  the  reason  given  for  this  peribrmance  ?  Imagine  Macbeth,  in  his  present 
mood,  waiting  patiently  to  see  this  beldam  baliet  through,  and  then  when  the  with- 
ered danseuses  vanish,  exdaiming,  <*  Where  are  they?  Gone?"  etc.  The  attempt 
'^  to  cheer  up  his  sprights,"  even  from  the  standpoint  of  Shakespeare's  unauthorized 
collaborator,  was  evidently  a  dismal  failure.  It  did  not  occur  to  him  to  modify  the 
speech  that  follows  his  preposterous  inteqx>lation.' — Ed.  ii. 

149.  sprights]  Walker  {Crit.  i,  193,  205) :  It  may  safely  be  laid  down  as  a 
canon,  that  the  word  spirit  in  our  old  poets,  wherever  the  metre  does  not  compel  us 
to  pronounce  it  disyllabically,  is  a  monosyllable.  And  this  is  almost  always  the  case. 
The  truth  of  the  above  rule  is  evident  from  several  considerations.  In  the  first  place, 
we  never  meet  with  other  disyllables — such,  I  mean,  as  are  incapable  of  contraction 
— ^placed  in  a  similar  situation  ;  the  apparent  exceptions  not  being  really  exceptions 
(see  S.  V.  passim).  Another  argument  is  founded  on  the  unpleasant  ripple  which 
the  common  pronunciation  occasions  in  the  flow  of  numberless  lines,  interfering  with 
the  general  run  of  the  verse  ;  a  harshness  which,  in  some  passages,  must  be  evident 
to  the  dullest  ear.  Add  to  this  the  frequent  substitution  of  spright  or  sprite  for  spirit 
(in  all  the  different  senses  of  the  word,  I  mean,  and  not  merdy  in  that  of  ghosts  in 
which  sprite  is  still  used) ;  also  spreety  though  rardy  (only  in  the  ante-Elisabethan 
age,  I  think,  as  far  as  I  have  observed)  ;  and  sometimes  sfrit  and  sprit,  (For  the 
double  spdling,  spright  and  sprite,  one  may  compare  despight  and  despite;  which  in 
like  manner  subsequently  assumed  different  meanings,  despight  being  used  for  con- 
tempt^ despeetus, )  Perhaps  it  would  be  desirable,  wherever  the  word  occurs  as  a 
monosyllable,  to  write  it  spright^  in  order  to  ensure  the  proper  pronunciation  of  the 


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ACT  IV,  sc.  L]        THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  265 

And  ftiew  the  beft  of  our  delights.  150 

He  Charme  the  Ayre  to  giue  a  found. 

While  you  performe  your  Antique  round  : 

That  this  great  King  may  kindly  fay, 

Our  duties,  did  his  welcome  pay»  Muficke. 

The  Witches  Dance  ^and  vanijh.  155 

Macb.    Where  are  they  ?  Gone  f 
Let  this  pemitious  houre, 
Stand  aye  accurfed  in  the  Kalender. 
Come  in,  without  there.  Enter  Lenox. 

Lenox.    What's  your  Graces  will.  160 

Macb.    Saw  you  the  Weyard  Sifters  ? 

Lenox.    No  my  Lord. 

Macb.    Came  they  not  by  you  ? 

Lenox.    No  indeed  my  Lord. 

Macb.    Infefted  be  the  Ayre  whereon  they  ride,  165 

And  damn'd  all  thofe  that  truft  them.     I  did  heare 
The  gallopping  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?  170 

152.  Aniique]  antick  or  a$Uie  D'At.  Rowe  et  seq. 

Theob.  Warb.  Johns.  Coll.  Hads.  Sing.  159, 162, 164, 168, 171.  Lenox.]  Sey- 

ii,  Dyce,  Sta.  Hal.  Wh.  Cam.  Ktly.  ton.     D'Av.  '74,  Booth. 

155.  vaniih.]    vanish  with    Hecate.  161.  Weyard\  IViaard  F^^  Rowe. 
^lo.  Cam.  Rife,  Dtn.  Wuards  F^.      Weyufard  Pope,  Warb. 

156,  157.   Where».,houre\   One  line,  Johns.     Weird  or  IVHrd  Theob.  et  cet. 

line.  I  prefer  spright  to  sprite;  inasmuch  as  the  latter  invariably  carries  with  it  a 
spectral  association ;  although  the  old  writers,  in  those  passages  where  they  write  the 
word  monosyllabically,  use  sometimes  the  one  form,  sometimes  the  other.  [Com- 
pare II,  iii,  94,  and  III,  v,  jo.] 

152.  Antique  round]  Steevens  :  These  ideas,  as  well  as  that  in  I,  iii,  might 
have  been  adopted  from  a  poem,  entitled  Churchyard^ s  Dreame,  1593 :  'All  hand 
in  hand  they  traced  on  A  tricksie  ancient  round;  And  soone  as  shadowes  were  they 
gone^  And  might  no  more  be  found.' — Clarendon:  'Antic,'  in  its  modem  sense  of 
grotesque,  is  probably  derived  from  the  remains  of  ancient  sculpture  radely  imitated 
and  caricatured  by  mediaeval  artists,  and  from  the  figures  in  Masques  and  Antimasques, 
dressed  in  ancient  costume,  paiticulariy  satyrs  and  the  like.  But  it  acquired  a  much 
wider  application.  In  Twelfth  Night,  II,  iv,  3,  the  word  means  old-£Eishioned,  quaint 
Sometimes  it  means  simply  ancient,  as  Hamlet,  II,  ii,  491.  Whatever  be  its  signifi- 
cation, and  however  it  be  spelt,  it  is  always  accented  by  Shakespeare  on  the  first 
syllable. 

17a  England]  Coleridge  (p.  250) :  The  acme  of  the  avenging  conscience. 


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266  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH       [act  iv,  sc.  i. 

Lett.    I  ,my  good  Lord.  171 

Macb.    Time  9  thou  antidpat'ft  my  dread  exploits: 
The  flighty  purpofe  neuer  is  o're-tooke 
Vnlefle  the  deed  go  with  it.     From  this  moment^ 
The  very  firftlings  of  my  heart  ftiall  be  175 

The  firftlings  of  my  hand.     And  euen  now 
To  Crown  my  thoughts  with  A£ls :  be  it  thoght  &  done : 
The  Caftle  of  Macduff ^  I  will  furprize. 
Seize  vpon  Fife;  giue  to  th'edge  o'th'Sword 
His  Wife^  his  Babes,  and  all  vnfortunate  Soules  180 

That  trace  him  in  his  Line.     No  boafting  like  a  Foole, 
This  deed  He  do,  before  this  purpofe  coole, 
But  no  more  fights.     Where  are  thefe  Gentlemen  ? 
Come  bring  me  where  they  are.  Exeunt         184 

172.  [Aside]  Johns.  Cam.  Rife.  Var.  '03,  '13. 

175-  fi^ft^*^'\fi^ft^^g  F^i  Rowe.  181.  No„.FooU]    Om.   as   spurious, 

176.  firftlmgi\  firstling  Rowe  ii.  ending  lines  181, 182:  dOy„  fights!  and 

177.  be  Wl  b^t  Pope,  +  ,  Var.  '73,  reading  ff?l^^...arf  as  prose.  Anon.  ap. 
Dyce  ii,  iii,  Huds.  ii,  iii.  Cam. 

180.  vnfortWMte]      ttC    unfortunate  182.  this  ptrpofe]  the  purpose  Han. 
Heath.  183.  fights^  fiights  Sing,  ii,  Coll.  ii, 

181.  him  fVf]  Om.  Johns,  conj.  Steev.        iii.  (MS). 

172.  anticipat'st]  Johnson  :  To  prevent  by  taking  away  the  opportunity. — 
Clarendon  :  So,  contrariwise,  we  h&ve  prevent  used  in  old  authors  where  we  should 
say  *  anticipate.' 

173.  flighty  purpose]  Heath  (p.  401) :  Unless  the  execution  keeps  even  pace 
with  the  purpose,  the  former  will  never  overtake  the  latter,  the  purpose  will  never 
be  completed  in  the  actual  performance. 

181.  trace]  Heath  (p.  401) :  Those  that  may  be  traced  up  to  one  common 
stock  fix)m  which  his  line  is  descended,  or,  all  his  collateral  relations. — Steevens  : 
That  is,  follow,  succeed  in  it. — Clarendon  :  *  Trace '  is  used  in  the  sense  di  follow 
in  another's  track,  as  here,  in  Hamlet^  V,  ii,  125,  and  i  Hen,  IV:  HI,  i,  47. 

181.  in  his]  Abbott  ($  497) :  That  trdce  him  |  in  his  (tiiV)  Ifne.  |  No  bdast  | 
ing  like  |  a  f6ol.     An  apparent  Alexandrine. 

183.  sights]  Collier  (AW^r,  etc.,  p.  413) :  [The  MS  tcbAs  flights, '\  That  is, 
he  will  take  care  by  the  rapidity  with  which  performance  shall  follow  decision,  that 
nobody  shall  again  have  an  opportunity  of  taking  flight.  The  compositor  mistook 
the /for  a  long  j,  and  omitted  to  notice  the  /  which  followed  it. — Singer  {Sh.  Vind. 
p.  257) :  This  is  a  good  correction,  and  is  evidently  supported  by  what  precedes.  It 
had  not  escaped  the  MS  Corrector  of  my  F,,  who  has  altered  fi  to  fly  and  inserted  t 
above. — Anon.  {Blackwood* s  Maga,  Oct.  1853,  p.  461)  :  [The  emendation  of  the 
MS  is  not]  without  some  show  of  reason.  .  . .  But,  on  the  other  hand,  Macbeth,  a 
minute  before  [lines  165,  166],  has  been  inveighing  against  the  witches.  So  that 
<  no  more  sights'  may  mean,  I  will  have  no  more  dealings  with  infernal  hags  [who 
have  just  been  showing  him  a  succession  of  sights^ — ^apparitions :  the  last  of  whidi 


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ACT  IV.  sc.  u.]       THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  267 


Scena  Secunda. 


Enter  Mcicduffes  Wife ,  her  Son ,  and  Rojfe.  2 

Wife.    What  had  he  done^  to  make  him  &y  the  Land  ? 

Roffe.   You  mud  haue  patience  Madam.  4 

I.  Scene  III.  Pope,  +  .  2.  Macdafies  Wife,]  Lady  Macdttff 

Macduff's  Castle.    Rowe  et  seq.         Rowe  et  seq.  throaghout 
(subs.) 

drew  from  him  the  exclamation,  *  Horrible  sight P — Dyce].  The  word  'But' 
seems  to  be  out  of  place  in  connection  with  'flights' — and  therefore  we  pronounce 
in  favor  of  the  old  reading. — R.  G.  White  (ShJ's  Scholar^  p.  405) :  We  should 
unquestionably  read  flights. — Dyce  :  In  my  opinion  the  word  '  But '  makes  not  a 
little  against  the  new  lection. — R.  G.  White  :  *  Sights '  of  the  Ff  seems  to  be  very 
clearly  a  misprint  of  sprights^  the  most  conunon  spelling  of  that  word  in  Shakespeare's 
day,  and  that  which  is  almost  invariably  used  in  the  Folio.  As,  for  instance,  in  III, 
V,  30,  which  announce  the  very  visions  that  Macbeth  has  just  seen,  and  to  which  he 
refers. — Dyce  (ed.  ii.) :  Grant  White  prints  *  sprites,' — ^most  unhappily,  I  think. — 
Halliwell  :  I  cannot  bring  myself  to  confide  in  the  accuracy  of  the  text.  Grant 
White's  emendation  is  doubtful. — Clarendon:  To  us  the  text  seems  unquestion- 
ably right.  [White  possibly  recc^iiised  the  force  of  these  remarks  by  Dyce,  Halli- 
well, and  Clarendon,  for  in  his  second  edition  he  adopted  the  F,  text  without 
comment — Ed.  ii.] 

I.  Scena  Secunda]  Fletcher  (p.  166) :  It  mars  the  whole  spirit  and  moral  of  the 
play,  to  take  anything  firom  that  depth  and  liveliness  of  interest  which  the  dramatist 
has  attached  to  the  characters  and  fortunes  of  Macduff  and  his  Lady.  They  are  the 
chief  representatives  in  the  piece,  of  the  interests  of  loyalty  and  domestic  affection, 
as  opposed  to  those  of  the  foulest  treachery  and  the  most  selfish  and  remorseless 
ambition. ...  It  is  not  enough  that  we  should  hear  the  story  in  the  brief  words  in 
which  it  is  related  to  Macduff  by  his  fugitive  cousin,  Ross.  The  presence  of  the 
affectionate  family  before  our  eyes, — ^the  timid  lady's  eloquent  complaining  to  her 
cousin,  of  her  husband's  deserting  them  in  danger, — the  gnuxfiil  prattle  with  her  boy, 
in  which  she  seeks  relief  firom  her  melancholy  forebodings, — and  then  the  sudden 
entrance  of  Macbeth' s  murderous  rufiBans,— are  all  requisite  to  give  that  crowning 
horror,  that  consummately  and  violently  revolting  character  to  Macbeth's  career, 
which  Shakespeare  has  so  evidently  studied  to  impress  upon  it.  Nothing  has  more 
contributed  to  favor  tlte  false  notion  of  a  certain  sympathy  which  the  dramatist  has 
been  supposed  to  have  excited  for  the  character  and  fate  of  this  most  gratuitously 
criminal  of  his  heroes,  than  the  theatrical  narrowing  of  the  space,  and  consequent 
weakening  of  the  interest,  which  his  unerring  judgement  has  assigned  in  the  piece 
to  those  representatives  of  virtue  and  humanity,  for  whom  he  has  really  sought  to 
move  the  sympathies  of  his  audience.  It  is  no  fault  of  his  if  Macbeth's  heartless 
whinings  have  ever  extracted  one  emotion  of  pity  from  reader  or  auditor,  in  lieu  of 
that  intensely  aggravated  abhorrence  which  they  ought  to  inspire. — Coleridge  (i. 


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268  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH      [act  iv,  sc.  u. 

Wife.     He  had  none  :  5 

His  flight  was  madnefle  :  when  our  A£lions  do  not, 
Our  feares  do  make  vs  Traitors. 

Rojfe.   You  know  not 
Whether  it  was  his  wifedome,or  his  feare. 

Wife.    Wifedom?  to  leaue  his  wife,  to  leaue  his  Babes,  10 

250) :  This  scene,  dreadful  as  it  is,  is  still  a  relief,  because  a  variety,  because 
domestic,  and  therefore  soothing,  as  associated  with  the  only  real  pleasures  of  life. 
The  conversation  between  Lady  Macduff  and  her  child  heightens  the  pathos,  and  is 
preparatory  for  the  deep  tragedy  of  their  assassination. ...  To  the  objection  that 
Shakespeare  wounds  the  moral  sense  by  the  unsubdued,  undisguised  description 
of  the  most  hateful  atrocity, — that  he  tears  the  feelings  without  mercy,  and  even 
outrages  the  eye  itself  with  scenes  of  insupportable  horror, — ^I,  omitting  Tiius 
Andronicus  as  not  genuine,  and  excepting  the  scene  of  Gloster's  blinding  in  King 
Lear,  answer  boldly  in  the  name  of  Shakespeare,  not  guilty !— Bodbnstbdt  :  To 
omit  this  scene,  as  is  usually  the  case  on  the  stage,  is  to  present  Macbeth' s  character 
in  a  far  more  favorable  light  than  Shakespeare  intended,  and  to  weaken  the  force 
of  Macduff's  cry  of  agony,  and  Lady  Macbeth' s  heait-pierdng  question  in  the  sleep- 
walking scene.  We  must  be  made  to  see  how  far  Macbeth' s  unavailing  bloodthirsti- 
ness  reaches,  which  spares  not  even  innocent  women  and  children.  Moreover,  in 
this  tragedy  of  hypocritical  treachery  and  faithless  ambition,  Macduff  and  his  wife 
are  the  exponents  of  honest  loyalty  and  domestic  virtue. — Clarendon  :  The  scene 
of  the  murder  of  Lady  Macduff  and  her  children  is  traditionally  placed  at  Dunne- 
marie  Castle,  Culross,  Perthshire. — [Leighton  (RoHnsofi's  Epitome^  Nov.  1878): 
The  purpose  of  this  scene  seems  simply  to  illustrate,  by  presenting  absolutely  before 
our  eyes  a  massacre  of  innocents,  the  devilish  wickedness  of  Macbeth.  If  it  were 
necessary  to  do  this,  we  would  expect  of  the  genius  of  Shakespeare  in  this  play, 
where  that  genius  is  so  poweriully  illustrated,  that  the  scene  should  be  made  to  serve 
at  the  same  time  some  purpose  of  contrast  or  characterization,  and  the  lack  of  any 
such  secondary  purpose  lends  its  weight  to  heighten  suspicion  against  genuineness 
of  authorship.  Its  repulsive  character  has  no  excuse  of  necessity ;  hence,  aesthetic- 
ally, it  has  no  right  to  be.  The  tragedy  is  more  perfect  and  symmetrical  without 
it.  It  points  no  lesson,  develops  no  character,  explains  no  necessary  action ;  but 
retards  the  movement,  and  shocks  us  with  its  accumulation  of  murders,  of  which  we 
already  have  had  a  surfeit.  In  the  misfortune  of  the  presumably  innocent  mother 
and  child,  it  makes  more  striking  another  instance  of  inexplicable  ethical  injus- 
tice.— LlBBY  (see  note  on  I,  ii,  53)  :  Ross  came  as  Macbeth' s  spy  to  lead  a  gang 
of  assassins :  during  his  interview  with  the  lady  the  murderers  await  him  outside, 
and  within  three  minutes  of  his  exit  they  enter,  within  four  minutes  the  poor  little 
fellow  is  dead,  and  within^s;^  minutes  the  lady  is  butchered.  Where  is  the  sword 
of  Ross,  who  has  just  said,  '  Shall  not  be  long  but  I'll  be  here  again '?  . . .  Unless 
Ross  can  be  cleared  of  the  charge  of  allowing  the  Macduffs  to  be  murdered  before 
he  had  left  the  castle  (there  is  much  to  show  that  he  directed  the  assassins)  his 
character  is  worse  than  his  master's. — Ed.  ii.] 

7.  Traitors]  Steevens  :  Our  flight  is  considered  as  an  evidence  of  our  treason. 
Seymour  :  The  treachery  alluded  to  is  Macduff's  desertion  of  his  family. 

xo.  Wisedom  ?  to  leaue  his  wife,  etc.]  Leighton  (RoHnson^s  Epitome,  Nov. 


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ACT  IV.  sc.  ii.]       THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  269 

His  Manfion^and  his  Titles,  in  a  place  11 

From  whence  himfelfe  do's  flye?  He  loues  vs  not, 
He  wants  the  naturall  touch.    For  the  poore  Wren 
(The  moft  diminitiue  of  Birds)  will  fight, 

Her  yong  ones  in  her  Neft,againft  the  Owle  :  1$ 

All  is  the  Feare,  and  nothing  is  the  Loue ; 
As  little  is  the  Wifedome,  where  the  flight 
So  runnes  againft  all  reafon. 
Rojfe.     My  deereft  Cooz, 
I  pray  you  fchoole  your  felfe.     But  for  your  Husband,  .20 

He  is  Noble,  Wife,  Iudicious,and  beft  knowes 
The  fits  o'th'Seafon.     I  dare  not  fpeake  much  further, 
But  cruell  are  the  times,  when  we  are  Traitors  23 

14.  dinnnitUu\  diminiuiue  F,.     di-  Steev.  Var.  Coll.    c<m^  Rowc,  et  cet 

mmuHveY^.  to.  felfe.     Bu^feif  Bui¥^.    felf; 

14,  15.  fig^f  Her  ...  Nefi,   againfl]  Bui  F/^. 

fight--htr... nest— against  Ktly.  21.  He  is\  His  Pope,  +  ,  Dyce  ii,  ill, 

19.  My\  Om.  Pope,  Han.  Hads.  ii,  iii. 

deereft^    dear'st    Dyce     u,    iii,  92.  The fUs  d'\  What  fits  kx  Tiat fits 

Huds.  ii.  Anon.  ap.  Cam. 

Coo%\   F,.     Com  F,F^.      cousin  ii'M']  <»» /*^  Cap.  ct  seq. 

Fope,+.      co^.  Cap.  Var.   Mai.  Ran.  &a/iw»] /Imw^  Pope,  Han. 

1878) :  It  has  always  appeared  to  me  that  the  chaiacter  of  Macduff  suffers  seriously 
by  the  accusation  of  his  wife,  and  that  such  effect  mars  the  play,  inasmuch  as  he, 
being  principally  opposed  to  Macbeth,  should  be  presented  generous,  chivalrous, 
and  good ;  in  contrast  with  the  usurper  of  Duncan's  throne,  who  is  selfish,  treach- 
erous, and  wicked.  To  enlist  our  sympathies  to  the  fullest  extent,  and  to  make 
the  moral  of  the  play  most  effectire,  the  spirit  of  ill,  represented  by  Macbeth,  should 
be  opposed  by  a  spotless  champion  of  good  and  right,  and  not  by  one  suffering  in 
reputation  under  such  accusations  as  his  wife  makes  against  the  fugitive  Thane. — 
Ed.  ii. 

13.  touch]  Johnson  :  Natural  sensibility.  He  is  not  touched  with  natural  affec- 
tion.   [For  other  uses  of  this  word,  see  Schmidt  (Lex.). — Ed.  ii.] 

13.  Wren]  Harting  (p.  143) :  There  are  three  statements  here  which  are  likely 
to  be  criticised  by  the  ornithologist  First,  that  the  wren  is  the  smallest  of  birds, 
which  is  evidently  an  oversight  Secondly,  that  the  wren  has  sufficient  courage  to 
fight  against  a  bird  of  prey  in  defence  of  its  young,  which  is  doubtful.  Thirdly, 
that  the  owl  will  take  young  birds  from  the  nest. 

22.  fits]  Heath  :  What  befits  the  season.— Stexvkns  :  The  vicient  disorders  of 
the  season,  its  convulsions ;  as  in  Coriol.  Ill,  ii,  33. — Clarendon  :  The  critical  con- 
junctures of  the  time.    The  figure  is  taken  from  the  fits  of  an  intermittent  fever. 

22.  I  dare  not]  Mull  (p.  cii.) :  It  seems  strange  that  no  communication  was 
made  to  Lady  Macduff  that  her  husband  had  gone  to  the  English  Court  on  an  im- 
perative mission,  an  intimation  which  would  have  rendered  her  some  comfort  prob- 
ably.— Ed.  ii. 


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270  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH      [act  iv.  sa  iL 

And  do  not  know  our  felues  :  when  we  hold  Rumor 

From  what  we  feare,  yet  know  not  what  we  feare,  25 

But  floate  vpon  a  wilde  and  violent  Sea 

Each  way,  and  moue.     I  take  my  leaue  of  you  :  27 

24.  kiuno\  know't  Han.  ColL  (MS).  each  way  Cap.     And  each  way  move, 

knew  it  Ktly.  Stecv.  conj.  Elwin,  Hal.  Ktly.     Each 

24,25.  Tve  hoid..,we,„wc\    we  bode  wai/ and  moan.  J^ickson.  fVhichwaywe 

ruin.„toe.„we  or  the  bold  running,,,  move  lTi^thy('wi\hdx9kW[i).  As  each  wave 

they„.they  Johns,  conj.  (Obs.)  m<w»  Harness  conj.  And  move  eachwave 

Rumor  ...  feare^  yet}   /ear  Anon.  ap.  Cam.     Each  way  it  moves. 

From  rumour^  and  yet  Becket  Daniel,  Huds.  iii.    Each  way  we  mxrve. 

26.  floate  vpon\  floating  on  Jack-  Rife  conj.  Each  day  a  new  one  Ingleby 
son.  (Robinson's  Epitome,  15  May,  1879). 

27.  Each  wayy  and  moue}  Each  way.  Each  way  and  drive  A.  Gray  (N.  &  Qu. 
and  move—  Johns.  Var.  '73.   And  move        28  Ap.  1888). 

34.  know  our  selues]  Upton  (p.  322) :  That  is,  to  be  traitors. 

24.  hold  Rumor]  Heath  :  To  interpret  rumour. — Steevkns  :  To  beliere,  as 
we  say,  *  1  hold  such  a  thing  to  be  true ';  i,  e,  I  take  it,  I  belieye  it  to  be  so.  The 
sense  then  is.  When  we  are  led  by  our  fears  to  believe  every  rumour  of  danger  we 
hear,  yet  are  not  conscious  to  ourselves  of  any  crime  for  which  we  should  be  dis- 
turbed with  t^ose  fears.  Thus  in  King  John,  IV,  ii,  145. — Deuus:  To  'hold 
rumour '  is  contrasted  with  to  <  know '  in  the  next  line. — Dalgleish  :  When  we 
accept  or  circulate  rumours,  because  we  fear  them  to  be  true., — Clarendon  :  It  \& 
uncertain  whether  this  very  difficult  expression  means  <  when  we  interpret  rumour  in 
accordance  with  our  fear/  or  *  when  our  reputation  is  derived  from  actions  which 
our  fear  dictates,'  as  Lady  Macduff  has  said  in  lines  6,  7,  *  When  our  actions  do 
not.  Our  fears  do  make  us  traitors.'  See  the  use  of  *  From'  in  III,  vi,  24. — Hud- 
son (ed.  ii.)  :  Fear  makes  us  credit  rumour,  yet  we  know  not  what  to  fear,  because 
ignorant  when  we  offend.  A  condition  wherein  men  believe  the  more  because  they 
fear,  and  fear  the  more  because  they  cannot  foresee  the  danger. 

27.  Bach  .  .  .  moue]  Theobald  (Nichols,  Lit,  lUust,  ii,  529) :  It  would  be 
something  of  a  wonder  had  they  floated  and  not  moved.  Sure,  this  is  a  reading  too 
flat  for  our  Author.  I  read  <  Each  way  and  wave,*  i.  e.  they  not  only  float  back- 
ward and  forward,  but  are  the  sport  of  each  distinct  and  particular  wave ;  which 
exaggerates  the  thought. — Heath  :  The  order  of  the  words  intended  by  Shake- 
speare is,  But  float  and  move  each  way  upon  a  wild  and  violent  sea. — Elwin  :  Min- 
sheu's  meaning  olflote  is,  to  wane  vp  cmd  downe. — Clarendon  :  The  passage,  as  it 
sUnds,  is  equally  obscure  whether  we  take  *  move '  as  a  verb  or  a  substantive,  and 
no  one  of  the  emendations  suggested  seems  to  us  satisfactory.  The  following,  which 
we  put  forward  with  some  confidence,  yields,  by  the  change  of  two  letters  only,  a 
good  and  forcible  sense :  *  Each  way,  and  none.'  That  is,  we  are  floating  in  cveiy 
direction  upon  a  violent  sea  of  uncertainty,  and  yet  make  no  way.  We  have  a 
similar  antithesis,  Mer,  of  Ven,  I,  ii,  64 :  *  He  is  every  man  in  no  man.' — Hudson 
(ed.  ii.)  :  *  Move'  is  for  movement  or  motion, — Staunton  (Athemtumy  19  October, 
1872) :  Surely  we  should  read  *  Each  stoay,*  a  word  peculiariy  appropriate  here. 
In  the  same  sense  of  expressing  the  swing  and  motion  of  agitated  water,  it  occurs  in 
Chapman's  Tragedy  of  Charles,  Duke  of  Byron  :  'And  as  in  open  vessels  fill'd  with 


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ACT  IV.  sa  u,]       THE  TR AGED  IE  OF  MACBETH  27 1 

Shall  not  be  long  but  He  be  heere  againe  :  28 

Things  at  the  worft  will  ceafe,or  elfe  climbe  vpward, 
To  what  they  were  before.     My  pretty  Cofine,  30 

Blefling  vpon  you. 

Wife.     Fathered  he  is, 
And  yet  hee's  Father-leffe. 

Roffe.    I  am  fo  much  a  Foole,(hould  I  ftay  longer 
It  would  be  my  difgrace,  and  your  difcomfort.  35 

I  take  my  leaue  at  once.  ExU  Rojfe. 

Wife.    Sirra,  your  Fathers  dead,  37 

28.  Shall'\  ^T  shall  Han.   Sing,  ii,  lines  ^vlAx  yet„.FooU^,,Mfgrace^»Mf' 

Cdl.  ii.  (MS).     //  shaU  KUy.  comfort.  Walker. 

3a  Cofine\  Coufin  F,F^.  32,  33.  Fathet^d ,.,  Father 'lejfe\  One 

31-35.  BUjffing  ...  di/comfort,']  The  line,  Rowe  et  seq. 

water.  And  on  mens  shoulders  borne.  ...  To  keep  the  wild  and  slippery  element. 
From  washing  over ;  follow  all  his  Swayes^^  etc.  [This  passage  is  in  Byron* s  Con- 
spiracies Act  II,  ad,  fin, ;  not  in  the  Tragedy  of  Charles,  Duke  of  Byron, — Ed.  ii.] 

30.  My  pret^  Cosine]  Darmbsteter  :  These  words  are  addressed  to  Mac- 
duff's son. — Ed.  ii. 

34.  I  .  .  .  Poole]  Has  it  been  noticed  how  frequently  Shakespeare  connects 
<  Fool  *  with  tears  and  weeping  ?  Thus,  Temp,  III,  i,  73 :  <  I  am  a  fool  to  weep  at 
what  I  am  glad  of.*  Com,  of  Err,  II,  ii,  205 :  •  No  longer  will  I  be  a  fool  To  put 
the  finger  in  the  eye  and  weep.'  Mer,  of  Ven,  III,  iii,  14 :  <  Be  made  a  soft  and 
dull-eyed  fool  To  shake  the  head  relent  and  sigh.'  As  You  Like  It,  II,  i,  45 : 
*  The  big  round  tears  coursed  one  another  down  his  innocent  nose  In  piteous  chase : 
and  thus  the  haiiy  fool.'  Wint,  Tale,  II,  i,  118 :  <  Do  not  weep,  good  fools,  there 
is  no  cause.  Ibid,  III,  ii,  229  :  <  The  love  I  bore  your  queen — ^lo,  fool  again.'  Rich, 
III:  I,  iii,  354 :  *  Your  eyes  drop  mill-stones  when  fools  eyes  drop  tears.' — Ed.  ii. 

37.  Sirra]  Malone:  Not  always  a  term  of  reproach,  but  sometimes  used  by 
masters  to  servants,  parents  to  children,  etc.  See  III,  i,  44.  [Also  used  as  an 
address  to  women.  See  Ant.  &*  Cleop,  V,  ii,  229.  And  Beaumont  and  Fletcher, 
Knight  of  Malta,  I,  ii.  (vol.  ▼,  p.  115,  ed.  Dyce),  and  Ibid.  Wit  at  Several  Weapons, 
II,  ii.  (vol.  iv,  p.  34,  ed.  Dyce),  also  Westward  Ho,  I,  ii.  (Webster's  Works,  vol. 
iii,  p.  23,  ed.  Dyce),  where  the  editor  says :  *  In  the  north  of  Scotland  I  have  fre- 
quently heard  persons  in  the  lower  ranks  of  life  use  the  word  **  5?rj,"  when  speak- 
ing to  two  or  three  women.'  Pronounced  s&r'rdt  by  Sheridan,  Nares,  Scott,  Ken- 
rick,  Ferry,  Walker,  Jones,  and  Knowles.    See,  also,  Abbott,  II,  iii,  175.] 

37.  Sirra,  your  Fathers  dead]  Leighton  (Robinson's  Epitome,  Nov.  1878) : 
The  conversation  between  Lady  Macduff  and  her  pretty  infant  seems  to  me  un- 
worthy of  Shakespeare ;  and  I  am  tempted  to  believe  the  larger  portion  of  it, — if 
not  the  whole  scene, — to  be  an  interpolation  by  a  later  writer  (Middleton?). ...  If 
any  part  of  the  scene  is  Shakespeare's,  an  interpolation  must  begin  at  or  near  line 
37  and  continue  to  line  75 ;  for  such  a  flat  and  wrong  conversation  between  mother 
and  child  under  the  circumstances  cannot  have  been  written  by  the  artist  who  drew 
the  skilfully-managed  characters  of  Macbeth  and  his  wife. — Ed.  ii. 


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272  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH     [act  iv,  sc  iL 

And  what  will  you  do  now?  How  will  you  liue/  38 

Son.    As  Birds  do  Mother. 

Wife.    What  with  Wormes,  and  Flyes  ?  40 

Son.    With  what  I  get  I  meane,  and  fo  do  they. 

Wife.     Poore  Bird, 
ThouMft  neuer  Feare  the  Net,  nor  Lime, 
The  Pitfall,  nor  the  Gin. 

Son.    Why  (hould  I  Mother?  45 

Poore  Birds  they  are  not  fet  for  : 
My  Father  is  not  dead  for  all  your  faying. 

Wife.     Yes,  he  is  dead  : 
How  wilt  thou  do  for  a  Father  ? 

Son.    Nay  how  will  you  do  for  a  Husband  ?  50 

Wtfe.    Why  I  can  buy  me  twenty  at  any  Market. 

Son.    Then  youU  by  'em  to  fell  againe. 

Wife.    Thou  fpeak'ft  withall  thy  wit,  53 

40,41.  wfM...Pf^i]a»...0» Pope, +.  seq. 

41.  /  meane\  Om.  Ff,  Rowe,  Pope,  47.  My  Father  is\  But  my  fatkef's 
Han.  Cap. 

42.  43.  Poore    Birdf ...  Lime'\    One  48,  49.  One  line,  Rowe  et  seq. 
line,  Theob.  et  seq.  49*  ^]  do  new  Cap. 

43.  Lime\  Line  Yl^  Rowe,  Pope,  Cap.  52.  by"]  F^     bny  F  et  seq. 

44-54.   The  ...  thee,'\     Lines    end :  53,  54.  Thou,„thee\    Ff,   Cap.  Jen. 

Motherf.,. Father. ..dead:,..  Nay,,. buy  CoU.  Hnds.  Sing,  ii,  Del.  Wh.  i,  Ktly. 

me...by^ em,..wit^,„thee.  Cap.  Lines  end:  faith„,thee  Pope,  et  oet 

45,  46.  Why,..for'\  One  line,  Fbpe  et  53.  withall'\  with  aii  Ff. 

39.  Birds]  Lamartink  (ap.  Da&msstkter)  :  This  sublime  and  candid  reply 
of  the  child,  since  it  is  not  declamatoiy,  equals — even  surpasses — ^that  of  Joas  in 
Racine's  Athalie^  <Aux  petits  des  oiseauz  il  donne  leur  p&ture,*  [Act  II,  Sc.  yii. — 
Ed.  ii.]. 

43.  Lime]  Capell  {Notes,  ii,  24) :  Line  (i.  e.  a  line  with  a  noose  in  it)  accords 
better  with  the  other  terms,  expressive  of  instruments,  not  modes,  of  bird-catching, 
which  the  other  word  ['lime']  indicates. 

46.  they]  Deuus  :  *  They '  is  merely  a  repetition  of  <  Poor  birds.'— Clarendon  : 
It  may  be  doubted  whether  the  word  <  they '  refers  to  the  various  traps  just  men- 
tioned, reading  <  Poor  birds '  as  the  objective  case  following  '  set  for,'  or  whether  it 
is  a  repetition  of  '  Poor  birds,'  taken  as  a  nominative,  as  in  IV,  iii,  15.  '  What  you 
have  spoke,  it  — .'  In  either  case  the  emphasis  is  on  <  Poor,'  and  the  meaning  is 
that  in  life,  traps  are  not  set  for  the  poor,  but  for  the  ridi.  The  boy's  precocious 
intelligence  enhances  the  pity  of  his  early  death. 

46.  for]  Abbott  (§  154) :  We  still  retain  the  use  o^for  in  the  sense  of  in  spite 
of,  as  in  *for  all  your  plots  I  will  succeed,'  etc.  [This  present  passage  is  quoted  under 
the  second  meaning  of  < for'  (in  opposition  to) :  hence  ' to  prevent'  For  the  first 
meaning,  see  III,  i,  145,  and  note.] 


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ACT  IV,  sc.  iL]       THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  273 

And  yet  Tfaith  with  wit  enough  for  thee. 

Son.    Wasimy  Father  a  Traitor,  Mother?  55 

Wife.     I,  that  he  was. 

Son.    What  is  a  Traitor  ? 

Wife.    Why  one  that  fweares,and  lyes. 

Son.    And  be  all  Traitors,  that  do  fo. 

Wife.     Eueiy  one  that  do's  fo,  is  a  Traitor,  60 

And  muft  be  hanged. 

Son.    And  muft  they  all  be  hang'd,  that  fwear  and  lye  ? 

Wife.    Euery  one. 

Son.    Who  muft  hang  them  / 

Wife.    Why,  the  honeft  men,  65 

Son.  Then  the  Liars  and  Swearers  are  Fools :  for  there 
are  Lyars  and  Swearers  enow,  to  beate  the  honeft  men, 
and  hang  vp  them* 

Wife.     Now  God  helpe  thee,  poore  Monkie  : 
But  how  wilt  thou  do  for  a  Father  ?  70 

Son.  If  he  were  dead,  youFd  weepe  for  him  :  if  you 
would  not,  it  were  a  good  figne,  that  I  Ihould  quickely 
haue  a  new  Father. 

Wife.     Poore  pratler,  how  thou  talk'ft  ? 

Enter  a  Meffenger.  75 

Afir/^Bleffe  you  faire  Dame  :  I  am  not  to  you  known. 
Though  in  your  ftate  of  Honor  I  am  perfe6l ;  ^^ 

59.  />.]  F,.    fo  f  Fj  et  scq.  Mai.   Ran.   Stecv.  Var.   Sing.  Knt  i, 

59,  60.  And.. .Euery  one]  One  line,        Huds.  Del.  Ktly. 

Ktly.  69.  Now]   Om.    F^,   Rowe,  +  ,  Var. 

60,  61.  Prose,  Pope  et  seq.  '73. 

65.  the]    Om.    FjF^,    Rowe,    Pope,  69,  70.  New... Father  f]  Plose,  Pope 

Han.  et  seq. 

67.  enew]  enough   Han.  Cap.  Var.  74.  Wife]  Son  F.. 

67.  enow]  Clarendon  :  Used  with  plural  nouns,  as  enough  with  singular. 

75.  Enter  a  Messenger]  Hsath  (p.  402)  :  This  messenger  was  one  of  the 
murderers  employed  by  Macbeth  to  exterminate  Macduff's  family,  but  who,  from 
emotions  of  pity  and  remorse,  had  oustripped  his  companions,  to  give  timely  warn- 
ing of  their  approach. — [Libby  :  This  messenger  may  come  from  Lady  Macbeth. — 
Ed.  ii.] 

77.  perfeA]  Steevens  :  I  am  perfectly  acquainted  with  your  rank  of  honour. — 
[Mull  (p.  civ.) :  The  right  rendering  is :  <  Though  I  am  a  stranger  to  you,  I  am 
hyal  to  your  honor — ^I  have  no  guilty  design,^  *  I  am  perfectly  acquainted  with  your 
rank  of  honour'  would  convey  nothing  of  the  slightest  consequence  to  Lady  Mac- 
duff; it  has  absolutely  no  meaning  in  her  circumstances.  But  a  stranger  bursting 
18 


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274  ^^^  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH      [act  iv,  sc.  iL 

I  doubt  fome  danger  do^s  approach  you  neerely.  78 

If  you  will  take  a  homely  mans  aduice, 

Be  not  found  heere  :  Hence  with  your  little  ones  80 

To  fright  you  thus.     Me  thinkes  I  am  too  fauage : 

To  do  worfe  to  you,  were  fell  Cruelty, 

Which  is  too  nie  your  perfon.     Heauen  preferue  you, 

I  dare  abide  no  longer.  Exit  Mejfenger 

Wife.    Whether  (hould  I  flye  ?  85 

I  haue  done  no  harme.     But  I  remember  now 
I  am  in  this  earthly  world  :  where  to  do  harme 
Is  often  laudable,  to  do  good  fometime  88 

So,  81.  ones  To„,thwi\  ones  :  To  thus  som  (ap.  Dyce  ii.).   Wherefore  Huds.  Hi. 

Ff,  Rowe.    ones.    To  thm^  Pope  et  seq.  Whither  F^F  ,  et  cet 

81.  too  fauage'\  to  fauage  Y^,  86.  I  ha$u\  Pve  Pope,  +  ,  Dyce  ii, 

82.  worfe  to  you]  iess,  to  you  Han.  iii,  Hads.  ii,  iiL 

less  to  you.  Cap,  87.  /  am}   Pm   Pope,  +  ,   Sing,   ii, 

85.  Whether]  F,.   D'At.    Why  Lett-        Dyce  ii,  iii,  Ktly,  Huds.  ii,  iii. 

mdely  and  breathlessly  into  her  presence  had  need  to  give  prompt  assurance  of  his 
honourable  and  upright  purpose  to  secure  a  hearing,  and  this  he  did  as  I  point  out — 
Ed.  ii.] 

81.  To  fright]  For  other  instances  where  *  to '  is  equivalent  to  in  or/br  with  the 
participle,  see  Abbott,  $  356.  Again,  in  V,  ii,  30 :  <  His  pester*  d  senses  to  recoil 
and  start 

82.  worse]  Warburton  :  We  should  read  '  To  do  worship  to  you,'  etc  That 
is,  but  at  this  juncture  to  waste  my  time  in  the  gradual  observances  due  to  your 
rank,  would  be  the  exposing  your  life  to  immediate  destruction. — ^Johnson  :  To  do 
worse  is  to  let  her  and  her  children  be  destroyed  without  warning. — Edwards 
(p.  74) :  That  is,  to  fright  you  more,  by  relating  all  the  circumstances  of  your 
danger;  which  would  detain  you  so  long,  that  you  could  not  avoid  it. 

82.  fell]  Clarendon  :  Florio  gives  *  Fello^  fell,  cruel,  moodie,  inexorable,  fello- 
nious,  murderous.'     Hence  '  fellone,'  a  felon. 

85.  Whether]  Abbott  (§  493) :  A  proper  Alexandrine  with  six  accents  is  seldom 
found  in  Shakespeare.  (§494)  :  In  V,  iv,  12,  *  The  nihn  |  bers  6f  |  our  hdst  |  and 
miOce  I  discovery '  (discovery),  we  have  an  Alexandrine  only  in  appearance.  The  last 
foot  contains,  instead  of  one  extra  syllable,  two  extra  syllables,  one  of  which  is  slurred. 
[A  term  phonetically  unintelligible  to  me. — Elus,  Early  Eng.  Pronunciatumy  Part 
iii,  p.  944.]  (§  496):  In  other  cases  the  appearance  of  an  Alexandrine  arises  from 
the  non-observance  of  contractions  :  *  I  dire  |  abide  |  no  Idoger  |  Whither  should  |  I 
fly?*  So  in  V,  iii,  7  :  'All  mdrt  |  al  cSnse  \  quence(s)  hive  |  pronounced  |  me  thus.* 
— Ellis  :  These  '  contractions  *  would  have  a  remarkably  harsh  effect  in  the  in- 
stances cited,  even  if  they  were  possible.  No  person  accustomed  to  write  verses 
could  well  endure  lines  thus  divided  [as  above.     In  the  present  instance]  the  line 

belongs  to  two  speeches  and  *  should  *  may  be  emphatic I  should  be  sorry  to  buy 

immunity  from  Alexandrines  at  the  dreadful  price  of  such  Procrustean  '  sdknsion.' 

88.  sometime]  See  I,  vi,  17. 


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ACTiv,sc.u.]        THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  275 

Accounted  dangerous  folly.     Why  then  (alas) 

Do  I  put  vp  that  womanly  defence,  90 

To  fay  I  haue  done  no  harme? 

What  are  thefe  faces  ? 

Enter  Murtherers* 

Mur.    Where  is  your  Husband  ? 

Wife.     I  hope  in  no  place  fo  vnfanftified,  95 

Where  fuch  as  thou  majr'ft  finde  him. 

Mur.     He's  a  Traitor. 

San.    Thou  ly'ft  thou  Ihagge-ear'd  Villaine. 

Mur.    What  you  Egge  ? 
Yong  fiy  of  Treachery.^  lOO 

Son.    He  ha's  killed  me  Mother, 
Run  away  I  pray  you.  Exit  crying  Murther.        102 

91,9a.   To  fay.„faces\  Ff,  Sing.  ii.  ^,  /uigge-ear^d'^Y^.  Jkag-eardY^ 

One  line,  Rowe,  et  cet  Rowe.     shag-haired  Steey.  conj.  Huds. 

91.  Ihaue\  I  had  Ff,  Rowe.     I'ad  Sing,   ii,   Sta.  Wh.  i,  Del.  Hal.  Glo. 

Pope,  Han.    /'</Theob.+,   /'ivDyce  Fiuness.    Jhag-ear'd  ¥^,  ti  oti. 
ii,  iii,  Huds.  ii,  iii.  loo.  [Stabbing  him.  Rowe  et  seq. 

93.  Murtherers]   certain  Mnrtherexs.  loi.  -«?  Aa'/]  Z?5r '«  Pope,  + . 

Cap.  102.  Exit.. .Murther]   Exit  L.  Mac- 

94.  Mur.]  Ff.  First  Mar.  Cap.  et  duff,  crying  Murther ;  Murtherers  pursue 
seq.  her.  Theob.  et  seq.  (subs.) 

95.  96.  so. .  .  Where]  For  similar  relative  constructions,  see  Abbott  ($  279). 

96.  may'st]  For  other  instances  of  what  would  be  called  *  an  unpardonable  mis- 
take in  modem  authors  (though  a  not  uncommon  Shakespearian  idiom),'  see 
Abbott  ($  412). 

98.  shagge-ear'd]  Stsevkns  :  An  abusive  epithet  veiy  often  used  in  our  ancient 
plays.  See  a  Hen.  VI:  III,  i,  367.— Malone  :  In  King  Johny  V,  ii,  133,  we  find 
*  m-heard,'  for  unhair'd.  Hair  was  formerly  written  heare.  In  Lodge's  Incar^ 
naie  DevUs  of  the  Age,  1596,  p.  37,  we  find  '  shag-heard  slave.' — Reed  :  In  23  Car. 
I,  Chief  Justice  Rolle  said  it  had  been  determined  that  these  words,  *  Where  is  that 
long-locked,  shag-haired,  murdering  rogue  ?'  were  actionable. — ^Aleyn's  Reports,  p. 
61. — COLUER  (ed.  ii.)  :  *  Shag-ear'd '  is  a  villain  who  is  shaggy  about  the  ears  by 
reason  of  his  long  hair.  Such  is  the  word  in  die  Ff,  and  we  decline  to  make  any  alter- 
ation.— ^R.  G.  White  :  Shag-hair  seems  to  have  meant  somewhat  more  than  merely 
dishevelled  hair.  <  For  covering  they  have  either  hair  or  shag-hair. — Pro  integu- 
mento  habent  vel  pilos  vd  villos.' — Gate  of  the  Latine  Tot^ue  Unlocked,  1656,  p.  46. 
— Dyce  (ed.  ii.) :  Of  the  many  examples  which  might  be  adduced  of  'hear'  for 
hair,  I  subjoin,  'But  now  in  dust  his  beard  bedaubd,  his  hear  with  blood  is 
clonge.' — Phaer,  Viigil's  ASneidos,  Bk,  ii,  sig.  C  vii,  ed.  1584.  «We  straight  his 
burning  hear  gan  shake,  all  trembling  dead  for  dreede.' — Ibid.  sig.  D  v.  ['  Hear' 
is  changed  to  *  haire '  in  both  passages  in  Fhaer's  ed.  1620.— Ed.  ii.] 


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276  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH     [act  iv,  sc.  iii. 


Sccena  Tertia. 


Enter  Malcolme  and  Macduffe.  2 

Mai,    Let  vs  feeke  out  fome  defolate  (hade,  &  there 
Weepe  our  fad  bofomes  empty. 

Macd.     Let  vs  rather  5 

Hold  faft  the  mortall  Sword  :  and  like  good  men, 
Beftride  our  downfall  Birthdome  :  each  new  Mome, 
New  Widdowes  howle,  new  Orphans  cry,  new  forowes 
Strike  heauen  on  the  face,  that  it  refounds  9 

I.  ScENB  IV.  Pope,+,  Jen.    Scene  7.  dcwnfaU'\  downfaln\^9A>,  Johns. 

II.  Booth,  Irving,  Robertson.  Jen.  Var.  '73,  '78,  '85.    down-fall  Cv^, 

A  Wood  in  England.  Booth.     A  down-faU'n  Mai.  et  seq. 

Country  Lane.  Irnng.     The  King  of  Birthdome\   Ff    [birth-dome  FJ, 

England's  Palace.  Rowe,  et  cet.  (subs.)  Rowe.     birthdoom  Pope,  Theob.  Han. 

5-19.  Mnemonic,  Warb.  Warb.     Hrthdom  D'Av.  et  cet 

I.  Scoena  Tertia]  Clarendon  :  The  Poet  no  doubt  felt  that  this  scene  was 
needed  to  supplement  the  meagre  parts  assigned  to  Malcolm  and  Macduff. — 
French  (p.  293) :  The  present  Earl  of  Fife,  James  Duff,  1868,  who  is  also  Vis- 
count Macduff,  is  lineally  descended  from  the  Macduff  of  the  play. — [Verity  : 
Dramatically  this  scene  seems,  at  first  sight,  more  open  to  criticism  than  any  other 
in  the  play.  .  . .  The  real  design  is,  I  think,  to  mark  the  pause  before  the  storm. 
No  dramatic  theme  remains  except  the  great  avengement. . . .  But  to  bring  this 
about  suddenly  would  violate  probability.  The  dhtouement  must  be  lead  up  to 
gradually;  there  must  be  an  antecedent  period  in  which  the  storm  clouds  gather: 
and  this  long  scene,  as  it  were,  fills  the  period. — Ed.  ii.] 

7.  Birthdome]  Johnson  :  Our  birthdom,  or  birthright,  says  he,  lies  on  the 
ground ;  let  us,  like  men  who  are  to  fight  for  what  is  dearest  to  them,  not  abandon 
it,  but  stand  over  it  and  defend  it.  This  is  a  strong  picture  of  obstinate  resolution. 
So,  Falstaff  says  to  Hal :  '  If  thou  see  me  down  in  the  battle,  and  bestride  me^  so.' 
— /  Hen.  IV:  V,  i,  121.  Birthdom  for  birthright  is  formed  by  the  same  analogy 
with  masterdom  in  this  play,  signifying  the  privileges  or  rights  of  a  master.  Per- 
haps it  might  be  birthdome  for  mother;  let  us  stand  over  our  mother  that  lies  bleed- 
ing on  the  ground. — Clarendon  :  *  Birthdom '  is  formed  on  the  analogy  of  *  king- 
dom,' 'earldom,'  'masterdom,'  I,  v,  68,  with  this  difference,  that  'king,*  'earl,' 
'master,'  designate  persons,  and  'birth'  a  condition;  the  termination  '-dom'  is 
connected  with  'doom,'  and  'kingdom'  signifies  the  extent  of  a  king's  jurisdiction. 
It  loses  its  original  force  when  joined  to  adjectives,  as  in  '  freedom,'  '  wisdom,'  etc., 
and  is  then  equivalent  to  the  German  -heit,  in  fVeisheit,  Freiheit,  our  '-hood.' 
'  Birthdom '  here  does  not,  as  we  think,  signify  '  birthright,'  but  '  the  land  of  our 
biith,'  now  struck  down  and  prostrate  beneath  the  usurper's  feet. 

9.  face]  Clarendon  :  A  somewhat  similar  hyperbole  occurs  in  Temp,  I,  ii,  4 ; 


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ACT  IV,  sc.  iii.]      THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  277 

As  if  it  felt  with  Scotland,  and  yellM  out  10 

Like  Syllable  of  Dolour. 

Mai.    What  I  beleeue,  He  waile  ; 
What  know,  beleeue ;  and  what  I  can  redrefle. 
As  I  (hall  finde  the  time  to  friend  :  I  wil. 

What  you  haue  fpoke,  it  may  be  fo  perchance.  15 

This  Tyrant,  whofe  fole  name  blifters  our  tongues, 
Was  once  thought  honed  :  you  haue  lou'd  him  well. 
He  hath  not  touchM  you  yet.    I  am  yong,  but  fomething 
You  may  difceme  of  him  through  me,  and  wifedome  19 

II.  SyUabWl  syllables  Pope, +,  Cap.  j^n^^  Theob.  et  cet 

Var  '73.  19.  and  wi/edome]  *Hs  wisdom  Han. 

14.  As^  An  Mall  conj.  and  V  is  wisdom  Heath,  Cap.    and  wis- 

18.  /  am"]  Fm  Pope,  + ,  Dyce  ii,  iii,  dom  is  it  Steevens  conj.  and  wisdom  'tis 
Hnds.  ii,  iii.  or  and  wisdom  bids  Sta.  conj.    and  wis- 

bul']*tis  Kinnear.  dom  'twere  Ktly.     Line  om.  Cla.  conj. 

19.  difceme'\  F..  discern  FjF^,  D'Av.  and  wish  A.  Gray  (N.  &  Qu.  7  Ap. 
Rowe,  Pope,  Cap.  Clarke,  Spragae.    de-         1888). 

again,  Mer,  of  Ven,  II,  vii,  45.    We  have  also  *  the  face  of  heaven '  in  Rich,  HI: 
IV,  iv,  239;  'the  cloudy  cheeks  of  heaven'  in  Rich.  //.•  Ill,  iii,  57.     The  sun  is 
called  <  the  eye  of  heaven '  in  I,  iii,  275,  and  <  the  searching  eye  of  heaven '  in  III, 
ii,  37  of  the  same  play. 
9.  that]  For  omission  of  so  before  'that,'  see  Abbott,  §  283;  compare  I,  ii,  72. 

14.  to  friend]  Staunton  :  The  expression  <  to  friend,'  mcamng  pro^ions,  assist- 
ant, favourable,  etc.,  occurs  again'  in  Cymb.  I,  iv,  116.  It  is  not  uncommon  in  our 
old  poets.  Thus,  in  Spenser,  Faerie  Queene^  Bk,  I,  c.  i,  v.  28  :  <  So  forward  on  his 
way  (with  God  to  frend)  He  passeth  forth ';  and  also  in  Massinger's  The  Roman 
Actor,  I,  i,  •  the  gods  to  friend.*— CuAlK  (p.  283,  note  on  Jul.  Cas,  III,  i,  143) : 
Equivalent  to  for  fiend.  So  we  say  To  tahe  to  wife. — Rolfb  :  Cf.  Matthew,  iii,  9 ; 
Luhe,  iii,  8  :  *  We  have  Abraham  to  our  father,'  etc. — Clarendon  :  For  the  construc- 
tion, see  Temp.  Ill,  iii,  54 :  '  Destiny  That  hath  to  instrument  this  lower  world.' 
The  veib  is  used  in  Hen.  V:  IV,  v,  17.  'At  friend'  occurs  in  Wint.  Tale,  V,  i, 
140. — Abbott  (§  189) :  '  To,'  from  meaning  like,  came  into  the  meaning  of  rep- 
resentation,  equivalence,  apposition.     Comp.  Latin  '  Habemus  Deum  amico.' 

15.  What]  For  the  use  of '  what'  as  a  relative,  see  Abbott,  {  252. 

18.  touch'd]  See  III,  ii,  33 ;  IV,  ii,  13. 

19.  disceme]  Theobald  :  If  the  whole  Tenour  of  the  Context  could  not  have 
convinced  our  blind  Editors  that  we  ought  to  read  desen/e  instead  of  '  discern '  (as  I 
have  corrected  the  Tezf),  yet  Macduff's  Answer,  sure,  might  have  given  them  some 
Light, — *  I  am  not  treacherous.' — Upton  (p.  314)  prefers  *  discern,'  and  explains 
it :  '  You  may  see  something  to  your  advantage  by  betraying  me.' — [Spragub  :  Mal- 
colm does  not  fully  believe  Macduff  honest,  and  sajrs:  'You  have  loved  Macbeth 
well.  He  has  done  you  no  harm  yet.  I  am  young,  but  (young  as  I  am  I  oould 
tell  you  of  many  diabolical  plots  of  Macbeth  to  get  me  into  his  power),  so  that  you 
oould  discern  something  of  Macbeth' s  character  through  my  disclosures  and  his  treat- 
ment of  me.' — Ed.  ii.] 


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278  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH    [act  iv,  sc.  iiL 

To  offer  vp  a  weake,  poore  innocent  Lambe  20 

T'appeafe  an  angry  God. 

Macd.    I  am  not  treacherous. 

Male.    But  Macbeth  is. 
A  good  and  vertuous  Nature  may  recoyle 
In  an  Imperiall  charge.     But  I  Ihall  craue  your  pardon  :  25 

That  which  you  are,  my  thoughts  cannot  tranfpofe ; 
Angels  are  bright  ftill,  though  the  brighteft  fell. 
Though  all  things  foule,  would  wear  the  brows  of  grace 
Yet  Grace  mull  ftill  looke  fo.  29 

20.  To  offer\  'Tis  V  offer  Nicholson,  28,  29.  Mnemonic,  Warb. 

ap.  Cam.  28.  wear\    bear   F^,    Rowe,   Warb. 

23-25.  Mnemonic,  Warb.  Johns. 

25.  But..,cratu\   I  crave   Pope,  +  .  2^. /HU  looke']  look  still  Theob.  ii, 

But '  crave  Steev.  Var.  '03,  '13.  Warb.  Johns.  Var.  '73. 

19.  wisedome]  M.  Mason  :  There  is  no  verb  to  which  wisdom  can  refer.  Some- 
thing is  omitted.  If  we  read,  'and  think  it  wisdom,'  the  sense  will  be  supplied ; 
but  that  would  destroy  the  metre. — Dyce  (ed.  ii.)  :  Lettsom  proposes  <  and  wisdom 
Would  offer  up,'  etc,  but  I  see  no  objection  to  'and  wisdom,'  an  elliptical  expression 
for  '  and  it  is  wisdom.'  [Thus  also  Abbott,  §§  402,  403.] — Keightley  :  A  sylla- 
ble is  plainly  lost. — Cowden-Clarxe  :  If  the  original  word  '  discern '  be  retained,  we 
have  the  sense  of  the  passage  unimpaired,  thus :  '  I  am  young,  but  something  you 
may  perceive  of  Macbeth  in  me  [Malcolm  has  stated  that  Macbeth  '  was  once  thought 
honest,'  and  afterwards  taxes  himself  with  vices],  and  also  you  may  perceive  the 
wisdom  of  offering  up,'  etc.,  thus  gaining  the  verb  before  <  wisdom'  that  the  com- 
mentators miss.  It  may  be  advisable  to  mention  that  we  made  this  restoration  in 
the  text  when  preparing  our  edition  of  Shakespeare  for  America  in  i860. — ^Hudson 
(ed.  ii. )  :  You  may  purchase  or  secure  his  favor  by  sacrificing  me  to  his  malice ;  and 
to  do  so  would  be  an  act  of  worldly  wisdom  on  your  part,  as  I  have  no  power  to 
punish  you  for  it. 

24.  recQyle]  Johnson  :  A  good  mind  may  recede  from  goodness  in  the  execution 
of  a  roycU  commission, — Clarendon  :  Here  used,  not  in  its  usual  sense  of  rebound- 
ing on  the  removal  of  pressure,  but  meaning  to  yields  give  way,  swerve.  So  also  V, 
ii,  3a  Compare  Cymb,  I,  vi,  128.  Perhaps  Shakespeare  had  in  his  mind  the  recoil 
of  a  gun,  which  suggessed  the  use  of  the  word  '  charge,'  though  with  a  different 
signification.  Compare  2  Hen,  VI:  III,  ii,  331,  * —  like  an  overcharged  gun, 
recoil  And  turn  the  force,'  etc. 

25.  craue]  Walker  (Crit,  i,  77)  :  *Pray  you^  *  beseech  you,  are  frequent  in  Shake- 
speare. (I  remember  also  *  crave  you  in  one  of  his  plays,  I  forget  where.)  [See  Text, 
Hotes,^ED,  ii.] 

28.  would]  See  I,  vii,  40. 

29.  80]  Johnson  :  My  suspicions  cannot  injure  you,  if  you  be  virtuous,  by  sup- 
posing that  a  traitor  may  put  on  your  virtuous  appearance.  I  do  not  say  that  your 
virtuous  appearance  proves  you  a  traitor ;  for  virtue  must  wear  its  proper  fonn,  though 
that  form  be  counterfeited  by  villainy. — Dalgleish  :  Though  foul  things  may  look 


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ACT  IV.  sc.  iii.]      THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  279 

Macd.    I  haue  loft  my  Hopes.  30 

Male.    Perchance  euen  there 
Where  I  did  finde  my  doubts. 
Why  in  that  rawnefTe  left  you  Wife,  and  Childe  ? 
Thofe  precious  Motiues,  thofe  ftrong  knots  of  Loue, 
Without  leaue-taking.     I  prav  you,  35 

Let  not  my  lealoufies,  be  your  Diflionors, 
But  mine  owne  Safeties  :  you  may  be  rightly  iuft, 
What  euer  I  (hall  thinke. 

Macd.    Bleed,  bleed  poore  Country, 
Great  Tyranny,  lay  thou  thy  bafis  fure,  40 

30.  /  haue\  Pve  Pope,+,  Dyce  ii,  35.  Withoui'\  WUhoui  so  mucA  as 
iii,  Huds.  ii,  iii.                                               Anon.  ap.  Cam. 

31-35.  Mnemonic,  Waib.  I  prav  you]  Om.  Pope,  Han.    O 

31.  32.  One  line,  Rowe  et  seq.  Macduff^  I  pray  you  Anon.  ap.  Cam. 
33.  ChUde\    children    Ff,    Rowe,+,  prav\  F,. 

Cap.  Var.  '73,  Jen.  Ran.  39-41-  Mnemonic,  Warb. 

fair,  fiur  things  cannot  look  fairer. —Clarendon  :  Compare  Meas.for  Mens.  II,  i, 
287. — [Pattee:  Though  all  things  that  are  foul  should  try  to  appear  lair  and 
noble,  yet  would  true  grace  be  easily  discerned.  In  other  words,  *  You  appear  to 
be  noble  and  yon  may  be  so  in  reality.' — Ed.  ii.] 

32.  doubts]  Delius  :  That  is,  in  this  meeting  at  the  English  Court,  so  sur- 
prising to  Malcolm,  and  so  discouraging  to  MacduE — Clarendon  :  Macduff  had 
hoped  that  he  should  be  received  by  Malcolm  with  full  confidence.  Failing  this, 
4dl  his  hopes  of  a  successful  enterprise  against  the  tyrant  are  gone.  Malcolm  replies : 
'  Your  disappointment  is  due  to  your  own  conduct  in  leaving  your  wife  and  children, 
which  has  given  rise  to  distrust  in  my  mind.' 

33.  rawnesse]  Johnson  :  Without  previous  provision,  without  due  preparation, 
without  maturity  of  counsel.     [In  that  hasty  manner. — Diet.] 

34.  Motiues]  Delius  :  Frequently  applied  by  Shakespeare  to  persons.  Perhaps 
here,  like  '  knots,'  it  is  to  be  connected  with  <  of  love,'  although  it  is  perfectly  intel- 
ligible by  itself.  [Schmidt  (Lex.)  gives  but  three  passages  in  which  'motive'  is 
applied  to  persons :  Timon,  V,  iv,  27 ;  OtA.  IV,  ii,  43  ;  and  Anf.  &*  Cleo.  II,  ii, 
^.  The  present  passage  is  not  given  under  this  head,  but  under  that  of  <  cause,  or 
reason.* — ^Ed.  ii.] 

35.  Dyce  (ed.  ii.) :  This  line  seems  to  be^  faulty,  not  from  the  redundant  'I,'  but 
from  the  omission  of  some  word  or  words. — Abbott  (§  512)  considers  <  I  pray  you ' 
as  a  short  intexjectional  line  by  itself;  and  (§511)  that  the  pause  after  Meave-taking ' 
jnay  be  explained  by  the  indignation  of  Macduff,  which  Malcolm  observes,  and 
■digresses  to  appease. 

37.  Safeties]  Abbott  (§  454)  :  An  extra  syllable  is  frequently  added  before  a 
pause,  especially  at  the  end  of  a  line,  as  in  Hamlet^  I,  ii,  77  ;  but  also  at  the  end  of 
the  second  foot,  as  here,  *  For  mine  |  own  safeties  |  ' ;  and,  less  frequently,  at  the  end 
of  the  third  foot,  as  in  line  33,  <For  g6od  |  ness  d&res  |  not  ch6ck  tAee  \  ';  and, 
rarely,  at  the  end  of  the  fourth  foot,  see  Temp,  I,  ii,  127. 


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28o  THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH     [act  iv,  sc.  iii. 

For  goodneiTe  dare  not  check  thee :  wear  ^  thy  wrongs,  41 

The  Title,  is  affear^d.     Far  thee  well  Lord, 

I  would  not  be  the  Villaine  that  thou  think'ft, 

For  the  whole  Space  that's  m  the  Tyrants  Grafpe, 

And  the  rich  Eaft  to  boot.  45 

Mai.    Be  not  offended : 
I  fpeake  not  as  in  abfolute  feare  of  you  : 
I  thinke  our  Country  finkes  beneath  the  yoake. 
It  weepes,  it  bleeds,  and  each  new  day  a  gafti 
Is  added  to  her  wounds.     I  thinke  withall,  50 

There  would  be  hands  vplifted  in  my  right : 
And  heere  from  gracious  England  haue  I  offer 
Of  goodly  thoufands.     But  for  all  this, 
When  I  (hall  treade  vpon  the  Tyrants  head, 
Or  weare  it  on  my  Sword ;  yet  my  poore  Country]  55 

Shall  haue  more  vices  then  it  had  before. 
More  fuffer,  and  more  fundry  wayes  then  euer,| 
By  him  that  (hall  fucceede.  58 

41.  dare\  F,,  D*Av.  Cap.  Dyce,  Sta.  F^,  Cap.  afraid  Rowe.  affeendfLHy. 
Glo.  Cam.  Ktiy.     dares  F,r^,  et  cct.  affeer'd  Han.  et  cet 

y]  F,.    thifu  F,F^.  42.  Far]  Fare  Ff. 

42.  The]  His  Pope,+,  Var.  '73,  '78,  43.  think  ft]  tkini^st  me  Ktly. 
'85.     ny  Mai.  Var.  Knt,  Dyce,  Hal.  53.  Of]  0/ aid  of  Yiiiy, 

Ktly,  Coll.  iii.  thoufands,]  thousands,  [Showing 

affear  V]  F^  D'  Av.  Pope, + ,  Jen.        a  paper.  ]  Coll.  ii. 
Var.  '73,  Mai.  Ran.  afear*d¥^,  afeard  But]  But  yet  Han. 

42.  affear'd]  Pope  :  A  law  term  for  confirmed. — Heath  (p.  403) :  A  law  term 
which  signifies  estimated,  proportioned,  adjusted  ;  not  confirmed.  It  is  used  here 
in  its  common  acceptation  for  afifrightened.  [See  Elwin.]  Malcolm's  title  to  the 
crown  is  afirightened  from  asserting  itself;  or,  in  plainer  English,  He  is  afifrightened 
from  asserting  his  title  to  the  crown. — RiTSON :  To  affeer  is  to  assess,  or  reduce  to 
certainty.  All  amerciaments  are  by  Magna  Charta  to  be  affeered  by  lawful  men, 
sworn  to  be  impartial.  This  is  the  ordinary  practice  of  a  Court  Leet,  with  which 
Shakespeare  seems  to  have  been  intimately  acquainted,  and  where  he  might  have 
occasionally  acted  as  an  affeerer, — Elwin  :  There  is  a  {day  upon  the  word  *af- 
feer*d.* — ^Walker  {Crit,  i,  275)  :  Perhaps  we  should  read  assured  or  affirmed. 
Aflfear'd  may  have  originated  in  feare,  five  lines  below. — Clarendon  :  Confiimed. 
In  Cowd'sZow  Diet,  s.  v.:  *Affeerers  may  probably  be  derived  from  the  Frendi 
ojfier^  that  is,  affirmare^  confirmare^  and  signifies  in  the  conunon  law  such  as  are 
appointed  in  Court-Leets,  upon  oath,  to  set  the  fines  on  such  as  have  committed 
fiuilts  arbitrarily  punishable,  and  have  no  express  penalty  appointed  by  statute. '  [To 
siQne  efifect,  Murray  (N,  E,  Z>.)^ED.ii.] 

56.  ShaU]  See  III,  iv,  73. 

57.  more  sundry]  See  I,  iii,  177. 


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ACT  IV,  sc.  iii.]       THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  28 1 

Macd.    What  Ihould  he  be  ? 

Mai.     It  is  my  felfe  I  meane  :  in  whom  I  know  60 

All  the  particulars  of  Vice  fo  grafted, 
That  when  they  (hall  be  openM,  blacke  Macbeth 
Will  feeme  as  pure  as  Snow,  and  the  poore  State 
Efteeme  him  as  a  Lambe,  being  compared 
With  my  confineleffe  harmes.  65 

Macd.    Not  in  the  Legions 
OfjimTijl  TTrllj  ran  ronH  .1  DiiirU  more  damnM 
In  euils,  to  top  Macbeth. 

Mai.     I  grant  him  Bloody, 
Luxurious,  Auaricious,  Falfe,  Deceitfull,  70 

67.  Diiulll  DevU  F^F^.  69.  Mai.]  Rowc.    Macb.  Ff. 

68.  emls\  ills  Pope,  Han.  Cap.  69,  120.  Bloody]  bloudy  F,F^. 

59.  should]  Abbott  (§  324) :  <  Should '  is  sometimes  used  as  though  it  were  the 
past  tense  of  a  verb  shall^  meaning  »>  to^  not  quite  ought.  Compare  the  German 
'  sollen.'  Ibid.  (§  325) :  <  Should '  was  hence  used  in  direct  questions  about  the  past 
where  shall  was  used  about  the  future. ...  It  seems  to  increase  the  emphasis  of  the 
interrogation,  since  a  doubt  about  the  past  (time  having  been  given  for  investiga- 
tion) implies  more  perplexity  than  a  doubt  about  the  future. 

60-65.  E.  K.  Chambers  :  I  think  there  is  a  touch  of  deeper  psychological  insight 
in  this  [than  a  trial  of  Macduff's  patriotism].  Is  it  not  true  that  in  the  critical  moments 
of  life  one  is  often  suddenly  oppressed  with  a  sense  of  one's  own  weaknesses,  and 
dormant,  if  not  actual,  tendencies  to  evil,  which  seem  to  cry  aloud  for  expression, 
confession?    For  a  similar  instance,  compare  HamUt^  III,  i,  124. — Ed.  ii. 

62.  open'd]  CoLUER  {Notes^  etc.,  p.  414) :  The  sense  afforded  by  *  open'd '  is  so 
inferior  to  that  given  by  the  MS  Corrector  that  we  need  not  hesitate  in  concluding 
that  Shakespeare,  carrying  on  the  figure  suggested  by  <  grafted '  as  applied  to  fruit, 
must  have  written  <  ripen' d.' 

68.  euils]  Walker  i^Crit,  ii,  197) :  '/»  evils,'  apparently,  in  the  same  sense  as 
Oth,  I,  i,  21 :  <A  fellow  almost  damned  in  a  fair  life.'  Tomkins,  Albumatar^  v,  11, 
Dodsley,  ed.  1825,  vol.  vii,  p.  193 :  •—  O  wonderful !  Admir'd  Albumazar  in  two 
transformations  1'  admired  on  account  of  two  transformations  which  he  has  wrought. 
Perhaps  also,  i  Hen,  IV:  V,  iv,  121,  is  in  point:  'The  better  part  of  valour  is 
discretion  ;  in  the  which  better  part  I  have  saved  my  life ' ;  through  which,  by  reason 
of  which,  [See  also  the  same  article  for  instances  of  the  pronunciation  of '  evil '  as 
a  monosyllable ;  as  also  Abbott  (§  466).] 

68.  top]  Dyce  {Gloss,) :  To  rise  above,  to  surpass. 

69-71.  Bloody  .  . .  Malicious]  H.  A.  Metcalf  :  There  may  be  in  these  seven 
adjectives,  *  smacking  of  every  sin,'  an  indirect  reference  to  the  '  seven  deadly  sins ' 
as  recognised  by  theologians,  viz.  pride,  oovetousness,  lust,  envy,  gluttony,  anger, 
sloth.^— i9/5,  20  April,  1902. — Ed.  ii. 

70.  Luxurious]  Dyce  ( Gloss, ) :  That  is,  lascivious  (its  only  sense  in  Shake- 
speaxe), — Clarendon  :  Always,  as  here,  used  by  Shakespeare  in  the  sense  of /cmt- 
uriostiSf  in  patristic  Latin,  and  the  French  luxurieux^  i.  e.  the  adjective  conrespond- 


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282  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH     [act  iv,  sc.  ui. 

Sodaine^  Malicious,  fmacking  of  eueiy  finne  71 

That  ha's  a  name.     But  there's  no  bottome,  none 

In  my  Voluptuoufneffe  :  Your  Wiues,  your  Daughters, 

Your  Matrons,  and  your  Maides,  could  not  fill  vp 

The  Cefteme  of  my  Luft,and  my  Defire  75 

All  continent  Impediments  would  ore-beare 

That  did  oppofe  my  will.     Better  Macbeth^ 

Then  fuch  an  one  to  reigne. 

Macd.     Boundleffe  intemperance 
In  Nature  is  a  Tyranny :  It  hath  beene  80 

Th'vntimely  emptying  of  the  happy  Throne, 
And  fall  of  many  Kings.     But  feare  not  yet 
To  take  vpon  you  what  is  yours  :  you  may 
Conuey  your  pleafures  in  a  fpacious  plenty,  84 

71.  fmacking]  smoaking  Ff,  Rowe.  Ktly. 

euery\   each   Pope,  Han.     et/ry  79-32.  Mnemomc,  Waib. 

Theob.+.  79.  B(mndUJfe\  Om.  Stecv.  conj. 

75.  Cejleme\  ciflem  FjF^.  82.  And]  And'  Allen  MS. 

78.  an]  a  Cap.  Var.  '78,  '85,  Mai.  84.  Conuey]  Enjoy  Sing,  ii,  Coll.  ii. 

Var.    Knt,    Sing.    Huds.    Coll.    Wh.        (MS). 

ing  to  luxure,  not  luxe.     This  sense  of  the  word  is  now  obsolete.     In  the  modem 
sense  we  find  it  as  early  as  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  and  in  Milton  it  has  always 
either  the  modem  sense,  or  that  of  luxuriant.     [See  Much  Ado,  IV,  i,  194,  this 
edition.] 
71.  Sodaine]  Johnson:  That  is,  violent^  passionate^  hasty, 

76.  continent]  Clarendon  :  Restraining,  Compare  Lov^s  Lab.  I,  i,  262 ;  in 
Lear,  III,  ii,  58,  the  word  is  found  as  a  substantive.  And  in  Mid.  N.  D.  II,  i,  92, 
we  have  the  same  figure  which  is  used  in  the  present  passage. 

77.  78.  Better  . . .  reigne]  Coleridge  (i,  251) :  The  moral  is— the  dreadful 
effects  even  on  the  best  minds  of  the  soul-sickening  sense  of  insecurity. 

78.  an  one]  See  III,  iy,  162. 

80.  In  Nature]  Delius  :  This  belongs  to  <  tymnny ' ;  such  organic  intemperance 
is  compared  with  the  political  tyranny  of  Macbeth. — Clarendon  :  If  the  words  are 
to  be  constraed  according  to  Delius,  we  should  interpret  them  thus :  '  intemperance 
is  of  the  nature  of  a  tyranny,'  remembering  Jul.  Cas,  II,  i,  69,  *  The  state  of  man. 
Like  to  a  little  kingdom,  suffers  then  The  nature  of  an  insurrection.'  Or  we  may 
join  <  intemperance  in  nature,'  and  interpret  want  of  control  over  the  natural  appe- 
tites. The  former  seems  preferable.  In  any  case  '  tyranny '  here  means  usurpation, 
in  consequence  of  which  the  rightful  king  loses  his  throne.     See  note  on  III,  vi,  25. 

84.  Conuey]  Coluer  {Notes,  p.  414)  :  Altered  by  the  MS  Corrector  to  Enjoy, 
When  enjoy  was  written  enioy^  as  it  usually  was  of  old,  the  printer's  lapse  may  be  at 
once  explained. — Anon.  (Blackwood's  Maga.  Oct.  1853)  :  Punctuate  *  Convey  your 
pleasures  in, — a  spacious  plenty ' — t.  e.  Gather  them  in, — an  abundant  harvest. — 
Staunton  :  *  Convey '  occurs  in  precisely  the  same  sense  in  the  following :  <  But 


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ACT  IV,  sc.  iii.]      THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  283 

And  yet  feeme  cold.    The  time  you  may  fo  hoodwinke  :  85 

We  haue  willing  Dames  enough :  there  cannot  be 
That  Vulture  in  you,  to  deuoure  fo  many 
As  will  to  Greatneffe  dedicate  themfelues, 
Finding  it  fo  inclinde. 

Mai    With  this,  there  growes  90 

In  my  moft  ill-compof  d  AffefHon,  fuch 
A  flanchleffe  Auarice,  that  were  I  King, 
I  (hould  cut  off  the  Nobles  for  their  Lands, 
Defire  his  lewels,  and  this  others  Houfe, 

And  my  more-hauing,  would  be  as  a  Sawce  95 

To  make  me  hunger  more,  that  I  fhould  forge 
Quarrels  vniuft  againft  the  Good  and  Loyall,  97 

85.  cold.     The  ...  hoodwinke:^    Ff.  86.   We  haue'\  W^ve  Popc,  +  ,  Dyce 

cold.     Tke.,.hoodtuink,    Rowe.      cold:  ii,  iii. 

the,„hoodwink:  Pope.  Han.  Cap.    cM^  88.  Greatneffe]  GretUniffe  F^ 

thc.hoodivink :  Theob.  Cam.    cold^the  97.  Loyall]  royal  Pope. 
hoodwink.  Johns,  et  cet 

Terily,  verily,  though  the  adulterer  do  never  so  closely  and  cunningly  convey  his  sin 
under  a  canopy,  yet/  etc. — The  Plain  Man*s  Pathway  to  Heceven^  1599*  And  it  is 
also  found  in  the  corresponding  passage  in  Holinshed.  [See  Appendix.] — R.  G. 
White:  We  know  that  in  the  slang  of  Shakespeare's  day  it  tmsajA purloin.  But 
the  line  is  an  obscure  one  throughout,  yet  rather,  I  think,  from  want  of  care  in 
the  writing  than  from  corruption  in  the  printing. — Dyce  ((?/cvi.):  To  manage 
secretly  and  artfully. — [R.  G.  White  (ed.  ii. ) :  Shakespeare  heedlessly  used  the 
word  that  he  here  caught  from  Holinshed,  who  makes  Macduff  reply :  'And  I  shall^ 
convey  the  matter  so  wisely  that  thou  shalt  be  so  satisfied  at  thy  pleasure  in  such 
secret  wise.' — Ed.  ii.] 

85.  time]  See  I,  v,  61 ;  I,  vii,  81. 

85.  hoodwinke]  Dalgleish  :  A  translation  of  Holinshed's  <  that  no  man  shall 
be  aware  thereof.' — Claeendon  :  Perhaps  it  was  originally  a  term  of  falconry,  the 
hawks  being  hooded  in  the  intervals  of  sport     In  Latham's  Falconry,  1615,  1618, 

*  to  hood '  is  the  term  used  for  the  blinding,  <  to  unhood,'  for  the  unblinding. — 
Nares  :  Drayton  has  this  word,  which  must  mean  the  same  as  Hoodman  blind. 

*  By  moonshine  many  a  night  do  give  each  other  chase  At  hood- wink,  barley-break,' 
etc. — Polyolhiony  xzx,  p.  1225. 

87.  That]  Abbott  (§  277)  :  'That'  is  still  used  provincially  for  such  and  j<7.- 
e.  g.  '  He  is  that  foolish  that  he  understands  nothing. '  So  Hamlet,  I,  v,  48.  <  That ' 
is  more  precise  than  of  that  kind  or  such.  *  That,'  meaning  such,  is  used  before  the 
infinitive  where  we  use  the  less  emphatic  the,  as  in  the  present  instance. 

96.  that]  For  <  that '  equivalent  to  so  that,  see  I,  ii,  72. 

96,  97.  forge  Quarrels]  Rushton  {Sh.  lUust.  by  the  Lex  Scripta,  p.  87),  refer- 
ring to  the  Statute  7  Hen.  IV.,  cap.  vii,  directed  against  <  les  arrousmyths  qe  font 
plusours  testes  de  setes  &  quarelx  defectifs,'  adds  that  Malcolm  may  use  the  word 
'quarrel'  in  a  double  sense,  because  the  verbs  < forge'  and  'warrant'  might  be 


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284  ^^^  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH     [act  iv.  sc.  iii. 

Deftroying  them  for  wealth.  98 

Macd.    This  Auarice 
ftickes  deeper  :  growes  with  more  pernicious  roote  100 

Then  Summer-feeming  Lull :  and  it  hath  bin 

99-102.  Mnemonic,  Warb.  seeming  Johns.  Var.  '73.     summer-seed- 

100.  ftickes'\    Strikes    Theob.    conj.  ing  Heath,  Var.  '85,  Steev.  Var.  *03, 

Han.  Warb.  '13.     Summer-sinning  Jackson,     sum- 

lOZ.  Summer-feeming'^  summer-teem-  mer- beseeming  Coll.  conj.     summer^ 

ing  Theob.  Han.  Warb.  Cap.    summer  ^swelling  Orger. 

applied  to  the  '  quarrels '  mentioned  in  this  statute,  as  well  as  to  the  word  in  its 
more  usual  Xtgal  acceptation. 

loa  stickes]  Theobald  (Nichols's  Lit.  III.  ii,  530):  I  should  think  stHkes 
deeper;  a  tree,  or  plant,  is  said  by  gardeners  to  strike^  when  it  shoots  its  fibres  out 
deep  into  the  earth,  and  begins  to  fed  its  root. 

loz.  Summer-seeming]  Theobald  :  Summer-teeming^  i.  e.  the  Passion,  which 
lasts  no  longer  than  the  I/eat  of  Life,  and  which  goes  off  in  the  Winter  of  Age. 
Summer  is  the  season  in  which  Weeds  get  Strength,  grow  rank,  and  dilate  them- 
selves.— Heath  (p.  404) .-  *  Summer-seeming '  gives  a  very  apt  and  proper  sense ; 
that  is,  Which  hath  no  other  inconvenience  than  that  of  an  extraordinary  heat  for 
the  time,  such  as  we  commonly  experience  in  summer,  and  which  is  of  no  long  dura- 
tion. However,  as  the  integrity  of  the  metaphor,  which  is  taken  from  the  growth 
of  a  plant,  and  particularly  the  root  of  it,  is  not  well  preserved,  I  am  inclined  to 
believe  Shakespeare  wrote,  *  sommet-seeding,^  i.  e.  Than  lust,  which,  like  a  summer 
plant,  runs  up  to  seed  during  that  season,  and  quickly  afterwards  dies  away. — 
[Steevens  in  1785  quoted  Blackstone  as  tlie  author  of  this  conjecture,  summer-seed- 
ing^ although  Heath  anticipated  the  latter  by  twenty  years.  Attention  was  called  to 
Heath's  claims  in  the  Anonymous  Variorum  edition  of  1807 ;  but  with  this  excep- 
tion, and  that  of  the  Cambridge  Editors,  every  editor  who  has  noticed  the  conjecture 
has  accorded  it  to  Blackstone.  I  have  been  unable  to  find  where  Steevens  obtained 
this  note  of  the  eminent  Justice  :  it  is  not  in  the  list  published  by  the  Shakespeare 
Society  in  vol.  xii.  of  their  Papers. — Ed.] — ^Johnson  :  When  I  was  younger  and 
bolder  I  corrected  it  thus :  *  Than  fume^  or  seething  lust,'  t.  e.  angry  passion  of 
boiling  lust — Steevens  :  Lust  that  seems  as  hot  as  summer. — Malone  :  In  Donne's 
poems  {Lov^s  Alchemy. — Clarendon]  we  meet  with  •  winter-x^^min^.' — Hudson  : 
The  passion  that  bums  awhile  like  summer,  and  like  summer  passes  away ;  whereas 
the  other  passion,  avarice^  has  no  such  date,  but  grows  stronger  and  stronger  to  the 
end  of  life. — Staunton  :  We  are  unwilling  to  disturb  the  old  text,  though  we  have 
a  strong  persuasion  that  Shakespeare  wrote  <  sxaaaitt-seaming  lust,'  i.  e.  lust  fcU- 
tened  by  summer  heat — Clarendon  :  Befitting,  or  looking  like,  summer.  Avarice 
is  compared  to  a  plant  which  strikes  its  roots  deep  and  lasts  through  eveiy  season ; 
lust  to  an  annual  which  flourishes  in  summer  and  then  dies. — Allen  (MS) :  We 
should  (I  think)  write  thus :  This  avarice  Sticks  deeper — grows  with  more  pernicious 
root — ^Than  ^aaasufx-^ seeming  lust.  Shakespeare  conceives  of  avarice  (<  the  good  old- 
gentlemanly  vice '  of  Byron)  as  a  plant  of  Autumn  and  Winter ^  deeper  rooted,  more 
lasting ;  of  Lust^  as  a  plant  of  Summer^  earlier  and  more  rapid  in  its  growth,  but 
less  enduring.  Lust  is,  therefore,  a  vice  that  naturally  goes  with  (and  in  so  far 
beseems)  Youth,  the  Summer  of  life.     <  Seeming,'  then,  is  but  beseeming,  with  its 


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ACT  IV.  sc.  iii.]      THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH  285 

The  Sword  of  our  flaine  Kings :  yet  do  not  feare,  102 

Scotland  hath  Foyfons,  to  fill  vp  your  will 

Of  your  meere  Owne.     All  thefe  are  portable, 

With  other  Graces  weighM.  105 

MaL    But  I  haue  none.    The  King-becoming  Graces^ 
As  luftice,  Verity,  Temperance,  Stablenefle, 
Bounty,  Perfeuerance,  Mercy,  Lowlineffe, 
Deuotion,  Patience,  Courage,  Fortitude, 

I  haue  no  rellifli  of  them,  but  abound  1 10 

In  the  diuifion  of  each  feuerall  Crime, 
Afling  it  many  wayes.     Nay,  had  I  powre,  I  (hould 
Poure  the  fweet  Milke  of  Concord,  into  Hell, 
Vprore  the  vniuerfall  peace,  confound 
All  vnity  on  earth.  1 15 

Macd.    O  Scotland,  Scotland. 

103.  Foy/ons}  Poifom  FjF^.    foyson  Sour,„Hell  Jackson. 
Ktly.  114.   Vprore]  Uproot  or  Upiear  Ktly 

106-115.  Mnemonic,  Warb.  conj. 
113.  Pour£..,Ifel/]Sozv'r,.,Aatel{a.n. 

prefix  dropt,  as  in  rapid  or  familiar  conversation.  Shakespeare  so  wrote  elsewhere. 
It  may  be  added  that  the  idea  crops  out,  in  another  form,  a  few  lines  below,  in  '  the 
king-becoming'  graces. 

103.  Poysons]  Na&es:  Plenty,  particularly  of  harvest.  Foison^  Fr.,  which 
Menage  and  others  derive  from  fusio.  See  Du  Cange. — CoLUER :  It  is  generally 
used  in  the  singular. — Clarendon  :  The  word  is  still  used  in  the  south  of  England 
for  the  juice  of  grass,  and  in  Scotiand  for  the  sap  of  a  tree. 

104.  meere]  See  IV,  iii,  173. 

105.  Graces]  Staunton  (A/Aenaum,  2  November,  1872) :  Read  undoubtingly : 
^//s,  the  very  word  which  is  foimd  in  the  corresponding  dialogue  in  Holinshed. 

106-109.  King-becoming  . .  .  Fortitude]  H.  A.  Metcalf  :  There  may  be  in 
these  twelve  'King-becoming  graces'  an  indirect  reference  to  the  theological  'twelve 
fruits  of  the  Holy  Ghost '  as  enumerated  in  the  Vulgate  of  Ga/aHans,  v,  22,  23,  viz. 
love,  joy,  peace,  patience,  gentieness,  goodness,  long-suffering,  meekness,  faith,  mod- 
esty, temperance,  chastity.     Cf.  also  lines  69-71. — MS,  20  April,  1902. — Ed.  ii. 

108.  Peneuerance]  R.  G.  White  :  Here  accented  on  the  second  syllable.— 
Clarendon:  Pentuer  in  Shakespeare  has  always  the  accent  on  the  second  syl- 
lable. 

no.  rellish]  Clarendon  :  Compare  the  use  oisapere  in  Latin,  as,  e.  g.  Persius, 
Sat.  1,  ii :  '  Cum  sapimus  patruos.' 

113.  Hell]  Staunton:  By  'hell'  may  be  meant  confusion,  anarchy,  disorder; 
and  if  so,  we  ought  possibly  to  read,  '  Sour  the  sweet  milk,'  etc. 

114.  Vprore]  Dyce  (Gloss.):  To  throw  into  confusion. — Clarendon:  To 
break  by  the  clamour  of  war.  Compare  the  German  aufrHhren.  We  have  no 
example  of  this  verb  elsewhere.     Uprear  has  been  suggested  as  an  emendation. 


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286  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH     [act  iv,  sc.  iii. 

Mai.    If  fuch  a  one  be  fit  to  gouerne,  fpeake  :  117 

I  am  as  I  haue  fpoken. 

Mac.YiX,  to  gouernPNo  not  to  Hue.  O  Nati5  miferable ! 
With  an  vntitled  Tyrant,  bloody  Sceptred,  120 

When  (halt  thou  fee  thy  wholfome  dayes  againe? 
Since  that  the  trueft  Iffue  of  thy  Throne 
By  his  owne  Interdi6lion  (lands  accufl. 
And  do^s  blafpheme  his  breed  ?  Thy  Royall  Father 
Was  a  moft  Sainted-King  :  the  Queene  that  bore  thee,  125 

Oftner  vpon  her  knees,  then  on  her  feet, 
Dy'de  euery  day  (he  liuM.     Fare  thee  well,  127 

1 19-124.  Mnemonic,  Warb.  126.  Ofttur\  Oft*ner  Knt,  Coll.  Sta. 

119.  Two  lines,  ending:  gtmtmf.,.  Hal.Wh.  i,  Ktly.    Oftener  HvLds,  Sing. 

ndferable !    Pope  et  seq.  ii,  Dyce,  Cam.  Wh.  ii. 

Fit  to  gouem  /]  Italics,  Sta.  127.  /m/</]  Hved  Cap.  Var.  '73,  '78, 

125.  SainUd'Xtng]  F,F,.  Sainted  '85,  Steev,  Var.  Sing.  i.Knt,  Coll.  Huds. 
King  F^.  Hal.     livid  Byce  ii,  iii. 

126.  /Am]  than  F^.  Fare]  Oh  fare  Pope,+. 

117, 118.  If . . .  spoken]  Gb&vinus  (p.  608) :  We  may  object  to  this  as  nnnat- 
und.  Yet  in  the  embittered  and  suspicious  state  of  mind  of  the  orphaned,  oft- 
tempted,  and  betrayed  young  man,  it  is  not  inconsistent  that  he  should  go  so  far  in 
dissimulation  towards  the  very  man  whom  he  would  most  gladly  trust,  and  on  whom 
his  last  hope  is  placed.  In  any  case  this  gives  us  a  much  stronger  impression  of 
the  contrast  aimed  at  in  the  character.  His  enterprise  against  Macbedi  is  in  the 
same  way  prudent  and  patient. — Ed.  ii. 

122.  Since  that]  For  *  that'  used  as  a  conjunctional  affix,  see  Abbott,  §  287. 

124.  blaspheme]  Clarendon  :  That  is,  slander;  the  original  sense  of  the  word. 
Bacon,  in  his  Advancement  of  Learnings  i,  2,  §  9,  uses  *  blasphemy'  in  the  sense 
of  slander:  'And  as  to  the  judgment  of  Cato  the  Censor,  he  was  well  punished 
for  his  blasphemy  against  learning.'  And  in  the  Prayer-book  Version  of  Psalm  cxiz, 
42,  we  find  'blasphemers'  for  '  slanderers.' 

125.  Queene]  Wordsworth  (p.  98) :  Shakespeare  seems  to  have  confounded, 
whether  purposely  or  not,  the  character  of  Margaret,  who  was  Malcolm's  wife,  with 
that  of  his  mother. 

127.  Dy'de]  M alone  :  An  expression  borrowed  from  /  Cor,  xv,  31, '  I  die  daily.' 
— Delius  :  This  refers  to  the  daily  mortification  of  the  flesh  by  castigation,  so  that 
she  only  lived  spiritually. 

127.  Fare]  Walker  (  Vers,  p.  139) :  To  be  pronounced  as  a  disyllabic.  Cer- 
tainly not  livid;  Shakespeare  would  as  soon  have  made  died  a  disyllabic. — Dyce 
(ed.  i.)  :  I  believe  Walker  is  right  as  regards  '  Fare.' — ^R.  G.  White  :  I  give  this 
line  as  it  is  printed  in  Ff,  lacking  one  unaccented  syllable,  because  I  believe  this  to 
be  more  in  accordance  with  Shakespeare's  free  versification  than  it  would  be  to  make 
•lived'  a  disyllable.  At  the  same  time  I  cannot  agree  with  any  part  of  Walker's 
objection  to  the  latter  arrangement  Shakespeare  and  his  contemporaries  made  both 
{lived  and  died"]  disyllables  or  monosyllables,  as  occasion  required. — Dyce  (ed.  ii.) : 


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ACT  IV,  sc.  iii.]      THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH  287 

Thefe  Euils  thou  repeat'ft  vpon  thy  felfe,  128 

Hath  banifh'd  me  from  Scotland.     O  my  Breft, 

Thy  hope  ends  heere.  130 

Mai.    Macduff^  this  Noble  paflion 
Childe  of  integrity,  hath  from  my  foule 
Wip'd  the  blacke  Scruples,  reconciled  my  thoughts 
To  thy  good  Truth,  and  Honor.     Diuellifli  Macbeth^ 
By  many  of  thefe  traines,  hath  fought  to  win  me  135 

Into  his  power  :  and  modeft  Wifedome  pluckes  me 
From  ouer-credulous  haft  :  but  God  aboue 
Deale  betweene  thee  and  me;  For  euen  now 
I  put  my  felfe  to  thy  DirefHon,  and 

Vnfpeake  mine  owne  detraflion.    Heere  abiure  140 

The  taints,  and  blames  I  laide  vpon  my  felfe, 
For  ftrangers  to  my  Nature.     I  am  yet 
Vnknowne  to  Woman,  neuer  was  forfwome,  143 

129,  130.  Mnemonic,  Warb.  143.   Woman\    women    Ff,     Rowe, 

129.  J/a/A']  Have  Rowe  et  seq.  Pope. 

140.  deira^Hon]  detractions  Cap.  conj.  for/wome"]  for/wore  Ff,  Rowe. 

The  late  Mr  W.  W.  Williams  (The  Parthenon,  I  Nov.  1862,  p.  849)  has  shown 
that  Walker  is  wrong  by  the  following  quotation  from  Jul,  Cas.  Ill,  1,  257,  <  That 
ever  livid  in  the  tide  of  times.' 

135.  traines]  Clarendon  :  That  is,  artifices,  devices,  lures.  Cotgrave  gives 
<  Traine : . . .  a  plot,  pnurtise,  conspiiade,  deuise ' ;  and  '  Trainer :  to  weaue ;  also, 
to  plot,  contrive,  practise,  conspire,  deuise.' — Baynes  (p.  312) :  A  technical  term 
both  in  hawking  and  hunting :  in  hawking,  for  the  lure,  thrown  out  to  reclaim  a 
falcon  given  to  ramble,  or  <  rake  out,'  as  it  is  called,  and  thus  in  danger  of  escaping 
from  the  fowler ;  and  in  hunting,  for  the  bait  trailed  along  the  ground,  and  left 
exposed  to  tempt  the  animal  from  his  lair  or  covert,  and  bring  him  /airly  within 
the  power  of  the  lurking  huntsman.  Thus  Turbervile,  *  When  a  huntsman  would 
hunt  a  wolfe,  he  must  trayne  them  by  these  means  . . .  there  let  them  lay  down  their 
traynesn  And  when  the  wolves  go  out  in  the  night  to  prey  and  to  feede,  they  will 
crosse  upon  the  trayne  and  follow  it,'  etc.  Again,  '  —  if  they  fayle  to  come  into  the 
trayne,  then  let  him  send  out  varlettes  to  trayne  from  about  all  the  coverts,'  etc. 

140.  Vnspeake]  Abbott  (§  442) :  Un-  seems  to  have  been  preferred  by  Shake- 
speare before  /  and  r,  which  do  not  allow  in-  to  precede  except  in  the  form  of  im-. 
In-  also  seems  to  have  been  in  many  cases  retained  from  the  Latin.  As  a  general 
rule,  we  now  use  in-  where  we  desire  to  make  the  negative  a  part  of  the  word,  and 
un»  where  the  separation  is  maintained, — '  »«true,'  '  infirm.'  Hence  un-  is  always 
used  with  participles.  Perhaps  also  un-  is  stronger  than  m-.  *  £/ffholy '  means 
more  than  '  not  holy,'  almost  '  the  reverse  of  holy.' 

142.  For]  This  passage  is  cited  by  Abbott  (§  148)  as  an  example  of  the  first 
meaning  of  *  for '  as  connected  with  4ts  being.  See  III,  i,  145.  For  the  second 
meaning,  see  IV,  ii,  46. 


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288  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH     [act  iv.  sc.  iiL 

Scarfely  haue  coueted  what  was  mine  owne. 

At  no  time  broke  my  Faith,  would  not  betray  145 

The  Deuill  to  his  Fellow,  and  delight 

No  leffe  in  truth  then  life.     My  firft  falfe  fpeaking 

Was  this  vpon  my  felfe.     What  I  am  truly 

Is  thine,  and  my  poore  Countries  to  command  : 

Whither  indeed,  before  they  heere  approach  150 

Old  Seyward  with  ten  thoufand  warlike  men 

Already  at  a  point,  was  fetting  foorth  :  152 

150.  WkUher\  Whether  F^.  152.  Already\  All  ready  Rowe,  +  , 
they\  D'Av.  thy  F,.  Cap.  Jen.  Var.  Mai.  Ran.  Steev.  Var. 
heere    appro<uh\    here-approach        Sing,  i,  Knt  i.     All  ready^  Moll. 

Pope  et  seq.  foorth  il  foorth  f   F,.     forth  f 

151.  Seywaid]     Ff,     Rowe,    Pope         FjF^.     forth.  Rowe  et  seq. 
Siward  Theob.  et  seq. 

150.  heere  approach]  For  adyeibial  compounds,  see  Abbott,  §  429. 

151.  Old  SejTward]  Clarendon  :  Old  Siward^  son  of  Beom,  Earl  of  Northum- 
berland, rendered  great  service  to  King  Edward  in  the  suppression  of  the  rebellion 
of  Earl  Godwin  and  his  sons,  1053.  According  to  Holinshed,  p.  244,  col.  i,  who 
follows  Hector  Boece,  fol.  249,  b.  ed.  1574,  Duncan  married  a  daughter  of  Siward. 
Fordun  calls  her  *  consanguinea.'  It  is  remarkable  that  Shakespeare,  who  seems  to 
have  had  no  other  guide  than  Holinshed,  on  this  point  deserts  him,  for  in  V,  ii,  5, 
he  calls  Siward  Malcolm's  unde.  It  is  true  that  'nephew'  was  often  used  like 
'  nepos,'  in  the  sense  of  grandson,  but  we  know  of  no  instance  in  which  '  unde '  is 
used  for  'grandfather.' 

152.  point]  ^YA]lBURTON  :  This  may  mean  aU  ready  at  a  time;  but  Shakespeare 
meant  more :  he  meant  both  time  and  place,  and  certainly  wrote :  'All  ready  at 
appoint — '  i.  e.  at  the  place  appointed^  at  the  rendezvous. — Heath  (p.  405)  :  All 
ready  provided  with  aims,  and  every  other  habiliment  of  war. — Arrowsmith  (AC 
6r*  Qu,  28  May,  1 853) :  Equivalent  to,  to  be  at  a  stay  or  stop — f .  e.  settled,  determined, 
nothing  farther  being  to  be  said  or  done :  a  very  common  phrase.  [Various  instances 
are  given  of  its  use  in  this  sense.] — Clarendon  :  Resolved^  prepared*  For  this  some- 
what rare  phrase  compare  Foxe's  Acts  and  Monuments^  p.  2092,  ed.  1570 :  'The  Reg- 
ister there  sittyng  by,  beyng  weery,  belyke,  of  tarying,  or  els  perceauyng  the  constant 
Martyrs  to  be  at  a  pointy  called  vpon  the  chauncelour  in  hast  to  rid  them  out  of  the  way.' 
5k)  also  in  Bunyan's  Life,  quoted  by  Mr.  Wilton  Rix,  East  Anglian  Nonconformity^ 
Notes^  p.  vii.  :  '  When  they  saw  that  I  was  at  a  point  and  would  not  be  moved  nor 
persuaded,  Mr  Foster  told  the  justice  that  then  he  must  send  me  away  to  prison.' 
Compare  Matthew's  (1537)  translation  of  Is.  xxviii,  15  :  'Tush,  death  and  we  are 
at  a  poynte,  and  as  for  hell,  we  haue  made  a  condycion  wyth  it';  where  it  is  used 
in  the  sense  of  agreed.  Florio  (s.  v.  Punto)  gives,  '  Essere  in  punto,  to  be  in  a 
readinesse,  to  be  at  a  point.'  'At  point/  without  the  article,  is  more  common,  as 
Lear,  I,  iv,  347,  and  III,  i,  33  ;  Ham.  I,  ii,  2co.  ['At  length,  when  they  were  fallen 
at  a  point  for  rendring  vp  the  hold,  Dnncane  offered  to  send  foorth  of  the  castdl  into 
the  camp  greate  pronision  of  vittels  to  refresh  the  armie,'  etc. — Holinshed.  See 
Appendix. '\ 


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ACT  IV.  sc.  iii.]      THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  289 

Now  wee^l  together,  and  the  chance  of  goodneffe  153 

Be  like  our  warranted  Quarrell.     Why  are  you  filent  ? 

Macd,  Such  welcome,  and  vnwelcom  things  at  once  155 
^Tis  hard  to  reconcile. 

Enter  a  Dollor.  157 

153.  the  chance  of]  our  chance,  in  i^  Be  like"]  Be-link  Jackson. 

Han.     the  chain  ^t/*  Jackson.  •warranted'\  unwarranted  Cap. 

I53>  1 54-  goodneffe  Be  like\  good  mc'  (corrected  in  Errata). 
cess  Betide  Bailey  (ii,  39).  157-  Scene  V.  Popc,  +  . 

153.  chance,  etc.]  Warburton:  May  the  lot  Providence  has  decreed  for  us  be 
answerable  to  the  justice  of  our  quarrel. — Johnson  (<?^j.)  :  If  there  be  not  some 
more  important  error  in  the  passage,  it  should  at  least  be  pointed  thus :  *  —  and  the 
chance,  of  goodness,  be,*  etc.  That  is,  may  the  event  be,  of  the  goodness  of  heaven 
{pro  justitia  divina),  answerable  to  the  cause.— Johnson  :  I  am  inclined  to  believe 
that  Shakespeare  wrote  *  and  the  chance,  O  goodness.  Be,'  etc.  This  some  of  his 
transcribers  wrote  with  a  small  0,  which  another  imagined  to  mean  of.  The  sense 
will  then  be,  '  and  O  thou  sovereign  Goodness,  to  whom  we  now  appeal,  may  our 
fortune  answer  to  our  cause.*--H.  C.  K.  (A^.  <Sr»  Qu,  15  Oct.  1853) :  The  radical 
meaning  of  the  word  belike  is  to  lie  or  be  near,  to  attend  ;  from  which  it  came  to  ex- 
press the  simple  condition  or  state  of  a  thing.  Now  it  is  not  easy  to  see  why  Mal- 
colm should  wish  that  *  chance '  should  <  be  like  * — ^i.  e.  similar  to,  their  <  warranted 
quarrel ' ;  inasmuch  as  that  quarrel  was  most  unfortunate  and  disastrous.  Surely  it 
is  far  more  probable  that  Shakespeare  wrote  de/ike  (belicgan^  g^^*gg^  <^  ^^^  word, 
and  that  the  passage  means  simply:  'May  good  fortune  attend  our  enterprise.' — 
Staunton  :  This  passive  has  been  inexplicable  heretofore  from  *  Belike '  being 
always  printed  as  two  words,  Be  like.  The  meanii^r  is,  And  the  fortune  of  good- 
ness a/^r^z/^  or  ^VMir  our  justifiable  quarrel. — Delius  :  'Chance  of  goodness'  is 
equivalent  to  successful  issue,  and  '  like '  is  also  to  be  understood  in  connection  with 
it : — may  the  issue  correspond  in  goodness  to  our  good,  righteous  cause.  '  Chance 
of  goodness '  forms  one  idea  like  '  time  of  scorn,'  0th,  IV,  ii,  54. — Clarendon  : 
'  May  the  chance  of  success  be  as  certain  as  the  justice  of  our  quarrel.'  The  sense 
of  the  word  '  goodness '  is  limited  by  the  preceding  '  chance.'  Without  this,  '  good- 
ness' by  itself  could  not  have  this  meaning.  It  is  somewhat  similarity  limited  and 
defined  by  the  word  *  night '  in  0th.  I,  ii,  35 :  '  The  goodness  of  the  night  upon  you, 
friends  !'  And  by  *  bliss,'  Meas,  for  Meas.  Ill,  ii,  227  :  *  Bliss  and  goodness  on 
you,  father.'  As  in  Lear,  I,  iv,  306,  *  brow  of  youth  '  means  *  youthful  brow,'  and 
in  Mer,  of  Ven,  II,  viii,  42, '  mind  of  love '  means  '  loving  mind.' 

157.  Collier  {Notes,  etc.,  p.  415):  All  that  subsequently  passes  between  Mal- 
colm, Macduff,  and  a  Doctor  is  struck  out  by  the  MS  Corrector.  After  King  James's 
death  it  was  perhaps  omitted. — Theobald  (Nichol's  Lit.  Illust,  ii,  623)  was  the 
first  to  note  the  bearing  of  this  incident,  as  well  as  the  reference  in  IV,  i,  143,  in 
determining  the  date  of  this  play. — [J.  W.  Hales  {New  Shakespeare  Soc.  Trans. 
26  June,  1874)  :  This  scene  between  Malcolm,  Macduff,  and  the  Doctor  has  long 
been  thought  an  interpolation  ;  but  the  question  arises,  if  it  is  not  an  interpolation 
by  Shakespeare  himself?  Is  it  not  possible  he  may  himself  have  inserted  this  pas- 
sage for  Court  performance  ?  I  should  myself  shrink  from  saying  the  language  of 
the  passive  is  not  Shakespeare's.  I  do  not  think  one  would  be  justified  in  expung- 
19 


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290  THE  TRACED JE  OF  MACBETH     [act  iv,  sc.  iil 

Mai.    Well,  more  anon.     Comes  the  King  forth  158 

I  pray  you  ? 

Do£l.     I  Sir  :  there  are  a  crew  of  wretched  Soules  160 

That  ftay  his  Cure  :  their  malady  conuinces 
The  great  affay  of  Art.     But  at  his  touch, 
Such  fanftity  hath  Heauen  giuen  his  hand, 
They  prefently  amend.  Exit. 

Med.    I  thanke  you  Doftor.  165 

Macd.    What^s  the  Difeafe  he  meanes  ? 

Mod.    Tis  caird  the  Euill.  167 

158,  159-  One  line*  Rowe  et  seq.  164.     Exit]    Ff,    Rowe,+.     After 

163.  fatUHty\    sanity  Theob.    conj.        line  165,  Cap.  et  seq. 
(Sh.  Restored,  p.  23). 

ing  the  Scene  on  such  very  slight  causes  of  discredit  as  we  have. — R.  G.  White 

(ed.  ii. )  :  This  passage  about  the  king's  evil  has  the  air  of  an  addition It  should 

be  remarked  that  Macduff's  speech  before  the  entrance  of  the  doctor  makes,  with 
that  on  the  entrance  of  Ross,  a  perfect  verse.  The  king's-evii  passage  just  cuts  a 
verse  in  two. — Ed.  ii.] 

161.  conuinces]  See  I,  vii,  75.— Harry  Rowe  :  One  of  my  puppets,  made  out 
of  a  log  of  French  walnut  tree,  contends  that  the  word  <  convince '  is  derived  from 
coH  and  vaincre,  and  ought  to  be  used  to  express  over-power^  as  Shakespeare  has 
done ;  but  my  other  gentlemen,  cut  out  of  English  oak,  have  refused  to  pennit  the 
word  to  have  any  other  signification  than  the  modem  English  one;  and  it  is  in  obedi- 
ence to  their  opinion  that  I  have  substituted  defeats  for  *  convinces.' 

162.  assay]  G>tgrave  gives :  *  Preuve :  f.  A  proof e,  tryaU^  essay^  experiment^ 
experience*  In  its  abbreviated  form,  say,  it  is  found  in  Jonson,  The  Alchemist  (vol. 
iv,  p.  42,  ed.  Gifford) :  '  This  fellow  will  come,  in  time,  to  be  a  great  distiller.  And 
give  a  say ...  at  the  philosopher's  stone.'  For  its  use  as  a  tenn  in  Venery,  see 
Nares,  s.  v. 

162.  Art]  Clarendon  :  The  utmost  efforts  of  skilled  physicians  to  cure  it  Shake- 
speare, in  using  this  phrase,  was  doubtless  thinking  of  an  '  assay  of  arms.'  In  0th, 
I,  iii,  18,  'assay  of  reason'  rather  refers  to  the  assaying  or  testing  of  metals. 

167.  Euill]  Clarendon  :  The  reference,  which  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  prog- 
Yess  of  the  drama,  is  introduced  obviously  in  compliment  to  King  James,  who  fancied 
himself  endowed  with  the  Confessor's  powers.  The  writer  found  authority  for  the 
passage  in  Holinshed,  vol.  i,  p.  279,  col.  2  :  *As  hath  been  thought  he  was  enspired 
with  the  gift  of  Prophede,  and  also  to  haue  hadde  the  gift  of  healing  infinnities  and 
diseases.  Namely,  he  vsed  to  help  those  that  were  vexed  with  the  disease,  com- 
monly called  the  Kyngs  euill,  and  left  that  vertue  as  it  were  a  portion  of  inheritance 
vnto  his  successors  the  Kyngs  of  this  Realme.'  Edward's  miraculous  powers  were 
believed  in  by  his  contemporaries,  or  at  least  soon  aCfter  his  death,  and  expressly 
recognised  by  Pope  Alexander  III.  who  canonized  him.  The  power  of  healing  was 
claimed  for  his  successors  early  in  the  twelfth  century,  for  it  is  controverted  by 
William  of  Malmesbury,  and  asserted  later  in  the  same  century  by  Peter  of  Blois, 
who  held  a  high  ofBce  in  the  Royal  Household  (see  Freeman's  Norman  Conquest^ 
vol.  ii,  pp.  527,  528).     The  same  power  was  claimed  for  the  kings  of  France,  and 


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ACT  IV.  sc.  iu.]      THE  TRAGEDJE  OF  MACBETH  29I 

A  moft  myraculous  worke  in  this  good  King,  168 

Which  often  fince  my  heere  remaine  in  England, 

I  haue  feene  him  do  :  How  he  folicites  heauen  170 

Himfelfe  beft  knowes :  but  ftrangely  vifited  people 

All  fwolne  and  Vlcerous,  pittifuU  to  the  eye, 

The  meere  difpaire  of  Surgery,  he  cures. 

Hanging  a  golden  ftampe  about  their  neckes,  174 

169.  i^^^  r^J9MfW]  Ff,  Rowe,  Theob.         iii,  Huds.  ii,  iii. 

ii,\Varb.  Johns.  Coll.  Wh.i,  Hal.    here-  \*l\,  Jirangely    vifited^    Ff,    Rowe, 

-remain  Pope,  et  cet  Sing.  Huds.  i.    strangely-visited  Pope, 

170.  I  haiu\  Pve  Pope,  +  ,  Dyce  ii,        ct  cet 

was  supposed  to  be  conferred  by  the  unction  of  the  'Sainte  Ampoule'  on  their 
coronation.  William  Tooker,  D.D.,  in  his  '  Charisma  sen  Donum  SanoHoniSy 
1597,  while  claiming  the  power  for  his  own  sovereign,  Elizabeth,  concedes  it  also  to 
the  Most  Christian  King  ;  but  Andr6  Laurent,  physician  to  Henry  IV.  of  France, 
taxes  the  English  sovereigns  with  imposture.  His  book  is  entitled,  *De  Mirabilis 
trumas  sanandi  tn  so/is  Gallia  RegUms  Christianissimis  divinittss  ameessa,*  etc., 
1609.  The  Roman  Catholic  subjects  of  Elizabeth,  perhaps  out  of  patriotism,  con- 
ceded to  her  the  possession  of  this  one  virtue,  though  they  were  somewhat  staggered 
to  find  that  she  possessed  it  quite  as  much  after  the  Papal  excommunication  as 
before.  James  the  First's  practice  of  touching  for  the  evil  is  mentioned  several 
times  in  Nichols's  Progresses,  e.  g.  vol.  iii,  pp.  264, 273.  Charles  I.  when  at  York, 
touched  seventy  persons  in  one  day.  Charles  II.  also  touched,  when  an  exile  at 
Bruges,  omitting,  perhaps  for  sufficient  reason,  the  gift  of  the  coin.  He  practised 
with  signal  success  after  his  restoration.  One  of  Dr  Johnson's  earliest  recollections 
was  the  being  taken  to  be  touched  by  Queen  Anne  in  1 712  (Boswell,  vol.  i,  p.  38). 
Even  Swift  seems  to  have  believed  in  the  efficacy  of  the  cure  ( IVorks,  ed.  Scott,  ii, 
252).  The  Whigs  did  not  claim  the  power  for  the  Hanoverian  sovereigns,  though 
they  highly  resented  Carte's  claiming  it  for  the  Pretender  in  his  History  of  England. 
[For  information  on  this  subject,  see  Chambers's  Book  of  Days,  vol.  i,  p.  82,  and 
W.  B.  Rye,  England  as  Seen  by  Foreigners,  pp.  151,  275.] 

170.  solicites]  Walker  {Crit,  iii,  274)  :  Solicit,  like  many  other  words  derived 
from  the  Latin, — as  religion  for  worship  or  service^  etc., — had  not  yet  lost  its  strict 
Latin  meaning. — Lettsom  (foot-note)  :  The  original  signification  of  the  Latin  word 
seems  to  have  been  to  movh,  and  the  various  meanings  attached  to  it  by  lexicogra- 
phers are  but  modifications  of  this  primary  one.  In  the  language  of  Shakespeare, 
Edward  solicited,  or  moved^  heaven  by  means  known  to  himself;  Suffolk  (i  Hen.  VI: 
V,  iii,  190)  proposed  to  solicit,  or  move,  Henry  by  speaking  of  the  wonderful  en- 
dowments of  Margaret ;  and  Hamlet  (V,  ii,  369),  though  his  speech  was  cut  short 
by  death,  seems  to  have  been  thinking  of  the  events  that  had  solicited,  or  moved, 
him  to  recommend  Fortinbras  as  successor  to  the  throne.  [See  Schmidt  (Lex,) 
for  examples  of  'solicit*  in  sense  of  to  prevail  by  entreaty.^ 

173.  meere]  Abbott  (§  15) :  As  in  Latin  ;  equivalent  to  unmixed  with  anything 
else;  hence,  by  inference,  intact,  complete.  In  this  case  the  utter  despair.  In  accord- 
ance with  its  original  meaning,  '  not  merely,^  in  Bacon,  is  used  for  not  entirely,  [For 
instances  of  this  use  of  '  mere,'  see  Schmidt  (Lex,)  and  Shakespeare  passim,"] 


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292  THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH    [activ.  sc.  iiL 

Put  on  with  holy  Prayers,  and  ^tis  fpoken  175 

To  the  fucceeding  Royalty  he  leaues 
The  healing  BenedifHon.     With  this  ftrange  vertue, 
He  hath  a  heauenly  guift  of  Prophefie, 
And  fundry  Bleflings  hang  about  his  Throne, 
That  fpeake  him  full  of  Grace.  180 

Enter  RoJJe. 

Macd.    See  who  comes  heere. 

Male,     My  Countryman  :  but  yet  I  know  him  nor. 

Macd,    My  euer  gentle  Cozen,  welcome  hither. 

Male.  I  know  him  now.  Good  God  betimes  remoue  185 
The  meanes  that  makes  vs  Strangers. 

Roffe.    Sir,  Amen. 

Maed.    Stands  Scotland  where  it  did  f  188 

178.  guift'\  F,.    gift¥^^,  185.  GodbeHmes]  Ff,  D*Av.  +  ,  Var. 

179.  fundry]  fondry  F,.  '73,  Jen.     God,  betimes  Cap.  et  cet 
181.  Scene  VI.  Pope,  +  .  186.   The  meanes]    The  meanes,   the 

Enter   Rofle]    After   line   183.  meanes     Ff.       The     mean     Sing,     ii, 

Dyce,  Sta.  Booth,  Irving.  Coll.  ii. 

183.  nor]  F,.  makes]  make  Han.  Johns.  Var. 

184.  euer  gentle]  Ff,  Cam.  ever-  Mai.  Ran.  Steev.  Var.  Sing,  i,  Knt, 
'gentle  Pope,  et  cet.  Coll.  Huds.  i,  Del.  Hal. 

174.  sumpe]  Stebvens  :  The  coin  called  an  angeL  See  Mer,  of  Ven,  II,  yii, 
56.  Its  value  was  ten  shillings. — Clarendon:  There  is  no  warrant  in  Holinshed 
for  the  statement  that  the  Confessor  hung  a  golden  coin  or  stamp  about  the  necks 
of  the  patients.  This  was,  however,  a  custom  which  prevailed  in  later  days.  Pre- 
viously to  Charles  II. 's  time  some  current  coin,  as  an  angel,  was  used  for  the  pur- 
pose, but  in  Charles's  reign  a  special  medal  was  struck  and  called  a  <  touch-piece.' 
The  identical  touch-piece  which  Queen  Anne  hung  round  the  neck  of  Dr  Johnson 
is  preserved  in  the  British  Museum. 

175.  Prayers]  Chambers  (i,  84)  :  A  form  of  prayer  to  be  used  at  the  ceremony 
of  touching  for  the  king's  evil  was  originally  printed  on  a  separate  sheet,  but  was 
introduced  into  the  Book  of  Common  Prayer  as  early  at  1684. — Clarendon  :  It 
was  left  out  in  1719. 

175.  spoken]  Abbott  (§  200) :  Here  used  for  '/ir  said.  In  line  180  'speak' 
is  used  for  describe.  [See  this  article  for  instances  of  the  omission  of  the  preposi- 
tion after  some  verbs  which  can  easily  be  regarded  as  transitive.] 

183.  nor]  Steevens  :  Malcdm  discovers  Ross  to  be  his  countryman  while  he 
is  yet  at  a  distance  by  his  dress. — [Manly  :  Steevens' s  inference  certainly  seems 
proper ;  but  it  raises  the  question  whether  upon  the  Elizabethan  stage  the  char- 
acters in  this  play  appeared  in  Scotch  dress. — Sherman  :  It  is  more  than  likely  that 
the  Scotsmen  in  this  play  appear  in  their  distinctive  national  dress.  That  would 
please  James  and  the  Scotch  folk  of  his  court.  In  that  case  Malcolm  would  recog- 
nize the  costume,  but  not  the  person. — Ed.  ii.] 

186.  meanes]  STAinrroN  :  Used  perhaps  as  moans,  for  woes,  troubles,  etc 


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ACT  IV,  sc.  iii.]      THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH  293 

Rojfe.    Alas  poore  Countrey, 
Almoft  affraid  to  know  it  felfe.     It  cannot  190 

Be  callM  our  Mother,  but  our  Graue ;  where  nothing 
But  who  knowes  nothing,  is  once  feene  to  fmile: 
Where  fighes,  and  groanes,  and  (hrieks  that  rent  the  ayre 
Are  made,  not  markM  :  Where  violent  forrow  feemes 
A  Modeme  extafie  :  The  Deadmans  knell,  195 

Is  there  fcarfe  askM  for  who,  and  good  mens  liues 
Expire  before  the  Flowers  in  their  Caps, 
Dying,  or  ere  they  ficken.  198 

189-198.  Mnemonic,  Pope,  Warb.  196.  for   who^'\  for  whom  ?   Pope, 

193.  rent'\  rend  Rowe, +  ,  Var.  '73,  Han.  for  whom:  Theob.  Warb.  Johns. 

Coll.  Huds.  Wh.  Glo.  Cam.  Knt  ii,  Ktly.  Var.  Ran.  Coll.  Huds.  Wh.  i,  KUy.   for 

195.  extafie]  ecftafie  F^.  who;  Mai.  et  cct 

Deadmans]    F,.      Dead-man's  I98-2CX>.  Two  lines,   ending    Rela- 

FjF^,  Rowe,  +  .     dead  man^s  Johns,  et  Hon ;  ,„griefe,  Theob.  et  seq. 

cet.  198.  ere]  eW  Rowe,  Han.  Dyce  ii,  iii. 

193.  rent]  Stsevens  :  To  rent  is  an  ancient  yerb,  which  has  been  long  ago  dis- 
used. In  Gesar  and  Pompey^  1607  :  'With  rented  hair,  and  eyes  besprent  with 
tears.'— Malone  :  In  The  Legend  of  Orpheus  and  Eurydiee,  1597:  'While  with 
his  fingers  he  his  hair  doth  rent.* — Clarendon:  *  Rent'  was  used  indifferently  with 
rend^  as  the  present  tense  of  the  yerb.     So  also  girt  and  gird. 

195.  Modeme]  Steevens  :  Generally  used  by  Shakespeare  to  signify  trite,  com- 
mon^ as  in  As  You  Like  It,  II,  yii,  156. — ^Nares  :  I  remember  a  very  old  lady,  after 
whose  death  a  miscellaneous  paper  of  trifles  was  found  among  her  property,  inscribed 
by  herself,  'odd  and  modem  things.' — Dyce  {Gloss,):  'Per  modo  tutto  fnor  del 
modern^  uso.' — Dante,  Purg.  xyi,  42,  where  Biagioli  remarks,  *Modemo,  s'usa  qui 
in  senso  di  ordinario,^ — R.  G.  White  :  That  is,  a  slight  nervousness, — Clarendon  : 
The  emphasis  must  be  on  '  modem,'  as  '  ecstasy '  is  not  antithetical  to  '  violent,'  or 
'  sorrow.' 

195.  extasie]  Murray  (N,  E.  DJ):  The  classical  senses  of  iKoraaic  are  'in- 
sanity '  and  '  bewilderment ' ;  but  in  late  Greek  the  etymological  meaning  received 
another  application,  viz.,  '  withdrawal  of  the  soul  from  the  body,  mystic  or  prophetic 
trance';  hence  in  later  medical  writers  the  word  is  used  for  trance,  etc.,  generally. 
Both  the  classical  and  post-classical  senses  came  into  the  modem  languages,  and 
in  the  present  figurative  use  they  seem  to  be  blended. — Ed.  ii. 

196.  who]  For  redundant  object  and  also  instances  of  the  neglect  of  the  inflec- 
tion of '  who,'  see  Abbott,  §§  274,  414. 

198.  Dying]  Harry  Rowe  :  Dr  Johnson,  who  had  asserted  that  there  were  no 
trees  in  Scotland,  has  here  lost  a  happy  subject  for  the  exercise  of  his  good  nature. 
What !  Flowers  in  the  Highlands  !  Yes,  my  dear  departed  fnend,  Heath-flowere 
in  abundance.  And  it  is  to  these  flowers  that  Shakespeare  alludes,  it  being  custom- 
ary with  the  Highlanders,  when  on  a  march,  to  stick  sprigs  of  heath  in  their  bonnets. 
We  cannot  say  that  a  vegetable  '  expires,'  but,  in  common  with  animal  life,  it  may 
be  said  to  '  die.'     The  alteration  gives  sense  to  the  passage. 

198.  or]  See  Abbott,  §  131. 


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294  '^^^  TRAGEDJE  OF  MACBETH     [act  iv,  sc.  iiL 

Macd.     Oh  Relation;  too  nice, and  yet  too  true. 

Male.     What's  the  neweft  griefe  ?  2QO 

Rojfe.    That  of  an  houres  age,  doth  hiffe  the  fpeaker, 
Each  minute  teemes  a  new  one. 

Macd.     How  do's  my  Wife/ 

Roffe.     Why  well. 

Macd.    And  all  my  Children  ?  205 

Roffe.     Well  too. 

Macd.    The  Tyrant  ha's  not  battered  at  their  peace  ? 

i?^j^.No,they  were  wel  at  peace,  when  I  did  leaue'em 

Macd.     Be  not  a  niggard  of  your  fpeech  :  How  gos't  ? 

Rojfe.     When  I  came  hither  to  tranfport  the  Tydings  210 

Which  I  haue  heauily  borne,  there  ran  a  Rumour 
Of  many  worthy  Fellowes,  that  were  out. 
Which  was  to  my  beleefe  witneft  the  rather,  213 

199.  Oh  Reiatian]  Relation,  oh .' llvm.  20l.  houresi  houeresY^, 

and  yet  too"]  yet  Steey.  conj.  208.  V»i]  Ff,    D'Av.  +  ,  Jen.  Dyce, 

20a  \Vhai's\  fVhatisUsin.  Cap.  Var.  Sta.  Wh.  Glo.  Cam.  Huds.  ii,  iii.    ihem 

'78,  '85,  Mai.  Steev.  Var.  Sing,  i,  CoU.  Cap.  et  cet 

Huds.  i,  Wh.  i.  209.  ^wV]  F,Fj.    go's  it  F^.    goes  V 

newe/i']  nev^st  Walker,  Sing,  ii,  Cap.  Jen.  Dyce,  SU.  Wh.  Glo.  Cam. 

Ktly,  Dyce  ii,  iii,  Huds.  ii.  Huds.  ii,  iii.    goes  it  Rowe,  et  cet 

199.  nice]  Delius  :  That  is,  affected^  elaborate.  It  refers  to  the  rhetorical  style 
decked  out  with  antitheses  and  metaphors  in  which  Ross  had  announced  the  state 
of  Scotland. — Dyce  (Gloss,)  i  Particular(?). — Clarendon:  It  seems  here  to  mean 
fancifully  minute ,  set  forth  in  fastidiously  chosen  terms.  For  a  amilar  use  of  it,  see 
Tro,  6-  Cress,  IV,  v,  250. 

200.  newest]  Walker  (  Vers,  170)  :  In  reading  this  passage  I  feel  as  if  Shake- 
speare must  have  written.  What's  the  neii/st grief  P 

202.  teemes]  Clarendon  :  This  verb  is  found  with  an  objective  case  following 
in  Hen,  IV:  V,  ii,  51. 

205.  Children]  For  instances  of  'children'  pronounced  as  a  trisyllable,  see 
Walker  ( Vers,  7),  and  Abbott,  §  477. 

208.  No  .  .  .  leaue  'em]  Libby:  [See  note  on  I,  ii,  53.]  Why  does  Ross  lull 
Macduff's  suspicions  to  sleep  now  only  to  tell  him  the  sad  news  later?  The  ortho- 
dox  answer  has  been  to  break  it  gently.  But  does  he  ?  Macduff  is  in  a  worse  con- 
dition to  hear  this  news  when  it  comes  than  if  it  had  come  at  first.  The  true  reason 
is  that  until  Ross  is  assured  that  Macbeth' s  fate  is  sealed  he  will  not  commit  him- 
self to  the  cause  of  Malcolm :  having  been  assured  that  Malcolm  and  Macduff  have 
powerful  allies  he  proceeds  to  put  himself  on  a  friendly  footing  with  them. — Ed.  ii. 

208.  peace]  Clarendon  :  We  find  the  same  sad  play  upon  the  double  meaning 
of  'peace'  in  Rich.  H:  III,  ii,  127. 

212.  out]  Cowden-Clarke  :  This  was  a  common  phrase  at  a  later  period :  <He 
was  out  in  the  '45,'  meaning  he  was  engaged  in  the  Scotch  Rebellion  of  1745. 

213.  witnest]  Staunton  :  That  is,  evidenced  to  my  belief 


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ACT  IV,  sc.  ui.]      THE  TRACED JE  OF  MACBETH  29S 

For  that  I  faw  the  Tyrants  Power  a-foot. 

Now  is  the  time  of  helpe  :  your  eye  in  Scotland  215 

Would  create  Soldiours,  make  our  women  fight, 

To  doffe  their  dire  diftreffes. 

Male.     Bee't  their  comfort 
We  are  comming  thither  :  Gracious  England  hath 
Lent  vs  good  Seywardj  and  ten  thoufand  men,  220 

An  older,  and  a  better  Souldier,  none 
That  Chriftendome  giues  out. 

Rojfe.     Would  I  could  anfwer 
This  comfort  with  the  like.     But  I  haue  words 
That  would  be  howlM  out  in  the  defert  ayre,  225 

Where  hearing  (hould  not  latch  them. 

Macd.    What  conceme  they. 
The  generall  caufe,  or  is  it  a  Fee-griefe 
Due  to  fome  fingle  breft  ? 

Rojfe.     No  minde  that's  honeft  230 

But  in  it  (hares  fome  woe,  though  the  maine  part 
Pertaines  to  you  alone. 

Macd.     If  it  be  mine  '        233 

216.  make  our]  and  make  Pope,  +  ,  223-226.  Mnemonic,  Warfo. 

Var.  *73.  226.  latch]  catch  Rowe,  +  ,  Var.  '73, 

219.  We  are]   We're  P6pe,  +  ,  Var.         '78,  Jen. 

*73,  Dyce  ii,  iii,  Huds.  ii,  iii.  227,  228.   What„Jhey,,..cau/e,]    Ff. 

220.  Seyward]  Siward Theoh,  et  seq.         Whatf  ...  /hey  ...  cause  f   Rowe,  Pope, 
223.   Would]  *  Would  Theob.  Warb.         Han.     What,,Jhey  f, ..cause.  Coll.  Wh. 

Var.  *78,  *85,  Mai.  Var.  Ran.  Sing.  Knt,         i.      What.,Jheyf...  cause r    Theob.    et 
Huds.  Ktly.  cet 

213.  the  rather]  See  notes  on  III,  i,  32. 

214.  For  that]  See  note  on  IV,  iii,  122. 

217.  doffe]  Clarendon  :  This  is  the  only  passage  in  Shakespeare  where  'doff' 
is  used  metaphorically,  except  Rom.  &*  Jul.  II,  ii,  47. 

221.  none]  Delius  :  There  is  must  be  supplied.  Such  an  ellipsis  is  very  fre- 
quent in  negative  clauses;  thus  in  line  230:  < No  mind  that's  honest'  stands  for 
*  There  is  no  mind,'  etc. 

225.  would]  See  I,  vii,  40. 

226.  latch]  Wedgwood  :  To  catch.  Anglo-Saxon,  laccan,  gelctcean,  to  catch, 
to  seize ;  Gael,  glcu,  catch.  The  word  seems  to  represent  the  sound  of  clapping  or 
smacking  the  hand  down  upon  a  thing,  or  perhaps  the  snap  of  a  fastening  falling 
into  its  place.     [See  Mid.  N.  D.  Ill,  ii,  38,  this  edition.] 

228.  Fee-griefe]  Johnson  :  A  peculiar  sorrow  ;  a  grief  that  hath  a  single  owner. 
— Steevbns:  It  must,  I  think,  be  allowed  that  the  Attorney  has  been  guilty  of  a  flat 
trespass  on  the  Poet. 


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296  THE  TRACED JE  OF  MACBETH     [act  iv,  sc.  iii 

Keepe  it  not  from  me,  quickly  let  me  haue  it 

Rojfe.     Let  not  your  eares  difpife  my  tongue  for  euer,         235 
Which  (hall  poffeffe  them  with  the  heauieft  found 
That  euer  yet  they  heard. 

Macd.     Humh  :  I  gueffe  at  it. 

RoffCj    Your  Caftle  is  furprizM :  your  Wife,  and  Babes 
Sauagely  flaughter'd  :  To  relate  the  manner  240 

Were  on  the  Quarry  of  thefe  murther^d  Deere 
To  adde  the  death  of  you. 

Male.     MercifuU  Heauen  : 
What  man,  ne're  pull  your  hat  vpon  your  browes  : 
Giue  forrow  wordes  ;  the  griefe  that  do^s  not  fpeake,  245 

Whifpers  the  o're-fraught  heart,  and  bids  it  breake. 

Macd.     My  Children  too  ?  247 

238.  Humhl  Ff,  D' Ay.  Jen.     Humph  Mai.  Coll.    Hum  I  Rowe,  et  cet 

235.  euer]  Staunton  (AthetuEumy  2  Noy.  1872):  We  should  read,  I  think, 
aye.  For  notwithstanding  all  that  has  been  said  to  the  contrary,  these  repetitions 
[see  line  237]  are  not  Shakespearian. 

236.  possesse]  For  examples  of  'possess'  in  sense  of  inform^  see  ScHMn>T 
{Lex.)  or  Shakespeare /tfjjtm. — Ed.  ii. 

238.  Humh]  Harry  Rows:  Humph  supposes  something  of  deliberation,  which 
was  not  Macduff's  case.  His  conception  was  instantaneous.  I  here  [reading 
'  Ha  !*]  set  the  genius  of  Shakespeare  against  the  old  quartos  and  folios,  meo 
periculo. 

241.  Quarry]  Wedgwood  :  Among  fdconers  any  game  flown  at  and  killed. — 
Bailey.  From  the  French  curie,  the  entrails  of  the  game  which  were  commonly 
giyen  to  the  d(^  at  the  death.  Curie^  a  dc^'s  reward,  the  hounds'  fee  of,  or  part 
in,  the  game  they  haye  killed. — Cotgraye.  The  word  is  written  cuyerie  by  De  Foiz 
in  his  Miroir  de  la  Chasse^  and  was  imported  into  English  under  the  name  of  guerre^ 
or  querry.  The  book  of  St  Albans  instructs  us  in  'undoing '  a  hart  to  take  out  <  the 
tongue  and  the  brains,  laying  them  with  the  lights ...  to  reward  the  hounds,  which 
is  caUed  the  querry.^ — N.  <Sr*  Qu.  9  May,  1857.  Considered  with  reference  to  the 
dogs,  the  curie  or  querre  was  the  practical  object  of  the  chase,  and  thus  came  to  be 
applied  to  the  game  killed. 

245.  speake]  Steevens:  So  in  Webster's  Vittoria  Corotnbona^  'Those  are  the 
killing  griefs,  which  dare  not  speak.' — CoLUBR:  The  following  is  from  Mon- 
taigne's Essays,  by  Florio,  b.  I,  ch.  2,  a  work  of  which  it  is  known  Shakespeare 
had  a  copy,  and  of  which  he  certainly  elsewhere  made  use  :  'AH  passions  that  may 
be  tasted  and  digested  are  but  mean  and  slight — Cura  leves  loquuntur^  ingentes  stu- 
pent.  Light  cares  can  freely  speake.  Great  cares  heart  rather  breake.'  [Seneca, 
Hippolytusy  (f&j, — Clarendon.] 

246.  Whispers]  Abbott  (§  200) :  Often  used  without  a  preposition  before  a  per- 
sonal object     Rarely  as  here,  or  in  Much  Ado^  III,  i,  4. 

247.  My  Children  too]  Werder  (p.  131)  says  that '  this  utterance  of  MacduflPs 


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ACT  IV.  sc.  iii.]      THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  297 

Ro.    Wife,  Children,  Seruants,  all  that  could  be  found.         248 
Macd.  And  I  muft  be  from  thence?  My  wife  kilM  toof 
Rojfe.    I  haue  faid.  250 

Male.    Be  comforted. 

Let's  make  vs  Medicines  of  our  great  Reuenge, 

To  cure  this  deadly  greefe. 

Macd.     He  ha's  no  Children.     All  my  pretty  ones  ?  254 

248,  249.  Wife„Joof\  Ff,  Rowe,+,  Warb.  Dyce  u,  iii,  Huds.  ii,  iii. 

Var.  '73,  Knt,  Sta.     Three  Unes,  end-  254-266.  Mnemonic,  Warb. 

ing:  aU,.,thmcef.,Joof  Cap.  et  cet  254,  255.  AlU.fay  AUf^  One  line, 

250.  />itf«^] /'w  Pope,  Theob.  Han.  Han. 


grief  is  a  dnunatic  jewel  of  the  first  water.  One  can  only  compare  the  passage  in 
WUhelm  r^//-— also  a  masterpiece— wherein  Melchthal  bemoans  the  blinding  of  his 
father:  "In  die  Augen  sagt  ihr?  In  die  Augen?  Redet  1— Und  ich  Muss  feme 
sein  !  In  seine  beiden  Augen  ?  Stauffacher  :  Ich  sagt's.  Der  Quell  des  Sehn's  ist 
aosgeflossen ;  Das  Licht  der  Sonne  schaut  er  niemals  wieder."  '  Schiller's  WUhelm 
Tell  was  written  after  his  translation  of  Macbeth, — Ed.  ii. 

249.  must]  Abbott  (§  314)  :  Is  sometimes  used  by  Shakespeare  to  mean  no 
more  than  definite  futurity.  In  the  present  instance,  and  in  V,  viii,  17,  it  seems  to 
mean  ir,  or  was^  destined, 

254.  Children]  Ritson  (p.  76) :  That  is,  Malcolm,  not  Macbeth. — Steevens  : 
The  meaning  of  this  may  be,  either  that  Macduif  could  not,  by  retaliation,  revenge 
the  murder  of  his  children,  because  Macbeth  had  none  himself ;  or  that  if  he  had 
any,  a  father's  feelings  for  a  father  would  have  prevented  him  from  the  deed.  I 
know  not  from  what  passage  we  are  to  infer  that  Macbeth  had  children  alive. 
Holinshed's  Chronicle  does  not,  as  I  remember,  mention  any.  The  same  thought 
occurs  again  in  IRi^  John^  III,  iv,  91 :  *  He  talks  to  me  that  never  had  a  son.' 
Again,  j  Hen,  VI:  V,  v,  63. — M alone  :  The  passage  from  King  John  seems  in 
favour  of  the  supposition  that  these  words  relate  to  Malcolm.  That  Macbeth  had 
children  at  some  period  appears  from  what  Lady  Macbeth  says,  I,  vii,  63.  I  am 
still  more  strongly  confirmed  in  thinking  these  words  relate  to  Malcolm,  and  not  to 
Macbeth,  because  Macbeth  hctdK  son  then  alive,  named  Lulah.  [See  III,  i,  75.]  See 
Fordun,  Scoti-Chron,  1.  v,  c.  viii.  Whether  Shakespeare  was  apprised  of  this  cir- 
cumstance cannot  be  now  ascertained ;  but  we  cannot  prove  that  he  was  unac- 
quainted with  it.— Steevens  :  My  copy  of  the  Scoti-Chronicon  (Goodall's  ed.  vol. 
i,  p.  252)  affords  me  no  reason  for  supposing  that  Lulach  was  a  son  of  Macbeth. 
The  words  of  Fordun  are :  '  Subito  namque  post  mortem  Machabedae  oonvenerunt 
quidam  ex  ejus  parentela  sceleris  hujusmodi  fautores,  suum  consobrinum,  nomine 
Lulachy  ignomine  [sic.  Qu.  agnomine  t — Ed.  ]  fatuum,  ad  Sconam  ducentes,  et 
impositum  sede  regali  constituunt  regem,'  etc.  Nor  does  Wyntown,  in  his  Cronykil^ 
so  much  as  hint  that  this  mock-monarch  was  the  immediate  offspring  of  his  prede- 
cessor. It  still  therefore  remains  to  be  proved  that  <  Macbeth  had  a  son  then  alive.' 
Besides,  we  have  been  already  assured  by  himself,  on  the  authority  of  the  Witches, 
that  his  sceptre  would  pass  away  into  another  family,  '  no  son  of  his  succeeding.' — 
BoswELL :  Malone  confounded  Fordun  with  Buchanan^  whose  words  are  these : 
*  Haec  dum  Forfane  geruntur,  qui  supererant  Macbethi,yf/i»m  ejus  Luthlacum  (col 


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298  THE  TRACED JE  OF  MACBETH     [act  iv,  sc.  iii. 

Did  you  fay  All  ?  Oh  Hell-Kite  !  All  ?  255 

What,  All  my  pretty  Chickens,  and  their  Damme 

At  one  fell  fwoope?  257 

255.  fay  AU?^  see  All?  D'Av.     iay  255.  Oh  ...  AUf^   what,  aUf   Pope. 
all?  whaty  all?  Theob.  Warb.  Johns.           Han. 

255-257.  Oh..,/woope'\  In  the  margin.  Oh  Hell-Kile  /]  O  vulture  /  heU- 

Pope,  Han.  .kite  I  Walker  (Crit.  ii,  15). 

ex  ingenio  cognomen  inditum  erat  Fatuo)  Sconam  ductum  r^em  appellant*  For- 
dun  does  not  express  this,  indeed,  but  he  does  not  contradict  it.  Suum  comohinum 
may  mean  their  relation,  t.  e.  of  the  same  clan.  Steevens*s  last  argument  might  be 
turned  the  other  way.  That  his  son  should  not  succeed  him,  would  more  afflict  a 
man  who  had  a  son  than  one  who  was  childless. — Anonymous  (qu.  Litchfield?)  : 
Macduff  has  yet  no  thought  of  vengeance.  Grief  has  taken  full  possession  of  his  soul. 
He  again  rebukes  the  cold  philosophy  of  Malcolm  in  lines  259,  260,  which  the  more 
inclines  me  to  think  that  *  He  has  no  children '  was  intended  for  Malcolm.  . .  . 
We  do  not  believe  that  Shakespeare  had  any  knowledge  of  such  a  fact  [that  Macbeth 
had  a  son  named  Lulah],  or  if  he  had,  that  he  made  any  reference  to  it  here.  He 
was  too  good  a  judge  of  nature  to  employ  Macduff's  thoughts,  at  such  a  moment, 
on  anything  so  uninteresting. — Harry  Rowe:  The  address  is  to  Malcolm,  in 
answer  to  the  word  *  comforted,'  which  did  not  accord  with  Macduff's  feelings. 
Macbeth 's  anxiety  to  have  the  crown  descend  lineally  shows  that  he  then  had 
children. — Duport  :  It  would  be  difficult  for  the  sublime  to  reach  a  higher  point 
Our  Comeille  himself  has,  I  believe,  never  done  anything  more  true,  more  simple, 
or  more  pathetic. — Knight  :  One  would  imagine  there  could  be  no  doubt  of  whom 
Macduff  was  thinking.  Look  at  the  whole  course  of  the  heart- stricken  man's  sorrow. 
He  is  first  speechless  ;  then  he  ejaculates  <  my  children  too  ?'  then  '  my  wife  kill'd 
too  ?'  And  then,  utterly  insensible  to  the  words  addressed  to  him,  '  He  [Macbeth]  has 
no  children. — All  my  pretty  ones  ?' — Hunter  (ii,  197):  Not,  I  fear,  Macbeth  has  no 
children,  and  therefore  cannot  have  a  father's  feelings ;  but  he  has  no  children,  and 
therefore  my  vengeance  cannot  have  its  full  retributive  action.  The  thought  was 
unworthy  of  Shakespeare,  and  it  is  to  be  classed  with  the  still  more  heinous  offence  of 
the  same  kind,  where  Hamlet  will  not  execute  his  intended  vengeance  on  his  unde 
when  he  finds  him  at  prayer. — Elwin  :  Independent  of  the  unprovoked  and  improb* 
able  rudeness  of  making  a  reply  at  his  accepted  sovereign,  instead  of  lo  his  kindly 
intended  address,  it  is  evident  that  the  phrase  refers  directly  to  the  terms  of  Mal- 
colm's proposal,  lines  252,  253. — Dalgleish  :  It  refers  clearly  to  Malcolm. — 
Clarendon:  The  words  would  be  tame  if  applied  to  Malcolm. — Hudson*  (ed.  ii.) : 
The  true  meaning,  I  have  no  doubt,  is,  that  if  Malcolm  were  a  father,  he  would 
know  that  such  a  grief  cannot  be  healed  with  the  medicine  of  revenge. — [Gervinus 
(p.  607) :  With  Malone's  interpretation  the  whole  nobility  of  Macduff's  character 
and  its  thorough  contrast  to  Macbeth  would  be  lost.  This  is  one  of  the  best  exam- 
ples to  show  how  the  clever  actor  will  always  be  a  better  interpreter  of  Shakespeare 
than  the  most  learned  commentator.  The  most  famous  actors  of  Macduff  in  Gar- 
rick's  time,  Wilks  and  Ryan,  saw  in  these  words  only  the  deepest  expression  of 
paternal  agony,  out  of  which  Macduff  arises  only  by  degrees  to  composure  and  the 
desire  for  revenge. — Ed.  ii.] 

256.  Damme]  Halliwell  :  This  word  would  not  now  be  employed  in  refer- 


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ACT  IV.  sc.  iii.]       THE  TR AGED  IE  OF  MACBETH  299 

Mak.     Difpute  it  like  a  man.  258 

Macd.    I  fhall  do  fo : 
But  I  muft  alfo  feele  it  as  a  man  ;  260 

I  cannot  but  remember  fuch  things  were 
That  were  moft  precious  to  me  :  Did  heauen  looke  on, 
And  would  not  take  their  part  ?  SinfuU  Macduff  j 
They  were  all  ftrooke  for  thee  :  Naught  that  I  am, 
Not  for  their  owne  demerits,  but  for  mine  265 

Fell  flaughter  on  their  foules  :  Heauen  reft  them  now. 

Mai.    Be  this  the  Whetftone  of  your  fword,  let  griefe 
Conuert  to  anger  :  blunt  not  the  heart,  enrage  it. 

Macd.     O  I  could  play  the  woman  with  mine  eyes. 
And  Braggart  with  my  tongue.     But  gentle  Heauens,  270 

Cut  fliort  all  intermiffion  :  Front  to  Front, 
Bring  thou  this  Fiend  of  Scotland,  and  my  felfe 
Within  my  Swords  length  fet  him,  if  he  fcape  273 

258.  Di/pute]  Endure  Pope,  Han.  en!  Cap.  Var.  Mai.  Ran.  Steev.  Var. 

259.  do  fo]  Om.  Pope,  Han.  Dyce  ii,  iii,  Huds.  ii,  iii,  Coll.  iii. 
259,  260.  One  line,  Rowe.  270-274.  But  geniU  ...  too-l    Mne- 
264,  Jtrooke'\  F,.    Jlrook  FjF^,  Cap.  monic,  Warb. 

struck  D*Av.  etcet.  272.  Scotland,  and  my /elfe^Yt  Scot- 

268.  anger]    wrath    Popc,  +  ,  Var.         land  and  my  self, Jy  Ay,  Vo^.   Scotland 

*73.  and  myself;  Theob.  et  cet. 

270.  Heauens] hem/ nVo^,-\-,  heav-            273.  him,if]him.„ifYXLy, 

ence  to  a  ken,  but  there  was  nothing  unusual  in  such  a  use  of  the  word  in  Shake- 
speare's  time.  '  Yonge  chickens  even  from  the  damme.* — Eliote's  Dictionarie,  ed. 
Cooper,  1559. 

258.  Dispute]  Steevens  :  Contend  with  your  present  sorrow. 

261,  262.  such  .  .  .  That]  For  instances  of  the  use  of  <  such '  with  relatiye  words 
other  than  wkick,  see  Abbott,  §  279. 

267, 268.  griefe  Conuert]  Dalgleish  :  With  this  reading  [as  in  the  text]  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  see  whom,  or  what,  'grief'  is  to  *  convert  to  anger';  but  by  taking  'convert'  as 
an  adjectiye,  or  participle,  qualifying  '  grief,'  a  good  meaning  is  obtained ;  and  the 
idea  of  not  blunting,  but  enraging,  his  heart,  appropriately  follows  up  the  sugges- 
tion that  the  reflections  of  Macduff's  last  speech  should  be  the  wketstone  of  his  sword. 
— Clarendon  :  *  Convert '  is  used  intransitively  in  Rick,  //.•  V,  iii,  64. 

270.  But]  Delius  :  It  is  here,  and  not  at  line  254,  that  the  possibility  of  revenge 
on  Macbeth  first  occurs  to  Macduff. 

270.  Heauens]  Dyce  (ed.  ii.):  F,  reads,  'gentle  keaven,*  [My  copy  of  F, 
reads,  'gentle  keavens.^ — Ed.]  I  shotdd  have  retained  [Heavens  of  FJ  under  the 
idea  that,  since  we  have  before  had  ^keaven*  used  as  a  plural,  we  might  here 
accept  *keavens*  as  singular, — were  it  not  that  in  Macduff's  preceding  speech  we 
have  '  keaven  look  on '  and  '  keaven  rest  them  now,'  and  at  the  conclusion  of  the 
present  speech  *  Heaven  forgive  him  too  1' 


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3CX>  THE  TR AGED  IE  OF  MACBETH     [act  iv,  sc.  iil 

Heauen  forgiue  him  too. 
Mai.    This  time  goes  manly :  275 

274.  Hea$ien\  Then  heaven  Pope, +,  275.  This  Hnu\  Ff,  D'Av.  Rowe  i, 

Ktly.  Knt,  Ktly.     This  tune  Rowe  ii,  et  cet 


274.  Heauen]  Clarendon  :  Probably  the  original  MS  had  <  May  God '  or  <  Then 
God'  or  'God,  God,*  as  in  V,  i,  76,  which  was  changed  in  the  actor's  copy  to 
'  Heaven '  for  fear  of  incurring  the  penalties  provided  by  the  Act  of  Parliament  (3 
}ac.  I. )  against  profanity  on  the  stage. 

274.  too]  Hudson  (ed.  ii.) :  The  little  word  'too'  is  so  used  here  as  to  intensify, 
in  a  remarkable  manner,  the  sense  of  what  precedes.  Put  him  once  within  the 
reach  of  my  sword,  and  if  I  don't  kill  him,  then  I  am  worse  than  he,  and  I  not  only 
forgive  him  myself,  but  pray  God  to  forgive  him  also :  or  perhaps  it  is,  then  I  am  as 
bad  as  he,  and  may  God  forgive  us  both. 

275.  time]  GiFFORD  {Massinget^s  IVorks^  vol.  ii,  p.  356) :  The  Commentators 
might  have  spared  their  pains  [in  changing  <  time '  to  tune^^  since  it  appears  from 
numberless  examples  that  the  two  words  were  once  synonymous.  '  Time,'  however, 
was  the  more  ancient  and  conmaon  term  ;  nor  was  it  till  long  after  the  age  of  Mas- 
singer  that  the  use  of  it,  in  the  sense  of  harmony,  was  entirely  superseded  by  that 
of  tune, — Collier  :  <  Time '  could  here  scarcely  be  right,  even  were  we  to  take  Gif- 
ford's  statement  for  granted.  No  misprint  could  be  more  easy  than  *  time'  for  tune^ 
and  vice  vers&  ;  and  perhaps  none  was  more  frequently  committed. — Elwin  :  Shake- 
speare has,  in  several  instances,  used  tune  in  this  figurative  sense,  but  in  no  case 
has  he  so  applied  the  word  '  time,'  nor  anjrwhere  employed  it  as  synonymous  with 
tune, — Dycb  :  Who,  except  Knight,  will  suppose  that  Gifford  would  have  defended 
the  reading  <  time*  in  such  a  passage  as  this? — ^R.  G.  White  {As  You  Like  It,  V,  iii, 
37):  In  the  MS  of  any  period  it  is  very  difficult  to  tell  <  time '  from  tune,  except  by 
the  dot  of  the  t,  so  frequently  omitted.  I  can  speak  from  experience  that  in  ninety- 
nine  cases  out  of  a  hundred  in  which  <  time '  is  written,  it  will  be  at  first  put  in  type 
as  tune.  (King  John^  IH,  iii,  26,  *  I  had  a  thing  to  say.  But  I  will  fit  it  to  some 
better  A'm^,'  where  the  original  has  tune,)  'Time'  and  tune  were  never  used  as 
S3monymous. 

275.  manly]  See  III,  v,  4. — Clarendon  :  In  adjectives  which  end  in  <  -ly,'  the 
familiar  termination  of  the  abverb,  we  find  the  adjective  fonn  fiequently  used  for  the 
latter,  as  in  Hamlet,  I,  ii,  202 :  '  Goes  slow  and  stately  by  them.'  So  also  in  the 
Liturgy,  'godly  and  quietly  governed.' — Coleridge  (i,  251):  How  admirably 
Macduff's  grief  is  in  harmony  with  the  whole  play !  It  rends,  not  dissolves,  the 
heart  '  The  tune  of  it  goes  manly.'  Thus  is  Shakespeare  always  master  of  himself 
and  of  his  subject, — a  genuine  Proteus  ; — we  see  all  things  in  him,  as  images  in  a 
calm  lake,  most  distinct,  most  accurate,^-only  more  splendid,  more  glorified.  This 
is  correctness  in  the  only  philosophical  sense.  But  he  requires  your  sympathy  and 
your  submission  ;  you  must  have  that  recipiency  of  moral  impression  without  which 
the  purposes  and  ends  of  the  drama  would  be  frustrated,  and  the  absence  of  which 
demonstrates  an  utter  want  of  all  imagination,  a  deadness  to  that  necessary  pleasure 
of  being  innocently, — shall  I  say  deluded  ? — or  rather,  drawn  away  from  ourselves 
to  the  music  of  noblest  thought  in  harmonious  sounds.  Happy  he,  who  not  only  in 
the  public  theatre,  but  in  the  labours  of  a  profession,  and  round  the  light  of  his  own 
hearth,  still  carries  a  heart  so  pleasure-fraught. 


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ACT  V,  sc.  i.]         THE  TR AGED  IE  OF  MACBETH  30 1 

Come  go  we  to  the  King,  our  Power  is  ready,  276 

Our  lacke  is  nothing  but  our  leaue.     Macbeth 

Is  ripe  for  (baking,  and  the  Powres  aboue 

Put  on  their  Inftruments  :  Receiue  what  cheereyou  may. 

The  Night  is  long,  that  neuer  findes  the  Day.       Exeunt        280 


A6ius  Quintus.  Scena  Prima. 

Enter  a  Do£lar  of  Phyjickey  and  a  Wayting 

Gentlewoman.  3 

277-279.  Macbeth... may]  Mnemonic,  Inring,  Robertson. 

Warb.  Dunsinane.  Cap.  An  Antichamber 

278.  Jkakingi  shocking  Moll  conj.  in Macbeth's  Castle.  Rowe»etcet.(subs.) 
I.  Adlus  Quintus.     Scena  Prima.]  2, 3.  Wajrting  Gentlewoman.]  Gentle- 
Act  V.  sc.  i.  Rowe.     Act  IV.  sc.  iii.  woman.  Pope,  +  . 

279.  Put  on]  Steev£NS  :  That  is,  encourage,  thrast  forward  us,  their  instruments, 
against  the  tyrant  So  in  Lear,  I,  iv,  227.  Again,  in  Chapman,  lOad,  zi.  :  <  For 
Jove  makes  Trojans  instruments,  and  virtually  then  Wields  arms  himself,'  [1.  280]. — 
CuiiiENDON :  The  phrase  '  to  put  upon  *  is  found  in  a  similar  sense  in  Meas,  for 
Meas,  II,  i,  280 :  '  They  do  you  wrong  to  put  you  so  oft  upon%'  t.  e,  to  make  you 
serve  the  office  of  constable. 

279.  Instruments]  For  Abbott's  scansion,  see  II,  iv,  14. 

1.  Scena  Prima]  Maginn  (p.  170,  foot-note)  says  that  this  scene  is  in  blank 
verse  '  and  so  palpably '  that  he  '  wonders  it  could  ever  pass  for  prose.' — Ritter  : 
After  the  stormy  close  of  the  preceding  Act,  the  placid  calm  of  this  chamber,  the 
subdued  whispering  of  the  Gentlewoman  and  the  Doctor,  and  of  Lady  Macbeth 
herself,  impart  a  feeling  of  horror. — Hudson  (ed.  ii.) :  I  suspect  that  the  matter  of 
this  scene  is  too  sublime,  too  austerely  grand,  to  admit  of  anything  so  artificial  as 
the  measured  language  of  verse  ;  and  that  the  Poet,  as  from  an  instinct  of  genius, 
felt  that  any  attempt  to  heighten  the  effect  by  any  arts  of  delivery  would  impair  it. 
The  very  diction  of  the  closing  speech,  nobly  poetical  as  it  is,  must  be  felt  by  every 
competent  reader  as  a  letting  down  to  a  lower  intellectual  plane.  Is  prose  then, 
after  all,  a  higher  style  of  speech  than  verse  ?  There  are  parts  of  the  New  Testa- 
ment which  no  possible  arts  of  versification  could  fail  to  enfeeble. — [A.  H.  Tolman 
{Atlantie  Monthly ,  Feb.  1892)  :  In  this  scene  ...  it  is  the  invisible  world  of  moral 
reality  which  is  made  strangely  manifest  before  our  eyes.  Lady  Macbeth  would  not 
reveal  those  guilty  secrets  for  all  the  wealth  of  all  the  world,  but  in  the  awful  war  that 
is  raging  in  her  breast  her  will  is  helpless.  Her  feet,  her  hands,  her  lips  conspire 
against  her.  In  the  presence  of  the  awful,  unseen  Power  that  controls  her  poor, 
divided  self,  we  hush  the  breath  and  bow  the  head. — E.  K.  Chambers  :  It  is  not 
quite  easy  to  see  why  prose  is  used  in  this  scene.  Perhaps  it  appeared  proper  to  the 
broken  utterances  of  sleep-walking ;  and  of  course  the  Doctor  and  Gentlewoman, 
whose  emotions  are  on  a  lower  plane  throughout,  could  not  be  allowed  to  use  blank 
verse  if  Lady  Macbeth  did  not. — Ed.  ii.] 

2.  Doctor  of  PhjTsicke]  Colukr  :  The  English  <  Doctor,'  introduced  in  the  pre- 


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302  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH        [act  v,  sc.  L 

Do6l,  I  haue  too  Nights  watchM  with  you,  but  can 
perceiue  no  truth  iQ  your  report.     When  was  it  ftiee  laft  5 

walkM? 

GenL  Since  his  Maiefty  went  into  the  Field,  I  haue 
feene  her  rife  from  her  bed,  throw  her  Night-Gown  vp- 
pon  her,  vnlocke  her  Cloflet,  take  foorth  paper,  folde  it, 
write  vpon't,  read  it,  afterwards  Seale  it,  and  againe  re-  10 

4,  tool  two  Yi  et  seq.  9.  foorth'\  forth  FJP^  rt  seq. 

ceding  scene,  most  also  have  been  a  Doctor  of  Physic,  though  not  so  described  in  the 
old  editions. 

6.  walk'd]  BUCKNILL  (p.  38)  :  Whether  the  deep  melancholy  of  remorse  tends  to 
exhibit  itself  in  somnambulism  is  a  fact  which,  on  scientific  grounds,  may  be  doubted. 

7.  Field]  Stkevens  :  This  is  one  of  Shakespeare's  oversights.  He  foigot  that 
he  had  shut  up  Macbeth  in  Dunsinane,  and  surrounded  him  with  besiegers.  That 
he  could  not^o  into  the  field  is  observed  by  himself  with  splenetic  impatience,  V,  v, 
4-8.  It  is  clear  also,  from  other  passages,  that  Macbeth's  motions  had  long  been 
circumscribed  by  the  walls  of  his  fortress.  The  truth  may  be  that  Shakespeare 
thought  the  spirit  of  Lady  Macbeth  could  not  be  so  effectually  subdued,  and  her 
peace  of  mind  so  speedily  unsettled  by  reflection  on  her  guilt,  as  during  the  absence 
of  her  husband.  For  the  present  change  in  her  disposition,  therefore,  our  Poet 
(though  in  the  haste  of  finishing  his  play  he  forgot  his  plan)  might  mean  to  have 
provided,  by  allotting  her  such  an  interval  of  solitude  as  would  subject  her  mind  to 
perturbation,  and  dispose  her  thoughts  to  repentance.  It  does  not  appear,  from  any 
circumstance  within  the  compass  of  this  drama,  that  she  had  once  been  separated 
from  her  husband  after  his  return  from  the  victory  over  Macdonwald  and  the  king  of 
Norway. — Anonymous  (qu.  Litchfield  ?) :  Did  Shakespeare  mean  more,  here,  by 
Macbeth's  going  into  the  fields  than  his  leaving  his  Castle  for  some  time  to  superintend 
the  fortifications  of  Dunsinane,  and  to  inspect  his  troops,  which  are  not  to  be  sup- 
posed to  have  been  confined  within  the  fortress  until  Macbeth  heard  of  the  approach 
of  Malcolm  and  his  formidable  army  ?  The  nobility  were  leaving  him,  and  Ross  has 
said  that  he  '  saw  the  tyrant's  power  afoot.'  His  Majesty's  presence  '  in  the  field ' 
was  therefore  necessary  in  order  to  make  serious  preparation  for  the  attack  which,  he 
well  knew,  was  in  contemplation.  He  was  noi  yet  *  surrounded  with  besiegers,'  as 
Steevens  states :  he  did  not  even  know  that  the  English  force  was  advancing. — 
— Knight  :  In  the  next  scene  the  Scotchmen  say,  '  the  English  power  is  near,^ 
When  an  enemy  is  advancing  from  another  country  is  it  not  likely  that  the  oom> 
mander  about  to  be  attacked  would  first  go  '  into  the  field '  before  he  finally  resolved 
to  trust  to  his  <  castle's  strength'? — Clarendon:  We  must  suppose  that  Macbeth 
had  taken  the  field  to  suppress  the  native  rebels  who  were  '  out,'  see  IV,  iii,  212, 
and  that  the  arrival  of  their  English  auxiliaries  had  compelled  him  to  retire  to  his 
castle  at  Dunsinane. 

8.  Night-Qown]  For  references  to  this  term,  see  II,  ii,  89. 

9.  paper]  Ritter  :  A  reminiscence  of  the  letter  she  received  from  Macbeth. — 
[Sherman  :  Seemingly,  to  communicate  with  her  husband.  Having  been  so  long 
the  controlling  genius  of  Macbeth's  destiny,  she  is  striving  in  her  dreams  to  guide 
him  still.  Most  of  her  words,  in  the  present  instance,  are  addressed  to  him. — Ed.  ii.] 


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ACT  V,  sc.  L]         THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH  303 

tume  to  bed ;  yet  all  this  while  in  a  moft  faft  fleepe.  1 1 

Do{l.  A  great  perturbation  in  Nature,  tq  receyue  at 
once  the  benefit  of  fleep,  and  do  the  effedls  of  watching. 
In  this  Aumbry  agitation,  befides  her  walking,  and  other 
aftuall  performances,  what  (at  any  time)  haue  you  heard  15 

her  fay  ? 

Gent.     That  Sir,  which  I  will  not  report  after  her. 

Do£l.     You  may  to  me,  and  'tis  moft  meet  you  fliould. 

Gent.  Neither  to  you,  nor  any  one,  hauing  no  witneffe 
to  confirme  my  fpeech.  Enter  Lady^with  a  Taper.  20 

12.  receyue\  receive  Ff  et  seq.  21,  Dycc,  Sla.  Huds.  ii. 

17.  report^  repeat  Warb.  conj.  20.  Lady,]  Ff.     Queen,  Sta.     Lady 
20.  Enter...Tapcr]  After  comes :  line        Macbeth,  Rowe,  et  cet 

13.  watching]  Clarendon  :  So  Holland's  Pliny ^  xiv,  18 :  *  It  is  reported  that 
the  Thasiens  doe  make  two  kinds  of  wine  of  contrary  operations:  the  one  procureth 
sleepe,  the  other  causeth  watching.'  In  the  fourth  line  of  this  scene  the  word  is  used 
in  our  modem  sense. 

14.  slumbry]  Haluwell:  'Slombrye,  slepysshe,  pesani.^ — Palsgrave,  153a 
*  Here  is  the  seat  of  soules,  the  place  of  sleepe  and  slumbry  night.' — Fhaer*8  Virgil^ 
ed.  1600.  [Sig.  I  4,  ed.  1620.  For  other  instances  of  -y  appended  to  nouns  to 
form  an  adjective,  see  Abbott,  §  450.] 

18.  Deuus  :  The  speeches  of  the  Doctor  in  this  scene  have  a  certain  cadence 
verging  on  blank  verse,  without  quite  gliding  into  it.  This  kind  of  rhythmical  prose 
Shakespeare  frequently  uses  when  changing  from  verse  to  prose,  in  order  to  soften 
the  change  from  the  one  to  the  other. 

20.  Enter  Lady,  with  a  Taper]  Bell  (p.  3x2) :  I  should  like  her  to  enter  less 
suddenly  [than  does  Mrs  Siddons].  A  slower  and  more  interrupted  step,  more 
natural.  She  advances  rapidly  to  the  table,  sets  down  the  light,  and  rubs  her 
hand,  making  the  action  of  lifting  up  water  in  one  hand  at  intervals. — Ed.  ii. — 
Anon.  {^Blackwood^s  Maga.  June,  1843,  p.  711) :  Mrs  Siddons'  sleep-walking  scene 
had  one  fault — it  was  too  awfiil.  She  more  resembled  a  majestic  shade  rising  from 
the  tomb  than  a  living  woman,  however  disturbed  by  wild  fear  and  lofty  passion. 
. . .  She  wanted  the  agitation,  the  drooping,  the  timidity.  She  spoke  with  the  solemn 
tone  of  the  voice  from  a  shrine.  She  stood  more  the  sepulchral  avenger  of  regicide 
than  the  sufferer  from  its  convictions.  Her  grand  voice,  her  fixed  and  marble  coun- 
tenance, and  her  silent  step,  gave  the  impression  of  a  supernatural  being,  the  genius 
of  an  ancient  oracle — a  tremendous  Nemesis. — Ed.  ii. — Wilson  (p.  643) :  North, 
I  am  always  inclined  to  conceive  Lady  Macbeth' s  night- walking  as  the  summit,  or 
topmost  peak  of  all  tragic  conception  and  execution — in  Prose,  too,  the  crowning 
of  Poetry  !  But  it  must  be,  because  these  are  the  ipsissima  verba — yea,  the  escaping 
sighs  and  moans  of  the  bared  soul.  There  must  be  nothing,  not  even  the  thin  and 
translucent  veil  of  the  verse,  betwixt  her  soul  showing  itself,  and  yours  beholding. 
Words  which  your  '  hearing  latches '  from  the  threefold  abyss  of  Night,  Sleep,  and 
Conscience  !  What  place  for  the  enchantment  of  any  music  is  here  ?  Besides,  she 
speaks  in  a  whisper.  The  Siddons  did — audible  distinctly,  throughout  the  stilled 
immense  theatre.     Here  music  is  not — sound  is  not— only  an  anguished  soul's  faint 


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304  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH        [act  v.  sc.  L 

Lo  you,  hcere  ftie  comes  :  This  is  her  very  guife,and  vp-  21 

on  my  life  faft  afleepe  :  obferue  her,  (land  clofe. 

D06I.     How  came  ftie  by  that  light  ? 

GenL    Why  it  ftood  by  her  :  (he  ha's  light  by  her  con- 
tinually, 'tis  her  command.  25 

Do£l.    You  fee  her  eyes  are  open. 

Gent.    I  but  their  fenfe  are  (hut.  27 

27.  fenfe  are}  Ff,  Rowe  i,  Mai.  Var.  »2i,  Del.    sense'  are  Walker,  Dycc,  Rob- 
ertson,    senses  are  Ktly.     sense  is  D*Av.  et  cet 

breathings— gaspings.  And  observe  that  Lady  Macbeth  carries— a  candle — besides 
washing  her  hands — and  besides  speaking  prose — ^three  departures  from  the  severe 
and  elect  method,  to  bring  out  that  supreme  revelation.  I  have  been  told  that  the 
great  Mrs  Fritchard  used  to  touch  the  palm  with  the  tips  of  her  fingers,  for  the 
washing,  keeping  candle  in  hand ;— that  the  Siddons  first  set  down  her  candle,  that 
she  might  come  forwards  and  wash  her  hands  in  earnest,  one  over  the  other,  as  if 
she  were  at  her  wash-hand  stand,  with  plenty  of  water  in  her  basin — that  when 
Sheridan  got  intelligence  of  her  design  so  to  do,  he  ran  shrieking  to  her,  and,  with 
tears  in  his  eyes,  besought  that  she  would  not,  at  one  stroke,  overthrow  Dmry  Lane 
— that  she  persisted,  and  turned  the  thousands  of  bosoms  to  marble. — Ed.  ii. — 
Corson  (p.  249) :  The  artistic  purpose  of  this  night-walking  scene  appears  to  be, 
to  reflect  the  real  womanly  nature  of  Lady  Macbeth  to  which  she  did  such  violence 
in  the  part  she  took  upon  herself  to  play,  that  it  suffered,  for  a  time,  a  total  eclipse. 
— Ed.  ii. — W.  Carleton  (in  Appendix  to  Some  of  Sh,*s  Female  Characters,  p.  403): 
There  is  in  [Helen  Faucit's  sleep-walking  scene]  such  a  frightful  reality  of  horror — 
such  terrible  revelations  of  remorse — such  struggles  to  wash  away,  not  the  blood 
from  the  hand,  but  the  blood  from  the  soul,  as  made  me  shudder. . . .  How  the 
deadly  agonies  of  crime  were  portrayed  by  the  parched  mouth,  that  told  of  the  burn- 
ing tortures  within  I  And  when  3rou  looked  on  those  eyes,  or  those  corpse-like 
hands,  now  telling  their  unconscious  tale  of  crime,  and  thought  of  their  previous 
enexgy  in  urging  6n  its  perpetration,  you  could  not  help  looking  fearfully  for  a 
moment  into  your  own  heart,  and  thanking  God  you  were  free  from  the  remorse  of 
murder. — Ed.  ii. — ^Pfeil  {Deutsche  Revue,  Feb.  1894,  p.  239):  As  regards  the 
symptoms  of  somnambulism.  The  affection  is  a  convulsive  condition  in  which  the 
muscular  power  is  greatly  increased.  The  sufferer  sees,  as  it  were,  with  the  out- 
stretched finger-tips — for  the  most  part  this  is  the  rule — while  the  open,  sightless 
eyes  stare  continually  into  vacancy.  The  movements  are  erratic  and  much  more 
energetic  than  in  the  waking  state ;  never  slow,  gliding  or  languid,  as  though 
drunk  with  sleep.  It  would  be  most  correct  and,  for  the  audience,  most  realistic 
should  Lady  Macbeth  rush  hastily  across  the  stage  with  an  impetuous  run — neither 
gliding  nor  tottering — as  was  done  by  one  of  our  celebrated  actresses  (Krelinger). 
In  her  right  hand  she  carries  a  candle,  rather  than  a  candelabrum.  The  candle 
should  be  carried  straight,  not  crooked ;  since,  as  is  well  known,  a  somnambulist 
walks  in  security  along  the  edge  of  a  roof,  and  would  assuredly  carry  a  light  straight 
The  left  arm  should  be  stretched  out  with  fingers  outspread  as  though  feeling  the 
way. — Ed.  ii. 
27.  sense  are]  For  the  plurals  of  substantives  ending  in  j,  see  note  by  Walksr, 


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ACT  V.  sc.  i.]  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  305 

Doa.     What  is  it  fhe  do's  now  ?  28 

Looke  how  fhe  rubbes  her  hands. 

Gent.     It  is  an  accuftomM  aflion  with  her,  to  feeme  30 

thus  wafhing  her  hands  :  I  haue  knowne  her  continue  in 
this  a  quarter  of  an  houre. 

Lad.    Yet  heere's  a  fpot 

D06I.  Heark,  fhe  fpeaks,  I  will  fet  downe  what  comes 
from  her,  to  fatisfie  my  remembrance  the  more  flrongly.  35 

La.  Out  damned  fpot :  out  I  fay.  One  :  Two  :  Why 
then  'tis  time  to  doo't :  Hell  is  murky.  Fye,  my  Lord,  fie, 
a  Souldier,and  afTear'd?  what  need  we  fearePwho  knowes 
it,  when  none  can  call  our  powre  to  accompt :  yet  who 
would  haue  thought  the  olde  man  to  haue  had  fo  much  40 

blood  in  him. 

35.  [Taking    out   his  Tables.  Cap.  38,39.  feare?  who  ...  accompt  :'\  F^ 

Coll.  ii.  (MS).  D'Av.     feare?  who ...  account :  FjF^. 

foHsfie']  fortijie  Warb.  fear  who...cucount—  Rowe  ii,  Pope. 

37.  murky. "l  Ff,  D*Av.+,  Cap.  Jen.  fear  who.,. cucount?  Theob.  et  ceL 
Cam.     murky!  Var.  *73,  et  cet  41,  51.  blood^  bloud  FjF^. 

38.  affear'd?'\  afraid  Koyfe,-V,\9X.  41.  him.l^  Ff,  D'Av.  Glo.  Wh.  ii. 
*73,  '78,  '85,  Ran.    afear'd  Mai.  et  ceL  him  !  Knt.    him  ?  Rowe,  et  cet 

Ily  iv,  x8. — R.  G.  White:  From  Shakespeare's  use  of  'sense*  elsewhere,  it  would 
seem  that  the  reading  of  F,  is  a  misprint,  due,  perhaps,  to  a  compositor's  mistaking 
'  sense '  for  a  plural  noun. — Delius  :  Shakespeare  wrote  '  are '  on  account  of  the 
plural  contained  in  '  their/  and  because  the  senses  of  two  eyes  are  referred  to. — 
Keightley  :  <  Sense'  may  be  a  collective. — Clarendon  :  Periiaps  the  transcriber's 
eye  was  caught  by  the  '  are '  of  the  preceding  line.  See  Mer.  of  Ven,  IV,  i,  255, 
*Are  there  balance  here  to  weigh,'  and  Rich.  II:  IV,  i,  312,  *  Whither  you  will,  so 
I  were  from  your  sights.' 

35.  satisfie]  Coluer  (ed.  ii.):  We  feel  convinced  that  Shakespeare's  word 
mns  fortify.     The  MS  Corrector  makes  no  emendation.     [See  Text.  Notei.'\ 

36.  37.  One:  Two  .  .  .  doo't]  Bell  (p.  312) :  Mrs  Siddons  here  stood  listen- 
ing eagerly.  Then  spoke  in  a  strange  unnatural  whisper. —[Lady  Macbeth  is  here, 
I  think,  referring  to  the  strokes  of  the  bell,  which  Macbeth  is  to  accept  as  a  signal 
(hat  all  is  quiet. — See  II,  i,  45.— Ed.  ii.] 

37.  murky]  Steevens  :  She  certainly  imagines  herself  here  talking  to  Macbeth, 
who  (she  supposes)  had  just  said.  Hell  is  murky  (i.  e.  hell  is  a  dismal  place  to  go 
to  in  consequence  of  such  a  deed),  and  repeats  his  words  in  contempt  of  his  cow- 
ardice.—Clarendon  :  We  do  not  agree  with  Steevens.  Lady  Macbeth' s  recollec- 
tions of  the  deed,  and  its  motives,  alternate  with  recollections  of  her  subsequent 
remorse,  and  dread  of  future  punishment. 

39.  accompt]  RusHTON  \Sh.  a  Lawyer,  p.  37) :  Reference  seems  to  be  here 
made  to  the  ancient  and  fundamental  principle  of  the  English  Constitution,  that  the 
king  can  do  no  wrong. 

40.  41.  so  much  blood  in  him]  Harry  Rowe  :  It  is  well  known  that  as  we 


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306  THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH        [act  v.  sc.  i. 

Do£l.     Do  you  marke  that  ?  42 

Z^w/.The  Thane  of  Fife,  had  a  wife  :  where  is  ftie  now? 
What  will  thefe  hands  ne're  be  cleane  ?  No  more  o'that 
my  Lord,  no  more  o'that  :  you  marre  all  with  this  ftar-  45 

ting. 

Do£l.     Go  too,  go  too : 
You  haue  knowne  what  you  fhould  not 

GenL    She  ha's  fpoke  what  (hee  fliould  not,  I  am  fure  49 

42.  [^'riting.  Coll.  ii.  45.  Mw]  Om.  Ff,  Pope,  Han. 

43.  [Sings.  Nicholson  ap.  Cam.  45,  46.  Jiarting'\Jlating  F,. 
had,.,where\  Had,.,  Where  Cap.  47,  48.  Pmose,  Pope  ct  seq. 

44.  n^re\  neere  F,. 

advance  in  life  the  arterial  system  increases  in  rigidity,  so  that  the  same  vessels  are 
not  able  to  contain  the  same  quantity  of  blood  as  in  youth. 

43.  The  Thane  ...  a  wife]  Wilson  (p.  64^)  :  North,  Of  all  the  murders  Mac- 
beth may  have  committed,  she  knew  beforehand  but  of  one — Duncan*  s.  The  haunted 
somnambulist  speaks  the  truth — the  whole  truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth.  Tal- 
boys,  <  The  Thane  of  Fife  had  a  wife.'  Does  not  that  imply  that  she  was  privy  to 
that  murder?  North,  No.  Except  that  she  takes  upon  herself  all  the  murders  that 
are  the  ofispring,  Intimate  or  illegitimate,  of  that  First  Murder.  But  we  knaw  that 
Macbeth,  in  a  sudden  fit  of  fury,  ordered  the  Macduffs  to  be  massacred,  when,  on 
leaving  the  Cave,  Lenox  told  him  of  the  Thane's  flight  Talboys,  That's  decisive. 
North,  A  woman,  she  feels  for  a  murdered  woman.  That  is  all — a  touch  of  nature 
— ^from  Shakespeare's  profound  and  pitiful  heart. — Ed.  il.  [See  LiBBY's  note  on 
the  'Messenger,'  IV,  ii,  75. — Bell  (p.  312):  Mrs  Siddons  said  this  in  a  very 
melancholy  tone. — Ed.  ii.] 

44.  cleane]  Stkkvbns  :  A  passage  somewhat  similar  occurs  in  Webster's  Vittoria 
Corombona^  etc.,  161 2,  [vol.  i,  p.  146,  ed.  Dyoe]  :  ' —  Here's  a  white  hand :  Can 
blood  so  soon  be  wash'd  out?' — Clarendon:  Certainly  Webster  had  HamUt^  IV, 
V.  175,  in  his  mind  when  he  made  Cornelia  say,  a  few  lines  before :  <  There's  rose- 
mary for  you ; — and  rue  for  you  ; — Heart's-ease  for  you.'  [Webster,  in  this  scene, 
apparently  had  in  mind  Lear  and  Cymbetine,  as  well  ^Hamlet, — ^Ed. — Bell  (p. 
312) :  Mrs  Siddons  pronounced  this  in  a  tone  of  melancholy  peevishness. — Lady 
Charlemont  {New  Sh,  Soc,  7>ans,  1876,  p.  197)  :  It  was  the  great  wish  of  Rachel, 
the  mighty,  to  act  Lady  Macbeth.  When  told  that  Mrs  Siddons  had  exhausted  all 
ideas  about  the  part— especially  with  respect  to  the  Sleep- Walking  scene — she  replied, 
<Ah  !  mais  j'ai  une  ide6  moi—j'e  leckeraii  ma  main.* — Ed.  ii.] 

45.  46.  Btartixig]  Steevens  :  Alluding  to  Macbeth' s  terror  at  the  banquet. — 
[Bell  (p.  312) :  Mrs  Siddons  said  this  in  an  eager  whisper. — Ed.  ii.] 

47.  Go  too]  Clarendon  :  An  exclamation  implying  reproach  and  scorn.  Qom- 
ipne  Hamlet,  I,  iii,  112.  See  also  5!^.  y<zm/x,  iv,  13,  v,  I.  Elsewhere  it  implies 
encouragement  to  set  about  some  work,  like  the  French,  allons.  See  Genesis,  xi,  3, 
4,  7.  [For  numerous  examples  of  Shakespeare's  use  of  this  phrase,  see  Bartlett  : 
Concordance,  s.  v.  *go  to.' — Ed,  ii.] 

47,  48.  Qo  too  . . .  should  not]  Darmesteter  :  These  lines  are  addressed  to 
the  Gentlewoman. — Ed.  ii. 


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ACT  V,  sc.  i.]  THE  TR AGED  IE  OF  MACBETH  307 

of  that :  Heaueii  knowes  what  fhe  ha's  knowne.  50 

La,     Heere's  the  fmell  of  the  blood  ftill  :  all  the  per- 
fumes of  Arabia  will  not  fweeten  this  little  hand. 
Oh,  oh,  oh. 

DoSl.    What  a  figh  is  there?  The  hart  is  forely  charged. 

Genu    I  would  not  haue  fuch  a  heart  in  my  bofome,  55 

for  the  dignity  of  the  whole  body. 

Doa.    Well,  well,  well. 

GenL    Pray  God  it  be  fir.  58 

51.  the  bloody  bloud    FJP^,  Rowe,            57.  tvel/.}  Ff,  D'Av.  Dd.  Sing,  ii, 

Pope,  Han.  Ktly.     zufU-—  Rowe,  et  cet. 

56.  fAg      dignity^      dignity  F,F^,            58.  Pray]  'Pray  Stcev.  Var.    Sing. 

Rowe  i.  Knt,  Huds.  Ktly. 

51.  smeU]  Verplanck  :  It  was,  I  believe,  Madame  de  Sta£l  who  said,  somewhat 
extravagantly,  that  the  smell  is  the  most  poetical  of  the  senses.  It  is  trae  that  the 
more  agreeable  associations  of  this  sense  are  fertile  in  pleasing  suggestions  of  placid, 
raral  beaaty,  and  gentle  pleasures.  Shakespeare,  Spenser,  Ariosto,  and  Tasso  abound 
in  such  allusions.  Milton,  especially,  who  luxuriates  in  every  variety  of  '  odorous 
sweets '  and  *  grateful  smells,*  delighted  sometimes  to  dwell  on  the  '  sweets  of  groves 
and  fields,'  the  native  perfumes  of  his  own  England — 'The  smell  of  grain,  or  tedded 
grass,  or  kine.  Or  dairy ; — '  and  sometimes  pleasing  his  imagination  with  the  '  gentle 
gales'  laden  with  *  balmy  spoils'  of  the  East ;  and  breathing — '  Sabean  odours  from 
the  spicy  shores  Of  Araby  the  blest'  But  the  smell  has  never  been  successfully 
used  as  a  means  of  impressing  the  imagination  with  terror,  pity,  or  any  of  the  deeper 
emotions,  except  in  this  dreadful  sleep-walking  scene  of  the  guilty  Queen,  and  in 
one  parallel  scene  of  the  Greek  drama,  as  wildly  terrible  as  this.  It  is  that  passage 
of  the  Agamemnon  of  iEschylus,  where  the  captive  prophetess,  Cassandra,  wrapt  in 
visionary  inspiration,  scents  first  the  smell  of  blood,  and  then  the  vapours  of  the 
tomb  breathing  fxom  the  palace  of  Atrides,  as  ominous  of  his  approaching  murder. 
These  two  stand  alone  in  poetry ;  and  Fuseli,  in  his  Lectures,  informs  us  that  when, 
in  the  kindred  art  of  painting,  it  has  been  attempted  to  produce  tragic  effect  through 
the  medium  of  ideas  drawn  from  this  <  squeamish  sense,'  even  Raphael  and  Poussin 
have  failed,  and  excited  disgust  instead  of  terror  or  compassion.  He  justly  remarks 
that  *  taste  and  smell,  as  sources  of  tragic  emotion,  seem  scarcdy  admissible  in  art 
or  in  the  theatre,  because  their  extremes  are  nearer  allied  to  disgust,  or  loathsome  or 
risible  ideas  than  to  terror.' 

53.  Oh,  oh,  oh]  Bell  (p.  313):  Mrs  Siddons  uttered  this  with  a  convulsive 
shudder — ^very  horrible. — Ed.  ii. 

54-  What  a  sigh  is  there]  Anon.  (Comhill  Magatine,  Feb.  1889) :  We  cannot 
help  being  reminded  by  this  scene  of  that  pathetic  description  of  the  last  days  of 
Qneen  Elizabeth,  and,  when  we  read  Sir  Robert  Carey's  touching  account  of  his 
interview  with  her,  *  Shee  toake  mee  by  the  hand,  wrung  it  hard,  and  said,  "No, 
Robin,  I  am  not  well,"  and  then  discoursed  with  me  of  her  indisposition,  and  in 
her  discourse  she  fetched  not  so  few  as  forty  or  fifty  great  sighes.  I  was  grieved  at 
the  first  to  see  her  in  this  plight :  for  in  my  lifetime  before  I  never  knew  her  fetch  a 
sigh  but  when  the  Queene  of  Scots  was  beheaded,'— -^i),  ii. 


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308  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH        [act  v,  sc-  L 

Do6l.  This  difeafe  is  beyond  my  praftife  :  yet  I  haue 
knowne  thofe  which  haue  wallet  in  their  fleep,  who  haue  60 

dyed  holily  in  their  beds. 

Lad.  Wafli  your  hands,  put  on  your  Night-Gowne, 
looke  not  fo  pale  :  I  tell  you  yet  againe  Banqud^  buried ; 
he  cannot  come  out  on's  graue. 

D06I.    Euen  fo  ?  65 

Lady.  To  bed,  to  bed  :  there^s  knocking  at  the  gate  : 
Come,  come,  come,  come,  giue  me  your  hand :  What's 
done,  cannot  be  vndone.     To  bed,  to  bed,  to  bed. 

Exit  Lady. 

D06I.    Will  (he  go  now  to  bed  ?  70 

Gent.    DirefUy. 

Do{l.    Foule  whifp'rings  are  abroad :  vnnaturall  deeds 
Do  breed  vnnaturall  troubles  :  infefted  mindes 
To  their  deafe  pillowes  will  difcharge  their  Secrets  : 
More  needs  (he  the  Diuine,  then  the  Phyfitian  :  75 

Grod,  God  forgiue  vs  all.     Looke  after  her, 

64.  ofi'j]  of  his  Pope,  +  ,  Var.  Mai.  70^1.  Om.  Booth,  Imng. 

Ran.  Steev.  Var.  Sing,  i,  Del.      ofs  72.  whiff  rings]  whifperings  F^. 

Cap.    on  his  KU7.  76.  God^  God]  Good  GodVo^pt^  Han. 

58.  Pray  . .  .  sir]  Hudson  (ed.  iii.) :  Does  the  Gentlewoman  misunderstand  the 
Doctor's  <  Well,  well,  well,'  or  does  she  mean  this  as  a  farther  hint  how  dieadfol 
the  thing  is  ?  At  all  events,  I  have  long  been  wont  to  pause  upon  it  as  one  of  the 
Poet's  quiet,  unobtrusive  master-strokes  of  delineation. — Ed.  ii. 

61.  beds]  Hunter  (ii,  197)  :  Shakespeare  was  afraid  lest  the  audience  should  go 
away  from  so  impressive  a  scene  as  this,  with  the  persuasion  that  sleep-walking  was 
ahoays  to  be  taken  as  a  sign  of  a  burthened  conscience.  This  gentle  and  kind- 
hearted  man  therefore  adds  this  expression  as  a  protection  of  the  persons  subject  to  it. 

63.  Banquo's]  Hunter  (ii,  197) :  Queiy  if  it  ought  not  to  be  Duncan  ?  The 
mind  of  the  Lady  seems  to  have  been  intent,  almost  entirely,  on  the  death  of 
Duncan. 

64.  on's]  See  Abbott  ($  182),  and  I,  iii,  91. 

65.  Euen  so]  Ritter  :  The  Doctor  here  begins  to  discern  the  cause  of  the  Lady's 
sleep-walking.  Up  to  this  point  he  has  been  in  doubt  whether  it  be  due  to  physical 
or  mental  causes. 

67,  68.  What's  —  vndone]  Tweedie  :  Not  a  single  sentiment  of  repentance 
is  betrayed  in  her  sleep  any  more  than  in  the  course  of  her  whole  criminal  career. 
Nothing  like  remorse  can  be  discovered  from  her  expressions.  In  truth,  the  only 
feeling  of  human  nature  which  she,  at  any  time,  exhibits,  and  that  alone  which 
redeems  her  from  being  an  incarnate  fiend,  is  the  tender  remembrance  of  her  father, 
which  prevented  her  plunging  the  poniard  into  the  body  of  her  sleeping  sovereign, 
as  she  quitted  her  chamber  purposely  to  do. — Ed.  ii. 


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ACT  V.  sc-  u.]        THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH  309 

Remoue  from  her  the  meanes  of  all  annoyance,  ^^ 

And  ftUl  keepe  eyes  vpon  her :  So  goodnight, 
My  minde  (he  ha's  mated,  and  amaz'd  my  fight* 
I  thinke,  but  dare  not  fpeake.  80 

Gent.     Good  night  good  Doftor.  Exeunt. 

Scena  Secunda. 


Drum  and  Colours.    Enter  Mentethy  Cathnes^  2 

Angus,  Lenox,  Soldiers. 

Ment.The  Englifh  powre  is  neere,  led  on  by  Malcolm, 
His  Vnkle  Seyward,  and  the  good  Macduff.  5 

Reuenges  bume  in  them  :  for  their  deere  caufes 

79.  Jhe  hc^s\  sJCas  Pope,  + .  a.  Dnun  and  Colours.]  Om.  Rowe,  + . 

maied\  'mated  Cap.  (Emta).  Cathnes]    Caithness    Dyce,    Sta. 

I.  Scene   omitted,   Booth,    Irving,  Cam.  Wh.  ii. 

Robertson.  3.  Lenox]  Lenx  F,. 

A  Field  with  a  wood  at  distance.  5.  Seyward]  Siward  Theob.  et  seq. 

Rowe.     The  Country  near  Dunsinane.  6-8.  for,„man,'\    Om.    as  spurious. 

Cap.  et  cet.  Anon.  ap.  Cam. 

77.  annoyance]  Deuus  :  Lest  the  Lady  in  her  despair  might  commit  suidde. — 
Clarendon  :  This  word  was  used  in  a  stronger  sense  than  it  is  now.  [See  Rich, 
//.•  Ill,  ii,  16 ;  also  Tro,  <&•  Crw,  I,  iii,  48.— Ed.  ii.] 

79.  mated]  Johnson  :  That  is,  astonished^  con/otmded.—MALOVE. :  The  orignal 
word  was  amate,  which  Bullokar,  1 61 6,  defines  *  to  dismay,  to  make  afraid.' — Hal- 
LIWRLL :  *  He  hath  utterly  mated  me.' — Palsgrave,  1530. — Corson  (note  on  *  wyn- 
ter,  that  him  naked  made  and  mate.'— Chaucer,  Legende  of  Good  Womm^  line  126) : 
Subdued,  dejected,  struck  dead ;  Fr.  mati,  *  Whan  he  seyh  hem  so  piteous  and  so 
maat.'-^Cant.  Tales^  957.  <  O  Golias, .  .  .  How  mighte  David  make  thee  so  maU  P 
—Ibid,  5355.  The  word  still  lives  in  check-mate,— CiJiXB3ii>o^ :  Cotgrave  has : 
*  Mater,  To  mate,  or  giue  a  mate  vnto  ;  to  dead,  amate,  quell,  subdue,  ouercome.' 
The  word,  originally  used  at  chess,  from  the  Arabic  shdh  mdt,  *  the  king  is  dead,' 
whence  our '  check-mate,'  became  common  in  one  form  or  other  in  almost  all  Euro- 
pean languages.  See  Bacon,  Essay  xv.:  *  Besides,  in  great  oppressions,  the  same 
things,  that  provoke  the  patience,  doe  withall  mate  the  courage.'  *  Mate/  to  match, 
is  of  Teutonic  origin.  Both  senses  of  the  word  are  played  upon.  Com.  of  Err,  III, 
ii,  54.  We  have  the  form  <  amated '  in  Fairfax's  Tasso^  Bk,  xi,  st.  12 :  *  Upon  the 
walls  the  Pagans  old  and  young  Stood  hush'd  and  still,  amated  and  amazed.' 

5*  Vnkle]  '  King  Duncane  hauing  two  sonnes  by  his  wife  which  was  the  daughter 
of  Siward  earle  of  Northumberland,  he  made  the  elder  of  them,  called  Maloolme, 
prince  of  Cumberland,'  etc. — Holinshed.  See  Appendix, — Ed.  ii.— French  (p.  296) 
shows  that '  warlike  Siward '  had  a  truer  claim  than  Banquo  to  be  called  the  ancestor 
of  Kings  <  That  tiK'o-fold  balls  and  treble  sceptres  carry.' 


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3IO  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH       [act  v.  sc.  ii. 

Would  to  the  bleeding,  and  the  grim  Alarme  7 

Excite  the  mortified  man. 

Aug.     Neere  Byman  wood 
Shall  we  well  meet  them,  that  way  are  they  comming.  10 

Cath.    Who  knowes  \i DancUbane  be  with  his  brother? 

7.  W(mld,„Alarme\  Om.  Ff,  Rowe.  9.  Byman\  Bymam  Fj.     Bimam 

8.  moriified'\     milkiest    Anon.     ap.        F^. 

Cam.  10.  well^  Om.  F^F^,  Rowe  I 

6.  Reuenges]  Clarendon  :  For  other  simUar  plurals,  see  Timon^  V,  iv,  16, 
17,  and  *  loves  *  in  V,  viii,  80. 

6.  deere]  That  is,  hard^  severe^  grievous.  See  Murray,  N,  E,  D,  s.  v.  dear^  a»  2. 

7.  the  . .  .  the]  Abbott  (§92):  *The'  is  used  to  denote  notoriety.  Thus  we 
frequently  speak  of  Uhe  air.*— Bacon,  Essay  231,  however  wrote, «  The  matter  (the 
substance  called  matter)  is  in  a  perpetual  flux.' 

7.  bleeding]  Capell  (ii,  28) :  A  substantive,  meaning  blood,  or  actions  of  blood. 
— Clarendon  :  Compare  *  bleeding  war,*  Rick.  //.•  ill,  iii,  94.  But  it  is  more 
startling  to  find  it  joined  with  '  alarm,'  which  is  only  the  prelude  to  battle. — [Deigh- 
TON :  I  believe  that  '  bleeding  *  is  here  not  an  adjective  qualifying  '  alarm,*  but  a 
verbal  noun. .  .  .  The  idea  of  a  *  bleeding  alarm,*  which  is.  extraordinary  even  if 
<  bleeding  *  be  an  equivalent  to  bloody,  is  hereby  got  rid  of. — Ed.  ii.] 

8.  mortified]  Theobald  :  That  is,  the  man  who  had  abandoned  himself  to 
Despair,  who  had  no  Spirit  or  Resolution  left. — Warburton  :  That  is,  a  Rel^ious 
man ;  one  who  has  subdued  his  passions,  is  decid  to  the  world,  has  abandoned  it, 
and  all  the  affiurs  of  it ;  an  Ascetic, — Steevens  :  So,  in  Monsieur  D*  Olive  [Chap- 
man], 1606:  <He  like  a  mortified  hermit  clad  sits.*  [Act  I,  Sc  i.]  And  in 
Greene's  Never  too  Late^  1616:  *I  perceived  in  his  words  the  perfit  idea  of  a 
mortified  man,'  [p.  29,  ed.  Giosart.  The  narrator  is  talking  with  a  Hermit — 
Ed.  ii.]  Again  in  Lov^s  Lab.  I,  i,  28. — Knight:  One  indifferent  to  the  con- 
cerns of  the  world,  but  who  would  be  ezdted  to  fight  by  such '  causes '  of  revenge 
as  Macduff  comes  with. — Elwin  :  The  expression  is  derived  firom  St.  Paul,  Rom. 
viii,  13 ;  Col.  iii,  5. — Clarendon:  Johnson  {Diet.  s.  v.)  quotes  this  passage  to  illus- 
trate the  sense  he  gives  to  <  mortify,*  viz.  *  to  macerate  or  harass,  in  order  to  reduce 
the  body  to  compliance  with  the  mind.*  We  have  the  word  in  this  sense.  Love's 
Lab.  I,  i,  28  [dted  by  Steevens]  ;  also  Lear,  II,  iii,  15,  where  '  mortified  *  means 
deadened  vdth  cold  and  hunger.  But  in  the  present  passage  such  a  sense  seems 
scarcely  forcible  enough.  May  it  not  mean  'the  dead  man'? — 'mortified*  in  the 
literal  sense.  So  Erasmus,  on  the  Creed,  Eng.  tr.  fol.  8ia  :  <  Christ  was  mortified 
and  killed  in  dede  as  touchynge  to  his  fleshe  :  but  was  quickened  in  spirite.'  In 
Hen.  V:  I,  i,  26,  'mortified,*  though  figuratively  applied,  does  not  mean  'sub- 
dued by  a  course  of  asceticism.'  Both  senses  are  combined  in  Jul,  Cees.  II,  i,  324. 
If  *  the  mortified  man  *  really  means  *  the  dead,'  the  word  '  bleeding  *  in  the  former 
line  may  have  been  suggested  by  the  well-known  superstition  that  the  corpse  of  a 
murdered  man  bled  afresh  in  the  presence  xA  the  murderer.  It  is  true  that  this  inter- 
pretation gives  an  extravagant  sense,  but  we  have  to  choose  between  extravagance 
and  feebleness.  The  passage,  indeed,  as  it  stands  in  the  text,  does  not  read  like 
Shakespeare's. 


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Acrv.sc.  ii.]         THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH  311 

Len.     For  certaine  Sir,  he  is  not :  I  haue  a  File  12 

Of  all  the  Gentry  ;  there  is  Seywards  Sonne, 
And  many  vnruffe  youths,  that  euen  now 
Proteft  their  firft  of  Manhood  15 

Menu    What  do's  the  Tyrant. 

Cath.    Great  Dunfinane  he  ftrongly  Fortifies  : 
Some  fay  hee's  mad  :  Others,  that  leffer  hate  him, 
Do  call  it  valiant  Fury,  but  for  certaine 
He  cannot  buckle  his  diftemper'd  caufe  20 

12.  /  kaue\  rve  Pope,+.  Dyce  ii,  16.  Tyrant,'\  tyrant?  F,. 

iii,  Huds,  ii,  iii.  18.  haWl  hates  FjF^. 

14,  vnruffe^Y^,    unruffYS^t'RoYfe,  20.  cau/e}  course  Coll.  ii,  iii.  (MS), 

unrugrdVo^,    untough  Coll.  ii.  (MS).  Walker  (Vers.  p.  xxi.),  Sing,  ii,  Dyce, 

unrough  Tbeob.  et  cet.  Huds.  ii,  iii.     corse  Anon.  ap.  Cam. 

14.  vnruffe]  Theobald:  That  is,  smooth-chin' d,  imberbis.  And  our  Author 
particularly  delights  in  this  Mode  of  Expression.  As  in  Love's  Lab.  V,  ii,  838 ; 
Twelfth  Night,  III,  i,  51 ;  Ant.  &»  Cleo.  I,  i,  21 ;  Hen,  V:  III,  chor.  22,  23  ;  Tetnp, 
II,  i,  250;  King  John,  Vy  ii,  133. — M.  Mason  :  Read,  perhaps,  unwrought,  or, 
perhaps,  Shakespeare  uses  <  unrough  *  for  roughs  as  Jonson  does  '  unrude '  for  rude. 
Sec  Every  Man  out  of  his  Humour,  [vol,  ii,  p,  132,  ed  Gifford,  where,  on  the  phrase 
*how  the  unrude  rascal  backbites  him!'  the  editor  says,  'Un  is  commonly  used  in 
composition  as  a  n^ative,  as  <<f«ffthankful,"  etc.;  here,  however,  it  seems  to  be  em- 
ployed as  an  augmentative.  Unless,  indeed,  '<  unrude"  be  synonymous  with  the 
primitive  rtide,  as  Mffloose  probably  is  with  loose,*  etc.]. 

17.  Great  Dunsinane]  Chalmers  {Caledonia,  i,  414,  and  foot-note) :  Tradi- 
tion relates  that  Macbeth  resided  ten  years,  after  his  usurpation,  at  Cambeddie,  in 
the  neighboring  parish  of  St.  Martin's,  the  vestiges  of  his  castle  are  still  to  be  seen, 
which  the  country  people  call  Cam-beth,  and  Macbeth' s  Castle.  Cambeddie  is 
about  three  and  a  half  statute  miles  from  Dunsinan  hill.  Stobi^s  Map.  As  Mac- 
beth had  a  castle,  which  was  his  usual  residence,  it  is  not  likely  that  he  would  build 
another  on  Dunsinan  hill  so  near ;  he  probably  kept  up  the  British  fortress,  on  this 
hill,  as  a  place  of  retreat  on  any  emergency,  from  which  it  has  got  the  name  of  Mac- 
beth's  Castle.  No  well  appears  to  have  been  discovered  upon  Dunsinan  hill,  which 
would  be  an  indispensable  requisite  to  any  castle  for  a  constant  residence. — Ed.  ii. 

20.  cause]  Collier  (Notes,  etc.,  p.  415) :  It  was  not  Macbeth's  *  cause,'  but  his 
course  of  action  that  was  distempered. — Anon.  (Blackwood^s  Maga.  Oct.  1853,  P- 
461 )  :  '  Cause '  fits  the  place  perfectly  well,  if  taken  for  his  afiairs  generally,  his 
whole  system  of  procedure. — Dyce  :  But  will  the  context  allow  us  to  take  it  in  that 
sense?  The  words  course  and  *  cause '  are  often  confounded  by  printers. — Dalgleish  : 
His  cause  is  not  one  that  can  be  carried  on  by  the  usual  expedients,  his  excitement 
is  either  madness  or  rage. — Staunton  :  Surely  change  [to  course^^  may  be  dis- 
pensed with  here. — Clarendon  :  We  have  the  same  metaphor  in  Tro.  6r*  Cress.  II, 
ii,  30.  The  *  distemper' d  cause '  is  the  disoiganized  party,  the  disordered  body  over 
which  he  rules.  Instead  of  being  like  a  *  well-girt  man,'  eh^ovoc  av^Pt  full  of  vigour, 
his  state  is  like  one  in  dropsy.  We  have  the  same  metaphor  more  elaborated  in 
^  Hen,  IV:  III,  i,  38,  sqq. — Hudson  (ed.  ii.) :  *  Cause'  is  evidently  wroi^. 


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3 1 2  THE  TRA  GEDIE  OF  MA  CBETH      [act  v,  sc.  u. 

Within  the  belt  of  Rule.  21 

Angn     Now  do's  he  feele 
His  fecret  Murthers  fticking  on  his  hands^ 
Now  minutely  Reuolts  vpbraid  his  Faith-breach  : 
Thofe  he  commands,  moue  onely  in  commandl^  25 

Nothing  in  loue :  Now  do's  he  feele  his  Title 
Hang  loofe  about  him,  like  a  Giants  Robe 
Vpon  a  dwarfilh  Theefe. 

Ment.    Who  then  fhall  blame 
His  pefter'd  Senfes  to  recoyle,and  ftart,  30 

When  all  that  is  within  him,  do's  condenme 
It  felfe,  for  being  there. 

Catk.    Well,  march  we  on, 
To  giue  Obedience,  where  'tis  truly  ow'd  : 
Meet  we  the  Med'cine  of  the  fickly  Weale,  35 

And  with  him  poure  we  in  our  Countries  purge, 
Each  drop  of  vs. 

Lenox,     Or  fo  much  as  it  needes. 
To  dew  the  Soueraigne  Flower,  and  drowne  the  Weeds :  39 

32.  there,'\  F(,  Rowe,  Cap.     /AereF  Var.   Mai.  Ran.  Steev.  Var.   Sing.  i. 

D*At.  et  cet  med^ein  Han.  Cap.     medicine  Knt,  et 

35.  Afed^eine]  Ff,    Rowe,  +  ,    Jen.  cet 

Sing,  ii,  Sta.  Wh.  medecin  Warb.  conj.  36.  pourel  powre  F,. 

24.  minutely]  Delius  :  This  may  be  taken  either  as  an  adjecdTe  or  adveib, 
although  the  former  construction  is  the  more  natural,  especially  as  the  word  is  to  be 
found  as  an  adjective  in  earlier  writers. 

30.  pester'd]  Clarendon  :  That  is,  hampered^  troubled^  embarrassed,  Cotgrave 
gives :  ^Empestrer,  To  pester,  intricate,  intangle,  trouble,  incomber.'  The  6rst 
sense  of  the  word  appears  to  be  '  to  hobble  a  horse,  or  other  animal,  to  prevent  it 
straying.'  So  Milton,  Comus^  7:  'Confined  and  pester' d  in  this  pinfold  here.* 
Hence  used  of  any  continuous  anno]rance. 

30.  to]  See  IV,  ii,  81.    Abbott,  §  356. 

32.  there]  Johnson  :  That  is,  when  all  the  faculties  of  the  mind  are  employed 
in  self-condemnation. 

35.  Med'cine]  WAHBiniTON:  We  should  read  medicitiy  i.  e.  the  physician. 
Both  the  sense  and  pronoun  'him'  in  the  next  line  require  it — Heath  (p.  407] : 
Malcolm  is  denoted  by  '  the  medicine  of  the  sickly  weal,'  and  to  him,  and  not  to 
the  medicine,  the  pronoun,  'him,'  refers. — Clarendon  :  It  may  be  doubted  whether 
this  word  is  here  to  be  taken  in  its  modem  sense,  as  the  following  line  inclines  us 
to  believe,  or,  according  to  most  commentators,  in  the  sense  of  '  physician.'  Florio 
has  *  Medico  :  a  medicine,  a  phisition,  a  leach.'  Minsheu,  I599»  and  Cotgrave,  1611, 
only  recognise  '  medicine '  in  the  modem  sense. 

39.  Soueraigne]  Clarendon  :  Two  ideas  are  suggested  by  this  epithet,  toyml  or 


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ACT  V,  sc  iii.]       THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  313 

Make  we  our  March  towards  Biman.  *    Exeunt  marching.  40 

Sccena  Tertia. 


Enter  Macbeth^  Dollar  ^and  Attendants.  2 

Macb.    Bring  me  no  more  Reports^  let  them  ilye  all : 
Till  B3rmane  wood  remoue  to  Dunfmane, 
I  cannot  taint  with  Feare.     What's  the  Boy  Malcolmef  5 

Was  he  not  borne  of  woman  f  The  Spirits  that  know 
All  mortall  Confequences,  haue  pronounc'd  me  thus: 
Feare  not  Macbeth^  no  man  that's  borne  of  woman 
Shall  ere  haue  power  vpon  thee.    Then  fly  falfe  Thanes,  9 

40.  Make  we\  Make  me  Theob.  i.  FjF^. 

Make  up  Theob.  ii,  Warb.  Johns.  6.  T7u\    Om.    Fope,  +  ,    Cap.   Var. 

Biman\  Bimam  Ff.  '73. 

Exeunt  marching]  Exeunt.  Rowe.  7.  Om/equences^  kaue"]  Ff,  Rowe,  + , 

I.  ScENB  II.  Booth.    Act  V.  sc.  i.  Cap.  Var.  Mai.  Smg.  Huds.  i.     eonse- 

Inring,  Robertson.  quents  Steev.  Var.  '03, '  13.   consequences 

The  Castle.   Rowe.     Dunsinane.  have  Var.  '21,  et  cet. 

Pope.     Dunsinane.     A  Room  in  the  nu  thus"]  it  Pope,  + .     me  Cap. 

Castle.  Cap.  et  cet  9.  vpon\  on  Steev.  Var.  '03,  '13. 

4.  Bymane'l  Bymam  F,.    Bimam  Then  fly\  Fly  Pope,  Han. 

supreme,  and  powerfully  remedial,  the  latter  continuing  the  metaphor  of  lines  35-37. 
For  the  latter,  compare  CorioL  II,  i,  127. 

39.  Weeds]  E.  K.  Chambbss:  Compare  the  elaborate  comparison  of  England 
to  an  unweeded  garden  in  Rich.  H:  III,  iv,  [7-18].  The  parallels  between  the 
two  plays  are  numerous  and  striking.  Richard  II.  was  probably  written  in  1595, 
but  both  plays  deal  with  tyranny,  and  in  returning  to  the  subject  Shakespeare  seems 
to  have  recalled  also  certain  phrases  and  metaphors  from  his  earlier  treatment  of  it 
—Ed.  ii. 

5.  taint]  Walker  (Crit,  iii,  259) :  Is  this  correct  English?  Yet  Shakespeare 
could  scarcely  have  written /im/.  \i  faint  is  right,  /may  have  been  corrupted  into 
/  by  the  neighborhood  of  the  two  other  /'s.-— Clarendon  ;  Compare  Twelfth  Nighty 
III,  iv,  145.  The  word  is  rarely  used,  as  in  these  two  passages,  intransitively,  but 
there  is  no  ground  for  suspecting  the  genuineness  of  the  text,  nor  for  adopting 
Walker's  conjecture.  We  have  something  the  same  metaphor  in  3  Hen.  VI:  III, 
1,40. 

7.  Consequences]  Walker  ( Vers,  p.  274)  :  We  sometimes  find  two  unaccented 
syllables  inserted  between  what  are  ordinarily  the  fourth  and  fifth,  or  sixth  and 
seventh,  the  whole  form  being  included  in  one  word. 

7.  me]  Clarendon  :  '  Me  '  here  may  be  either  dative  or  accusative,  and  the 
sense  either  'The  spirits  have  pronounced  thus  in  my  case'  or  'The  spirits  have 
pronounced  me  to  be  thus  circumstanced.' 


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314  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH      [act  v,  sc.  iii. 

And  mingle  with  the  Englilh  Epicures,  lO 

The  minde  I  fway  by,  and  the  heart  I  beare. 
Shall  neuer  fagge  with  doubt,  nor  fhake  with  feare. 

Enter  SeruanL 
The  diuell  damne  thee  blacke,  thou  cream-fac'd  Loone .'  14 

II.  /way]  stay  Anon.  ap.  Cam.  hastily.  Cap.     A  Servant  F^F^,  ct  cet. 

13.  Seraant]    Enter    an    Attendant,  14.  Z<?eM^]  Z<mw  F^,  Rowe.+. 

10.  Epicures]  Theobald  :  Hardicanute,  a  Contempoiaiy  of  Macbeth,  and  who 
reigned  here  jast  before  the  Usurpation  of  the  latter  in  Scotland^  was  such  a  Lover 
of  good  Cheer  that  he  would  have  his  Table  cover'd  four  times  a  day,  and  largely 
furnish' d.  Now  as  Edward,  his  successor,  sent  a  Force  against  Scotland,  Macbeth 
malevolently  is  made  to  charge  this  temperate  Prince  (in  his  subjects)  with  the  Riots 
of  his  Predecessor. — ^Johnson  :  The  reproach  of  epicurism  is  nothing  more  than  a 
natural  invective  uttered  by  an  inhabitant  of  a  barren  country  against  those  who 
have  more  opportunities  of  luxury.— Steevens  :  Shakespeare  took  the  thought  from 
Holinshed,  pp.  179,  180 :  * — the  Scotish  people  before  had  no  knowledge  nor 
understanding  of  fine  fare  or  riotous  surfet ;  yet  after  they  had  once  tasted  the  sweet 
poisoned  bait  thereof,'  etc.  <  —  those  superfluities  which  came  into  the  realme  of 
Scotland  with  the  Englishmen*  etc.  Again  :  <  For  manie  of  the  people  abhorring 
the  riotous  maners  and  superfluous  gormandizing  brought  in  among  them  by  the 
Englyshemen^  were  willing  inough  to  receiue  this  Donald  for  their  king,  trusting 
(bicause  he  had  beene  brought  up  in  the  Isles,  with  old  customes  and  maners  of 
their  ancient  nation,  without  tast  of  the  English  likerous  delica(s)  they  should  by  his 
seuere  order  in  gouemement  recouer  againe  the  former  temperance  of  their  old  pro- 
genitors.'— Hunter  (ii,  198) :  It  may  be  doubted  whether  Shakespeare  had  any 
thought  of  comparing  the  fare  of  the  Scottish  nation  with  that  of  the  English, 
the  sumptuous  feasting  of  the  latter  being  a  common  topic  of  reproach.  So,  Ariosto, 
Canio  viii,  st  24. 

11.  sway]  Clarendon  :  The  mind  by  which  my  movements  are  directed,  as  in 
Tivelfth  Night,  II,  iv,  32.  The  other  interpretation,  'The  mind  by  which  I  bear 
rule,'  is  not  impossible. 

12.  sagge]  ToLLET :  To  sag^  or  st^g,  is  to  sink  down  by  its  own  weight, 
or  by  an  overload.  It  is  common  in  Staffordshire  to  say  •  a  beam  w^.'— Nares  : 
To  sTtfag  is  now  used,  and  is  perhaps  more  proper.  To  sagg  on,  to  walk  heavily : 
So  Nash's  Pi£rce  Pennilesse,  vii,  15 :  *  When  sir  Rowland  Russet-coat,  their  dad, 
goes  sagging  every  day  in  his  round  g^ascoynes  of  white  cotton.' — Forby  (  Vocab, 
of  East  Anglia) :  To  fail,  or  give  way,  from  weakness  in  itself,  or  over-loaded. 
With  us  It  is  perfectly  distinct  from  swag.  [To  the  same  purport,  Carr,  Craven 
Dialect.'] — Clarendon:  Mr  Atkinson,  in  his  Glossary,  mentions  ' sag'  as  being  still 
in  use  in  Qeveland,  Yorkshire.  We  have  heard  a  railway  porter  apply  it  to  the 
leathern  top  of  a  carriage  weighed  down  with  luggage.  [A  word  of  every-day  use 
in  America  among  mechanics  and  engineers. — Ed.] 

14-22.  Angellier  (p.  220)  thus  translates :  '  Le  diable  te  teigne  en  noir,  rustre 
an  visage  de  cr6me  1  Oft  as-tu  pris  cette  figure  d'oie  ?  .  .  .  Va,  pique-toi  au  visage, 
et  tiens  ta  terreur  en  rouge,  garpon  au  foie  blanc  comme  lis.  Quels  soldats,  imbe- 
cile ?  Mort  de  ton  ftme  tes  joues  couleur  de  linge  sont  des  conseillires  de  crainte. 
Quel  soldats,  figure  de  petit-lait?' — Ed.  ii. 


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ACT  V,  sc.  iii.]        THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  315 

Where  got^ft  thou  that  Goofe-looke.  15 

Ser.    There  is  ten  thoufand. 

Macb.     Geefe  Villained 

Ser.     Souldiers  Sir. 

Macb.     Go  pricke  thy  face,  and  ouer-red  thy  feare 
Thou  lilly-liuer^d  Boy.     What  Soldiers,  Patch  ?  20 

15.  Goofe\  ghost  Ran.  conj.  16.  %s\  are  Rowe,  +  ,  Jen. 

Gw>fe-looke\    Ff,   D'Av.  +  ,  Var.  thou/and,^  Ff,  Cap.    ihousand-- 

'73.     goose  look  Cap.  et  cct.  Rowe,  et  cet. 

14.  Loone]  Coleridge  (i,  175) :  A  passion  there  is  that  carries  off  its  own 
excess  by  plays  on  words  as  naturally,  and,  therefore,  as  appropriately  to  drama,  as 
by  gesticulations,  looks,  or  tones.  This  belongs  to  human  nature  as  such,  inde- 
pendently of  associations  and  habits  from  any  particular  rank  of  life  or  mode  of 
employment ;  and  in  this  consists  Shakespeare's  vulgarisms  [as  in  this  line].  This  is 
(to  equivocate  on  Dante's  words)  in  truth  nobile  volgare  eloquenza, — W.  Chambers  : 
A  '  loon '  was  a  n^ue,  or  worthless  fellow ;  also  a  half-grown  lad.  The  phrase  is 
still  conmion  in  Scotland,  and  in  some  districts  is  jocularly  applied  to  all  the  natives, 
— as  '  Morayshire  loons,'  which  has  a  signification  similar  to  the  Irish  saying,  <  the 
boys  of  Kilkenny.' — Clarendon  :  '  Loon '  corresponds  to  the  Scottish  and  Northern 
pronunciation,  lown  of  F^  to  the  Southern.  It  is  spelt  horn  or  kwne  in  0th, 
II,  iii,  95,  and  Pericles^  IV,  vi,  19. 

15.  Goose-looke]  Dyer  (p.  X19)  quotes  from  CorioL  I,  iv,  34:  'You  souls  of 
geese,  That  bear  the  shapes  of  men,  how  have  you  run  From  slaves  that  apes  would 
beat,'  and  adds  that  the  goose  is  here  regarded  as  the  emblem  of  cowardice. — 
Ed.  ii. 

16.  is]  For  this  construction,  see  II,  i,  73,  and  II,  iii,  174. 

19.  face  .  .  .  feare]  Walker  (Crit,  iii,  259) :  Note  this  for  the  broad  pronun- 
ciation of  ea, 

20.  Patch]  Douce  (i,  257) :  It  has  been  supposed  that  this  term  originated  from 
the  name  of  a  fool  belonging  to  Cardinal  Wolsey,  and  that  his  parti-coloured  dress 
was  given  to  him  in  allusion  to  his  name.  The  objection  to  this  is,  that  the  motley 
habit  worn  by  fools  is  much  older  than  the  time  of  Wolsey.  Again,  it  appears  that 
'  Patch '  was  an  appellation  given  not  to  one  fool  only  that  belonged  to  Wolsey.  There 
is  an  epigram  by  Heywood,  entitled  A  saying  of  Ptitch  my  lord  CardinaVs  foole; 
but  in  the  epigram  itself  he  is  twice  called  Sexten^  which  was  his  real  name.  In  a 
MS  Life  of  Wolsey y  by  his  gentleman  uSher  Cavendish  [now  well  known  from  the 
printed  copy — Dyce],  there  is  a  story  of  another  fool  belonging  to  the  Cardinal,  and 
presented  by  him  to  the  King.  A  marginal  note  states  that  <  this  foole  was  callid 
Master  Williames,  owtherwise  called  Patch.*  In  Heylin's  History  of  the  Reforma- 
tion mention  is  made  of  another  fool  called  Patch  belonging  to  Elizabeth.  But  the 
name  is  even  older  than  Wolse3r's  time  ;  for  in  some  household  accounts  of  Henry 
VII.  there  are  payments  to  a  fool  who  is  named  Pechie  and  Packye.  It  seems  there- 
fore more  probable  on  the  whole  that  fools  were  nick-named '  Patch '  from  their  dress ; 
unless  there  happen  to  be  a  nearer  affinity  to  the  Italian  pazso,  a  word  that  has  all 
the  appearance  of  a  descent  from  fatuus.  This  was  the  opinion  of  Tyrwhitt  in  a 
note  on  Mid,  N,  D,  III,  ii,  9.    But  although  in  [Mer.  of  Ven,  II,  v,  46],  as  well  as 


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3i6 


THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH       [act  v.  sc.  iii. 


Death  of  thy  Soule,  thofe  Linnen  cheekes  of  thine 
Are  Counfailers  to  feare.     What  Soldiers  Whay-face  ? 

Ser^    The  Englifh  Force,  fo  pleafe  you. 

Macb.    Take  thy  face  hence.    Seytotiy  I  am  fick  at  hart, 
When  I  behold  :  Seyton^  I  fay,  this  pufh 
Will  cheere  me  euer,  or  dif-eate  me  now. 


21 


25 


22.  Coun/aiUri\  CounfaUours  F,. 
CeunfeUtmrs  F^,  Rowe.  CounfeUors 
Fj,  et  cet 

^f^>-/if^]  Ff,  Rowe.  Whey-face 
D'Av.  et  cet 

24.  [Exit  Servant  Sing,  ii,  Dyce,  Sta. 
Wh.  Kdy,  Glo.  Cam.  Huds.  u. 

24,  25.  Seyton,  .../ay,]  Ff,  D»Av. 
Seyton! —  ...  behold — SeyUm  I  say— 
Rowe  et  seq.  (subs.) 

24.  /  am\    Pm  Pope,  +  ,   Cap.   (in 


Errata),  Dyoe  ii,  iii,  Huds.  ii,  iii. 

26.  eheere'\  chear  D'Av.  Jen.  chair 
Percy,  Sing,  ii,  Dyce,  Coll.  ii.  (MS), 
Sta.  Wh.  Chambers,  Kemble,  Huds.  ii, 
iii.  sphere  A.  Gray  (N.  &  Qu.  7  Ap. 
1888). 

dif-eate']  difeafe  Ff,  Rowe,  +  , 
Cap.  dis-eat  D'Av.  dis-seat  Var.  '73, 
Coll.  iii.  <^^a/ Daniel,  Wetherell.  dis- 
-ease  Fumess,  Rife,  disseat  Cap.  conj. 
Steev.  et  cet. 


in  a  multitude  of  other  places,  a  <  patch '  denotes  a  fool  or  simpleton,  and,  by  corrup- 
tion, a  clown,  it  seems  to  have  been  used  in  the  sense  of  any  low  or  mean  person. 
Thus  Puck  calls  Bottom  and  his  companions  a  crew  ofpatchesy  rude  mechanicalls^  cer- 
tainly not  meaning  to  compare  them  to  pampered  and  sleek  buffoons. — Clarendon  : 
Florio  gives :  ^Pasao,  a  foole,  a  patch,  a  mad-man,'  and  this  seems  the  most  proba- 
ble derivation  of  the  word.  The  derivation  from  the  patched  or  motley  coat  of  the 
jester  seems  to  be  supported  by  Mid,  N.  Z>.  IV,  i,  237,  where  Bottom  says :  <  Man 
is  but  a  patched  fool.' 

21.  Linnen  cheekes]  Steevens:  In  Hen.  V:  II,  ii,  74,  <  Their  cheeks  are 
paper.'    [Compare  « tallow-face,*  Pom,  6f*  ful.  III,  v,  I58.->Ed.  ii.] 

22.  Counsailers]  Warburton  :  They  infect  others  who  see  them  with  coward- 
ice. 

26-35.  Fletcher  (p.  152)  :  This  passage  is  exactly  of  a  piece  with  that  in  which 
he  envies  the  fate  of  his  royal  victim,  and  seems  to  think  himself  hardly  used,  that 
Duncan,  after  all,  should  be  better  off  than  himself.  Such  exclamations,  from  such 
a  character,  are  but  an  additional  title  to  our  detestation ;  the  man  who  sets  at 
naught  all  human  ties,  should  at  least  be  prepared  to  abide  in  quiet  the  inevitable 
consequences.     But  the  moral  cowardice  of  Macbeth  is  consummate. 

26.  cheere  .  .  .  dis-eate]  Steevens  :  Dr  Percy  would  read,  '  Will  chair  me 
ever,  or  disseat  me  now.' — Elwin  :  Setting  aside  the  absurdity  of  a  king  being 
chaired  by  a  push,  <  cheer'  is  the  evident  antithesis  to  <  I  am  sick  at  heart' — Col- 
lier {Notes,  etc.,  p.  415) :  In  Coriol.  IV,  vii,  52,  we  have  'cheer'  misprinted  chair; 
and  here,  if  we  may  trust  the  MS  Corrector,  we  have  chair  misprinted  'cheer.' . .  . 
As  we  are  to  take  '  dis-seat '  in  the  sense  of  unseat,  there  can  be  little  objection  to 
understanding  chair,  as  having  reference  to  the  royal  seat  or  throne,  which  Macbeth 
occupies,  and  from  which  he  dreads  removal. . .  .  Percy's  suggestion  is  confirmed  by 
a  much  anterior  authority. — Halliwell  :  A  push  does  not  usually  chair  a  person, 
though  it  may  disseat  him.— Dyce  (ed.  ii.)  :  Does  Mr  Halliwell,  then,  think  that  <  a 
push  usually  cheers  a  person '?  .  . .  That  *  cheere '  is  a  mistake  for « chaire  *  I  should 
have  felt  confident  even  if  I  had  never  known  that  the  latter  word  was  substituted 


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ACTV,sc.iii.]       THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH  317 

[26.  cheere  .  .  .  dis-eate] 
both  by  Percy  and  by  Collier's  MS.  Chair ^  in  the  sense  of  throne,  was  very  common. 
See  Rick.  HI:  V,  iii,  25 1 .  So  too  in  Peele's  David  and  Bethsabe  :*  —  as  king — ^be  de- 
posed from  his  detested  cAairJ—  H^orJb,  p.  478,  ed.  Dyce,  1861.— R.  G.  White  :  [  CAter 
for  'chair'  is]  a  mere  phonographic  irregularity  of  spelling.  Chair  is  pronounced 
'cheer'  even  now  by  some  old-fashioned  folk,  Mother  Goose  among  them :  <  She  went 
to  the  Ale  house  To  fetch  him  some  beer,  And  when  she  got  back  The  dog  sat  on  a 
chair.' — Cowden-Clarke :  Note,  in  corroboration  [of  'cheer'],  that  'cheer'  and 
'  sick '  are  used  with  similar  antithesis  in  HamUt^  III,  ii,  173  :  *  You  are  so  sick  of 
late.  So  far  from  cheer,'  etc. — Bailey  (ii,  41)  :  I  submit  the  following  reading  for 
consideration  without  feeling  much  confidence  in  it :  *  Will  charier  me  ever  or  dis- 
seise me  now.'  Where  charter  is,  of  course,  to  be  compressed  into  a  monosyllable, 
and  disseute  is  a  law  term  for  dispossess.  *  Will  clear  me  ever,'  etc.,  would  be  more 
Shakespearian  than  *  cheer  me  ever,'  and  would  form  no  bad  reading. — Ellis  {Athe- 
naum^  25  January,  1868):  At  present  chair  and  'cheer'  generally  rhyme  with 
there  and  here^  but  they  are  not  unfrequently  pronounced  by  the  peasantry  as  rhymes 
to  here  only,  and  many  old  gentlemen  may,  perhaps,  still  be  met  with  who  pro- 
nounce breaks  great,  steak,  and  chair  with  the  same  vowel  e  in  here.  Compared  to 
our  present  pronunciation,  this  is  old ;  compared  to  Shakespeare's,  it  is  very  young. 
It  was  not  generally  prevalent  till  about  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century,  and 
never  seems  to  have  really  succeeded,  although  it  was  largely  adopted.  The  word 
chair  is  spelt  chayere  in  the  PromptoriuMy  I440,  chayre  in  Palsgrave,  1530,  and 
Levins,  1570,  and  in  F,  it  is  chaire.  Now  the  sound  of  the  digraph  ai  was  that  we 
generally  give  to  Isaiak,  aye,  or  the  Etonia  Greek  Kai,  during  the  whole  of  the  six- 
teenth century,  and  did  not  assume  its  present  sound  as  e  in  tkere  till  well  on  in  the 
seventeenth  century.  For  myself,  I  feel  no  doubt  that  Shakespeare's  ckaire  rhymed 
to  the  Etonian  x°^9*  ^^^  ^<>  ^^  German  Feier,  which  is  a  so-called  broad  sound  of 
the  modem  English  ^r^.  Now  as  to  *  cheer.'  The  word  is  *ckeere,  vultus,'  and 
*  cheryn,  or  make  good  ckere,  hillaro,  exhillaro,  letifico,'  in  the  Promptorium;  *  ckere, 
acveil,'  in  Palsgrave ;  '  ekeare,  exhilarare,  ckeareful,  hilaris,'  in  Levins ;  ckeare  in 
Rom.  &»  Jul,  Q, ;  generally  ckeere  in  F, ;  but  usually  throughout  the  seventeenth 
century,  and  into  the  eighteenth,  it  is  ckear.  These  orthographies  are  significant 
Down  to  the  b^[inning  of  the  fifteenth  century  long  e  or  double  ee,  both  of  which 
were  common,  and  ea  (which  was  rarely,  if  ever,  used,  except  occasionally  in  ease, 
please,  and  their  derivatives)  had  the  sound  of  e  in  tkere  only.  The  fifteenth  cen- 
tury, with  its  civil  wars,  greatly  altered  our  pronunciation,  and  in  particular  many 
f's  fell  into  the  sound  of  e  in  kere. .  .  .  After  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth  century  ee 
was  appropriated  to  e  in  kere^  and  ea  to  e  in  tkere.  . .  ,  '  Cheer,'  however,  was  one  of 
the  exceptional  words  in  the  seventeenth  century  which  rhymed  to  kere.  The  spell- 
ing *  cheere,'  generally  used  in  F„  shows  that  the  printer* s  reader  of  tkat  book  (no 
one  else  with  certainty)  also  rhymed  it  thus. .  . .  There  seems  some  reason  to  sup- 
pose that  disease,  in  this  line  from  Macbeth,  is  the  correct  reading,  and  that  the 
hyphen  was  inserted  to  prevent  the  word  being  pronounced  quite  as  disease, 
although  the  lines  immediately  following  may  have  been  suggested  by  the  near 
coincidence  of  sounds  between  dis-ease,  render  un-easy,  quasi  dis-cheer,  compare 
dis-able,  and  the  ordinary  disease.  Observe,  also,  in  this  scene  the  description  of  a 
'minde  diseas'd,'  and  the  play  on  the  word  in  2  Hen.  IV:  IV,  i,  54.  Ckair  and 
disseat  introduce  two  verbs  not  found  in  Shakespeare,  and  have  no  connexion  with 
any  other  ideas  in  the  scene. — ^Viles  (Atkenceum,  8  February,  1868)  :  I  find  ckair 


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3l8  THE   TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH      [act  v.  sc.  iiL 

[26.  cheere  .  .  .  dis-eate] 
as  a  verb  in  Gouldman's  Copious  Dictionary ^  1664 : — <  Chaired  or  stalled — Ottke- 
dratus,*  What  is  more  to  the  point  is  that  Shakespeare  generally  applies  *  chair' 
to  a  '  throne,  a  seat  of  justice,  or  authority,*  while  an  ordinary  seat  (such  as  a  chair 
is  now-a-days)  he  calls  a  '  stool.'  See  III,  iv,  85  and  X02. — Ciarendon  :  The 
antithesis  would  doubtless  be  more  satisfactory  if  we  followed  the  later  Folios  and 
read  'cheer. . .  disease,'  or  [adopted  Dyce's  reading].  But  disease  seems  to  be 
too  feeble  a  word  for  the  required  sense,  and  chair,  which  is  nowhere  used  by 
Shakespeare  as  a  verb,  would  signify  rather  '  to  place  in  a  chair '  than  *  to  keep  in 
a  chair,'  which  is  what  we  want  The  difficulty  in  the  text,  retaining  « cheer,'  is 
still  greater,  because  the  antithesis  is  imperfect,  and  it  seems  strange,  after  speaking 
of  a  push  as  < cheering'  one,  to  recur  to  its  literal  sense.  We  have,  however,  left 
*  cheer '  in  the  text,  in  accordance  with  our  rule  not  to  make  any  change  where  the 
existing  reading  is  not  quite  impossible  and  the  proposed  emendations  not  quite  satis- 
factory. [If  it  be  impossible,  as  according  to  Mr  Ellis  it  is,  to  regard  <  cheer '  as  a 
phonetic  spelling  of  chair,  then,  as  it  seems  to  me,  there  is  no  alternative  but  to  adopt 
the  reading  of  the  later  Ff ;  even  in  the  case  of  F,  there  is  less  torture  in  converting 
the  misspelling  '  dis-eate '  into  dis-ease  than  into  dis-seat.  Dis-ease  is  the  logical 
antithesis  to  '  cheer,'  and  is  used  with  no  little  force  in  the  earlier  versions  of  the 
New  Testament.  In  Luke,  viii,  49  (both  in  Cranmer's  Version,  1537,  and  in  the  ver- 
sion of  158 1 ),  '  Thy  daughter  is  dead,  disease  not  the  master.'  In  the  Prompt,  Parv, 
we  find  <  Dysbse,  or  greve.  Tedium,  gravamen,  calamitas,  angustia^  and  '  Dysesyn, 
or  grevyn.  Noceo,  Cath.  vexo,^  Cotgrave  gives :  '  Malaiser.  To  disease,  trouble,  dis- 
quiet, perplex.*  Richardson  {Diet,  s.  v.)  cites,  <  None  was  more  benygn  than  he  to 
men,  that  were  in  diseise  or  in  tourment.' — ^R.  Gloucester,  p.  483,  Note  7.  *  Petre 
seide  and  thei  that  weren  with  him,  comaundour,  the  puple  thrusten,  and  disesen 
[ajffligunt'\  thee.' — ^Wiclif,  Luke,  c.  8.  *  For  which  thing  I  deme  hem  that  of  hethene 
men  ben  convertid  to  god  to  be  not  diseesid  [inquietart].* — ^Ibid.  Dedis,  c.  15.  *And 
disese  [arumnctl  of  the  world  and  disceit  of  richessis.' — Ibid.  Mark,  c.  4.  '  In  the 
world  ghe  schulen  haue  disese  [pressuram"],  but  triste  ghe  I  haue  ouercome  the 
world.' — Ibid.  John,  c.  16.  Instances  are  also  given  from  Chaucer,  Sidney,  and 
Spenser  to  the  same  effect.  It  is,  perchance,  worth  noting  that  disease  is  used, 
in  this  sense,  twice  in  Middleton's  Witch,  See  Appendix, — £d.]~[Hudson 
(ed.  iii.)  :  <  Will  seat  me  firmly  on  the  throne  or  else  unseat  me  utterly.'  If  he 
whip  the  present  enemy,  his  tenure  of  the  crown  will  be  confirmed  ;  if  he  fail  now, 
there  will  be  no  more  hope  for  him. — ^Beljame  thus  translates  this  :  <  Cet  assaut 
Va  Cure  ma  joie  k  jamais  ou  me  mettre  2l  mal  aujouid'  hui.' — Deighton  :  To  the 
objection  that  the  word  chair  is  not  elsewhere  used  by  Shakespeare  as  a  verb,  it 
may  be  said  that  this  play  abounds  in  words  not  elsewhere  found  in  his  works,  that 
he  frequently  has  the  substantive  in  the  sense  of  throne;  to  the  objection  that,  used  as 
a  verb,  it  would  mean  to  place  in  a  chair,  not  keep  in  a  chair,  it  may  be  answered 
that  the  word  *  ever'  gives  the  required  idea  of  permanence  ;  to  the  objection  that, 
according  to  the  pronunciation  of  Shakespeare's  day,  '  cheere '  could  not  have  been 
a  phonetic  spelling  of  chair,  it  may  be  said  that  the  spelling  of  F,  is  too  eccentric 
for  any  certainty  one  way  or  the  other.  Disseat  occurs  in  the  Two  Noble  Kinsmen 
in  a  scene  that  is  undoubtedly  Shakespeare's  (V,  iv,  72),  where  as  here  the  word  is 
spelt  with  the  hyphen,  though  not  with  the  single  s. — Sherman  remarks  that '  the 
F,  editors  allow  within  a  few  lines  «diseas'd"  (1.  40)  and  « disease"  (1.  61)  with 
the  usual  spelling.'    He  adds :  *  No  instance  occurs  in  which  disease  is  distinguished 


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ACTV,sc.iu.]       THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  319 

I  haue  liu'd  long  enough  :  my  way  of  life  27 

27.  way\  May  Johns,  conj.  Var.  '78,  '85,  Coll.  ii.  (MS),    day  Cartwright 

fxom  the  usual  sense  of  disease  by  a  hyphen,  and  dis-  is  not  found  so  separated  in 
the  Folio  in  unusual  compounds  like  disedge^  disrelish^  or  in  cases  where  the  next 
word  begins  with  s.  Seat,  moreover,  is  not  generally  spelled  in  the  Folio  with  a 
finals.  The  verb  disease,  without  a  hyphen,  occurs  in  CorioL  I,  iii,  117.*  See 
'  dis-hearten,'  II,  iii,  35.— Ed.  ii.] 

27.  way  of  life]  Johnson  ( Obs,) :  As  there  is  no  relation  between  the  *  way  of  life  * 
and  '  fallen  into  the  sear,'  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  the  IV  is  only  an  M  inverted, 
and  that  it  was  my  May  of  life;  I  am  now  passed  from  the  spring  to  the  autumn  of 
my  days ;  but  I  am  without  those  comforts  that  should  succeed  the  sprightliness  of 
bloom,  and  support  me  in  this  melancholy  season.  Shakespeare  has  May  in  the 
same  sense  elsewhere.— Warburton  :  Macbeth  is  not  here  speaking  of  his  rule  or 
government^  or  of  any  sudden  change ;  but  of  the  gradual  decline  of  life,  as  appears 
from  line  29.  And  'way'  is  used  for  course,  progress, — Steevens  (i773»  '778, 
1785)  quotes  passages  from  Shakespeare's  contemporaries  to  prove  the  correctness 
of  Dr  Johnson's  emendation. — Henley  :  The  contrary  error  [may  for  *  way ']  occurs 
in  II,  i,  69. — Mason  (1785)  :  The  old  reading  should  not  have  been  discarded,  as 
the  following  passages  prove  that  it  was  an  expression  in  use  at  that  time,  as  <  course 
of  life'  is  now.  In  Massinger's  Very  Woman  :  'In  way  of  life  [youth]  I  did  enjoy 
one  friend,'  [vol.  iv,  p.  305,  ed.  1805.  See  note  by  Gifford,  infra, — Ed.  ii.]  Again 
[in  Tht  Roman  Actor,  vol.  ii,  p.  334,  Massinger's  IVorks,  ed.  Gifford],  *  If  that  when 
I  was  mistress  of  myself,  And  in  my  way  ofyouth,^  etc. — Malone  (1790)  :  May  (the 
month),  both  in  manuscript  and  print,  always  is  exhibited  with  a  capital  letter,  and 
it  is  exceedingly  improbable  that  a  compositor  at  the  press  should  use  a  small  w 
instead  of  a  capital  M, — Steevens  (1793)  :  In  Pericles,  I»  i,  54 :  '  —  ready  for  the 
way  of  life  or  death.' — Gifford  (Massinger,  A  Very  Woman,  vol.  iv.  p.  305,  ed. 
1805) :  The  phrase  is  neither  more  nor  less  than  a  simple  periphrasis  for  <  life ' ;  as 
'  way  of  youth'  in  the  text  is  for  'youth.'  A  few  examples  will  make  this  clear : 
• —  So  much  nobler  Shall  be  your  way  of  justice.' — Thierry  and  Theodoret.  [II, 
iii.  Examples  are  quoted  from  The  Queen  of  Corinth  and  Valentinian.'\  In  Mac- 
beth, '  the  sere  and  [sic]  yellow  leaf  is  the  commencement  of  the  winter  of  life,  or 
of  old  age ;  to  this  he  has  attained,  and  he  laments,  in  a  strain  of  inimitable  pathos 
and  beauty,  that  it  is  unaccompanied  by  those  blessings  which  render  it  support- 
able.— ^Walker  {Crit.  ii,  301) :  The  true  correction  is  undoubtedly  ilfo>'. — Coluer 
(ed.  ii.)  :  May  is  the  reading  of  the  MS  Corrector  and  doubtless  the  true  lang^uage 
of  Shakespeare.  It  needs  no  proof  that  '  way  of  life '  was  a  very  trite  phrase,  but 
the  more  trite  it  is  proved  to  be,  the  less  likely  is  it  that  Shakespeare  should  have 
used  it  here;  the  contrast  of  '  the  yellow  leaf  with  the  green  luxuriance  of  May  so 
completely  supports  our  text  that  we  have  no  misgiving  in  adopting  it — R.  G. 
White  :  Dr  Johnson's  emendation  is  a  step  proseward,  although  speciously  poetic. — 
Clarendon  :  Very  probably  Shakespeare  wrote  May,  but  we  have  not  inserted  it 
in  the  text,  remembering  with  what  careless  profusion  our  Poet  heaps  metaphor  on 
metaphor.  This  mixture  of  metaphors,  however,  is  not  justified  by  quoting,  as  the 
commentators  do,  passages  from  Shakespeare  and  other  authors  to  prove  that '  way 
of  life '  is  a  mere  periphrasis  for  '  life.'  The  objection  to  it  is,  that  it  is  immediately 
followed  by  another  and  different  metaphor.     If  we  were  to  read  May  we  should 


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320  THE  TR AGED  IE  OF  MACBETH      [act  v.  sc.  ui. 

Is  falne  into  the  Scare,  the  yellow  Leafe,  28 

And  that  which  fhould  accompany  Old- Age, 

As  Honor,  Loue,  Obedience,  Troopes  of  Friends,  30 

I  mud  not  looke  to  haue  :  but  in  their  deed, 

Curfes,  not  lowd  but  deepe,  Mouth-honor,  breath 

Which  the  poore  heart  would  faine  deny,  and  dare  not. 

Seyton  ? 

Enter  Sey ton.  35 

Sey.    What^s  your  gracious  pleafure  ? 

Mizcb,    What  Newes  more  ? 

Sey.    All  is  confirm^  my  Lord,  which  was  reported. 

M<ub.  He  fight,  till  from  my  bones,  my  flefli  be  hackt. 
Giue  me  my  Armor.  40 

Seyt.     'Tis  not  needed  yet 

Macb.     He  put  it  on  : 
Send  out  moe  Horfes,  sldrre  the  Country  round,  43 

29-33.  Mnemonic,  Pope.  Knt,   Cam.    Cla.      IVhat   is   Pope,   et 

31.  Jieedl^  ftead  Ff.  cet. 

•^l,  «»//]  but  Var.  '03,  '13,  '21,  Sing.  39.  be\  is  Ff,  Rowe,  Pope,  Han. 

i,  Huds.  i,  ii.  43.  fnoe\  F„  Cam.  Cla.     more  FJP^, 

34.  Seyton  ^]  Om.  Rowe,  Pope,  Han.  et  cet. 

36.  fVka/'s}  Ff,  D'Av.  Rowe,  Jen.  skirr f} /kirF^F^  et  seq, 

have  a  sense  exactly  parallel  to  a  passage  in  ^icA.  H:  III,  iv,  48,  49 :  '  He  that 
hath  suffered  this  disordered  spring  Hath  now  himself  met  with  the  fall  of  leaf.' 

28.  Seare]  Harry  Rowk  :  My  wooden  gentlemen  are  the  best  judges  of  the 
word  *■  sear.'  Some  of  the  upper  branches  of  every  old  oak  are  <  sear,'  that  is,  dry 
and  leafless,  as  may  be  seen  every  day. — Hunter  (ii,  198):  The  sear-month  is 
August  in  the  proverb,  'Good  to  cut  briars  in  the  sere-month,'  preserved  by  Aubrey 
in  his  MS  treatise  on  the  Remains  of  GentUism  in  England^  and  this  is  favourable 
to  the  change  of  way  into  May, 

30.  As]  Walker  (CWV.  i,  127)  :  As^  in  the  sense  of  to  wit,  [On  Hen,  VI H : 
IV,  i,  88]  :  •  As  *  is  here  used  not  in  the  sense  ol  for  instance,  but  in  that  of  namely^ 
to  wit:  it  expresses  an  enumeration  of  particulars,  not  a  selection  from  them  by  way 
of  example.  This  is  a  frequent, — perhaps,  indeed,  the  one  exclusive, — signification 
of  <w,  when  employed  in  this  construction  ;  e.  g.  j  Hen,  VI:  V,  vii,  4,  sqq.  (a 
striking  instance).  This  is  the  true  construction  of  'as'  in  a  number  of  passages, 
where  it  has  been,  or  is  likely  to  be,  mistaken  for  the  modem  usage. 

32.  Mouth-honor,  breath]  Sprague  :  Compare  Isaiah,  xxix,  13 ;  Matt,  xv,  8, 
and  Mark,  vii,  6,  *  This  people  draw  near  me  with  their  mouth,  and  with  their  lips 
do  honor  me,  but  have  removed  their  heart.' — Ed.  ii. 

34.  Seyton]  French  (p.  296)  :  The  Setons  of  Touch  were  (and  are  still)  hered- 
itary armour-bearers  to  the  kings  of  Scotland  ;  there  is  thus  a  peculiar  fitness  in  the 
choice  of  this  name. 

43.  moe]  Skeat  {Diet.)  :  The  modem  English  more  does  duty  for  two  Middle 


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ACT  V,  sc.  iii.]       THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  32 1 

Hang  thofe  that  talke  of  Feare.     Giue  me  mine  Armor : 

How  do's  your  Patient,  Do6lor?  45 

Do£l.     Not  fo  ficke  my  Lord, 
As  fhe  is  troubled  with  thicke-comming  Fancies 
That  keepe  her  from  her  reft. 

Macb.     Cure  of  that : 
Can'ft  thou  not  Minifter  to  a  minde  difeas'd,  50 

44.  talke  0/2  ftand  in  Ff,  Rowe.  50-55*  Mnemonic,  Pope,  Warb. 

49.  Cure]  Make  cure  Cla.  conj.  Cure  50.  io  a  minde']  V  a  mind  Walker 
her  F,  et  seq.                                                  (Vers.  p.  76).    to  minds  Pope,  Han. 

of]  from  FjF^,  Rowe. 

English  words  which  were,  generally,  well  distinguished,  viz,  mo  and  more,  the 
former  relating  to  number,  the  latter  to  size. . .  .  <  Mo  than  thries  ten,'  more  than 
thirty  in  number ;  Chaucer:  Cant.  Tales,  578.  .  .  .  The  distinction  between  mo  and 
more  is  not  always  observed  in  old  authors,  but  very  often  it  appears  clearly  enough. 
—Ed.  ii. 

43.  sldrre]  Steevens  :  To  scour,  to  ride  hastily.  See  Hen.  V:  IV,  vii,  64,  and 
Beaumont  &  Fletcher's  Bonduca,  I,  i,  '  —  light  shadows  That,  in  a  thought,  scur 
o'er  the  fields  of  com.' 

45,  61,  68.  your  .  .  .  thou  .  . .  your]  Skeat  ( William  o/Paleme,  p.  xlii,  E.  £. 
Text.  Soc  1867) :  Thou  is  the  language  of  a  lord  to  a  servant,  of  an  equal  to  an 
equal,  and  expresses  also  companionship,  love,  permission,  defiance,  scorn,  threat- 
ening ;  whilst  ye  is  the  language  of  a  servant  to  a  lord,  and  of  compliment,  and 
further  expresses  honour,  submission,  entreaty. — Abbott  (§  231) :  *  Thou '  in  Shake- 
speare's time  was  very  much  like  du  now  among  the  Germans,  the  pronoun  of  (i) 
affection  towards  friends,  (2)  good-humoured  superiority  to  servants,  and  (3)  con- 
tempt or  anger  to  strangers.  It  had,  however,  already  fallen  somewhat  into  disuse, 
and,  being  regarded  as  archaic,  was  naturally  adopted  (4)  in  the  higher  poetic  style 
and  in  the  language  of  solemn  prayer. — Ibid.  (§  235)  :  In  almost  all  cases  where  thou 
and  you  appear  indiscriminately  used,  further  considerations  show  some  change  of 
thought  or  some  influence  of  euphony  sufficient  to  account  for  the  change  of  pronoun. 

45.  Patient]  Bodbnstedt  :  There  is  not  a  trace  of  genuine  sympathy  in  anything 
that  Macbeth,  after  this  question,  says  of  Lady  Macbeth.  The  strength  of  his  selfish 
nature  crops  out  everywhere. 

50, 51.  Can'st  thou  .  . .  Sorrow]  Oxon  (p.  10) :  He  is  asking  for  himself  more 
than  his  wife.  The  allusion  here  to  <  a  mind  diseased '  and  to  <  these  terrible  dreams 
which  shake  us  nightly'  (HI,  ii,  24),  and  Lady  Macbeth's  words,  'You  lack  the 
season  of  all  natures,  sleep'  (HI,  iv,  172),  make  us  inclined  to  think  that,  after  the 
murder  of  Duncan,  Macbeth  was  in  a  state  of  delirium  produced  by  insomnia. — Ed.  ii. 

50.  not  Minister]  Badham  (p.  281)  :  I  suspect  that  the  negative  was  introduced 
by  the  players,  who  misplaced  the  accent  upon  *  minister.'  That  the  change  in  the 
pronunciation  was  taking  place  in  Shakespeare's  time,  is  proved  by  his  indifferently 
usmg  both  modes.  The  words  'canst  thou  do  this?'  sufficiently  indicate  the  spirit 
of  the  question.  *  Canst  thou  not '  dallies  with  the  false  supposition,  and  is  far  too 
playful  an  irony  to  consist  with  the  terrible  moralizings  of  remorse  with  which  Mac- 
beth closes  his  career.    Read :  <  Canst  thou  minister  to  a,'  etc. 

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322  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH      [act  v.  sc.  ui. 

Plucke  from  the  Memory  a  rooted  Sorrow,  5 1 

Raze  out  the  written  troubles  of  the  Braine, 

And  with  fome  fweet  Obliuious  Antidote 

Cleanfe  the  (lufft  bofome,  of  that  perillous  fluffe  54 

52.  Ra»e\   Raife  Fj,   Rowe.     Ra/e  Han.    steefidVLvXXtxmy    stuff* dThto\i, 
F^.     'Rase  Cap.  (Eirata).  et  cet. 

53.  fweet   Obliuiotu]    sweet-oblivums  54.  ftuffe'\  load  Verplanck,  Coll.  ii, 
Walker  (Crit  i,  38).  iii.  (MS),     matter  Ktly  conj.     fraught 

54.  ftufffl  Ff,  Rowe,  Cap.  yW/Pope,  Kinnear. 


50.  diseas'd]  Singer  :  The  following  very  remarkable  passage  on  the  Amadigi 
of  Bernardo  Tasso,  which  bears  a  striking  resemblance  to  the  words  of  Macbeth, 
was  first  pointed  out  in  Weber*  s  ed.  of  Ford  :  '  Ma  chi  puote  con  erbe,  od  aigomenti 
Goarir  rinfermitk  del  intelletto  ?* — Cant,  xxxvi,  st.  37. — [Verity  :  Compare  Two 
Noble  Kinsmen^  IV,  iii,  [59]  :  '  I  think  she  has  a  perturbed  mind  which  I  cannot 
minister  to.'  The  same  scene  in  the  Kinsmen  shows  plainly  the  influence  of  the 
sleep-walking  scene  in  Macbeth, — Ed.  ii.] 

52.  Braine]  Deuus  :  We  have  the  same  figure  in  Hamlet^  I,  v,  98-103. 

53.  sweet  Obliuious]  Clarendon:  That  is,  causing  forgetfulness^  like  oblhnosus 
in  Latin:  « — Oblivioso  levia  Massico  Ciboria  exple.* — Horace,  Odes^  ii,  7,  21. 
Among  the  meanings  which  Cotgrave  gives  to  oblimeuxy  is  *  causing  foigetfiilnesse. ' 

54.  stufft . . .  stuffe]  Steevens  :  For  the  sake  of  the  ear,  I  am  willing  to  read 
foul  instead  of  <  stufif'd ' ;  there  is  authority  for  the  change  in  As  You  Like  It^  II, 
vii,  60.  We  properly  speak  of  cleansing  what  is  foul^  but  not  what  is  stuffed. — 
Malone  :  Shakespeare  was  extremely  fond  of  such  repetitions :  Thus,  <  Now  for  the 
kve  oilove^*  Ant,  &*  Cleo,  I,  i,  44 ;  *  The  greatest ^ra<r^  lending ^ar^,*  AlPs  Well, 
II,  i,  163  ;  '  Our  means  will  make  us  means^*  Ibid,  V,  i,  35  ;  « Is  only  better  to  him 
only  dying,'  Hen,  VIII :  II,  i,  74 ;  *  Upon  his  brow  shame  is  ashamed  to  sit,'  Rom, 
^  Jul,  III,  ii,  92;  *For  by  this  knot  thou  shalt  so  surely  tie  Thy  now  unsur'd 
assurance  to  the  crown,'  King  John^  II,  i,  471  ;  *  Believe  me,  I  do  not  believe  (hee, 
man,'  Ibid,  III,  i,  9 ;  *  Those  he  commands  move  only  in  command^*  Macb,  V,  ii, 
25. — Collier  (ed,  i.)  :  The  error,  if  any,  lies  in  the  last  word  of  the  line,  which, 
perhaps,  the  printer  mistook,  having  composed  *  stuff *d'  just  before.  It  is  vain  to 
speculate  what  word  to  substitute,  but  from  its  position  it  need  not  necessarily  be 
of  one  syllable  only.— Ibid.  {Notes,  etc.,  p.  4*6)  :  From  the  MS  Corrector  we 
learn  that  ^ri^ ought  to  have  been  inserted  instead  of  *  stuff';  and  it  is  not  impossi- 
ble that  the  recurrence  of  the  letter/had  something  to  do  with  the  blunder.— Dyce 
i^Few  Notes,  etc.,  p.  129)  :  These  repetitions,  as  well  as  his  quibbles  in  serious  dia- 
logue, etc.,  Shakespeare  would  doubtless  have  avoided  had  he  lived  in  an  age  of 
severer  taste.  [Dyce  here  subjoins  over  thirty  instances  which  evince  the  fondness  of 
our  early  authors  for  jingles  of  this  description,  and  ends  his  note  with  the  query] 
Does  not  the  MS  Corrector  introduce  a  great  impropriety  of  expression, — *  cleanse 
the  bosom  of  grief  '? — ^Walker  {Crit,  i,  276)  :  This  species  of  corruption,— the  sub- 
stitution of  a  particular  word  for  another  which  stands  near  it  in  the  context,  more  espe- 
cially if  there  happens  to  be  some  resemblance  between  the  two, . . .  occurs  frequently  in 
the  Folio.  [This  line  is  quoted,  but  no  emendation  suggested.] — Collier  (ed.  ii.): 
Certain  we  are  that  grief  is  a  vastly  better  reading  than  *  stuff.'  We  are  confident  that 
neither  the  many  passages  cited  by  Dyce,  nor  as  many  more  (which  might  be  readily 


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ACT  V,  sc.  iii.]       THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  323 

Which  weighes  vpon  the  heart?  55 

Doa.    Therein  the  Patient 
Muft  minifter  to  himfelfe. 

Macb.    Throw  Phyficke  to  the  Dogs,  He  none  of  it. 
Come,  put  mine  Armour  on  :  giue  me  my  Staffe  : 
SeytoHj  fend  out :  Do6lor,  the  Thanes  flyefrom  me;  60 

Come  fir,  difpatch.     If  thou  could'ft  Doflor,  caft 
The  Water  of  my  Land,  finde  her  Difeafe, 
And  purge  it  to  a  found  and  priftiue  Health, 
I  would  applaud  thee  to  the  very  Eccho, 

That  fliould  applaud  againe.     PuU't  off  I  fay,  65 

What  Rubarb,  Cyme,  or  what  Purgatiue  drugge 

57.  to]  unto  Ff,  Rowe,  +  ,  Var.  '73.  63.  priftiue]  pHftine  Ff. 

to  himfelfe]  /'  himself  Walker  66.  Cyme]  D'Av.  Glo.  Cam.  i.    Omy 

(Vers.  p.  76).  F^Fj.      sirrah    Bulloch,      cymi   Ktly. 

59.  mine]  my  F^,  Rowe,+.  fenna  F^,  et  cet 

accomulated),  would  satisfy  a  judicious  and  impartial  reader  with  <  stuff'  in  opposition 
to  ^^.— Bailey  (i,  83) :  Steevens*s  reading  is  right.— Ingleby  (p.  39) :  Without 
going  the  length  of  saying  that  I  accept  the  emendation  grief  vice  '  stuff/  I  must 
say  that  I  think  it  has  more  to  recommend  it  than  nine-tenths  of  those  which  have 
received  popular  favour. — Staunton:  Notwithstanding  Malone*s  defence  of  the 
repetition,  we  are  strongly  inclined  to  believe  with  Steevens  that  the  line  originally 
stood  as  he  presents  it,  or  thus  :  •  Cleanse  the  clog^d  bosom/  etc.,  or,  * —  of  that 
perilous  load,* — Clarendon  :  This  can  hardly  be  right.  One  or  other  of  these 
words  must  be  due  to  a  mistake  of  transcriber  or  printer.  For  '  stuff 'd'  some 
have  conjectured  .  .  .  ^fraught*  ^pres^d,^  Others  would  alter  'stuff'  to  .  .  . 
^slough*  or  *  freight,*  [For  Staunton's  opinion  in  reference  to  repetitions,  see 
IV,  iii,  235.] 

59.  Staffe]  Clarendon  :  The  general's  baton. 

61.  cast]  Steevens  :  This  was  the  word  in  use  for  finding  out  disorders  by  in- 
q>ection  of  the  water. 

65.  Puirt  .  .  .  say]  Delius  :  Addressed  to  Seyton,  who,  while  busily  untying 
some  band  or  other,  is  commanded  to  break  it  off  instead. 

66.  Cjrme]  Dyce  {Remarks^  p.  201)  :  Senna  is  right ;  the  long  list  of  drugs  in 
T^e  Rates  of  Marchandizes^  etc.,  furnishes  no  other  word  for  which  *cyme'  could 
possibly  be  a  misprint. — Hunter  :  The  F,  correctly  represents  the  pronunciation 
of  the  name  of  the  drug,  now  called  senna ^  in  Shakespeare's  time,  and  is  still  the  pro- 
nunciation of  it  by  the  common  people.  Thus,  in  The  Treasurie  of  Hidden  Secrets, 
1627,  'Take  seene  of  Alexandria  one  ounce,'  etc.  The  line  has  lost  something  of 
its  melody  by  the  substitution  of  senna  for  the  softer  word  cany,  which  ought  to  have 
been  retained.  We  may  go  on  altering  our  language  if  we  please,  but  let  us  not 
throw  on  our  dead  poets  the  reproach  of  having  written  inharmoniously,  when  only 
we  have  ourselves,  through  conceit,  thought  proper  to  abrogate  very  good  and  ser- 
viceable terms. — ^Badham  (p.  281) :  The  only  pretension  to  probability  [of  senna] 
is,  that  the  Pharmacopoeia  offers  us  no  cathartic  whose  name  is  not  still  more  remote 


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324  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH      [act  v,  sc.  iiL 

Would  fcowre  thefe  Englifti  hence  :  hear'ft  ^  of  them  ?  67 

D06I.     I  my  good  Lord  :  your  Royall  Preparation 

Makes  vs  heare  fomething. 

M(icb.    Bring  it  after  me  :  70 

I  will  not  be  affraid  of  Death  and  Bane, 

Till  Bimane  Forrest  come  to  Dunfinane.  72 

67.  heme  .•]  hence  f  Cap.  et  seq.  72.  Bimane'\  Bimam  Ft 

heat^ftl  Hearest  Cap.  Var.  Mai.  [Exeunt     all     except     Doctor. 

Ran.  Steev.  Var.  Sing,  i,  Knt,  Huds.  i.  Dyce,   Sta.      Exit  with  his  annourer 

y\  thou  Ff.  and  other  followers.  Coll.  ill. 

fix>m  the  corrupted  word.  What  then  if  we  change  the  treatment,  and  read : '  What 
rhubaxb,  clysme^  or/  etc  If  I  am  asked  what  authority  I  have  for  this  form  in  the 
English  language  I  am  at  a  loss  for  anything  better  than  cataclysm  in  the  sense  of 
deluge.  But  Herodotus  (Bk,  ii,  ch,  87)  uses  KXhaua  in  the  sense  of  icXwrr^p.  It 
would  be  worth  while  to  look  in  The  fanwus  Hystorye  of  Herodotus  in  Engfyshe,  to 
see  how  this  is  rendered.  Wellesley  :  In  Malone*s  copy  of  F,  Ceeny  is  corrected 
in  old  pen  and  ink  to  Ceene,  [No  mention  that  I  can  find  is  made  of  this  in  the 
eds.  of  1773,  1785,  Malone's  1790,  Steevens's  1793,  Reed's  1803,  1813,  Boswell's 
1821,  nor  in  Malone's  1st  or  2d  Supplement. — Ed.]  This  contemporary  MS  cor- 
rection hits  the  pronunciation,  though  it  misses  the  orthography,  of  the  right  word 
Seney  a  monosyllable,  the  proper  English  word  for  Senna,  In  the  Great  Herbal 
printed  by  Peter  Treveris,  in  the  Herbal  printed  by  Thomas  Petyt  in  1541,  in  the 
reprint  of  the  same  by  William  Copland,  in  Lyte's  New  Herbal^  1578  and  1619,  in 
Geraxde's  Herbal,  1597,  there  are  whole  chapters  Of  Sene.  And  it  is  Sene  in  Cot- 
grave  and  Howell's  dictionaries,  and  Parkinson  in  his  Herbal,  1640,  mentions  two 
sorts  of  Sene  tree — I.  Sene  of  Alexandria  ;  2.  the  Sene  of  Italy.  Burton's  Anatomy, 
even  so  late  as  the  ed.  1660,  p.  378,  mentions  *  Colutea,  which  Fuchsius,  cap.  168, 
and  others  take  for  Sene,  but  most  distinguish.'  The  printers  of  that  period  used  a 
for  ee  or  a  long  e.  We  have  Scena  and  Sctena  indifferently  in  F,.  We  find  a  Sien- 
nese  set  down  as  *  Scenase '  in  « Susses '  Englished  by  Gascoigne,  1566 ;  and  the 
volume  is  *  Imprinted  by  Abel  Jeffes  dwelling  in  the  Fore  Straete  without  Craeple- 
gate,  nsere  unto  Grub-strsete.'  If  therefore  it  should  appear  that  Senna  never  occurs 
as  an  English  word  till  long  after  Shakespeare,  ought  we  not  to  read  « What  Rhu- 
barb, Sene  or/  etc.— [Nicholson  {N.  6r»  Qu.  21  Feb.  1880) :  I  surest  the  following : 
F,  and  F3  read  Qeny,  and  F^  Senna,  a  word  generally  adopted,  but  apparently  a  mere 
guess,  derived  bom  the  supposed  pronunciation  of  Cany.  Other  alterations  in  F,  de- 
cisively prove  that  there  had  been  no  recurrence  to  the  original  MSS.  But  it  is  dear 
that  the  editor  of  F,  thought « Cyme '  an  error.  The  y  being  used  to  express  the  want- 
ing syllable,  I  think  he  was  right  in  believing  that  the  iw  of  *  Cyme '  was  a  misprint 
or  misreading  for  ne,  and  that  Shakespeare's  word  was  Cynea,  or  an  Anglicised  form 
of  it,  Cynee,  the  Canina  Brassica,  the  mercury,  French  and  dog  mercuries,  etc.,  of  our 
older  authors.  What  is  wanted  is  a  *  purgative  drug,'  similar  to  rhubarb.  John  Parkin- 
son, writing  in  1640,  says,  p.  298  :  '  The  decoction  of  the  leaves  of  Mercury,  or  the 
juice  thereof  taken  in  broth  or  drink  . . .  purgeth  choUerick  and  waterish  humours. 
...  It  is  frequently  and  to  very  good  effect  given  in  glisters,  and  worketh ...  as  if  so 
much  Sene  had  been  put  into  the  decoction.' — Ed.  ii.] 


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ACT  V,  sc.  iv.]       THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  325 

Do£l.    Were  I  from  Dunfinane  away^and  cleere,  73 

Profit  againe  fhould  hardly  draw  me  heere.         Exeunt 


Scena  Qtiarta. 


Drum  and  Colours.  Enter  Malcolme ,  Seyward^  Macduff e^  2 

Seywards  Sonne  ^  Mentethj  Cathnes^  Angus ^ 
and  Soldiers  Marching. 

Male.    Cofins,  I  hope  the  dayes  are  neere  at  hand  5 

That  Chambers  will  be  fafe. 

Ment.    We  doubt  it  nothing* 

Syew.  What  wood  is  this  before  vs  ? 

Ment.    The  wood  of  Bimane. 

Malc^    Let  euery  Souldier  hew  him  downe  a  Bough^  10 

And  bear't  before  him,  thereby  (hall  we  fhadow 
The  numbers  of  our  Hoaft,  and  make  dif  couery 
Erre  in  report  of  vs.  1 3 

73.  [Aside]  Han.  Cap.  Mai.  Glo.  2,3.  Seyward...Seywards  Sonne]  0/1/ 
Cflon.  Wh.  ii.                                                    Siward  and  his  Son,  Dyce  et  seq. 

74.  Exeunt]  Exit  Steev.  Se]rward  ...  Seywards    Sonne, 

1.  Scene  III.  Booth.     Scene  II.        Menteth,  Cathnes,  Angus,]  Om.  Booth. 
Inring,  Robertson.  5.  Cofins]  Omfin  F,F^  Rowe,  Pope, 

A  Wood.  Rowe.    Bimam  Wood.  Han. 
Pope,  +  .    Plains  leading  to  Dunsinane ;  7,  9.  Ment]  Lennox.  Booth, 

a  Wood  adjacent.  Cap.  et  seq.  (subs.)  8.  Syew.]  Rosse.  Booth. 

2.  Drum      and      Colours.]      Om.  9.  Bimane\  Bymam  F,.     Bimam 
Rowe,+.  FjF^. 

I.  Scena  Quarta]  Irving  (Acting  Vers.  p.  7)  mentions  that  the  invading  army, 
as  he  presents  it  on  the  stage,  is  seen  approaching  Bimam  by  moonlight,  and,  in 
support  of  this,  quotes  the  following  from  Holinshed,  v,  276,  ed.  1808,  *  Maloolme 
following  hastilie  after  Makbeth,  came  the  night  before  the  battell  vnto  Bimane 
wood  . . .  ,*  etc. — Ed.  ii. 

6.  That]  Abbott  (§  484) :  At  which  time ;  when.    [See  III,  ii,  40.] 

6.  Chambers]  Ritter  :  Referring  to  the  circumstances  of  their  father's  murder. — 
Hudson  (ed.  ii.) :  Referring  to  the  spies,  mentioned  at  III,  iv,  162,  prowling  about 
private  chambers  and  listening  at  key-holes.  [For  <  chambers,'  in  sense  of  lodging- 
rooms,  see  Schmidt  {Lex,), — Ed.  ii.] 

9.  Bimane]  Clarendon  :  Bimam  is  a  high  hill  near  Dunkeld,  twelve  miles  W. 
N.  W.  of  Dunsinnan. 

10-13.  I^t  euery  Souldier . . .  Erre  in  report  of  vs]  Coluer  :  So  in  De- 
looey's  ballad  in  praise  of  Kentishmen,  published  in  Strange  Histories,  1607  (reprinted 


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326  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH      [act  v.  sc.  iv. 

[10-13.  Let  euery  Souldier  .  .  .  Erre  in  report  of  vs] 
by  Percy  Society,  vol.  iii. ),  they  conceal  their  numbers  by  the  boughs  of  trees. — 
Dyce  (Remarks f  p.  202)  :  This  incident  was  versified  by  Deloney  from  a  passage 
in  that  very  Holinshed  who  supplied  Shakespeare  with  the  materials  for  Macbeth, 
[The  lines  in  Deloney*  s  ballad  are  as  follows :  <  Thus  did  the  Kentish  Commons 
crie  unto  thdr  leaders  still.  And  so  marcht  forth  in  warlike  sort  and  stand  on  Swans- 
combe  hill. .  . .  And  for  the  Conquerors  coming  there  they  privily  laid  waight.  And 
thereby  sodainely  appald  his  lofty  high  conceipt  For  when  they  spied  his  approch,  in 
place  as  they  did  stand,  Then  marched  they  to  hem  him  in,  each  one  a  bough  in  hand. 
So  that  unto  the  Conquerors  sight  amazed  as  he  stood,  they  seemed  to  be  a  walking 
grove,  or  els  a  mooving  wood.' — ^J.  W.  Redhousk  {Academy^  24  July,  1886)  states 
that  the  Arabian  writer,  Mes'Qdiyy  (a.  d.  943),  relates  in  Meadcws  of  Gold  and 
Mines  of  Gems,  ch.  zlvii,  an  incident  *  wherein  boughs  were  used  to  conceal  an 
anny,  which  ruse  caused  the  total  destruction  of  the  ancient  Arabian  tribe  of  the 
Jedis,  not  very  long  after  the  confusion  of  tongues  at  Babel. ..."  Certain  troops 
were  commanded  to  pluck  up  by  the  roots,  every  man,  a  young  tree  from  a  forest  they 
had  to  pass  through,  and  carry  this  before  him,  so  as  to  hide  the  advancing  host 
The  anny  advanced  and,  having  surprised  the  town,  slaughtered  the  inhabitants  and 
thus  exterminated  the  tribe.'' '  '  If  the  Bimam  Wood  incident  really  occurred,'  adds 
Redhouse,  '  here  is  a  surprising  coincidence ;  and  if  it  was  a  monkish  embellishment 
it  might  be  interesting  to  trace  the  story  fix>m  the  East,  if  possible.' — M.  Jastrow, 
Jr.  (Poet-Lore,  1890,  vol.  ii,  p.  247)  also  gives  the  Arabic  Legend  quoted  by  Red- 
house,  and  states  that  the  story  may  be  found  <  in  a  commentary  to  an  old  Arabic 
poem  known  among  scholars  as  the  «  Himyaritic  Kastd6,"  by  Neshwan,  el-Himyari 
(f.  e,  the  Himyarite),  who  flourished  in  the  twelfth  century  of  this  era.  The  sources 
from  which  it  is  drawn  go  back  to  the  generation  immediately  following  upon 
Mohammed,  so  that  this  Arabic  version  is,  in  all  probability,  the  oldest  recorded.* 
In  conclusion  Jastrow  remarks :  *  While  I  am  inclined  to  regard  the  Arabic  version  as 
approaching  close  to  the  primitive  form,— certainly  far  more  primitive  in  its  features 
than  any  of  the  others, — I  do  not  think  that  scholars  will  hit  upon  Arabia  as  the  final 
source.  Woods  and  forests  are  not  the  characteristic  features  of  Arabia,  and,  while 
parts  of  Arabia,  more  particularly  along  the  southern  coast,  are  wooded,  the  district 
of  Jemama,  where  the  seat  of  the  Gadlsites  is  placed  [Redhouse  has  <  Jedis '],  is  not 
so.  Here  nature  presents  a  sterile  and  rugged  aspect.  We  have  the  desert  and  the 
rocks,  but  not  the  shady  woods.  It  is  likely  that  we  will  eventually  be  led  to  India, 
the  home  of  so  many  tales  that  have  wandered  all  over  the  world.' — G.  Neilson 
(Scottish  Antiquary,  Oct.  1897,  p.  53) :  The  moving  wood  itself,  divested  of  its  pro- 
phetic associations,  is  not  peculiar  to  Macbeth's  mythical  history,  but,  though  much 
less  luxuriant  in  form,  occurs  in  one  or  two  other  places.  Saxo  Grammaticus  (bk,  vii.) 
describes  the  like  stratagem  on  shore  made  use  of  by  Hakon,  son  of  Hamund,  advancing 
to  attack  Sigar.  Hakon's  order  was  that  boughs  should  be  cut  and  carried  by  his 
men ;  so  that,  when  they  advanced  into  the  open,  a  woody  shade  might  not  be  want- 
ing. Sigar*  s  sentinel  rushes  to  his  bedside  to  announce  that  he  saw  leaves  and 
shrubs  marching  in  the  manner  of  men.  Sigar  asks  in  reply.  How  far  distant  is  the 
coming  wood  ?  And  when  he  knows  that  it  is  at  hand  he  pronounces  it  a  portent 
of  his  own  death — from  which  some  conunentators  have  concluded  that  Saxo's  words 
imply  a  previous  oracle  like  Macbeth's  (see  Saxo,  ed.  Stephanius,  1644,  pp.  84, 
132-3,  and  Elton's  translation  of  the  first  nine  books.  Nutt,  1894,  pp,  185,  286). . . . 
There  was,  however,  in  Scottish  history  one  example  of  a  moving  wood  which  there  is 


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ACT  V,  sc.  iv.]       THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH  327 

Sold.     It  (hall  be  done. 

Syw.     We  leame  no  other,  but  the  confident  Tyrant  15 

Keepes  ftill  in  Dunfinane^and  will  indure 
Our  fetting  downe  befor't. 

Mak.     ^Tis  his  maine  hope  : 
For  where  there  is  aduantage  to  be  giuen,  19 

15.  Syw.]  Lennox.  Booth.  19.  g%iien\  gone  Cap.  Sing.  ii.    taken 

confident^  confined  Warb.  Chedworth,  Ktly,  Bailey,  ta'en  Walker, 

18.  maini\  vain  Leo.  Dyce  ii,  ill,  Huds.  ii,  iii.  gotten  Coll.  ii, 

19.  to  ie}  only  Kinnear.  iii.  (MS),    gained  Sing,  i,  conj. 

no  need  to  brand  as  mythical.  In  1332,  after  the  batde  of  Dapplin,  in  which  he  had 
defeated  the  national  party,  Edward  Baliol  took  possession  of  Perth.  Patrick,  Earl 
of  March,  in  an  assault  upon  that  city,  went  to  the  wopd  of  Lamberkine,  'And  thare 
ilk  man  a  fagote  made  [Swa]  towart  Perth  held  strawcht  the  way.  Wyth  thai  fagottis 
thai  thowcht  that  thai  Suld  dyt  the  dykis  suddanly,  And  till  thare  fays  pas  on 
playnly.  Qwhen  thai  off  the  town  can  thame  se  That  semyd  ane  hare  wode  for  to  be 
Thay  ware  abaysjrt  grettumly '  ( Wyntoun,  viii,  3582-89). ...  It  does  not  seem  impos- 
sible to  conceive  that  this  scheme  of  Earl  Patrick's,  for  filling  up  with  fascines  from  the 
wood  of  Lamberkine  the  antemural  fosses  of  Perth,  may,  in  the  ninety  years  between 
Dupplin  batUe  and  the  writing  of  Wyntoun' s  Cronykil^  have  contributed  largely  to 
the  Perthshire  legend  of  Bimam  and  Dunsinane. . .  .  The  story  of  Macbeth  and  the 
moving  grove  seems  by  no  means  a  common  one,  and  the  occurrence  of  two  versions 
in  one  county  of  Scotland  must  arouse  questions  regarding  the  relation  of  the  one  to 
the  other.  Time,  circumstances,  and  assigned  cause  unite  to  favour  the  record  of 
Earl  Patrick's  exploit  at  Perth  as  true.  It  stands  every  test,  including  that  of  geog- 
raphy, for  Lamberkine  is  only  some  two  miles  west  of  Perth.  Macbeth 's  story,  on 
the  other  hand,  is  not  only  admittedly  unhistorical ;  geography  is  fatal  even  to  its 
vraisemblance.  Dunsinane  lies,  as  the  crow  flies,  fully  fifteen  miles  south-east  of 
Birnam,  and  the  Tay  flows  between.  One  finds  it  hard  to  think  of  Malcolm  and 
Siward's  troops  bearing  their  boughs  all  that  distance.  The  Bimam  tale  is  radically 
legendary ;  the  Lamberkine  incident  is  almost  beyond  question  historical ;  but  there 
is  in  each  the  rare  phenomenon  of  the  moving  wood,  and  the  scene  is  in  each  case 
within  a  few  miles  of  Perth.  The  query,  therefore,  grows  pertinent — Have  we  at 
bottom  one  tale  or  two  ?  We  have,  on  the  one  hand,  a  simple  historical  fact,  and 
on  the  other  a  variant  with  added  marvel  and  diablerie. . . .  There  is  more  helpful- 
ness than  hazard  in  the  suggestion  that  the  true  incident  at  Lamberkine  in  1332 
may  have  furnished  a  nucleus  for  the  embellished  legend  of  Biraam,  which  is  not 
known  to  have  been  reduced  to  writing  earlier  than  1420.  So  there  would  be  one 
historical  original  and  its  legendary  outgrowth ;  a  simple  fact  and  what  it  became 
when  magnified  and  touched  with  miracle  by  popular  imagination. — See  also  Appen- 
dix: Source  of  the  /V<7^~SiMR0CK. — Ed.  ii.] 

17.  setting  downe]  For  '  set  down,'  used  in  sense  of  to  begin  a  siege^  see 
Schmidt  (Z^jt.).— Ed.  ii. 

19.  giaen]  Johnson:  The  impropriety  of  the  expression  'advantage  to  be  given,' 
instead  of  advantage  given^  and  the  disagreeable  repetition  of  the  word  <  given,'  in  the 
next  line,  incline  me  to  read :  *  —  where  there  is  a  'vantage  to  be  gone.'   'Advantage ' 


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328  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH      [act  v,  sc.  iv. 

Both  more  and  lefle  haue  giuen  him  the  Reuolt,  20 

And  none  ferue  with  him^  but  conftrained  things^ 
Whofe  hearts  are  abfent  too. 

Macd.    Let  our  iuil  Cenfures 
Attend  the  true  euent,  and  put  we  on  24 

23,  24.  Let,„Attend'\  Let  our  beft  Censures  Before  Ff.  Set  our  best  Censures 
Before  Rowe.     Let  our  best  ceniurus  Before  Jackson. 

or  ^vantage,  in  the  time  of  Shakespeare,  signified  opportunity.  He  shat  up  himself 
and  his  soldiers  (says  Malcolm)  in  the  castle,  because  when  there  is  an  opportunity 
to  be  gone,  they  all  desert  him. — Steevkns  :  Read,  if  alteration  be  necessary,  *  —  ad- 
vantage to  \i^got,^  But  the  words  of  the  text  will  bear  Dr  Johnson's  explanation, 
which  is  most  certainly  right :  '  For  wherever  an  opportunity  of  flight  is  given  them,' 
etc — Henley  :  Where  advantageous  ofiiers  are  made  to  allure  the  adherents  of  Mac- 
beth to  forsake  him. — Coluer  (Notes ^  p.  416)  :  Advantage  was  hardly  so  much  to 
be  '  given '  as  to  be  procured  by  revolt ;  and  as  it  also  seems  unlikely  that  the  same 
verb  should  have  been  used  in  the  very  next  line,  we  may  feel  confident  that  when 
the  MS  Corrector  puts  it  gotten^  he  was  warranted  in  making  the  change.— Clar- 
endon :  This  passage,  as  it  stands,  is  not  capable  of  any  satisfactoxy  explanation. . . . 
We  should  have  expected  was  rather  than  '  is,'  unless,  indeed, '  where '  be  taken  in 
in  the  sense  of  wherever.  The  meaning  is, '  where  they  had  a  favourable  oppor- 
tunity for  deseiting.'  . . .  We  rather  incline  to  think  that  the  word  <  given '  would  not 
have  been  used  in  the  second  line,  if  it  had  not  been  already  used  in  the  first,  a  play 
upon  words  very  much  in  Shakespeare's  manner.  Perhaps  it  should  stand  thus : 
*  —  advantage  given  to  flee,*  or,  *  —  advantage  to  'em  given.' — Allen  (MS)  :  Read 
'  For  there ^  there  is  advantage  to  be  given.'  To  give  advantage  is  equivalent  to 
giving  odds  (as  in  Chess).  He  who  is  in  a  fortress  can  give  odds  of  ten  to  one  to 
the  attacking  party.  Shakespeare  is  familiar  with  the  idea  of  giving  odds,  e.  g. 
Rich.  II:  I,  i,  62,  « Which  to  maintain  I  would  allow  him  odds,'  and  i  Hen.  IV: 
IV,  iii,  2,  'You  might  give  him  the  advantage.' — [Sprague  :  If  we  regard  the  an- 
tithesis as  being  between  <  advantage '  and  '  revolt,'  perhaps  the  Folio  text  will  afibrd 
a  sufficient  meaning.  Thus :  wherever  there  is  an  advantageous  position,  or  other 
favour,  that  might  be  given  to  Macbeth  by  loyal  subjects,  there  his  subjects  have 
abandoned  the  post  to  the  enemy,  have  withheld  all  benefit  fipom  Macbeth,  and  have 
given  him  not  'advantage,'  but  'revolt !' — Ed.  ii.] 

20.  more  and  lease]  Johnson  :  The  same  with  greater  and  tess.  In  the  interpo- 
lated Mandeville,  a  book  of  that  age,  there  is  a  chapter  of  India  the  More  and  the 
Less. — ^Abbott  (§  17) :  More  and  most  are  frequently  used  as  the  comparative  and 
superlative  of  the  adjective  '  great.'  Thus,  in  the  present  instance,  and  also  in  i  Hen. 
IV:  IVy  iii,  68 ;  ^  Hen.  IV:  I,  i,  209.  That  '  less '  here  refers  to  rank,  and  not  to 
number,  is  illustrated  by  'What  great  ones  do,  the  less  will  prattle  of.' — Twelfth 
Night,  I,  ii,  33.  [Compare :  <  Mirth  is  to  be  vsed  both  of  more  and  lesse.' — Ralph 
Roister  Doister ;  Prologue. — Ed.  ii.] 

22.  Irving  here  inserts  the  speech  of  Angus,  V,  ii,  22-28,  and  assigns  it  to 
Lenox. — Ed.  ii. 

23.  Censures]  Elwin  :  Let  our  just  decisions  on  the  defection  of  Macbeth' s  fol- 
lowers attend  upon  the  actual  result  of  the  battle ;  and  let  us,  meanwhile,  be  indus- 
trious soldiers.    That  is,  let  us  not  be  negligent  through  security. — Clarendon  : 


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ACT  V,  sc.  v.]        THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  329 

Induflrious  Souldierfhip.  25 

Sey.    The  time  approaches, 
That  will  with  due  decifion  make  vs  know 
What  we  (hall  fay  we  haue^and  what  we  owe : 
Thoughts  fpeculatiue,  their  vnfure  hopes  relate. 
But  certaine  iifue,  ftroakes  mufl  arbitrate,  30 

Towards  which,  aduance  the  warre.       Exeunt  inarching 


Scena  Quinfa. 


Enter  Macbeth^  Seyton^  &  SauldierSy  imth  2 

Drum  and  Colours. 

Macb.     Hang  out  our  Banners  on  the  outward  walls,  4 

26.  Sey.]  Macduff.  Booth.  the  Castle.  Cap. 

I.  SocNB  IV.   Booth.     ScENX  III.  3.  Drum  and  Colours.]   Drum  and 

Irving,  Robertson.  Dolours.  F  .     Drums  and  Colours.  F^. 

The  Castle.  Rowc.    Dunsinane.  4.  wa^,]  Ff,D'Av.+.    wails  I  CoW, 

Pope.    Dunsinane.    A  Plat-form  within  iii.     walis ;  Cap.  et  cet 

The  meaning  of  this  obscurely  worded  sentence  must  be :  In  order  that  our  opinions 
may  be  just,  let  them  await  the  event  that  will  test  their  truth.  Rowe's  reading 
gives  indeed  a  sense,  but  scarcely  that  which  is  required. 

28.  haue  . .  .  owe]  Stebvens  :  When  we  are  governed  by  legal  kings,  we  shall 
know  the  limits  of  their  claim,  t.  e,  shall  know  what  we  have  of  our  own,  and  what 
they  have  a  right  to  take  from  us.  To  '  owe '  is  here  to  possess. — Delius  :  Although 
Shakespeare  frequently  uses  to  <  owe '  in  the  sense  of  to  possess,  yet  in  this  instance 
that  meaning  would  be  tautological,  connected  as  the  word  is  with  'have*;  it  must 
therefore  be  taken  in  its  present  meaning  /o  be  indebted.  The  decision  of  the  battle 
will  show  us  what  we  have  and  at  the  same  time  what  it  is  our  duty  yet  to  do. — 
Clarendon  :  '  Owe '  is  here  used  in  its  ordinary  modem  sense.  Siward  says  that 
the  issue  will  enable  them  to  balance  their  accounts,  as  it  were. 

29.  speculatiue]  For  the  scansion  of  this  line,  see  Abbott  (§  468),  or  II,  iv,  13. 

30.  arbitrate]  Clarendon:  Elsewhere  in  Shakespeare  it  is  followed  by  an 
accusative  indicating  not  the  '  issue,*  but  the  quarrel,  as  Rick.  H:  I,  i,  50,  200 ; 
King  John,  I,  i,  38. — Hudson  (ed.  ii.) :  Referring,  apparently,  to  Malcolm's  last 
speech,  which  proceeds  somewhat  upon  conjecture  and  seeming  likelihood. 

31.  warre]  Stebvens  :  It  has  been  understood  that  local  rhymes  were  introduced 
in  plays  to  afford  an  actor  the  advantage  of  a  more  pointed  exit,  or  to  close  a  scene 
with  additional  force.  Yet,  whatever  might  be  Shakespeare's  motive  for  continuing 
such  a  practice,  it  may  be  observed  that  he  often  seems  immediately  to  repent  of  it ; 
and,  in  the  tragedy  before  us,  has  repeatedly  counteracted  it  by  hemistichs  which 
destroy  the  effect,  and  consequently  defeat  the  supposed  purpose  of  the  antecedent 
couplets.    See  I,  v,  83  ;  III,  ii,  66  ;  III,  iv,  175 ;  IV,  i,  183 ;  V,  ii,  40. 

4.  banners  .  . .  walls,]  Keightley  :  I  think  we  should  punctuate  thus :  <  Hang 


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330  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH       [act  v,  sc.  v. 

The  Cry  is  ftiU,  they  come :  our  Caftles  ftrength  5 

Will  laugh  a  Siedge  to  fcorne  :  Here  let  them  lye, 
Till  Famine  and  the  Ague  eate  them  vp  : 
Were  they  not  forcM  with  thofe  that  fhould  be  ours, 
We  might  haue  met  them  darefuU,  beard  to  beard, 
And  beate  them  backward  home.    What  is  that  noyfe?  10 

A  Cry  within  of  Women. 

Sey.     It  is  the  cry  of  women,  my  good  Lord. 

Macb.     I  haue  almoft  forgot  the  tafte  of  Feares  : 
The  time  ha's  beene,  my  fences  would  haue  cooPd  14 

8.  forc'd-l  'fared  Han.  Cap.   (Er-        iii,  Wh.  ii. 
rata),  Ktly.     fared  Coll.  ii,  iii.  (MS).  12.  [Exit.  Dyce,  Sta.  Del.  Wh.  Glo. 

11.  A  Cry ...  Women.]   After   home^         Cam.  Huds.  ii,  iii. 

line  lo,  Dyce,  Sta.  Glo.  Cam.  Huds.  ii,  13.  Feare5\  tears  Bayliss  (Nat  Re- 

iii.  Wh.  ii.  view,  Feb.  1889). 

within   of  Women]    of    women  14,  r<w/V]  ^«j7*^Co11.  ii,  iii.  (MS), 

within.    Dyce,  Sta.  Glo.  Cam.  Huds.  ii,  Ktly,  Huds.  ii,  iii. 

out  our  banners !  On  the  outward  walls  The  cry,'  etc.  It  was  from  the  keep,  not 
the  walls,  that  the  banner  (as  perhaps  we  should  read)  was  hung.  We  have,  no 
doubt,  'Advance  our  waving  colours  on  the  walls,'  Hen,  VI:  I,  vi,  i ;  but  Orleans 
was  a  city,  not  a  mere  castle. 

8.  forc'd]  COLUER  (Notes,  p.  417):  Fared  is  misrepresented  'forced*  in  the 
old  copies  and  in  all  modem  editions ;  but,  as  we  gather  from  the  substitution  of  the 
letter  a  by  the  MS  Corrector,  the  meaning  is  that  the  ranks  of  the  besiegers  were 
stuffed  or  filled  out  by  soldiers  who  had  revolted  from  Macbeth. — Singer  (Sk,  Vind. 
p.  260) :  <  Forced '  is  used  in  the  sense  of  reinforced.  There  is  nothing  about  their 
ranks  being  stuffed  or  filled  out — R.  G.  White  :  That  is,  were  they  not  strength- 
ened; had  they  not  received  an  accession  of  force. — Clarendon  :  In  Tro,  &*  Cress. 
V,  i,  64,  the  word  is  used,  as  farced  elsewhere,  in  a  culinary  sense. 

9.  darefuU]  Clarendon  :  This  does  not  occur  again  in  Shakespeare. 

12.  Dyce:  At  line  20,  Collier  observes:  <We  must  suppose  that  Seyton  has 
gone  to  what  we  now  call  ''  the  wing"  of  the  stage  to  inquire.*  But  <  going  to  the 
wing  *  and  standing  there  to  glean  information  was  surely  as  unusual  on  the  old 
stage  as  it  is  on  the  modem ;  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  formerly  Seyton  went  out 
and  re-entered,  just  as  he  does  when  this  play  is  performed  now-a>days. — Claren- 
don :  Perhaps  Seyton  should  not  leave  the  stage,  but  an  attendant  should  come  and 
whisper  the  news  of  the  Queen's  death  to  him. 

14.  coord]  Malone  :  The  blood  is  sometimes  said  to  be  chilled;  but  I  do  not 
recollect  any  other  instance  in  which  this  phrase  is  applied  to  the  senses.  Perhaps 
Shakespeare  wrote  'coiled;  my  senses  would  have  shmnk  back,  died  within  me. 
So  in  V,  ii,  30. — Collier  {Notes^  p.  417) :  The  MS  Corrector  here  has  quailed  for 
<cooVd,*  a  much  more  forcible  word;  but  this  is  one  of  the  places  where  it  is 
possible  that  the  person  reconmiending  the  change  may  have  exercised  his  taste, 
rather  than  stated  his  knowledge.  It  seems  scarcely  likely  that  one  word  should 
have  been  mistaken  for  the  other,  but  this  observation  will,  of  course,  apply  to 
many  of  the  extraordinary  errors  that  have  been  from  time  to  time  pointed  out — 


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ACTV.  scv.]         THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  331 

To  heare  a  Night-fhrieke,  and  my  Fell  of  haire  15 

Would  at  a  difmall  Treatife  rowze,  and  ftirre 
As  life  were  in't.     I  haue  fupt  full  with  horrors, 
Direneffe  familiar  to  my  flaughterous  thoughts 
Cannot  once  ftart  me.     Wherefore  was  that  cry  ? 

Sey.    The  Queene  (vay  Lord)  is  dead.  20 

15.  Nigkt'JkrUke\  Night-shriek  Fj.  19.  »»<r.]   me, —    [Re-enter    Seyton. 

17.  /«//]  supfid  Mai.  et  seq.  Dyce,  Del.  Sta.  Wh.  Glo.  Cam.  Huds. 

fupt  fitU\  surfeited  Han.  ii,  iii. 

19.  once'\  now  Han.  20.  {my  Lord)"]  Om.  Pope,  Han. 

Dyce  (cd.  ii.)  :  [The  alteration  of  the  MS  Corrector]  is  very  plausible  ;  for  examples 
of  the  expression  senses  quailing-  may  be  found  in  our  early  writers. — Clarendon  : 
*  Cool '  is  sometimes  found  in  a  sense  stronger  than  that  which  it  bears  in  modem 
language,  as  King  John^  II,  i,  479. 

15.  Night-shrieke]  Delius  :  He  is  thinking  perhaps  of  the  night  of  Duncan's 
murder,  and  when  he  said  *  every  noise  appals  me.* — Clarendon  :  The  words  that 
follow  seem  to  imply  that  he  is  referring  to  still  earlier  days  than  the  time  referred 
to  by  Delius,  when  his  feelings  were  unblunted,  and  his  conscience  unburdened 
with  guilt. 

15.  Fell  of  haire]  Johnson  :  My  hairy  part,  my  capiUitium,  *  Fell  *  is  skin. — 
Stbevens  :  In  Lear,  V,  iii,  24,  'flesh  and  fell.'  A  dealer  in  hides  is  still  called  a 
/r//-monger. — l^YCE.  {Gloss.) ;  Hairy  scalp. — Clarendon:  Cotgravehas,  <Peau:  a 
skin;  fell,  kide,  or  pelt*  Florio  gives :  Velio,  a  fleece,  a  fell  or  skin  that  hath  wooU  on.' 

17.  As]  For  *  as*  used  for  as  if,  see  I,  iv,  15. 

17.  I  haae  . .  .  horrors]  Tweedie  assures  us  that  Macbeth  thus  <  alludes  to  the 
horrid  sights  at  the  supper.' — Ed.  ii. 

17.  with]  Clarendon  :  This  must  be  joined  here  in  construction  not  to  *full' 
but  *  supp'd.'     See  IV,  ii,  40,  and  Meas.  for  Meas,  IV,  iii,  159. 

18,  19.  Direnesse  .  .  .  start  me]  Snider  (i,  200) :  The  main  fact  now  to  be 
noticed  in  Macbeth' s  character  is  that  he  is  no  longer  swayed  by  his  imagination. 
This  change  was  indicated  at  the  end  of  his  interview  with  the  Weird  Sisters  y  he  is 
now  able  to  dismiss  such  sights  altogether.  His  outward  activity  must  help  to 
absorb  his  mind,  for  his  foes  are  marching  against  him ;  the  reality  before  him  is 
quite  as  terrible  as  any  image  can  be.  But  Macbeth  himself  states  clearly  the  main 
ground  of  this  remarkable  change.  Previously  he  had  declared  that  his  dire  phan- 
tasms were  merely  the  result  of  his  inexperience  in  crime.  [Ill,  iv,  173-175.] 
Familiarity  with  crime  has  hardened  his  thoughts ;  repetition  of  guilt  has  seared  his. 
conscience.  Hence  no  retributive  ghosts  appear  after  the  murder  of  Macduff"' s 
family.  But  his  whole  mind  is  seared,  too — it  is  a  desolation  . .  .  Since  the  cessa- 
tion of  his  imagination  his  spirit  is  dead,  because  his  imagination  was  the  centre  of 
his  spiritual  activity. — Ed.  ii. 

20.  dead]  Anon.  {Edin.  Rev,  July,  1840,  p.  4QI )  :  It  is  one  of  the  finest  thoughts 
in  the  whole  drama,  that  Lady  Macbeth  should  die  before  her  husband ;  for  not  only 
does  this  exhibit  him  in  a  new  light,  equally  interesting  morally  and  psychologically, 
but  it  prepares  a  gradual  softening  of  the  horror  of  the  catastrophe.  Macbeth,  left 
alone,  resumes  much  of  that  connexion  with  humanity  which  he  had  so  long  aban- 


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332  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH       [act  v,  sc.  v. 

Macb.    She  (hould  haue  d}r'de  heereafter ;  21 

There  would  haue  beene  a  time  for  fuch  a  word : 

21,  22.  dyde  heereafter;  There]  died:  hereafter  There  Jackson. 

doned ;  his  thoughtfulness  becomes  pathetic, — ^his  sickness  of  heart  awakens  sympa- 
thy ;  and  when  at  last  he  dies  the  death  of  a  soldier,  the  stem  satisDEurtion  with  which 
we  contemplate  the  act  of  justice  that  destrojrs  him  is  unalloyed  by  feelings  of  per- 
sonal wrath  or  hatred.     His  fall  is  a  sacrifice,  not  a  butchery. 

21-32.  W.  W.  Story  (p.  252) :  Compare  the  natural,  simple  pathos  of  the  scene 
where  Macduff  hears  of  the  barbarous  murder  of  his  wife  and  children,  with  the 
language  of  Macbeth,  when  the  death  of  Lady  Macbeth  is  announced  to  him.  Mac- 
duff *  pulls  his  hat  upon  his  brows/  and  gives  vent  to  his  agony  in  the  simplest  and 
most  direct  words.  Here  the  feeling  is  deep  and  sincere.  But  when  Macbeth  is 
told  of  the  death  of  his  wife,  he  makes  a  little  poem,  full  of  alliterations  and  con- 
ceits. • . .  This  speech  is  <  full  of  sound  and  fiiry,  signifying  nothing.'  There  is  no 
accent  from  the  heart  in  it     It  is  elaborate,  poetic,  cold-blooded. — Ed.  ii. 

22.  word]  Johnson  :  It  is  not  apparent  for  what '  word '  there  would  have  been  a 
*  time,'  and  that  there  would  or  would  not  be  a  Hme  for  any  word  seems  not  a  con- 
sideration of  importance  sufficient  to  transport  Macbeth  into  such  an  exclamation. 
I  read  therefore :  *  —  a  time  for — such  a  world! — *  It  is  a  broken  speech,  in  which 
only  part  of  the  thought  is  expressed,  and  may  be  paraphrased  thus :  The  queen 
is  dead.  Macbeth,  Her  death  should  have  been  deferred  to  some  more  peaceful 
hour ;  had  she  lived  longer,  there  would  at  length  have  been  a  time  for  the  honours 
due  to  her  as  a  queen,  and  that  respect  which  I  owe  her  for  her  fidelity  and  love. 
Such  is  the  world— ^m^  is  the  condition  of  human  life  that  we  always  think  to-mor- 
row will  be  happier  than  to-day,  but  to-morrow  and  to-morrow  steals  over  us  un« 
enjoyed  and  unregarded,  and  we  still  linger  in  the  same  expectation  to  the  moment 
appointed  for  our  end.  All  these  days,  which  have  thus  passed  away,  have  sent 
multitudes  of  fools  to  the  grave,  who  were  engrossed  by  the  same  dream  of  future 
felicity,  and,  when  life  was  departing  from  them,  were,  like  me,  reckoning  on 
to-morrow.  Such  was  once  my  conjecture,  but  I  am  now  less  confident.  Macbeth 
might  mean  that  there  would  have  been  a  more  convenient  time  for  such  a  word^  for 
such  intelligence^  and  so  fall  into  the  following  reflection.  We  say  we  send  word 
when  we  give  intelligence.— Stebvbns  ;  By  <a  word'  Shakespeare  certainly  means 
more  than  a  single  one.  Thus  in  Rich,  II:  I,  iii,  152 :  «The  hopeless  word  of— 
never  to  return.' — Arrowsmith  {N.  6*  Qu,  i  Sept.  1855)  :  So  far  is  Macbeth  from 
regarding  one  time  as  more  convenient  than  another,  that  the  whole  tenour  of  his 
subsequent  remarks  evinces  his  conviction  to  be,  that  it  makes  no  odds  at  what  point 
lui  the  dull  round  of  days  man's  life  may  terminate.  If  she  had  not  died  now,  rea- 
sons b^ishe  should  have  died  hereafter ;  there  would  have  been  a  time  when  such 
tidings  must  have  been  brought, — such  a  tale  told.  The  word  was,  of  course,  the 
word  brought  by  ABalM|  of  the  queen's  decease  :  <  The  queen,  my  lord,  is  dead.'  Dr 
Johnson's  blunder  ^^  out  of  obliviousness  or  inadvertence  that  'should'  is  used 
indifferently  to  denote  either  what  will  be  or  what  otight  to  be;  that  the  tyrant  dis- 
courses of  the  certainty ^  not  murmurs  at  the  untimeliness^  of  his  partner's  death. 
See  Mer,  ofVen,  I,  ii,  100.— [.^gH^.  {Comhill  Maga.  Feb.  1889) :  The  lines  are 
purposely  abrupt  to  show  the  emotion,  and  Salvini  consistently  and  touchingly  ren- 
dered the  passage  clear,  if  his  punctuation  was  not  absolutely  justified  by  the  text 


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Acrv,sc.v.]         THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  333 

To  morrow,  and  to  morrow,  and  to  morrow,  23 

Creepes  ,in  this  petty  pace  from  day  to  day. 
To  the  laft  Syllable  of  Recorded  time  :  25 

And  all  our  yefterdayes,  haue  lighted  Fooles 

23-32.  Mnemonic,  Pope,  Warb.  24.  Creepes\  Creep  Cap.  conj. 

of  the  Folio,  thus,  making  the  pause  at  the  first  To-morrow,    And  to-morrow,  etc. — 
Ed.  ii.] 

23.  To  morrow]  Haluwell  :  It  is  not  impossible  that  Shakespeare  may  here 
have  recollected  a  remarkable  engraving  in  Barclay's  Skip  of  Fooles^  1570,  copied  from 
that  in  the  older  Latin  version  of  1498 :  '  They  folowe  the  crowes  crye  to  their  great 
sorrowe,  Cr«,  rr«,  cras^  to-morowe  we  shall  amende,  And  if  we  mend  not  then,  then 
shall  we  the  next  morowe,  Or  els  shortly  after  we  shall  no  more  offende ;  Amende, 
mad  foole,  when  God  this  grace  doth  sende.' — ^Allen  (MS)  :  That  is,  each  day,  that 
has  successively  become  yesterday ^  has  been  a  to-morrow,  and  (as  such)  has  been  an 
ignis  faiuus,  lighting  fools  the  way  to  death.  That  Shakespeare  had  this  meteoric 
phenomenon  in  his  mind  appears  certain  from  the  fact  that  his  words  give  a  correct 
translation  of  its  Latin  name  and  define  its  office.  Ignis  faiuus  (by  the  idiomatic 
substitution  of  grammatical  for  logical  concord)  is  Fooli  light — a  light  which,  creep- 
ing along  in  advance,  deceives  and  makes /w/r  of  men,  and  so  lights  them  the  way, 
through  the  darkness,  to  death.  As  Shakespeare  called  Ophelia's  drowning  in  the 
shallow  brook  a  muddy  death,  so  it  may  have  occurred  to  him  here  to  call  the  death 
of  the  wayfarer,  in  the  night,  a  dusky  death.  [See  TexL  Notes,  1.  27.— Mobkrly  : 
It  is  remarkable  how  often,  and  with  what  wonderful  variety  of  thought,  Shake- 
speare's mind,  in  the  last  years  of  his  life,  appears  to  have  dwelt  upon  death.  <  We 
in  our  folly,'  says  Macbeth,  <  reckon  upon  a  hereafter  in  which  day  follows  day ;  but 
trace  the  days  backward,  and  which  of  them  has  not  had  a  death  on  the  day  pre- 
ceding it.  So  may  our  to-morrow  be  if  we  die  to-day.'  In  a  somewhat  different 
spirit,  the  cowardly  Claudio,  in  Meas,  for  Meas,  (III,  i,  118-132),  employs  all  tlie 
frightful,  material  images  of  the  Inferno, — the  imprisonment  in  ice ;  the  being  blown 
about  by  the  viewless  winds  ;  the  contrast  between  life  and  motion,  and  the  '  kneaded 
clod '  that  man  must  become.  Lastly,  the  courageous  but  reflective  Hamlet  is  re- 
pelled from  suicide  by  the  dread  uncertainty  as  to  what  will  be  found  in  that  *  undis- 
covered country'  whence  no  traveller  returns. — Ed.  ii.] 

24.  Creepes]  Clarendon:  Capell  proposed  to  read  Creep  ;  but  in  this  particular 
case  the  singular  seems  more  suitable  to  the  sense,  *  each  to-morrow  creeps,'  etc. 

25.  time]  M.  Mason  :  Shakespeare  means  not  only  the  time  that  has  been,  but 
the  time  that  shall  be,  recorded. — Steevens  :  <  Recorded '  is  probably  here  used  for 
recording  or  recordable,  one  participle  for  another. — Dalgleish  :  Time,  of  which  a 
record  shall  be  kept,  as  opposed  to  eternity. — Hudson  (ed.  ii.)  :  It  means  simply 
the  last  syllable  of  the  record  of  time.  See  I,  vi,  7  ;  III,  iv,  96,  for  other  instances 
of  prolepsis. 

26.  27.  GuizoT  translates  '  et  tons  nos  hiers  n'  ont  travailU,  les  imbeciles,  qu'  k 
nous  abreger  le  chemin  de  la  mort  poudreuse ';  and  adds  thereto  the  note :  To  light 
is  sometimes  taken  in  the  sense  of  to  lighten,  alleviate,  and  I  think  it  here  bears 
that  meaning.  The  days  gone  have  not  only  shown,  but  abridged,  mitigated  the 
journey  which  we  have  to  make  to  death.  The  commentators  do  not  seem  to  have 
understood  it  in  this  sense. 


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334  ^^^  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH      [act  v,  sc.  v. 

The  way  to  dufty  death.     Out,  out,  breefe  Candle,  27 

27.  dufty\  pudy  Ff,  Rowe,  Pope,  Cap.   dusky  Theob.  conj.  Han.  Warb.  Elwin. 


26.  Fooles]  Hunter  :  HaTing  found  in  a  contemporary  writer  the  ytor^ /ohUs  used 
for  croivds^  it  occurred  to  me  that  for  *  fools '  we  might  read  fcuUs  in  this  sense  of  crowds, 
and  this  led  to  what  may  have  been  the  real  intention  of  the  Poet  Macbeth,  when 
he  hears  of  the  death  of  his  lady,  thinks  first  of  the  unseasonableness  of  the  time; 
some  time  '  hereafter '  would  have  been  the  time  for  such  a  piece  of  intelligence  as 
this ;  this  introduces  the  idea  of  the  disposition  there  is  in  man  to  procrastinaie  in 
everything ;  we  are  forever  saying  *  tomorrow,'  and  this  though  we  see  men  dying 
around  us,  every  *  yesterday '  having  conducted  crowds  of  human  beings  to  the  grave. 
This  introduces  more  general  ideas  of  the  vanity  of  man,  who  <  walketh  in  a  vain 
show,  and  is  disquieted  in  vain/  a  passage  of  Scripture  which  seems  to  have  been  in 
the  Poet*  s  mind  when  he  wrote  what  follows ;  as  is  also .  .  .  <  we  spend  our  years  as 
a  tale  that  is  told.*  Shakespeare's  intimate  acquaintance  with  the  Scriptures,  observ- 
able in  all  his  plays,  is  shewn  sometimes  in  a  broad  and  palpable  allusion  or  adapta- 
tion, and  sometimes,  as  here,  in  passages  of  which  the  germ  only  is  in  that  book. 
At  the  same  time  there  is  something  in  this  passage  partaking  of  the  desperation  of 
the  thane's  position,  and  perhaps  intended  to  shew  what  thoughts  possess  a  mind 
like  his,  burthened  with  heavy  guilt,  and  having  some  reason  to  think  retribution 
near  at  hand.  The  word  fouU  for  crowd  occurs  in  Archibold's  Evangelical  Frtdt 
of  the  Seraphical  Franciscan  Order,  1628,  MS  Harl.  3888,  *  The /oule  of  people 
past  over  him  in  time  of  sermon,'  f.  Si. 

27.  dusty]  Theobald:  Perhaps  Shakespeare  might  have  wrote  dusky,  i.  e. 
dark,  a  word  very  familiar  with  him. — Steevens  :  *  The  dust  of  death '  is  an  expres- 
sion in  Psalm  xxii.  ^ Dusty  death'  alludes  to  the  expression  of  'dust  to  dust'  in 
the  burial  service. — Douce:  Perhaps  no  quotation  can  be  better  calculated  to  show 
the  propriety  of  this  epithet  than  the  following  grand  lines  in  The  Vision  0/ Piers 
Plouftnan,  a  work  which  Shakespeare  might  have  seen :  *  Deth  came  dryuende  after, 
and  al  to  doust  passhed  Kynges  &  knyghtes,  kayseres  and  popes.'— [B.  Passus  xx, 
11.  99,  100;  ed.  Skeat. — Ed.  ii.] — Collier  :  Shakespeare  was  not  the  first  to  apply 
the  epithet  *  dusty'  to  death.  Anthony  Copley,  in  his  Fig  for  Fortune,  1596,  has 
this  line  :  *  Inviting  it  to  dusty  death^s  defeature,'  [p.  55  ;  Spens.  Soc,  rep.— Ed.  ii.]. 
—Clarendon  :  Dusky  seems  too  feeble  an  epithet  to  describe  the  darkness  of  the 
grave,  and  we  should  moreover  be  very  chary  of  making  alterations  in  the  text  on 
account  of  any  apparent  confusion  of  metaphor. 

27.  Out  .  .  .  Candle]  Coleridge  (i,  252) :  Alas  for  Macbeth !  now  all  is  inward 
with  him ;  he  has  no  more  prudential  prospective  reasonings.  His  wife,  the  only 
being  who  could  have  had  any  seat  in  his  affections,  dies ;  he  puts  on  despondency, 
the  final  heart-armour  of  the  wretched,  and  would  fain  think  everything  shadowy 
and  unsubstantial,  as  indeed  all  things  arc  to  those  who  cannot  regard  them  as  symbols 
of  goodness. — [Corson  (p.  250) :  In  uttering  the  words,  *Out,  out,  brief  candle,'  some 
actors  strike  their  breasts,  as  if  the  reference  were  to  Macbeth' s  own  light  of  life,  but 
they  should  certainly  be  understood  as  having  reference  to  the  candle  of  Lady  Mac- 
beth's  life.  Though  commas  are  used  in  F,,  the  words  should  be  uttered  with  an 
interrogative  intonation,  united  with  that  of  surprise :  •  Out  ?  out  ?  brief  candle  ?* 
(out  so  soon?)  The  latter  meaning  suits  better,  too,  the  reflections  which  follow. — 
Ed.  ii.] 


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ACT  V,  sc.  v.]        THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  335 

Life's  but  a  walking  Shadow,  a  poore  Player,  28 

That  ilruts  and  frets  his  houre  vpon  the  Sts^e, 

And  then  is  heard  no  more.     It  is  a  Tale  30 

Told  by  an  Ideot,  full  of  found  and  fury 

Signifying  nothing.  Enter  a  Mejfenger. 

Thou  com'ft  to  vfe  thy  Tongue  :  thy  Story  quickly. 

Mef.     Gracious  my  Lord, 
I  fhould  report  that  which  I  fay  I  faw,  35 

33.  34.  My. . .  Lord'\  One  line,  Lettsom        Ktly . 

ap.  Dyce  ii.  35.  Jhould'\  shall  Var.  '03,  '13,  '21, 

34.  Gracious  my'\   My  gracious  Ff,         Sing,  i,  Coll.  Wh.  i. 

Rowe,  +  .  ^ /^y\  Td  fay  Han.  Cap.  Lctt- 

34»  35*  Gracious, *,which'\  One  line,        som,  Hads.  ii,  iii.     Om.  Ktly  conj. 

28.  Shadow,  a  poore  Player]  Hunter  (i,  298,  note  on  Mid,  N.  Z>.  V,  i,  430, 
'If  we  shadows  have  offended^)  :  'Shadows'  is  a  beaatiful  tenn  by  which  to  ex- 
press actors,  those  whose  life  is  a  perpetual  personation,  a  semblance  bat  of  some- 
thing real,  a  shadow  only  of  actual  existences.  The  idea  of  this  resemblance  was 
deeply  inwrought  in  the  mind  of  the  Poet  and  Actor.  When,  at  a  later  perio<l,  he 
looked  upon  man  again  ti&  but  <  a  walking  shadow,'  his  mind  immediately  passed  to 
the  long-cherished  thought,  and  he  proceeds  :  <A  poor  player.  That  struts  and  frets 
his  hour  upon  the  stage,  And  then  is  heard  no  more.' — Ed.  ii. 

28.  Player]  Clarendon  :  For  references  to  the  stage,  see  I,  iii,  144 ;  II,  iv,  8, 
9 ;  also  Tro,  and  Cress,  I,  iii,  153. — BiRCH  (p.  449) :  The  light  of  revelation,  faith, 
and  hope,  according  to  Shakespeare,  have  shown  us  fools  the  way  to  dusty  death. 
This  life,  that  Christians  humbly  imagine  gives  evidence  of  the  attributes  of  eternity, 
signifies  nothing,  is  a  tale  told  by  an  idiot ;  and  by  whom  is  the  tale  said  to  be  told 
but  by  its  maker  ?  How  often  have  we  been  told  by  Shakespeare  that  we  are  fools, 
death's  fools,  and  here  we  have  it  repeated  with  one  of  the  material  epithets  usually 
assigned  to  the  end  of  man — dusty.  We  have  again  Jaques's  'all  the  world's  a 
stage,  and  all  the  men  are  players,'  with  parts  as  brief  as  at  the  Blackfriars,  or  in 
the  Globe  on  Bankslde.  There  we  had  the  last  scene  of  his  sad,  eventful  history, 
'  sans  everything ';  but  here,  of  his  hopes  we  have  the  stem  echo  of  Shakespeare's 
materialism,  which,  like  an  owl  amidst  ruins,  cries,  '  No  more !'  There  are  three 
lines  of  Catullus,  which  have  always  been  supposed  to  express  his  disbelief  in  a 
futnre  state,  if  not  his  atheism.  In  this  speech  of  Macbeth' s  we  have  a  similarity 
of  idea  in  the  opening  line,  an  exact  translation  of  two  words  in  the  second,  and  the 
last  contains,  word  for  word,  the  constant  expressions,  elsewhere,  of  Shakespeare 
on  Death  :  <  Soles  occidere  et  redire  possunt.  Nobis,  cum  semel  occidit  brevis  lux. 
Nox  est  perpetuo  una  dormienda.'  [Carmina^  v,  4. — Ed.  ii.]  The  conclusion  of 
Macbeth' s  speech  is  similar  to  a  line  in  the  Troades  of  Seneca :  '  Post  mortem  nihil 
est,  ipsaque  mors  nihil.'  [Act  II,  1.  398. — Ed.  ii.]  Campbell  might  have  written 
of  Shakespeare  those  celebrated  lines  on  Atheism,  where  he  speaks  of  the  brief 
candle  as  'momentary  fire,'  which  'lights  to  the  grave  his  chance-erected  form.' 
[Let  not  the  reader  forget  the  avowed  aim  of  the  book  from  which  this  extract, 
merely  as  a  *  specimen  brick,'  is  taken. — Ed.] 

35.  should]  For  <  should '  used  for  ot^ht^  see  I,  ii,  56  ;  also  I,  iii,  49. 


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336  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH       [act  v,  sc.  v. 

But  know  not  how  to  doo't  36 

Macb.    Well,  fay  fir. 

Mef.  As  I  did  ftand  my  watch  vpon  the  Hill 
I  looked  toward  Bymane,  and  anon  me  thought 
The  Wood  began  to  moue.  40 

Macb*     Lyar^and  Slaue. 

Mef.     Let  me  endure  your  wrath,  iPt  be  not  fo  : 
Within  this  three  Mile  may  you  fee  it  comming. 
I  fay,  a  mouing  Groue. 

Macb.     If  thou  fpeak'ft  f  hlfe,  45 

Vpon  the  next  Tree  (hall  thou  hang  aliue 
Till  Famine  cling  thee  :  If  thy  fpeech  be  footh, 
I  care  not  if  thou  doft  for  me  as  much. 
I  pull  in  Refolution,  and  begin  49 

36.  to  dwft^    df^t   FjF^,    D»Av.  +  ,        Jen.  Var.  Knt 

Cap.  Jen.  Var.  Coll.  Wh.  i,  Dd.  Huds.  43.  may  you\  you  may  FjF^,  Rowe, 

ii,  iii.     do  it  Steev.  et  oet  Pope,  Han. 

37.  /tfy]  say  it  Pope,  +  ,  Var.  '73,  45.  fhl/e\  F,. 

Cap.  Lettsom,  Huds.  ii,  iii.  46.  Jhall^  shalt  Ff.  et  seq. 

39.  Bymant]  Bymam  F,Fj.  Bir-  49.  /«//]   pall  Johns,  conj.  Hads. 

nam  F.^  hull  A.  Gray  (N.  &  Qu.  7  Ap.  1888). 

41.  [Striking   him.    Rowe,+,  Cap. 

39.  Bymane]  Dsuus  :  For  dramatic  purposes  Shakespeare  has  somewhat  short- 
ened the  distance  of  twelve  miles  between  Bimam  and  Dunsinane. — [Butler  (p. 
175)  :  The  messenger  does  not  say  he  saw  as  far  as  Bimam.  'I  looked  toward 
Bimam.'  When  he  looked  in  that  direction  he  saw  a  moving  grove.  To  him  it 
began  to  move  when  he  first  set  eyes  on  it  at  the  distance  of  three  miles. — Ed.  ii.] 

41.  Kemble  (p.  no):  Rowe's  stage-direction  [see  Text,  Notes\  is  irreconcilable 
to  Macbeth' s  emotions ;  such  violence  does  not  belong  to  the  feelings  of  a  person 
overwhelmed  with  surprise,  half  doubting,  half  believing. 

43.  this]  Clarendon  :  We  have  the  singular  pronoun  used  with  a  numeral,  even 
when  the  substantive  which  follows  is  put  in  the  plural,  as  in  I  Hen*  IV:  III,  iii, 
54.     For  the  singular  'mile,'  see  Much  Ado^  II,  iii,  17. 

47.  cling]  Murray  (N.  E.D.):  (2.)  Applied  to  the  drawing  together  or  shrink- 
ing and  shrivelling  up  of  animal  or  vegetable  tissues,  when  they  lose  their  juices 
under  the  influence  of  heat,  cold,  hunger,  thirst,  disease,  age ;  to  become  '  drawn.' 
to  shrink  up,  wither,  decay.  Obsolete^  except  dialectal,  (a).  Of  the  living  human 
body.  . . .  r  1380,  Sir  Ferumb,  2524 :  *  For  betere  is  ous  forto  die  amonges  our  fos 
in  fighte,  than  her-inne  dynge  &  drie  &  daye  for  hunger  righte.'  a  1400,  Com. 
Myst,  54  (Miltz.) :  *  My  hert  doth  dynge  and  cleve  as  clay.' — Ed.  ii. 

49.  pall  in]  Johnson  :  As  this  is  a  phrase  without  either  example,  elegance,  or 
propriety,  it  is  surely  better  to  read :  pall  in.  I  languish  in  my  constancy,  my  con- 
fidence begins  to  forsake  me.  It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  observe  how  easily /a// 
might  be  changed  into  pull  by  a  negligent  writer,  or  mistaken  for  it  by  an  unskilful 
printer. — Stsevsns  :  There  is  surdy  no  need  of  change.     He  had  permitted  his 


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ACT  V.  sc.  v.]        THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  337 

To  doubt  th'Equiuocation  of  the  Fiend,  50 

That  lies  like  truth.     Feare  not,  till  Bymane  Wood 
Do  come  to  Dunfinane,and  now  a  Wood 
Comes  toward  Dunfmane.     Arme,Arme,and  out, 
If  this  which  he  auouches,  do's  appeare. 

There  is  nor  flying  hence,  nor  tarrying  here.  55 

I  'ginne  to  be  a-weary  of  the  Sun, 
And  wifli  th'eftate  o'thVorld  were  now  vndon. 
Ring  the  Alarum  Bell,  blow  Winde,  come  wracke. 
At  leaft  wee'l  dye  with  Hamefle  on  our  backe.     Exeunt  59 

53.  torward'\  towards  Warb.  Johns.  57.  th'eftaie]  Ff,  D*Av.  Rowe,  Jen. 

54-57.  Om.  as  spurious,  Anon.  ap.  Coll.  Wh.  Dyce  ii,  iii,  Huds.  ii,  iii.    th€ 

Cam.  siate  Pope,  + .    the  estate  Cap.  et  cet 

55.  nifr   flying\     no   flying     F^F^,  vndonl  F,. 
Rowe,  Pope,  Han.  Jen.  58.  B€ll'\  Om.  Wh.  1. 

56-59.  Mnemonic,  Pope.  blow  Winde ^  come  wracke^  blow^ 

56.  a-weary]  a  weary  Ff,  Rowe,  +  .         wind!  come^  wrack!  Theob.  et  seq. 
Jen.     weary  Johns.  59.  The  Alarum  bell  rings.  Coll.  iii. 

courage  (like  a  fiery  horse)  to  carry  him  to  the  brink  of  a  precipice,  but,  seeing  his 
danger,  resolves  to  check  that  confidence  to  which  he  had  given  the  rein  before, — 
M.  Mason  :  This  reading  is  supported  by  a  passage  in  Fletcher's  Sea  Voyage^ 
where  Aminta  says :  *  —  and  all  my  spirits,  As  if  they  heard  my  passing  bell  go  for 
me.  Pull  in  their  powers,  and  give  me  up  to  destiny,*  [Act  III,  Sc  i.]. — R.  G.  White: 
Not  a  very  happy  phrase ;  but  there  seems  no  reason  to  suspect  a  corruption.  We 
have  'profound  respects  do  pull  you  on*  in  King  John  ^  III,  i,  318.  Dr  Johnson's 
conjecture,  although  it  is  one  of  the  obvious  kind,  is  very  plausible. — Clarendon  : 
[Either  Dr  Johnson's  emendation]  or  I pcUe  in,  etc.,  better  expresses  the  required 
sense,  involuntary  loss  of  heart  and  hope.  Besides,  as  the  text  stands,  we  must 
emphasize  '  in '  contrary  to  the  rhjrthm  of  the  verse. 

56.  a-weary]  For  instances  of  adverbs  with  prefix  a-^  see  Abbott,  §  24. 

58.  Ring  .  .  .  Bell]  Theobald  {Sh,  Restored^  p.  157)  :  Is  it  ever  customary  in  a 
besieg'd  Town  to  order  an  Alarum,  or  Sally,  by  the  ringing  of  a  Bell  ?  Or  rather 
was  not  this  Business  always  done  by  Beat  of  Drum?  In  short  I  believe  these 
Words  were  a  Stage-direction  crept  from  the  Margin  into  the  Text  thro'  the  last 
Line  but  One  being  deficient  without  them,  occasioned  probably  by  a  Cut  that  had 
been  made  in  the  Speech  by  the  Actors.  They  were  a  Memorandum  to  the  Promptor 
to  ring  the  Alarum-bell^  i.  e.  the  Bell,  perhaps  at  that  Time  used,  to  warn  the 
Tragedy-Drum  and  Trumpets  to  be  ready  to  sound  an  Alarm.  And  what  confirms 
me  in  this  Suspicion,  is,  that  for  the  four  P^es  immediately  following,  it  is  all  along 
quoted  in  the  Margin,  Alarum^  etc. 

59.  Hamesse]  Halliwell  :  •  On  the  fryday,  which  was  Candlemasse  daie  (Feb. 
^*  '553~4)>  ^c  most  parte  of  the  householders  of  London,  with  the  Maior  and  alder- 
men, were  in  hamesse  :  yea  this  day  and  other  daies  the  justices,  sergeants  at  the 
law,  and  other  lawyers  in  Westminster-hal,  pleaded  in  hamesse.'^ — Stowe*s  Chroni- 
cle,— Clarendon  :  So  /  KingSy  xxii,  34,  *  smote  the  King  of  Israel  between  the 
joints  of  the  harness.' 


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338  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH     [act  v.  sc.  vi. 


Scena  Sexta. 

Drumme  and  Colours.  2 

Enter  Malcolnte^  Seywardy  Macduff e^and  their  Artny^ 
with  Bougkes. 

Mai.    Now  neere  enough  :  5 

Your  leauy  Skreenes  throw  downe, 
And  fliew  like  thofe  you  are :  You  (worthy  Vnkle) 
Shall  with  my  Cofm  your  right  Noble  Sonne 
Leade  our  firft  Battell.     Worthy  Macduffcy  and  wee 
Shall  take  vpon's  what  elfe  remaines  to  do,  10 

According  to  our  order. 

Sey.     Fare  you  well  : 
Do  we  but  finde  the  Tyrants  power  to  night. 
Let  vs  be  beaten,  if  we  cannot  fight. 

M€u:d.  Make  all  our  Trumpets  fpeak  ,giue  the  all  breath  1 5 

Thofe  clamorous  Harbingers  of  Blood,&  Death.  Exeunt 

Alarums  continued.  17 

1.  Scene  V.  Booth.  Scene  IV.  8.  njfA/  JSTadit]  Ff,  D*Av.  Rowe, 
Irving.                                                            Pope,  Han.   Jen.   Sing.  Cam.     r^At- 

1-17.  Om.  Robertson.  -nodle  Theob.  et  oet 

Before  Macbeth' s  Castle.  Rowe  et  9.  BaUelt,    lVorthy\  baitie:  worthy 

seq.  (subs.)  C^>.  Var.  78  et  seq. 

2.  Drumme     and     Colours.]     Oul  IVorthy]  Brave  Vop^^-^- , 
Rowe,  +  .                                                              10.  vpom's'l  t^^  us  Cap.  Var.  Mai. 

3.  Sejward]  Om.  Booth.  Ran.  Steev.  Var.  Sing.  Knt,  KUy,  Del. 

5,  6.  Now,.,d(ntme]  One  line,  Rowe  13.  Do  we]  Let  us  Pope,  Han. 
et  seq.  16.  Blood]  Bloud  F,F^. 

6.  Uauy]  leafy  Coll.  Dyce,  Sta.  17.  Alarums  continued.]  Om.  Cap. 
Hal.  Wh.  Huds.  ii,  iii.  Var.  '78  et  seq. 

6.  leauy]  Deuus  :  We  have  Meavy'  rhyming  with  heavy  in  Much  Ado,  II,  iii, 
75.— Clarendon  :  So  Cotgrave,  <  feuillu  :  leauie.' 

9.  BatteU]  Nares  :  The  main  or  middle  body  of  an  army,  between  the  van  and 
rear. — Clarendon  :  Sometimes  used  of  a  whole  army  in  order  of  battle,  as  in  Xing^ 
John,  IV,  ii,  78,  and  /  Hen,  IV:  IV,  i,  129.— Craik  (note  on  Jul.  Cas,  V,  i,  4, 
'  Their  battles  are  at  hand ' )  :  What  might  now  be  called  a  battalion.  [<  Thex«fore 
when  his  whole  power  was  come  togither,  he  diuided  the  same  into  three  battels.' — 
Holinshed.] 

10.  to  do]  Abbott  (§|  359,  405) :  The  infinitive  active  is  often  found  where  we 
use  the  passive.  This  is  especially  common  in  <  what's  to  do '  for  *  what* s  to  be  done,* 
[See  V,  vii,  38 ;  V,  viii,  83.] 

13.  Do]  For  the  subjunctive  used  optatively  or  imperatively,  see  Abboit,  |  364. 


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ACT  V,  sc.  vii.]      THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  339 


Scena  SepHma. 


Enter  Macbeth.  2 

Macb.    They  haue  tied  me  to  a  ftake,  I  cannot  flye, 
But  Beare-like  I  mull  fight  the  courfe.     What's  he 
That  was  not  borne  of  Woman?  Such  a  one  5 

Am  I  to  feare,  or  none. 

Enter  young  Seyward. 

K  Sey.    What  is  thy  name  ? 

Macb.    Thou'It  be  affraid  to  heare  it. 

K  Sey.    No :  though  thou  call'ft  thy  felfe  a  hoter  name  10 

Then  any  is  in  hell. 

Mcu:b.    My  name's  Macbeth. 

Y.  Sey.  The  diuell  himfelfe  could  not  pronounce  a  Title 
More  hatefull  to  mine  eare. 

Macb.     No  :  nor  more  fearefull.  15 

I.  Scena  Septima]  Scene  continaed  2.  Alanims,  as  of  a  Battle  join'd. 
by  Rowe,  +  ,  Jen.  Booth.      Sckns  V.        Skiimishings.  Cap. 

Irring.  3.  7^    haue]     Tki/ve    Pope,-f, 

The  Same.    Another  Paxt  of  the        Dyce  u,  iii»  Hads.  ii,  iii. 
Plain.  Cap.  et  seq.  (sabs.)  la  kaer]  hotter  Ff. 

4.  coarse]  Stekvkns  :  A  phrase  taken  from  bear-baiting.  So,  Brome,  The  Ani^ 
odeSf  1638 :  'Also  you  shall  see  two  ten-dog  courses  at  the  great  bear.' — ^Dblius  : 
We  find  the  same  phrase  in  Lear^  III,  vii,  54. 

4.  What's  he]  For  *  what '  used  for  who^  see  Abbott,  §  254. 

6.  none]  Mrs  Lenox  :  Shakespeare  seems  to  have  committed  a  great  oversight 
in  making  Macbeth,  after  he  found  himself  deceived  in  the  prophecy  relating  to 
Bimam  Wood,  so  absolutely  rely  upon  the  other,  which  he  had  good  reason  to 
fear  might  be  equally  fallacious. — Knight  :  If  this  queen  of  fault-finders  had  known 
as  much  of  human  nature  as  Shakespeare  knew,  she  would  have  understood  that 
one  hope  destroyed  does  not  necessarily  banish  all  hope ;  that  the  gambler  who  has 
lost  thousands  still  believes  that  his  last  guinea  will  redeem  them ;  and  that  the  last 
of  a  long  series  of  perishing  delusions  is  as  firmly  trusted  as  if  the  great  teacher, 
Time,  had  taught  nothing. 

7.  jroung  Seyward]  Moberly:  His  name  was  really  Osbeom;  his  cousin 
Siward  was,  however,  slain  in  the  same  battle.  Mr.  Freeman  (ii,  615)  discusses  the 
story  of  his  death  and  his  father's  Spartan  heroism. — Ed.  ii. 

II.  any  is]  For  instances  of  the  omission  of  the  relative,  s6e  Abbott,  §  244. — 
Clarendon  :  Amoi^  modem  poets,  Browning  is  particularly  fond  of  omittii^  the 
relative.  Indeed,  it  is  still  frequently  omitted  by  all  writers  when  a  new  nominative 
is  introduced  to  govern  the  following  verb. 


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340  THE   TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH     [act  v.  sc  vii. 

Y.Sey.  Thou  lyeft  abhorred  Tyrant,  with  my  Sword  i6 

He  proue  the  lye  thou  fpeak  ft. 

Fight y  and  young  Seyward  Jlaine. 

Macb.    Thou  was't  borne  of  woman  ; 
But  Swords  I  fmile  at,  Weapons  laugh  to  fcorne,  20 

BrandifhM  by  man  that's  of  a  Woman  borne.  Exit. 

Alarums.  Enter  Macduffe. 

Macd.    That  way  the  noife  is :  Tyrant  fhew  thy  face, 
If  thou  beeft  flaine,  and  with  no  ftroake  of  mine, 
My  Wife  and  Childrens  Ghofts  will  haunt  me  ftill  :  25 

I  cannot  ftrike  at  wretched  Kernes,  whofe  armes 
Are  hyr'd  to  beare  their  Staues  ;  either  thou  Macbeth^ 
Or  elfe  my  Sword  with  an  vnbattered  edge 
I  flieath  againe  vndeeded.    There  thou  fhould'ft  be. 
By  this  great  clatter,  one  of  greateft  note,  30 

16.  Thou„,my\  One  line,  Rowe.  20.  Swordf^  Words  Daniel. 

abhorretTl     thou    abhorred  Ff,             27.  eUher\      Or     Pope,  +  .       hither 

Rowe.  Mull. 

18.  young]  yong  F,.  28.  vnbaitered'\    Ff,   D'Av.    unbtU- 
Seyward]  Seyward' s  FjF^.  ter^d  Rowe  et  seq. 

19.  Thou  was't]  Walker  {^Crit.  ii,  202):  Thou  weri  (sometimes  written 
in  the  old  poets  Th^  wert),  you  were,  I  was,  etc,  occur  frequently,  both  in 
Shakespeare  and  contemporary  dramatists,  in  places  where  it  is  clear  they  must 
have  been  pronounced  as  one  syllable,  in  whatever  manner  the  contraction  was 
effected. 

21.  borne]  Steevins  :  Shakespeare  designed  Macbeth  should  appear  invincible 
till  he  encountered  the  object  destined  for  his  destruction. 

26.  Kernes]  See  I,  ii,  19. 

27.  either]  For  'either,'  treated  as  a  monosyllable,  see  I,  iii,  124. — Malonb:  I 
suspect  a  line  has  been  here  lost,  perhaps :  <  either  thou,  Macbeth,  Advance  and 
bravely  meet  an  injured  foe.  Or  else,'  etc.  [This  emendation  was  not  repeated  in 
the  Variorum  of  1821.] — Seymour  :  If  Macduff's  impetuosity  had  allowed  him  to 
be  explicit,  he  would  have  said :  Either  thou,  Macbeth,  shall  receive  in  thy  body  my 
sword,  or  else  I  will  return  itunbattered  into  the  scabbard. — Dalgleish  :  It  is  more 
likely  that '  thou'  is  here  used  as  a  pronoun  of  address  without  reference  to  its  case, 
and  that  we  should  grammatically  construe  it  as  the  object  Shakespeare  has  used 
'  he '  for  him  in  III,  i,  65 ;  why  not  '  thou '  for  thee  here,  especially  as  it  is  con- 
siderably separated  from  its  regimen  :  '  either  I  strike  at  thee,  Macbeth,  or  else,'  etc 
— Clarendon  :  This  word  is  not  in  grammatical  construction.  We  must  supply 
some  words  like  must  be  my  antagonist. 

29.  vndeeded]  Clarendon:  Not  found  elsewhere,  at  least  not  in  Shake- 
speare. 

30.  clatter]  Clarendon  :  Not  used  elsewhere  by  Shakespeare.  Macbeth  is  par^ 
ticularly  remarkable  for  the  number  of  these  oko^  'keybfieva. 


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ACT  V,  sc.  viiij      THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  341 

Seemes  bruited.     Let  me  finde  him  Fortune,  31 

And  more  I  begge  not.  Exit.  Alarums. 

Enter  Malcoltne  and  Seyward. 

Sey.    This  way  my  Lord,  the  Caftles  gently  rendred : 
The  Tyrants  people,  on  both  fides  do  fight,  35 

The  Noble  Thanes  do  brauely  in  the  Warre, 
The  day  almoft  it  felfe  profeffes  yours, 
And  little  is  to  do. 

Male.    We  haue  met  with  Foes 
That  ftrike  befide  vs.  40 

Sey.    Enter  Sir,  the  Cattle.        Exeunt.  Alarum 

{Scene  PV//.] 

Enter  Macbeth.  i 

Macb.   Why  fhould  I  play  the  Roman  Foole,and  dye 
On  mine  owne  fword  ?  whiles  I  fee  liues,  the  galhes 
Do  better  vpon  them. 

Enter  Macduff e.  5 


31,  32.  Seemes,,Mnd^  One  line,  Han. 
Cap.  Mai.  Ran.  Ktly. 

31.  bruited'\  bruUed there  Steev.  conj. 
to  be  bruited  Ktly,  oonj. 

finde'\  but  find  Steev.  conj. 

32.  Alarums.]  Ff,  Cap.  Dyoe,  Sta. 
Glo.  Cam.  Alanns.  D'Av.  Alarom 
Rowe  iiy  et  cet. 

37.  it  felfe  profeffes]  professes  itself 
Johns. 

39.   IVe  haue]  W^ve  Pope,  +  ,  Dyce 


ii,  iii,  Hnds.  ii,  iii. 

41.  Alaram]   Alann.  D'Av.      Alar- 
ums. Cap.  Dyce,  Sta. 

Scene  VIII.]  Dyce,  Sta.  Glo. 
Cam.  Hnds.  ii,  iii.  SCENE  VII.  Pope, 
Han.  Warb.  Johns.  Scene  continued, 
Ff,  et  cet 

I.  Enter...]  Re-enter...  Cap. 

3.  whiles]    while    D'At.       whilst 
Rowe,  +  . 

5.  Enter...]  Re-enter...  Cap. 


31.  bruited]  Steevens:  That  is,  to  report  with  clamor;  to  noise;  from  bruit^ 
French. 

40.  beside  vs]  Delius:  This  refers  to  Macbeth' s  people  who  had  gone  over  to 
the  enemy. — Rev.  John  Hunter  :  That  is,  by  our  side. — Clarendon:  That  delib- 
erately miss  us.     Compare  J  Hen,  VI:  II,  i,  129,  sqq. 

2.  Foole]  Steevens  :  Alluding,  perhaps,  to  the  suicide  of  Cato,  which  is  referred 
to  iny«/.  Qts.  V,  i,  102. — Singer  (ed.  ii.)  :  Alluding  to  the  high  Roman  fashion 
of  self-destruction,  as  in  Brutus,  Cassius,  Antony,  etc. 

3.  liues]  Dalgleish  :  So  long  as  I  see  living  men  opposed  to  me,  the  gashes  do 
better  upon  them  than  upon  me. — [Schmidt  (Lex,) :  The  abstract  for  the  concrete ; 
equivalent  to  liinng  creatures, — Ed.  ii.] 


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342  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH    [act  v,  sc  viii. 

Macd.    Tume  Hell-hound,  tume.  6 

Macb.    Of  all  men  elfe  I  haue  auoyded  thee : 
But  get  thee  backe,  my  foule  is  too  much  charged 
With  blood  of  thine  already. 

Macd.     I  haue  no  words,  lO 

My  voice  is  in  my  Sword,  thou  bloodier  Villaine    r 
Then  tearmes  can  giue  thee  out.  Fight :  Alarum 

Macb,    Thou  loofeft  labour, 
As  eafie  ma)r'ft  thou  the  intrenchant  Ayre 
With  thy  keene  Sword  imprefle,  as  make  me  bleed :  15 

Let  fall  thy  blade  on  vulnerable  Crefts, 
I  beare  a  charmed  Life,  which  muft  not  yeeld 
To  one  of  woman  borne. 

Macd.     Difpaire  thy  Charme, 
And  let  the  Angell  whom  thou  (till  haft  feruM  20 

Tell  thee,  Macduffe  was  from  his  Mothers  womb 
Vntimely  ript  22 

7.  thee\  the  F,.  12.  Fight:  Alamm]  They  fight.  Mai. 

9,  II.  biood,  bloodier]  bloud^  bloudier        et  seq. 
FjF^.  17.  charmed]  charmed  Dyce. 

7.  aU  men  else]  For  confusion  of  construction  in  superlatives,  see  Abbott,  |  409. 

II,  12.  thou  bloodier  .  .  .  oat]  For  instances  of  this  construction,  see  III,  vi,  54. 

14.  intrenchant]  Upton  (p.  310) :  The  active  participle  used  passively.  That 
is,  not  suffering  itself  to  be  cut.  As,  *  the  air  invulnerable,'  Hamlet^  I,  i,  146,  and 
'  woundless  air,'  3id.  IV,  i,  44. — Steevens  :  Shakeq>eare  has  trenchant  in  an  active 
sense  in  Tlmon^  IV,  iii,  1 15. — ^Nares  :  Not  permanently  divisible ;  not  retaining  any 
mark  of  division.  We  have  no  other  example  of  it.  [For  instances  of  adjectives 
having  both  an  active  and  passive  meaning,  see  I,  iv,  15 ;  I,  vii,  27 ;  and 
Abbott,  5  3.] 

17.  charmed]  Upton  :  In  the  days  of  chivalry,  the  champions'  arms  being  cere- 
moniously blessed,  each  took  an  oath  that  he  used  no  charmed  weapons.  Macbeth, 
according  to  the  law  of  arms,  or  perhaps  only  in  allusion  to  this  custom,  tells  Mac- 
duff of  the  security  he  had  in  the  prediction  of  the  spirit. 

17.  mast]  For  use  of  <mnst'  in  sense  of  definite  futurity,  see  Abbott,  §  3x4; 
also  IV,  iii,  249. 

19.  Dispaire]  Clarendon  :  We  find  Mespair'  used  thus  for  despair  of  in  the 
last  line  of  Ben  Jonson's  commendatory  verses  prefixed  to  F,  of  Shakespeare: 
'Which,  since  thy  flight  from  hence,  hath  mourn' d  like  night.  And  despaires  day, 
but  for  thy  volumes  light.' — Abbott  (§  200) :  Perhaps  a  Latinism. 

20.  Angell]  Clarendon  :  Of  course  used  here  in  a  bad  sense.  Compare  2  Hen. 
IV:  I,  ii,  186,  where  the  Chief  Justice  calls  Falstaff  the  Prince's  <ill  angel,'  or  evil 
genius.  Compare  also  Ani,  and  Cleo.  II,  iii,  21,  where  *thy  angel'  or  'demon*  is 
explained  as  *  thy  spirit  which  keeps  thee.'     [See  III,  i,  67,  note  by  Baynes.] 

22.  Vntimely  ript]  Twkedib  :  Shakespeare,  perhaps,  had  read  in  Viigil  that 


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ACT  V.  sc.  viu.]      THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  343 

Macb.    Accurfed  be  that  tongue  that  tels  mee  fo ;  23 

For  it  hath  Cow^d  my  better  part  of  man  : 
And  be  thefe  lugling  Fiends  no  more  beleeuM,  25 

That  palter  with  vs  in  a  double  fence, 
That  keepe  the  word  of  promife  to  our  eare, 
And  breake  it  to  our  hope.    He  not  fight  with  thee. 

Macd.     Then  yeeld  thee  Coward,  29 

23.  Accur/ed'\  Accursid,  Dyce. 

children  who  came  into  the  world  in  this  extraordinary  manner  were  consecrated  to 
Apollo;  and  therefore  invulnerable.  *Ripp'd  from  the  womb,  the  infant  'scaped 
the  steel.'  [The  passage  in  Vixgil  to  which  Tweedie  refers  is,  possibly,  in  the  yEneid^ 
Bk,  X,  11.  315-317:  *Inde  Lichan  ferit,  exsectum  jam  matre  peremptA,  £t  tibi, 
Phcebe,  sacrum,  casus  evadere  ferri  Quod  licuit  parvo.*  It  does  not  appear  who 
is  responsible  for  Tweedie' s  translation,  which  fails  to  convey  the  idea  contained 
in  this  passage  from  Virgil. — Henry  {Note  on  ASnM^  ad  loc  dt)  2  We  have 
another,  and  very  interesting,  instance  of  this  custom,  viz.  of  the  dedication  of  a 
child  which  had  narrowly,  and,  as  it  seemed  miraculously,  escaped  death,  to  the 
services  of  a  particular  divinity,  in  Camilla,  dedicated  by  her  father  to  Diana.  Nor 
has  the  custom  even  yet  entirely  disappeared.  We  still  dedicate — not,  indeed,  to 
Phcebus  or  Diana,  but  to  the  Virgin— children  who  have  escaped  miraculously,  as 
it  is  thought,  some  very  inuninent  danger  of  death.  In  strictly  Roman  Catholic 
countries  such  children — easily  distinguishable  among  their  playmates  by  their  pecu- 
liar, generally  entirely  white,  costume — are  very  frequently  to  be  met  with. — R.  P. 
Harris,  M.  D.  {Tolerance  in  Pregnant  Women,  Philadelphia,  1892),  has  collected 
upwards  of  seventeen  instances  wherein  premature  birth  was  due,  not  to  the  Csesa- 
rean  section,  but  to  lacerations  by  horns  of  cattle ;  and  suggests  that '  such  a  cas- 
ualty may  have  happened  to  the  mother  of  Macduff,  in  view  of  the  fact  that  several 
other  women  have  suffered  the  same  form  of  injury,  whose  sons,  thus  liberated,  have 
lived  to  mature  age.'    See  also  Appendix,  p.  399. — Ed.  ii.] 

24.  my  better  part  of  man]  Clarendon  :  The  better  part  of  my  manhood. 
See  Abbott,  §  423. 

26.  palter]  Craik  {Jul,  Gts.  II,  i,  126) :  To  shufHe,  to  equivocate,  to  act  or 
speak  unsteadily  or  dubiously  with  the  intention  to  deceive. — Clarendon  :  The  deri- 
vation of  the  word  is  uncertain:  *  paltry'  comes  from  it. 

28.  He  . .  .  with  thee]  Fletcher  (p.  154) :  There  is  no  want  of  physical  cour- 
age implied  in  Macbeth' s  declining  the  combat  with  Macduff.  He  may  well  believe 
that  now,  more  than  ever,  it  is  time  to  'beware  Macduff.'  He  is  at  length  con- 
vinced that  *  fate  and  metaphysical  aid'  are  against  him  ;  and,  consistent  to  the  last 
in  his  hardened  and  whining  selfishness,  no  thought  of  the  intense  blackness  of  his 
own  perfidy  interferes  to  prevent  him  from  complaining  of  falsehood  in  those  evil 
beings  from  whose  very  nature  he  should  have  expected  nothing  else.  There  is  no 
cowardice,  we  say,  in  his  declining  the  combat  under  such  a  conviction.  Neither  is 
there  any  courage  in  his  renewing  it ;  for  there  is  no  room  for  courage  in  opposing 
evident  fate.  But  the  last  word  and  action  of  Macbeth  are  an  expression  of  the 
moral  cowardice  which  we  trace  so  conspicuously  throughout  his  career ;  he  sutren- 
<ier8  his  life  that  he  may  not  be  *  baited  with  the  rabble's  curse.' 


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344  ^^^  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH    [act  v,  sc.  viii. 

And  liue  to  be  the  fhew,  and  gaze  o'th'time.  30 

Wee'l  haue  thee,  as  our  rarer  Monfters  are 
Painted  vpon  a  pole,  and  vnder-writ, 
Heere  may  you  fee  the  Tyrant, 

Macb.     I  will  not  yeeld 
To  kiffe  the  ground  before  young  Malcolmes  feet,  35 

And  to  be  baited  with  the  Rabbles  curfe. 
Though  Bymane  wood  be  come  to  Dunfmane, 
And  thou  opposM,  being  of  no  woman  borne. 
Yet  I  will  try  the  laft.    Before  my  body, 

I  throw  my  warlike  Shield  :  Lay  on  Macduffe^  40 

And  damnM  be  him,  that  iirfl  cries  hold,  enough. 

Exeunt  fighting.        Alarums.  42 

34.  IwiU^  rU  Pope,  Han.  Steev.  38.  heii^'\  he  Theob.  Waib.   Johns. 

Var.  Sing.  i.  Coll.  u.  (MS). 

37.  Bymani\  Bymam  ¥JP^.     Bir-  41.  Aim]  he  Pope,  +  ,    Jen.    Hods. 

nam  F^.  CoU.  MS. 

28,  39.  Walker  {Crit,  iii,  259) :  Arrange,  rather,  I  think,  *  I  wiU  not  fight  with 
thee.  Macd.  Then  yield  thee,  coward,'  [one  line],  'with  thee*  emphatically. 
[Adopted  by  Hudson,  ed.  ii.] — Clarendon  :  Walker's  arrangement  is  perhaps  right 

30.  shew]  DELms :  Thus  Antony  threatens  Qeopatra.  See  Ant,  6f  Cleo,  IV,  xii, 
36. — Clarendon  :  Benedick  makes  a  somewhat  similar  jest,  Much  Ado,  I,  i,  267. 

30.  time]  For  *time'  used  for  the  toartdy  see  I,  v,  72  ;  I,  yii,  95 ;  IV,  iii,  85. 

32.  pole]  Harry  Rows  :  Having  been  a  traTeller  in  this  way  myself,  I  shall 
yentare  to  amend  this  reading,  meo  perieulo,  to  cloth, — Daniel  :  Qy.  read :  '  We'll 
have  thee  painted,  as  our  rarer  monsters  are.  And  underwrit  upon  a  scroll,'  etc 

41.  him]  Abbott  (§  208) :  Perhaps  /r/,  or  some  such  word,  was  implied. 

41.  hold]  For  ancient  use  of  this  word,  see  I,  v,  60. — Elwin  :  The  natural 
physical  boldness  of  Macbeth  breaks  forth  in  the  very  face  of  despair. — Claren- 
don :  The  cry  of  the  heralds,  <  Ho  I  ho  I'  commanding  the  cessation  of  a  combat,  is 
probably  corrupted  from  *Hold,  hold,'  as  Mo'  from  Mook.' — [Booth  has  the  fol- 
lowing arrangement  of  the  ending  to  this  scene  :  after  '  hold,  enough,'  *  They  fight ^ 
and  Macbeth  is  killed, — Flourish, — Enter,  with  drum  and  banners,  Malcolm^  /^osse, 
Lennox,  and  Soldiers,  AIL  Hail,  king  of  Scotland !  Flourish,  Curtain.'— Irving, 
after  '  hold,  enough,'  has  *  They  fight,  Macbeth  is  slain.  Enter  Malcolm,  Siward, 
Ross,  the  other  Thanes,  and  Soldiers.  Macd,  Hail,  king !  AIL  Hail,  King  I 
Flourish,     CURTAIN.'— Ed.  ii.] 

42.  Exeunt]  Jennens  :  The  direction  of  the  Ff  supposes  Macbeth  and  Macduff 
to  re-enter,  and  end  their  duel  on  the  stage.  If  we  allow  this  direction,  we  must 
also  put  in  another ;  and  either  make  the  curtain  fall,  or  exit  Macduff,  and  the  body 
of  Macbeth  carried  off,  before  Malcolm,  etc.,  enter. — Fletcher  (p.  168) :  To  the 
alteration,  in  deference  to  modem  taste,  which  makes  Macbeth  fall  and  die  upon 
the  stage  we  have  nothing  to  object :  only  it  is  worth  observing,  that  the  very  fiKt 
of  Shakespeare's  making  Macduff,  after  killing  his  antagonist  off  the  stage,  re-enter 
with  <  the  usurper's  cursed  head'  upon  a  pole,  is  a  final  and  striking  indication  that 


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ACT  V,  sc.  viii.]     THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  345 

Enter  Fightings  and  Macbeth  Jiaine.  43 

Retreat  y  andFlouriJh.  Enter  with  Drumme  and  Colours  ^ 

Malcolm^  Seywardy  Rojfe ,  ThaneSy  &  Soldiers.  45 

Mai.     I  would  the  Friends  we  miffe,  were  fafe  arriuM' 

Sey.    Some  muft  go  off :  and  yet  by  thefe  I  fee, 
So  great  a  day  as  this  is  cheapely  bought. 

Mai.    Macduffe  is  miffing,  and  your  Noble  Sonne. 

RoJlfe?lo\xx  fon  my  Lord,  ha's  paid  a  fouldiers  debt,  50 

He  onely  liu'd  but  till  he  was  a  man. 
The  which  no  fooner  had  his  Proweffe  confirmed  52 

43.  Enter...  flaine]  Enter  ...is  slain.  Cathness,  Menteth,  Mai.  the  other 
Rowe.    Om.  Pope,  et  cet.  Thanes,  Cap.  et  cet 

44.  Scene  VIII.  Pope,  +  .  52.  Pr<m«^<f] /r^w'ji  Pope,  Theob.  i. 

45.  Thanes]    Ff.      Lenox,    Angus, 

he  meant  Macbeth  to  die  by  all  unpitied  and  abhorred.— Ed.  ii.— R.  G.  White:  It 
is  possible  that  Shakespeare,  or  the  stage-manager  of  his  company,  did  not  deny 
the  audience  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  the  usurper  meet  his  doom,  and  that  in  the 
subsequent  '  retreat '  his  body  was  dragged  off  the  stage  for  its  supposed  decapita- 
tion. See  stage-direction,  line  70. — Dyce  (ed.  ii.) :  The  stage-directions  given  by 
the  Ff  in  this  scene  are  exquisitely  absurd. — Clarendon  :  In  all  likelihood  Shake- 
speare's part  in  the  play  ended  here.  [The  following  lines  are  found  in  J.  P.  Kem- 
ble*s  Acting  Copy,  1794,  and  were  added  by  Garrick:  {^Alarum,  They  fight, 
Macbeth  fails.)  Macb,  Tis  done !  the  scene  of  life  will  quickly  close.  Ambition's 
vain  delusive  dreams  are  fled.  And  now  I  wake  to  darlmess,  guilt,  and  horror ;  I 
cannot  bear  it  1  let  me  shake  it  off— It  will  not  be ;  my  soul  is  dog'd  with  blood — ^I 
cannot  rise  I  I  dare  not  ask  for  mercy — It  is  too  late,  hell  drags  me  down ;  I  sink, 
I  sink, — ^my  soul  is  lost  for  ever  1— Oh  I — Oh  1 —    Dtes,*"} 

47.  go  off ]  CiARENDON :  A  singular  euphemism  for  die.  We  have  'parted'  in 
the  same  sense  in  line  68.  Similarly  to  '  take  off*  is  used  for  /o  kill  in  III,  i,  126. 
[Also  I,  vii,  24. — Ed.  ii.] 

50.  LiBBY  :  Here  is  Ross  for  the  last  time  currying  favour  with  the  victor  by  the 
exercise  of  his  obituary  eloquence.  He  receives  scant  courtesy  from  the  soldierly 
Sivrard. — Ed.  ii. 

51.  onely  . . .  but]  Clarendon  :  For  an  instance  of  this  pleonasm,  see  Bacon, 
Advancement  of  Learnings  ii*  I7>  §  9:  'For  those  whose  conceits  are  seated  in 
popular  opinions,  need  only  but  to  prove  or  dispute.' — Abbott  (§  130)  :  The  same 
forgetfulness  of  the  original  meaning  of  words  which  led  to  *  more  better,'  etc.,  led 
also  to  the  redundant  use  of  but  in  '^m/  only,'  '  merely  but^*  *but  even,'  etc 

52.  The  which]  See  III,  i,  22. 

52.  Prowesse]  Walker  {Vers.  p.  119)  :  Such  words  as  jeroel,  steward,  lower, 
poet,  etc.,  in  which  a  short  vowel  is  preceded  by  a  long  one  or  a  diphthong — among 
the  rest  may  be  particularly  noticed  such  present  participles  as  doing,  going,  dying, 
etc. — ^are  frequently  contracted;  the  participles  almost  always.  Thus  prowess. 
And  so  Greene,  Alphonsus,  iii,  ed.  Dyce,  vol.  ii,  p.  27,  'Whose  prowess  alone 
has  been  the  only  cause.'     Butler,  Hudibras,  pt  I,  canto  i,  873,  'Which  we  must 


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346  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH    [act  v.  sc.  viiL 

In  the  vnfhrinking  (lation  where  he  fought,  53 

But  like  a  man  he  dy'de. 

Sey.    Then  he  is  dead  ?  55 

/?^.I,and  brought  off  the  field  :  your  caufe  of  forrow 
Muft  not  be  meafur'd  by  his  worth,  for  then 
It  hath  no  end* 

Sey.     Had  he  his  hurts  before  ? 

Rojfe.    I,  on  the  Front.  60 

Sey.    Why  then,  Gods  Soldier  be  he  : 
Had  I  as  many  Sonnes,  as  I  haue  haires, 
I  would  not  wifh  them  to  a  fairer  death: 
And  fo  his  Knell  is  knoUM. 

Med,     Hee^s  worth  more  forrow,  65 

And  that  He  fpend  for  him. 

Sey.     He's  worth  no  more, 
They  fay  he  parted  well,  and  paid  his  fcore. 
And  fo  God  be  with  him.     Here  comes  newer  comfort 

Enter  Macduffe\with  Macbeths  head.  70 

55.  he  is]  is  he  Pope,+.  69.  be  with"]  b*  wi*  Sing,  ii,  Dyoe  ii, 

61.  be  he:]  he!  Anon.  ap.  Cam.  iii,  Hnds.  ii,  iii. 

69.  ^iK//i7]  .S9Pope,  +  .    AndQtXL,  70.  Enter...]    Re-enter...     Cap.    et 

MS.  seq. 

manage  at  a  rate  Of  prowess  and  courage  adequate.'  In  canto  ii,  23,  prowess 
rhymes  to  loose^  and  in  canto  iii,  181,  to  foes;  pt.  Ill,  canto  iii,  357,  cows— prowess, 
[See,  to  same  effect,  Abbott,  §  470,  quoted  at  II,  iii,  66.] — Clarendon  :  It  is  used 
in  two  other  passages  in  Shakespeare,  in  both  as  a  disyllabic. 

52.  confirm'd]  Daniel  :  Read  proved.  Or,  '  No  sooner  had  his  prowess  this 
confirmed.' 

56.  cause]  Clarendon  :  A  pleonasm  for  sorrow.  Course  is  a  not  improbable 
conjecture. 

62.  Sonnes  . . .  haires]  Abbott  calls  attention  to  the  pun  here,  as  well  as  that 
in  II,  ii,  70,  71. 

63.  wish  them  to]  Clarendon  :  We  have  the  same  construction  in  Tarn,  ofSAr, 
I,  ii,  60,  64. 

63.  <  When  his  father  [Siward]  heard  the  newes  [of  his  son's  death]  he  demanded 
whether  he  receiued  the  wounds  whereof  he  died,  in  the  forepart  of  the  bodie,  or  in 
the  hinder  part :  and  when  it  was  told  him  that  he  received  it  in  the  forepart ;  I 
reioise  (saith  he)  euen  with  all  my  heart,  for  I  would  not  wish  either  to  my  sonne 
nor  to  my  selfe  any  other  kinde  of  death.' — Holinshed. 

69.  Qod  be  with  him]  Walker  (  Vers,  p.  228) :  This  form  is  variously  written 
in  F,  and  in  the  old  editions  of  our  dramatists ;  sometimes  it  is  God  be  with  you  at 
full,  even  when  the  metre  requires  the  contraction  ;  at  others,  God  V  wi*  ye^  God  be 
wy  you^  Godbwy^  God  buy ^  etc. 

7a  Enter  . . .  bead]  M alone  :  I  have  added,  from  Holinshed  [see  Appendix]^ 


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ACT  V,  sc.  viii.]      THE  TRACED  IE  OF  MACBETH  347 

Macd.     Haile  King^  for  fo  thou  art.  71 

Behold  where  (lands 

Th'Vfurpers  curfed  head  :  the  time  is  free  : 
I  fee  thee  compafl  with  thy  Kingdomes  Pearle, 
That  fpeake  my  falutation  in  their  minds :  75 

Whofe  voyces  I  defire  alowd  with  mine. 
Haile  King  of  Scotland. 

AH.     Haile  King  of  Scotland.  Flaurifh. 

Med,    We  fhall  not  fpend  a  large  expence  of  time,  79 

74.  Pearle\  Peers  Rowe,  +  ,  Wh.  L  78.  All.  ffaiIe...Scotland,'\A\\,  King 

pearls  Vta. '7^    /ale  Orger.  of  Scotland^   hailt    Steev.    Var.   '03, 

77.  ScotlandJ]  Scotland  I  hail!  Han.  '13. 

78.  All.  HaiUl  All.  AllhaUl  Anon.  79.  /pend'\  pause  Kinnear. 

ap.  Cam.  expence"]  expanse  Sing.  ii.  oonj. 

to  this  stage-direction,  *  on  a  pole.'  This  explains  *  stands '  in  Macduff's  speech. — 
Harry  Rowe  :  Military  men  carried  pikes,  but  not  *  poles/  into  the  field.  This 
emendation  was  suggested  bj  my  scene-shifter. — Steevkns:  Our  ancient  players 
were  not  even  skilftd  enough  to  prevent  absurdity  in  those  circumstances  which  fell 
immediately  under  their  own  management  No  bad  specimen  of  their  want  of 
common  sense  on  such  occasions  may  be  found  in  Heywood's  Golden  Age,  161 1 : 
'  Enter  Sybilla  lying  in  childbed,  with  her  child  lying  by  her/  etc— Coluer  {Notes, 
etc.,  p.  417)  :  The  MS  Corrector  adds  <on  a  pike— stick  it  in  the  ground/  which 
shows  the  somewhat  remarkable  manner  in  which  the  spectacle  was  presented  to  the 
audience. — Coluer  (ed.  ii.) :  It  implies  that  Macduff  did  not  carry  the  head  in  his 
hand,  and  shake  it  before  the  spectators,  as  Richard  is  represented  to  have  done  with 
the  head  of  Somerset,  in  j  Hen,  VI:  I,  i,  20. 

74.  Pearle]  Malone  :  This  means  thy  kingdom^ s  wealth,  or  rather,  ornament. 
So,  Sylvester,  England^  s  Parnassus,  1600 :  <  Honor  of  cities,  pearle  of  kingdomes 
all,'  [p.  268,  ed.  Collier,  Sonnet  on  the  Peace,  iii. — Ed.  ii.].  Florio,  in  a  Sonnet 
prefixed  to  his  [  Worlde  of  IVordes"],  2598,  calls  Lord  Southampton  '  bright  Pearle 
of  Peeres.' — ^Nares:  Anything  very  valuable,  the  choice  or  best  part;  from  the 
high  estimation  of  the  real  pearl.  In  the  present  case  it  means  the  chief  nobility. — 
Hunter  (ii,  201)  :  This  is  an  expression  for  which  it  is  not  easy  to  account.  There 
is  as  strange  a  use  of  the  same  word  in  Sylvester's  Du  Bartas^  p.  554 :  <  These  para- 
sites axe  even  the  pearls  and  rings  (Pearls,  said  I,  perils)  in  the  ears  of  kings.'  It  is 
possible  that  Shakespeare  might  allude  to  this  passage  of  Sylvester. — ^White  :  Rowe's 
change  was  a  very  proper  one,  I  think.  A  man  may  be  called  a  pearl,  and  many  men 
pearls,  par  excellence;  but  to  call  a  crowd  of  noblemen  the  pearl  oi  a  kingdom  is  an 
anomalous  and  ungraceful  use  of  language. — Keightlby  :  <  Pearl '  is  here  a  collect- 
ive term, — a  singular  with  a  plural  sense.  The  word  was  often  so  used. — Claren* 
DON :  Perhaps  in  the  present  passage  *  pearl '  is  suggested  by  the  row  of  pearls  which 
usually  encircled  a  crown. 

79-94.  Fletcher  (p.  z68) :  The  omission  [on  the  stage]  of  Malcolm's  concluding 
speech  seems  to  us  to  be  alike  needless  and  senseless.  Shakespeare  knew  the  art 
of  appropriately  closing  a  drama,  no  less  than  that  of  opening  it  happily.  These 
lines  from  the  restored  prince  not  only  draw  together  in  one  point,  as  is  requisite. 


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348  THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH    [act  v,  sa  viii. 

Before  we  reckon  with  your  feuerall  loues^  80 

And  make  vs  euen  with  you.    My  Thanes  and  Kinfmen 

Henceforth  be  Earles,  the  firft  that  euer  Scotland 

In  fuch  an  Honor  namM  :  What's  more  to  do, 

Which  would  be  planted  newly  with  the  time, 

As  calling  home  our  exilM  Friends  abroad,  85 

That  fled  the  Snares  of  watchfuU  Tyranny, 

Producing  forth  the  cruell  Minifters 

Of  this  dead  Butcher, and  his  Fiend-like  Queene ; 

Wbo(  as  'tis  thought )  by  felfe  and  violent  hands,  89 

81.  My\  Om.  Pope,  +  .  89.  felfe  and'}  selflmd  Anon.  ap. 

Cam. 

the  several  somYing  threads  of  interest,  bat  show  as  dedsively  the  predominant 
impression  which  the  dramatist  intended  to  leave  on  the  minds  of  his  audience. 
They  are  like  a  gleam  of  evening  sanshine,  bidding  '  farewell  sweet,'  after  <  so  fair 
and  foul  a  day.' — Ed.  ii. 

79.  ezpence]  Stekvens  :  To  spend  an  expense  is  a  phrase  with  which  no  reader 
will  be  satisfied.  We  certainly  owe  it  to  the  mistake  xA  a  transcriber  or  the  negli- 
gence of  a  printer.  Perhaps  extent  was  the  word.  However,  in  Cmw.  of  Err,  III, 
i,  123,  <  This  jest  shall  eost  me  some  expense,^ — ^Kbightley  :  With  Singer  I  read 
make  for  <  spend.'  [I  have  been  unable  to  find  this  emendation  of  Singer's,  nor  is  he 
credited  with  it  by  the  Cambridge  Editors. — Ed.] — Clarendon  :  There  is  no  reason 
to  suspect  any  corruption.  The  verb  governs  a  cognate  accusative,  as  in  Numbers^ 
zziii,  10,  'Let  me  die  the  death  of  the  righteous.'  Similarly  in  Rich.  //.*  IV,  i, 
232 :  *•  To  read  a  lecture  of  them.' — Bailey  :  I  propose  excess.  Ptobably  the  word 
<  spend '  occasioned  the  transcriber  or  printer  to  turn  excess  into  <  expense.'  Since 
spend  may  be  the  corrupt  word,  my  emendation  is  doubtful.  It  has  little,  if  any, 
mperiority  over  one  which  has  just  struck  me  :  <  We  shall  not  suffer  a  large  expense f* 
etc.,  where  suffer^  as  is  not  uncommon,  is  a  monosyllable. 

80.  loues]  For  a  similar  plural,  see  V,  ii,  6. 

82.  <  Malcolme  Cammore  thus  recouering  the  relme . . .  created  manie  earles,  lords, 
barons,  and  knights.  Manie  of  them  that  before  were  thanes,  were  at  this  time  made 
earles,  as  Fife,  Menteth,  AthoU,  Leuenoz,  Murrey,  Cathnes,  Rosse,  and  Angus.' — 
Holinshed. 

83.  to  do]  For  ellipses  after  *  is,'  see  V,  vii,  37. 

84.  would]  For  '  would '  used  conditionally,  see  I,  v,  21 ;  also  I,  vii,  40. 

85.  As]  For  '  as '  in  the  sense  of  to  wiiy  see  V,  iii,  30.  [I  am  not  quite  sore, 
because  of  the  '  what  needful  else,'  in  line  89,  that  Walker's  construction  strictly 
applies  here. — Ed.] 

85.  ezil'd  Friends  abroad]  For  this  construction  with  the  adjective,  see  III, 

vi,  54. 

89.  selfe]  Clarendon  [note  on  'Infusing  him  with  self  and  vain  conceit,' 
Rich,  II:  III,  ii,  166]  :  Self  is  used  by  Shakespeare  as  an  adjective,  as  in  Twelfth 
Nighty  I,  i,  39,  '  One  self  king,'  so  that  he  felt  no  awkwardness  in  separating  it 


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ACT  V,  sc.  viii.]      THE  TRAGEDIE  OF  MACBETH  349 

Tooke  off  her  life.     This,  and  what  needfull  elfe  90 

That  calFs  vpon  vs,  by  the  Grace  of  Grace, 
We  will  performe  in  meafure,  time,  and  place  : 
So  thankes  to  all  at  once,  and  to  each  one. 
Whom  we  inuite,  to  fee  vs  CrownM  at  Scone. 

Fhurijh.  Exeunt  Omnes.  95 


FINIS. 


90.  whaf^  what's  Han.  of  God  Warb. 

91.  of  Grace]  of  heaven  Pope,  Han.  95.  Omnes]  Om.  Cap.  et  seq. 

from  the  substantive,  whose  sense  it  modifies,  by  a  second  epithet.     [See  also 
Abbott,  §  20.] 

90,  91.  what .  .  .  else  That]  Abbott  (§  286) :  There  is  here  probably  an 
ellipsis : '  —  what  needful  else  (there  be)  That,'  etc. 

91.  Grace  of  Grace]  Theobald  :  This  is  an  expression  Shakespeare  is  fond  of: 
<  Do  curse  the  grace  that  with  such  grace  hath  blest  them.' — 7\tfo  Gent.  Ill,  i,  146. 
*The  greatest  grace  lending  grace,'  etc. — AlPs  JVelt,  II,  i,  163.  In  like  manner 
he  loves  to  redouble  other  words :  'And  spite  of  spite  needs  must  I  rest  awhile.' — 
J  Hen.  VI:  II,  iii,  5.  '  Now,  for  the  love  of  Love  and  her  soft  hours.' — Ant.  &* 
Cleo,  I,  i,  44.    [See  also  V,  iii,  54.] 

93,  94.  So  .  .  .  Scone]  Manly  :  There  can  be  little  doubt  that  the  actor,  in 
speaking  these  lines,  addressed  the  audience  rather  than  the  dramatis  persona^  and 
made  this  utterance  of  thanks  serve  as  a  sort  of  epilogue. — Ed.  ii. 

93.  one]  For  pronunciation,  see  II,  i,  61 ;  also  III,  iv,  162. 


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APPENDIX 


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APPENDIX 


THE  TEXT 

*  The  Tragedie  of  Macbeth  *  was  first  printed  in  the  Folio  of  1623,  where  it 
occupies  twenty-one  pages:  from  p.  131  to  p.  151  inclusive,  in  the  division  of 
Tragedies^  between  Julius  Casar  and  Hamlet,  The  Acts  and  Scenes  are  all  there 
indicated. 

Coluer  :  We  may  presume,  as  in  other  similar  cases,  that  it  had  not  come  from 
the  press  at  an  earlier  date,  because  in  the  books  of  the  Stationers*  Company  it  is 
registered  by  Blount  and  Jaggard,  on  the  8th  of  November,  1623,  as  one  of  the  plays 
*  not  formerly  entered  to  other  men.' 

Hunter  (ii,  152) :  The  numerous  corrections  (decidedly  and  unquestionably  so) 
made  by  the  editors  of  F,,  and  the  numerous  other  deviations  of  the  text  of  F,,  show 
that  the  original  editors  performed  their  duty  in  a  very  imperfect  manner,  and  that 
therefore  there  is  just  room  for  a  bolder  conjectural  criticism  on  this  play  than  per- 
haps on  any  other ;  neither  can  the  variations  of  F,  from  F,  be  always  accepted  as 
improvements  or  authoritative  determinations  of  the  true  text. 

Cambridge  Editors  :  Except  that  it  is  divided  into  Scenes,  as  well  as  Acts,  it  is 
one  of  the  worst  printed  of  all  the  plays,  especially  as  regards  the  metre,  and  not  a 
few  passages  are  hopelessly  corrupt. 

Clarendon  :  Probably  it  was  printed  from  a  transcript  of  the  author's  MS,  which 
was  in  great  part  not  copied  from  the  original,  but  written  to  dictation.  This  is  con- 
firmed by  the  fact  that  several  of  the  most  palpable  blunders  are  blunders  of  the  ear 
and  not  ci  the  eye. 


DATE  OF  THE   PLAY 


Capell  {Notes f  ii,  26) :  The  matter  treated  on  [in  IV,  iii,  158-180]  leads  to  a 
discovery  of  what  all  must  wish  to  have  settl'd — ^the  chronology  of  the  play.  That 
if  s  general  fable  was  made  choice  of  on  the  score  of  King  James,  is  acknowledg'd 
on  all  hands  ;  and  this  engrafted  particular,  of  the  virtue  of  kingly  touches^  serv'd 
the  purpose  of  incense  to  him,  as  well  as  its  witchery  and  the  fortunes  of  his  an- 
cestor Banquo:  Touching  for  the  *  evil*  was  reviv'd  by  this  king  in  his  reign's 
beginning,  and  practis'd  with  great  ceremony,  a  ritual  being  establish' d  for  it :  the 
mention  of  it's  source,  when  a  novelty,  had  some  grace  on  the  stage,  and  in  the  ear 
of  it's  reviver ;  and  to  that  period,  the  king's  third  or  fourth  year,  [James  ascended 
the  throne  in  March,  1602-3. — Ed.]  reason  bids  us  assign  the  speech  in  question. 
This  conjecture  about  it's  date,  it  will  be  said,  stands  in  need  of  some  strength' ning : 
call  we  in  then  to  it's  aid  another  conjecture,  built  upon  what  is  found  in  [Farmer's 
Essay,  quoted  on  p.  396. — Ed.].  A  Latin  play  on  this  subject  was  parcel  of  the 
king's  entertainment  at  Oxford  in  1605 ;  that  it  preceded  the  play  before  us,  is  nearly 
certain  ;  For  what  writer  would,  on  such  an  occasion,  think  of  dressing  up  one  upon 
23  353 


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354  APPENDIX 

a  fable  that  was  then  in  exhibition  elsewhere  ?  and  that  it  preceded  not  long,  highly 
probable ;  weighing  the  rapid  pen  of  this  Author,  and  the  advantage  to  be  expected 
from  a  quick  bringing  it  on  upon  his  own  newly-establish'd  stage  in  the  Black-friars. 

Malone  (vol.  ii,  p.  407,  ed.  1821)  :  I  have  observed  some  notes  of  time  in  this 
tragedy  that  appear  to  me  strongly  to  confirm  the  date  I  have  assigned  to  it  [vix. 
1606].  They  occur  in  II,  iii,  7,  8:  <  Here's  a  farmer  that  hang'd  himself  on  th' 
expectation  of  plenty*  The  price  of  com  was  then,  as  now,  the  great  criterion  of 
plenty  or  scarcity.  That  in  the  summer  and  autumn  of  1606  there  was  a  prospect 
of  plenty  of  com  appears  from  the  audit-book  of  the  College  of  Eton  ;  for  the  price 
of  wheat  in  that  year  was  lower  than  it  was  for  thirteen  years  afterwards,  being  thirty- 
three  shillings  the  quarter.  In  the  preceding  year  (1605)  it  was  two  shillings  a 
quarter  dearer,  and  in  the  subsequent  year  (1607)  three  shillings  a  quaiter  dearer. 
In  1608  wheat  was  sold  at  Windsor  market  for  fifty-six  shillings  and  eight  pence  a 
quarter ;  and  in  X609  for  fifty  shillings.  In  1606  bariey  and  malt  were  considerably 
cheaper  than  in  the  two  years  subsequent. 

In  the  following  words  in  the  same  scene  there  is  still  stronger  confirmation  of 
the  date  of  this  tragedy:  *  here's  an  equivocator^  that  could  swear  in  both  scales 
against  either  scale;  who  committed  treason  enough  for  God^s  sake;  yet  could  not 
equivocate  to  heaven.' 

Waxbnrton  long  since  observed  that  there  was  here  an  allusion  to  the  Jesuits  as 
*  the  inventors  of  the  execrable  doctrine  of  equivocation.'  If  the  allusion  were  only 
thus  general,  this  passage  would  avail  us  little  in  settling  the  time  when  Macbeth 
was  written  ;  but  it  was  unquestionably  much  more  particular  and  personal,  and  had 
direct  reference  to  the  doctrine  of  equivocation  avowed  by  Henry  Garnet,  Superior 
of  the  order  of  Jesuits  in  England,  on  his  trial  for  the  Gunpowder  Treason,  on  the 
28th  of  March,  1606,  and  to  his  detestable  perjury  on  that  occasion,  or,  as  Shake- 
speare expresses  it,  '  to  his  swearing  in  both  scales  against  either  scale,'  that  is,  flatly 
and  directly  contradicting  himself  on  oath. 

This  trial,  at  which  King  James  himself  was  present  incognito,  doubdess  attracted 
very  general  notice ;  and  the  allusion  to  his  gross  equivocation  and  perjury  thus 
recent,  and  probably  the  conmK>n  topic  of  discourse,  must  have  been  instantly  under- 
stood, and  loudly  applauded. 

In  a  letter  from  Mr  John  Chamberlain  to  Mr  Winwood,  April  5, 1606,  concerning 
the  trial,  it  is  stated,  ' .  . .  that  by  the  cunning  of  his  keeper.  Garnet,  being  brought 
into  a  fool's  paradise,  had  diverse  conferences  with  Hall,  his  fellow  priest,  in  the 
Tower,  which  were  overheard  by  spials  set  on  purpose.  With  which  being  charged, 
he  stiffly  denied  it ;  but  being  still  urged,  and  some  light  given  him  that  they  had 
notice  of  it,  he  persisted  still,  with  protestation  upon  his  soul  and  salvation^  that  there 
had  passed  no  such  interlocution  :  till  at  last,  being  confronted  with  Hall,  he  was 
driven  to  confess.  And  being  asked  in  this  audience  how  he  could  solve  this  kwd 
peijurie,  he  answered,  <<  that,  so  long  as  he  thought  they  had  Jio  proof,  he  was  not 
bound  to  accuse  himself;  but  when  he  saw  they  had  proof,  he  stood  not  long  in 
it"  And  then  fell  into  a  large  discourse  defendiftg  equivocation,  with  many  weak 
and  frivolous  distinctions.  The  other  example  was  of  Frauds  Tresham,  who  .  .  . 
protested  that  he  had  not  seen  him  [Garnet]  these  sixteen  years  last  past.  Whereas 
it  was  manifestly  proved  both  by  Garnet  himself,  Mrs  Vaux,  and  others,  that  he  had 
been  with  him  in  three  several  places  this  last  year,  and  once  not  many  days  before 
the  blow  should  have  been  given.  And  [Garnet]  being  now  asked  what  he  knew 
of  this  man,  he  smilingly  answered  that  he  thought  he  meant  to  equivocate.* 


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DATE  OF  THE  PLAY  355 

A  few  extracts  from  Garnet's  Trial,  printed  by  authority,  will  still  more  clearly 
show  that  the  perjury  and  equivocation  of  the  Jesuit  were  here  particularly  alluded 
to  by  Shakespeare. 

In  stating  the  case.  Sir  Edward  Coke,  the  Attorney  General,  observed  that, 
' . .  .Mr  Lockerson,  who  being  deposed  before  Garnet,  delivered  upon  his  oath 
that  they  heard  Garnet  say  to  Hall,  «  They  will  charge  me  with  my  prayer  for  the 
good  success  of  the  great  action,  in  the  beginning  of  Parliament."  •  • .  <<  It  is  true,  ' 
indeed  (said  Garnet),  that  I  prayed  for  the  good  success  of  the  great  action ;  but 
I  will  tell  them  that  I  meant  it  in  respect  of  some  sharper  laws,  which  I  feared 
they  would  make  against  Catholics ;  and  that  answer  will  serve  well  enough." ' 
Again:  'Garnet  having  protested  that  "When  Father  Green  well  made  him  ac- 
quainted with  the  whole  plot, ...  he  was  very  much  distempered,  and  could  never 
sleep  quietly  afterwards,  but  sometimes /ni^'^^/  to  God  that  it  should  not  take  effect^ \* 
the  Earl  of  Salisbury  replied,  that  **  he  should  do  well  to  speak  clearly  of  his  devo- 
tion in  that  point,  for  otherwise  he  must  put  him  to  remember  that  he  had  confessed 
to  the  Lords  that  he  had  offered  sacrifice  to  God  for  stay  of  that  plot,  unless  it  were 
for  the  good  of  the  Catholick  cause,"  *  Further :  Lord  Salisbury  reminded  Garnet, 
*  after  the  interlocution  between  him  and  Hall,  when  he  was  called  before  all  the 
lords,  and  was  asked,  not  what  he  said,  but  whether  Hall  and  he  had  conference 
together  (desiring  him  not  to  equivocate),  how  stiffly  he  denied  it  upon  his  soul, 
retracting  it  with  so  many  detestable  execrations,  as  the  Earl  said,  it  wounded  their 
hearts  to  hear  him ;  and  yet  as  soon  as  Hall  had  confessed  it,  he  grew  ashamed, 
cried  the  lords  mercy,  and  said  he  had  offended,  if  equivocation  did  not  help  hiuL' 

Here  certainly  we  have  abundant  proofs  of  *  an  equivocator  that  could  swear  in 
both  scales  against  either  settle^  who  committed  treason  enough  for  God^s  sake,  and 
yet  could  not  equivocate  to  heaven.'  [Taunton  {History  of  the  Jesuits  in  England^ 
p.  325,  foot-note)  says  that  one  of  the  aliases  of  Garnet  was  < Fanner';  and  that 
this  was  well  known.  A  discussion  on  this  point  may  be  found  in  Literature,  vol. 
viii,  1901. — Ed.  ii.] 

If  it  should  be  maintained  that  in  strict  reasoning  these  observations  only  prove 
that  Macbeth  was  written  subsequently  to  the  trial  of  Garnet,  it  may  be  remarked 
that  allusions  of  this  kind  are  generally  made  while  the  facts  are  yet  recent  in  the 
minds  of  the  writer  and  of  the  audience,  and  before  their  impression  has  been  weak- 
ened by  subsequent  events. 

The  third  circumstance  mentioned  by  the  Porter  is  that  of  *an  English  tailor 
stealing  out  of  a  French  hose,*  the  humor  of  which,  as  Warburton  has  rightly 
remarked,  consists  in  this,  that  the  French  hose  being  then  very  short  and  strait,  a 
tailor  must  be  master  of  his  trade  who  could  steal  anything  from  them.  From  a 
passage  in  Henry  V,  and  from  other  proofs,  we  know  that  about  the  year  1597  the 
French  hose  were  very  large  and  lusty ;  but  doubtless  between  that  year  and  1600 
they  had  adopted  the  fashion  here  alluded  to ;  and  we  know  that  French  fashions 
were  very  quickly  adopted  ui  England.  The  following  passage  occurs  in  The  Black 
Year,  by  Anthony  Nixon,  1606  :  '  Gentlemen  this  year  shall  be  much  wronged  by 
their  taylors,  for  their  consciences  are  now  much  larger  than  ever  they  were,  for 
where  [whereas]  they  were  wont  to  steale  but  half  a  yeard  of  brood  cloth  in  making 
up  a  payre  of  breeches,  now  they  do  largely  nicke  their  customers  in  the  lace  too, 
and  take  more  than  enough  for  the  new  fashions  sake,  besides  their  old  ones.'  The 
words  in  italics  may  relate  only  to  the  lace,  but  I  rather  think  that  the  meaning  is, 
that  whereas  formerly  tailors  used  to  steal  half  a  yard  of  cloth  in  making  a  pair  of 


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3S6  APPENDIX 

breeches,  they  now  cheat  in  the  lace  also ;  and  steal  more  than  enough  of  the  doth 
for  the  sake  of  making  the  breeches  close  and  tight,  agreeably  to  the  new  fashion. 

In  July,  1606,  the  King  of  Denmark  came  to  England  on  a  visit  to  his  sister, 
Queen  Anne,  and  on  the  third  of  August  was  installed  a  Knight  of  the  Garter. 
•  There  is  nothing  to  be  heard  at  court,*  says  Drummond  of  Hawthomden  in  a  letter 
dated  on  that  day,  *  but  sounding  of  trumpets,  hautboys,  musick,  revellings  and 
comedies.'     Ferhi^s  during  this  visit  Macbeth  was  first  exhibited. 

[The  date  of  Macbeth  thus  assigned  to  1606  by  Malone  was  accepted  by  Steevens, 
Chalmers  (the  latter  placed  it  the  twenty-eighth  in  the  order  of  composition),  and 
other  commentators,  until  the  appearance  in  1836  of  Collier's  New  Particulars 
regarding  the  Works  of  Shakespeare,  In  this  volume  mention  is  made  of  the  dis- 
covery among  the  Ashmolean  MSS  of  notes  on  the  performance  of  some  of  Shake- 
speare's plays  written  by  one  who  saw  them  acted  during  the  lifetime  of  the  PoeL 
These  notes]  *  bear  the  foUowing  title :  "  The  Booke  of  Plaies  and  Notes  thereof  ^ 
Formans,  for  common  PoUicie^'  and  they  were  written  by  Dr  Simon  Forman,  the 
celebrated  Physician  and  Astrologer,  who  lived  at  Lambeth,  the  same  parish  in 
which  Elias  Ashmole  afterwards  resided.     Forman  was  implicated  in  the  murder  of 

Sir  Thomas  Overbury,  but  died  in  161 1,  before  the  trial The  last  date  in  his 

Book  of  Plays  is  the  isth  of  May,  161 1,  so  that  he  was  a  frequenter  of  the  theatres 
until  a  short  period  before  his  sudden  decease  in  a  boat  on  the  Thames.  He  was 
notorious  long  before  his  connection  with  Lady  Essex,  and  excited  a  vast  deal  of 
jealousy  on  the  part  of  the  regular  medical  practitioners  of  London,  by  giving  un- 
licensed advice  to  the  sick,  as  well  as  by  casting  nativities ;  but  he  was  at  length  able 
to  procure  a  degree  from  Cambridge.  . .  .  The  words  **  for  common  policy  "  in  the 
title  of  Forman' s  Notes  mean  that  he  made  these  remarks  upon  plays  he  saw  repre- 
sented because  they  afforded  a  useful  lesson  of  prudence  or  "  policy  '*  for  the  "  com- 
mon "  affairs  of  life. ...  On  the  20th  of  April,  1 6 10,  which  happened  on  a  Saturday, 
the  astrological  Doctor  was  present  at  the  performance  of  Macbeth^  the  production 
of  which  on  the  stage  Malone  fixed  in  1606.  This  may  be  the  right  conjecture,  and 
Forman  may  have  seen  the  tragedy  for  the  first  time  four  yeais  after  it  was  cmginally 
brought  out ;  but  it  is  by  no  means  impossible  that  1610  was  its  earliest  season,  and 
it  is  likely  that  in  April  that  season  had  only  just  commenced  at  the  Globe,  which 
was  open  to  the  weather;  the  King's  Players  acted  at  the  covered  theatre  of  the 
Blackfriars  during  the  winter.  Malone's  reasoning  to  establish  that  Macbeth  was 
written  and  acted  in  1606,  is  very  inconclusive,  and  much  of  it  would  apply  just  as 
well  to  1610. .  . .  [Forman' s]  description  of  the  plot  of  Macbeth  is  more  particular 
and  remarkable  than  perhaps  any  of  the  others  which  he  has  given ;  he  writes'  [The 
following  extract  from  Dr  Forman* s  Book  of  Plays  is  a  copy  of  the  reprint  by  F. 
J.  FURNIVALL.— 5A.  Soc.  Trans,  1875-76,  p.  417. — Ed.  ii.]  : 

*  In  Mackbeth  at  the  glob,  i6jo,  the  20  of  Aprill,  ther  was  to  be  obsenied,  firstc, 
howe  Mackbeth  and  Bancko,  2  noble  mew  of  Scotland,  Ridinge  thorowe  a  wod, 
the[r]  stode  before  them  3  women  feiries  or  Nimphes,  And  saluted  Mackbeth, 
sajringe,  3  tyms  vnto  him,  haille  mackbeth,  King  of  Codon  ;  for  thou  shalt  be 
a  kinge,  but  shalt  beget  No  kinge,  &c.  then  said  Bancko,  what  all  to  mackbeth 
And  nothing  to  me.  Yes,  said  the  nimphes,  haille  to  thee  Banko,  thou  shalt  beget 
king^*;,  yet  be  no  kinge.  And  so  they  departed  &  cam  to  the  courte  of  Scotland  to 
Dunkin  king  of  Scot^x,  and  yt  was  in  the  dais  of  Edward  the  Confessor.  And  Dun- 
kin  bad  them  both  kindly  wellcome.  And  made  Mackbeth  forth  with  Prince  of 
Northumberland,  and  sent  him  hom  to  his  own  castell,  and  appointed  mackbeth  to 


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DATE  OF  THE  PLAY  357 

prouid  for  him,  for  he  wold  Sup  wtth  him  the  next  dai  at  night,  &  did  soe.  And 
mackebeth  contriued  to  kuU  Dunkin,  &  thorowe  the  persuasion  of  his  wife  did  that 
night  Murder  the  kinge  in  his  own  castell,  beinge  his  gueste.  And  ther  were 
many  prodigies  seen  that  night  &  the  dai  before.  And  when  Mack  Beth  had  mur- 
dred  the  kinge,  the  blod  on  his  hand^j  could  not  be  washed  of  by  any  means,  nor 
from  his  wiues  handed  w^sch  handled  the  bloddl  daggers  in  hiding  them.  By  w^ich 
means  they  became  both  much  amazed  &  afironted.  the  murder  being  knowen, 
Dunkins  2  sonns  fled,  the  on  to  England,  the  [other  to]  Walles,  to  saue  them  selues. 
They  beinge  fled,  they  were  supposed  guilty  of  the  murder  of  their  father,  which  was 
nothinge  so.  Then  was  Mackbeth  crowned  kinge,  and  then  be  for  feare  of  Banko, 
his  old  companion,  that  he  should  beget  kingex  but  be  no  kinge  him  selfe,  he  con- 
triued the  death  of  Banko,  and  caused  him  to  be  Murdred  on  the  way  as  he  Rode. 
The  next  night,  being  at  supper  wtth  his  noble  men  whom  he  had  bid  to  a  feaste  to 
the  which  also  Banco  sliould  haue  com,  he  began  to  speak  of  Noble  Banco,  and  to 
wish  that  he  were  ther.  And  as  he  thus  did,  standing  vp  to  drincke  a  Carouse  to  him, 
the  ghoste  of  Banco  came  and  sate  down  in  his  cheier  be-hind  him.  And  he  turning 
A-bout  to  sit  down  Again  sawe  the  goste  of  banco,  which  fronted  him  so,  that  he 
fell  in-to  a  great  passion  of  fear  and  fury,  Vtteringe  many  wordex  about  his  murder, 
by  w^ich,  when  they  hard  that  Banco  was  Murdred  they  Suspected  Mackbet 

*  Then  Mack  Dove  fled  to  England  to  the  }gmges  sonn.  And  soe  they  Raised  an 
Army,  And  cam  into  Scotland,  and  at  dunston  Anyse  ouerthrue  Mackbet.  In  the 
mean  tyme  whille  macdouee  was  in  England,  Mackbet  slewe  Mackdoues  wife  & 
children,  and  after  in  the  battelle  mackdoue  slewe  mackbet 

<  Obserue  Also  howe  mackbet/x  quen  did  Rise  in  the  night,  in  the  night  in  her 
slepe,  &  walke  and  talked  and  confessed  all  &  the  doctor  noted  her  wordes.' 

'  Besides  mis-spelling  some  of  the  names,  as  Mackbet,  Mackdove,  Dunston  Anyse, 
&c.,  Forman's  memory  seems  to  have  failed  him  upon  particular  points :  thus  he 
makes  the  "  Fairies  or  Nymphs"  {vice  Witches),  hail  Macbeth  as  ^^King of  Codor," 
instead  of  Thane  of  Cawdor,  and  old  Duncan  subsequently  creates  him  <<  Prince  of 
Northumberland."  After  the  murder,  Forman  states  that  neither  Macbeth  nor  his 
wife  could  wash  the  blood  from  their  hands,  by  reason  of  which  they  were  both 
"  amazed  and  afironted."  If  this  were  a  mob-accordant  incident  in  the  play  in  1 610, 
it  was  among  the  omissions  made  by  the  player-editors  when  it  was  published  in 
1623.' 

Collier  subsequently  somewhat  modified  his  conjecture  that  in  1610  Macbeth 
was  in  *its  earliest  season.'  In  his  edition  {Introd.  vol,  vii,  p.  96,  1843)  Collier 
says :  *  Our  principal  reason  for  thinking  that  Macbeth  had  been  originally  repre- 
sented at  least  four  years  before  1610,  is  the  striking  allusion  in  IV,  i,  to  the  union 
of  the  three  kingdoms  ...  in  the  hands  of  James  I.  That  monarch  ascended  the 
throne  in  March,  1602-3,  &°d  the  reference  to  "  two-fold  balls"  and  <<  treble  scep- 
tres" would  have  had  little  point,  if  we  suppose  it  to  have  been  delivered  after  the 
king  who  bore  the  balls  and  sceptres  had  been  more  than  seven  years  on  the  throne. 
James  was  proclaimed  king  of  Great  Britain  and  Ireland  the  24th  of  October,  1604, 
and  we  may  perhaps  conclude  that  Shakespeare  wrote  Macbeth  in  the  year  1605, 
and  that  it  was  first  acted  at  the  Globe,  when  it  was  opened  for  the  summer  season 
in  the  Spring  of  1606.  . . .  We  are  generally  disposed  to  place  little  confidence  in 
such  passages  [as  those  quoted  by  Malone  in  reference  to  the  cheapness  of  com,  and 
the  doctrine  of  equivocation],  not  only  because  they  are  frequently  obscure  in  their 
application,  but  because  they  may  have  been  introduced  at  any  subsequent  period. 


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358  APPENDIX 

either  by  the  author  or  actor,  with  the  purpose  of  exatisg  the  applause  of  the  audi- 
ence by  reference  to  some  circumstance  then  attracting  public  attention.' 

Hunter  {^New  lUus,  ii,  153) :  To  the  probabUities  [of  Malone  and  Chalmers]  I 
add  another,  which  arises  out  of  a  new,  but  I  believe  a  just,  view  of  the  import  of 
the  passage  in  I,  iii,  lao.  This  passage  has  hitherto  been  taken  as  merely  meta- 
phorical ;  but  it  seems  to  me  that  Shakespeare  really  intended  that  the  robes  per- 
taining to  the  dignity  of  Thane  of  Cawdor,  to  which  Macbeth  was  just  elevated, 
should  be  produced  on  the  Stage  by  Ross  and  Angus ;  that  in  fact  the  ceremony 
of  investiture  should  take  place  on  the  stage.  It  is  at  least  more  in  accordance 
with  the  turn  of  the  expression,  than  to  suppose  that  Macbeth  spoke  thus  in  mere 
metaphor. 

Nowy  it  happened  that  this  ancient  ceremony  of  investiture  had  been  lately  gone 
through  by  Sir  David  Murray  on  his  being  created  Lord  Scone.  We  are  told  that 
he  *  was  with  the  greatest  solenmity  invested  in  that  honour  on  the  7th  of  April, 
2605,  by  a  special  commission,  directed  to  the  Eari  of  Dumfermling,  the  Lord  Chan- 
cellor, to  that  effect  The  ceremony  was  in  presence  of  the  earls  Angus,  Suther- 
land, Marischal,  Linlithgow;  the  lords  Fleming,  Drummond,  and  Thirlestane.' 
This  particular  investiture  in  a  Scottish  dignity  probably  suggested  to  Shake^>eare 
the  idea  of  introducing  the  investiture  of  Macbeth  as  Thane  of  Cawdor.  The  Eari 
of  Angus,  we  see,  appears  both  in  the  play  and  in  the  actual  performance  of  the 
ceremony ;  and  Sir  David  Murray,  it  may  also  be  observed,  received  the  dignity 
under  circumstances  not  very  unlike  those  under  which  Macbeth  acquired  the 
Thanedom  of  Cawdor.  He  had  a  large  share  in  saving  the  life  of  the  King  at  the 
time  of  the  Cowrie  conspiracy,  and  the  King  gave  him  for  his  reward,  first,  the 
barony  of  Ruthven,  which  had  belonged  to  the  Earl  of  Cowrie,  and  next  the  lands 
of  Scone,  of  which  the  Earl  of  Cowrie  had  been  commendator,  and  had  lost  them 
by  treason.     '  What  he  hath  lost  noble  Macbeth  hath  won.' 

Knight  :  We  can  have  no  doubt  that  this  play  belonged  to  the  last  ten  years  of 
Shakespeare's  life,  and  was  probably  not  far  separated  from  the  Roman  plays. 

Grant  White  says:  'I  have  little  hesitation  in  referring  the  production  of 
Macbeth  to  the  period  between  October,  1604,  and  August,  1605.  I  am  the  mote 
inclined  to  this  opinion  from  the  indications  which  the  play  itself  affords  that  it  was 
produced  upon  an  emergency.  It  exhibits  throughout  the  hasty  execution  of  a 
grand  and  dearly-conceived  design.  But  the  haste  is  that  of  a  master  of  his  art, 
who,  with  conscious  command  of  its  resources,  and  in  the  frenzy  of  a  grand  inspira- 
tion, works  out  his  conception  to  its  minutest  detail  of  essential  form,  leaving  the 
work  of  surface-finish  for  the  occupation  of  cooler  leisure.  What  the  Sistine  Ma- 
donna was  to  Raffaiel,  it  seems  that  Macbeth  was  to  Shakespeare — a  magnificent 
impromptu ;  that  kind  of  impromptu  which  results  from  the  implication  of  wdl- 
disdplined  powers  and  rich  stores  of  thought  to  a  subject  suggested  by  occasion.  I 
am  inclined  to  regard  Macbeth  as,  for  the  most  part,  a  specimen  of  Shakespeare's 
unelaborated,  if  not  unfinished,  writing,  in  the  maturity  and  highest  vitality  of  his 
genius.  It  abounds  in  instances  of  extremest  compression,  and  most  daring  ellipsis, 
while  it  exhibits  in  every  Scene  a  union  of  supreme  dramatic  and  poetic  power,  and 
in  almost  every  line  an  imperially  irresponsible  control  of  language.  Hence,  I  think, 
its  lack  of  formal  completeness  of  versification  in  certain  passages,  and  also  some 
of  the  imperfection  in  its  text,  the  thought  in  which  the  compositors  were  not  always 
able  to  follow  and  apprehend. 

Haluwell,  in  his  Folio  edition,  that  rare  treasury  of  all  that  can  arduedogic- 


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DATE  OF  THE  PLAY  359 

ally  fllustrate  Shakespeare,  agrees  with  Dr  Fanner  in  the  tolerably  certain  conject- 
ure '  that  this  tragedy  was  written  and  acted  before  the  year  1607,  if,  as  seems  prob- 
able, there  is  an  allusion  to  Banquo's  ghost  in  the  Puritan^  4to,  1607 :  "we'll  ha' 
the  ghost  i'  th'  white  sheet  sit  at  upper  end  o'  th'  table."  ' 

The  Editors  of  the  Clarendon  edition  '  do  not  agree  with  some  critics  in  think- 
ing that  this  allusion  [to  <<  the  two-fold  balls  and  treble  sceptres  "]  necessarily  implies 
that  the  play  was  produced  immediately  after  James's  accession,  because  an  event  of 
such  great  moment  and  such  permanent  consequences  would  long  continue  to  be 
present  to  the  minds  of  men.'  And  the  Porter's  reference  to  the  '£urmer  who 
hanged  himself'  would  be  quite  'as  apposite  if  we  supposed  it  to  be  made  to  the 
abundant  harvest  of  any  other  year,  and  the  Jesuit  doctrine  of  equivocation  was  at 
all  times  so  favorite  a  theme  of  invective  with  Protestant  preachers,  that  it  could  not 
but  be  familiar  to  the  public,  who  in  those  days  frequented  the  pulpit  as  assiduously 
as  the  stage.' 

After  quoting  the  extract  from  Forman's  diary  the  Editors  add  that  when  the  as- 
trologer saw  Macbethy  in  '  all  probability  it  was  then  a  new  play,  otherwise  he  would 
scarcely  have  been  at  the  pains  to  make  an  elaborate  summary  of  its  plot.  And  in 
those  days  the  demand  for  and  the  supply  of  new  plajrs  were  so  great,  that  even  the 
most  popular  play  had  not  such  a  '*  run  "  nor  was  so  frequently  **  revived "  as  at 
present  Besides,  as  we  have  shown,  there  is  nothing  to  justify  the  inference,  still 
less  to  prove,  that  Macbeth  was  produced  at  an  earlier  date.  In  Beaumont  and 
Fletcher's  Knight  of  the  Burning  Pestle ^  a  burlesque  produced  in  161 1,  we  find  an 
obvious  allusion  to  the  ghost  of  Banquo.  Jasper,  one  of  the  characters,  enters  '<  with 
his  face  mealed,"  as  his  own  ghost.  He  says  to  Venturewell,  V,  i  (vol.  ii,  p.  216, 
cd.  Dyce), — 

''When  thou  art  at  thy  table  with  thy  friends, 
Merry  in  heart  and  fill'd  with  swelling  wine, 
I'll  come  in  midst  of  all  thy  pride  and  mirth. 
Invisible  to  all  men  but  thyself." 

This  supports  the  inference  that  Macbeth  was  in  161 1  a  new  play,  and  fresh  in  the 
recollection  xA  the  audience.' 

In  Kempes  nine  dates  mmder  (p.  21,  Cam.  Soc.  ed.  by  Dyce,  1840)  the  merry 
morrice  dancer  says  :  *  I  met  a  proper  vpright  youth,  onely  for  a  little  stooping  in 
the  shoulders,  all  hart  to  the  heele,  a  penny  Poet,  whose  first  making  was  the  miser- 
able stolne  story  of  Macdoel,  or  Macdobeth,  or  Macsomewhat,  for  I  am  sure  a  Mac 
it  was,  though  I  never  had  the  maw  to  see  it'  On  this  the  learned  Editor  remarks 
that '  this  mention  of  a  piece  anterior  to  Shakespeare's  tragedy  on  the  same  subject 
has  escaped  the  commentators.'  Collier,  in  his  first  edition,  thought  that  this  infer- 
ence of  an  older  piece  than  Macbeth  was  '  doubtful,  as  it  is  obvious  that  Kemp  did 
not  mean  to  be  very  intelligible  ;  his  other  allusions  to  ballad-makers  of  his  time  are 
purposely  obscure.'  But  before  the  appearance  of  his  second  edition  in  1858,  Col- 
lier's indefatigable  industry  had  discovered  another  reference  to  the  *  miserable  stolne 
story.'  'It  may  admit  of  doubt,'  he  says,  'whether  there  was  not  a  considerably 
older  drama  on  the  story  of  Macbeth,  for  we  meet  with  the  following  entry  in  the 
Registers  of  the  Stationers'  Company ;  the  notice  of  it  is,  we  believe,  quite  new, 
mud  we  quote  the  veiy  words  of  the  register : 

< "  27  die  Augusti  1596.  Tho.  Millington— Thomas  Millington  is  Hkewyse  fyned 
at  I9*  vj<i  for  printinge  of  a  ballad  contrarye  to  order,  which  he  also  presently  paid. 


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360  APPENDIX 

Md.  the  ballad  entituled  The  taming  of  a  shrew.  Also  one  other  Ballad  of  Macdo- 
beth." 

*  This  shows  the  existence  of  a  so-called  '<  ballad  "  on  the  subject ;  and  if  "The 
Taming  of  a  Shrew,*'  which  we  know  to  have  been  a  play,  were  so  recorded,  it  is 
not  unlikely  that  th^  **  Ballad  of  Macdobeth  * '  was  of  the  same  character.  The  latter 
part  of  the  above  entry  is  struck  out,  but  it  is  not  the  less  probable  that  the  incidents 
were  then  known  to  the  stage ;  and  we  derive  some  confirmation  of  the  iajA  from 
the  subsequent,  not  very  intelligible,  passage  in  Kemp's  Ni$ie  Days'  Wonder^  printed 
in  1600 :  [as  above.]  Here  the  words  **  to  see  it "  seem  to  show  that  the  piece  had 
been  publicly  represented,  and  that  it  was  not  merely  a  printed  **  ballad."  Kemp,  as 
a  highly  popular  actor,  would  most  naturally  refer  to  dramatic  performances ;  but,  as 
we  also  gather  from  him,  this  ''miserable  story'*  had  been  "stolen,'*  and  pexhaps 
he  may  mean  to  refer  to  a  pre-existing  production  of  which  the  author  of  the  play 
of  Macdobeth  had  availed  himself.* 

Malone  (vol.  ii,  pp.  419  and  440)  mentions  one  or  two  other  slight  indications 
of  the  date  of  this  play,  which  perhaps  should  not  be  here  omitted.  '  In  the  tragedy 
of  Otiar  and  Pompey,  or  Casar's  Revenge^  are  these  lines : 

"Why,  think  you,  lords,  that  'tis  ambitiofCs  spur 
That  pricketh  Caesar  to  these  high  attempts?" 

If  the  author  of  that  play,  which  was  published  in  1607,  should  be  thought  to  have 
Macbeth*  s  soliloquy  (I,  vii,  29-31)  in  view  (which  is  not  unlikely),  this  drcumstance 
may  add  some  degree  of  probability  to  the  supposition  that  this  tragedy  had  appeared 
before  that  year.* 

Furthermore,  Malone  says  that  it  is  probable  that  Shakespeare  *  about  the  time  of 
his  composing  Cymbeline  and  Macbeth,  devoted  some  part  of  his  leisure  to  the  read- 
ing of  the  lives  of  Oesar  and  Antony  in  North's  translation  of  Plutarch.  In  the  play 
before  us  there  are  two  passages  which  countenance  that  conjecture.  "Under  him,*' 
says  Macbeth,  "my  genius  is  rebuk'd,  as,  it  is  said,  Mark  Antony's  was  by  Caesar." 
The  allusion  here  is  to  a  passage  in  the  Life  of  Antony ;  where  Shake^>eare  also 
found  an  account  of  the  "  insane  root  that  takes  the  reason  prisoner,"  which  he  has 
introduced  in  Macbeth, 

*  A  passage  in  the  8th  book  of  DaniePs  Civil  IVars  seems  to  have  been  formed 
on  one  in  this  tragedy.  The  seventh  and  eighth  books  of  Daniel's  poem  were  first 
printed  in  1609.'  [I,  v,  73  :  *To  b^^uile  the  time,  Look  like  the  time.'  The  pas- 
sage in  Daniel  is :  'He  draws  a  traverse  twizt  his  grievances ;  Looks  like  the  time 
his  eye  made  not  report.'] 

[Fleay  (Sh,  Manual,  p.  257)  gives  the  following  theory  as  to  the  composition 
of  Macbeth :  '  It  was  written  during  Shakespeare's  third  period :  I  think  after 
Hamlet  and  Lear  (see  Malone)  ;  so  that  its  date  was  probably  1606.  Metrical 
evidence  is  of  no  use  in  determining  the  date :  as  we  cannot  tell  how  Middleton 
altered  the  play,  or  how  much  he  omitted,  except  that  the  weak-ending  test  is  not 
opposed  to  Malone' s  date.  At  some  time  after  this,  Middleton  revised  and  abridged 
it :  I  agree  with  the  Cambridge  Editors  in  saying  not  later  than  1613.  There  b  a 
decisive  argument  that  he  did  so  after  he  wrote  the  Witch, — namely,  that  he  borrows 
the  songs  fit>m  the  latter  play,  and  repeats  himself  a  good  deal.  It  is  to  me  veiy 
likely  that  he  should  repeat  himself  in  Macbeth,  and  somewhat  improve  on  his  orig- 
inal conception,  as  he  has  done  in  the  corresponding  passages :  and  yet  be  unable  to 


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DATE  OF  THE  PLAY  361 

do  a  couple  of  new  songs,  or  to  avoid  the  monotony  of  introducing  Hecate  in  both 
plays  (Hecate  being  a  witch  in  both,  remember).  I  can  quite  understand  a  third- 
rate  man,  who  in  all  his  work  shows  reminiscences  of  others,  and  repetitions  of 
Shakespeare,  being  unable  to  vary  such  conceptions  as  he  had  formed  on  the  subject. 
I  believe  that  Middleton,  having  found  the  groundlings  more  taken  with  the  witches, 
and  the  cauldron,  and  the  visions  in  IV,  i,  than  with  the  grander  art  displayed  in 
the  Fate  goddesses  of  I,  iii,  determined  to  amalgamate  these,  and  to  give  us  plenty 
of  them.  Hence,  the  witches  call  themselves  weird  sisters  in  the  lyric  part  of  I, 
iii.;  hence  the  speech  of  Macbeth  :  **  I  will  tomorrow  ...  to  the  weird  sisters."  I 
believe  also  the  extra  fighting  in  the  last  scenes  was  inserted  for  the  same  reason. 
But  finding  that  the  magic  and  the  singing  and  the  fighting  made  the  play  too  long, 
...  he  cut  out  laige  portions  of  the  psychological  Shakespeare  work,  in  which,  as 
far  as  quantity  is  concerned,  this  play  is  very  deficient  compared  with  the  three  other 
masterpieces  of  world-poetry,  and  left  us  the  torso  we  now  have.* 

Ibid.  {^Life  of  Sh,  p.  155) :  When  James  I.  was  at  Oxford  in  August,  1605,  he  had 
been  addressed  in  Latin  by  the  three  Witches  in  this  story  at  an  entertainment  given 
by  the  University.  No  doubt  James  would  be  pleased  by  their  prophecies,  and  desir- 
ous that  they  should  be  promulgated  in  the  vulgar  tongue.  No  more  likely  date  can 
be  found  for  the  holograph  letter  which  he  is  said  to  have  addressed  to  Shakespeare. 
It  may  possibly  be  that  that  letter  was  a  command  to  write  Macbeth, — Ed.  ii.] 


'THE  WITCH' 


Towards  the  close  of  the  last  century  a  MS  copy  of  a  play  by  Thomas  Middle- 
ton  was  discovered,  called  The  Witch,  Dyce,  in  his  edition  of  Middleton  (  Works^ 
1840,  vol.  iii,  p.  247,  and  in  vol.  i,  p.  1.),  says  that  copies  from  this  MS  were  printed 
in  1778  by  Isaac  Reed  for  distribution  among  his  friends.  Malonk  (  Variorum  of 
1 82 1,  vol.  ii.  p.  420)  says  that  this  piece.  The  Witch^  had  long  remained  'unnoticed 
in  MS  *till  it  was  discovered  in  1779  by  the  late  Mr  Steevens  in  the  collection  of  the 
late  Thomas  Pearson,  esq.'  The  question,  however,  is  now  of  little  importance  by 
whom  this  drama  of  Middleton  was  first  discovered,  or  when  it  was  discovered ; 
the  similarity  of  the  scenes  of  sorcery  in  The  Witch  to  those  in  Macbeth  was  mani- 
fest, and  to  Steevens  the  fame  of  the  discovery  is  generally  accorded,  and  the  ela- 
tion consequent  thereon  goes  far  now-a-days  in  condoning  the  zeal  with  which  he 
endeavored  to  prove  that  the  greater  poet  copied  from  the  less. 

Steevens  (ed.  Malone,  vol.  i,  p.  359,  1790)  inferred  from  an  expression  in  the 
Dedication  of  The  Witch,  that  it  was  written  ^long  before  1603,*  and  that  therefore 
Shakespeare  must  have  been  the  copyist  if  Macbeth  were  not  written  until  1606,  and 
sustains  the  inference  of  plagiarism  by  adducing  the  following  examples  of  similarity 
in  the  two  dramas :  *  The  Hecate  of  Shakespeare  says,  [III,  v,  23]  :  *'  I  am  for  the 
air,*'  etc.  The  Hecate  of  Middleton  (who  like  the  former  is  summoned  away  by 
atrial  spirits)  has  the  same  declaration  in  almost  the  same  words  :  '*  I  am  for  aloft,'' 
etc. — [Ed.]    Again,  the  Hecate  of  Shakespeare  says  to  her  sisters,  [IV.  i,  151]  : 

*'  I'll  charm  the  air  to  give  a  sound. 
While  you  perform  your  antique  round,"  etc 

'  *  [Musick,     The  Witches  dance  and  vanish, " 

[Did  Steevens  forget  that  it  is  D'Avenant's  Hecate,  not  Shakespeare's,  who  says 
this  ? — Ed.  ii.]     The  Hecate  of  Middleton  says  on  a  similar  occasion : 


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362  APPENDIX 

«  Come,  my  sweete  sisters,  let  the  aire  strike  oar  tane. 
Whilst  we  shew  reverence  to  yond  peeping  moone." 

"  \Here  they  dance^  and  exeunt,** 

'  In  this  play,  the  motives  which  incline  the  Witches  to  mischief,  their  manners, 
the  contents  of  their  cauldron,  etc.,  seem  to  have  more  than  accidental  resemblance 
to  the  same  particulars  in  Macbeth,  The  hags  of  Middleton,  like  the  weird  sisters 
of  Shakespeare,  destroy  cattle  because  they  have  been  refused  provisions  at  iaxm- 
houses.  The  owl  and  the  cat  (Gray  Malkin)  give  them  notice  when  it  is  time  to 
proceed  on  their  several  expeditions.  Thus  Shakespeare's  Witch :  *<  Harper  cries ; — 
'tis  time,  'tis  time."     Thus  too  the  Hecate  of  Middleton : 

"  ffec.  Heard  you  the  owle  yet  ? 

*'  Stad.  Briefely  in  the  copps. 

"  Bee,  'Tis  high  time  for  us  then." 

'  The  Hecate  of  Shakespeare,  addressing  her  sisters,  observes,  that  Macbeth  is  but 
"  a  wa3rward  son,  who  loves  for  his  own  ends,  not  for  them."  The  Hecate  of  Mid- 
dleton has  the  same  observation,  when  the  youth  who  has  been  consulting  her  retires : 
"  I  know  he  loves  me  not,  nor  there's  no  hope  on't"  Instead  of  the  '<  grease  that's 
sweaten  from  the  murderer's  gibbet"  and  the  "finger  of  birth-strangled  babe,"  the 
Witches  of  Middleton  employ  '<  the  gristle  of  a  man  that  hangs  after  sunset**  (i.  e.  of 
a  murderer,  for  all  other  criminals  were  anciently  cut  down  before  evening)  and  the 
"fat  of  an  unbaptized  child."  They  likewise  boast  of  the  poweSr  to  raise  tempests 
that  shall  blow  down  trees,  overthrow  buildings,  and  occasion  shipwreck ;  and,  more 
particularly,  that  they  can  "make  miles  of  wood  walk."  Here  too  the  Grecian 
Hecate  is  degraded  into  a  presiding  witch,  and  exercised  in  superstitions  peculiar  to 
our  own  country.  So  much  for  the  scenes  of  enchantment ;  but  even  other  parts  of 
Middleton's  play  coincide  more  than  once  with  that  of  Shakespeare.  Lady  Macbeth 
says  [II,  ii,  8]  :  "  the  surfeited  grooms  Do  mock  their  charge  with  snares^  I  have 
drug^d  their  possets,"     So,  too,  Frandsca,  in  the  piece  of  Middleton  : 

"  —  they're  now  all  at  rest, 
"  And  Gaspar  there  and  all : — List ! — fieist  asleepe ; 
"  He  cryes  it  hither. — I  must  disease*  you  strait,  sir : 
<*  For  the  maide-servants,  and  the  girles  o'  the  house, 
"I  i;^^them  lately  with  a  drcwsU posset  **  etc. 

'  And  Francisca,  like  Lady  Macbeth,  is  watching  late  at  night  to  enoonrage  the 
perpetration  of  a  murder. 

<  The  expression  which  Shakespeare  has  put  into  the  mouth  of  Macbeth  [II,  i, 
60],  "  There's  no  such  thing," — is  likewise  appropriated  to  Francisca  when  she 
undeceives  her  brother,  whose  imagination  has  been  equally  abused.' 

Malone  was  at  first  overborne  by  these  arguments  of  Steevens's ;  but  afterwards, 
in  the  Variorum  of  1821  (vol.  ii,  pp.  425-438),  took  the  opposite  ground,  and  in  a 
long  dissertation  endeavored  to  prove,  from  internal  evidence,  that  The  Witch  '  must 
have  been  produced  after  1613,'  '  and  if  so,  it  can  have  no  claim  to  contest  pre- 
cedence with  Macbeth f  which  unquestionably  was  acted  in  z6o6.' 

*  This  word  also  occurs  near  the  end  of  the  preceding  scene :  'I'll  have  that  care 
I'll  not  disease  him  much.'     Compare  Macbeth,  V,  iii,  26. — Ed. 


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DATE  OF  THE  PLAY  363 

Dycs,  in  his  acooont  of  Middleton  ( IVorJks,  vol.  i,  p.  lii,  1840),  says :  'Though 
his  [Malone*s]  reasoning  appears  to  me  very  far  from  convincing,  I  am  by  no 
means  disposed  to  assert  that  the  conclusion  at  which  he  so  laboriously  arrived  is 
not  the  right  one  [viz.  that  the  performance  of  Macbeth  in  1606  was  anterior  to  The 
Witch\  Gifford,  indeed,  has  unhesitatingly  pronounced  that  Shakespeare  was  the 
copyist ;  *  but,  notwithstanding  the  respect  which  I  entertain  for  that  critic,  his  inci- 
dental remarks  on  the  present  question  have  little  weight  with  me  ;  he  has  assigned 
no  grounds  for  his  decision ;  he  had  not,  I  apprehend,  considered  the  subject  with 
much  attention,  and  on  two  occasions,  at  least,  he  appears  to  have  alluded  to  it 
chiefly  for  the  sake  of  giving  additional  force  to  the  blows  which  he  happened  to  be 
aiming  at  the  luckless  *<  commentators."  As  Shakespeare  undoubtedly  possessed 
the  creative  power  in  its  utmost  perfection,  and  as  no  satisfactory  evidence  has  been 
adduced  to  show  that  The  Witch  was  acted  at  an  earlier  period  than  Macbeth^  he 
must  not  be  hastily  accused  of  imitation.  Yet  since  he  is  known  to  have  frequently 
remodelled  the  works  of  other  writers,  it  may  be  urged  that  when  he  had  to  intro- 
duce witches  into  his  ti^edy,  he  would  hardly  scruple  to  borrow  firom  [Middleton'sJ 
play  as  much  as  suited  his  immediate  purpose.  But,  after  all,  there  is  an  essential 
difference  between  the  hags  of  Shakespeare  and  of  Middleton;  and  whichever  of  the 
two  may  have  been  the  copyist,  he  owes  so  little  to  his  brother-poet  that  the  debt 
will  not  materially  affect  his  claim  to  originality.  Concerning  the  tragi-comedy.  The 
WUch^  I  have  only  to  add  that  its  merit  consists  entirely  in  the  highly  imaginative 
pictures  of  preternatural  agents,  in  their  incantations  and  their  moonlight  revelry : 
the  rest  of  it  rises  little  above  mediocrity.' 

Like  Gifford,  Lamb  too  had  not  seen  Malone's  proof  that  The  Witch  was  subse- 
quent in  ^X^  Xo  Macbeth,  when  in  1808  he  published  his  Specimens  of  English  Dra- 
matic Poets,  yet  his  poetic  insight  cleariy  discerned  the  *  essential  differences  *  be- 
tween the  Weird  Sisters  and  The  Witch.  *  Though  some  resemblance  may  be  traced 
between  the  Charms  in  Macbeth  and  the  Incantations  in  this  Play  [Middleton' s 
Witch^  in  Dramatic  Poets,  p.  152,  Bohn's  ed.  1854],  which  is  supposed  to  have 
preceded  it,  this  coincidence  will  not  detract  much  from  the  originality  of  Shake- 
speare. His  witches  are  distinguished  from  the  witches  of  Middleton  by  essential 
differences.  These  are  creatures  to  whom  man  or  woman  plotting  some  dire  mis- 
chief might  resort  for  occasional  consulution.  Those  originate  deeds  of  blood,  and 
begin  bad  impulses  to  men.  From  the  moment  that  their  eyes  first  meet  with  Mac- 
beth's,  he  is  spell-bound.  That  meeting  sways  his  destiny.  He  can  never  break 
the  fascination.  These  witches  can  hurt  the  body ;  those  have  power  over  the  soul. 
Hecate,  in  Middleton,  has  a  son,  a  low  buffoon :  the  hags  of  Shakespeare  have 
neither  child  of  their  own,  nor  seem  descended  from  any  parent.  They  are  foul 
Anomalies,  of  whom  we  know  not  whence  they  are  sprung,  nor  whether  they  have 
banning  or  ending.  As  they  are  without  human  passions,  so  they  seem  to  be 
without  human  relations.  They  come  with  thunder  and  lightning,  and  vanish  to 
airy  music.  This  is  all  we  know  of  them.  Except  Hecate,  they  have  no  names ; 
which  heightens  their  mysteriousness.  Their  names,  and  some  of  the  properties, 
which  Middleton  has  given  to  his  hags,  excite  smiles.     The  Weird  Sisters  are  serious 


*  Introd.  to  Massinger's  Works^  vol.  i,  p.  liv,  ed.  1813.  Again,  note  in  Jonson's 
Works,  vol.  vi,  p.  282  ;  and  vol.  vii,  p.  115.  I  ought  to  mention,  that  when  Gifford 
threw  out  these  remarks,  Malone  had  not  declared  his  ultimate  opinion  on  the  sub- 
ject—Dyce. 


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364  APPENDIX 

things.  Their  presence  cannot  co-exist  with  mirth.  But  in  a  lesser  degree,  the 
Witches  of  Middleton  are  fine  creations.  Their  power,  too,  is,  in  some  measure^ 
over  the  mind.     They  raise  jars,  jealousies,  strifes,  like  a  thick  scurf  der  life,* 

COLUER  (ed.  i,  1843)  says  in  reference  to  Malone's  conviction  that  The  WiUk 
was  a  play  written  subsequently  to  the  production  of  Macbeth  :  *  Those  who  read 
the  two  will,  perhaps,  wonder  how  a  doubt  could  have  been  entertained ; . . . 
what  must  surprise  everybody  is  that  a  poet  of  Middleton' s  rank  could  so  degrade 
the  awful  beings  of  Shakespeare's  invention ;  for  although,  as  Lamb  observes,  "  the 
power  of  Middleton' s  witches  is  in  some  measure  over  the  mind,"  they  are  of  a 
degenerate  race,  as  if,  Shakespeare  having  created  them,  no  other  mind  was  suffi- 
ciently gifted  to  continue  their  existence.' 

Hudson  (1856)  says :  Malone  has  perhaps  done  all  the  case  admits  of  to  show 
that  The  Witch  was  not  written  before  1613  ;  but  in  truth,  there  is  hardly  enough  to 
ground  an  opinion  upon  one  way  or  the  other.  And  the  question  may  be  safely 
dismissed  as  altogether  vain ;  for  tlie  two  plays  have  nothing  in  common  but  what 
may  well  enough  have  been  derived  from  Scot's  Discovery  of  WiUhcrafi^  or  fh>m 
the  floating  witchcraft  lore  of  the  time,  some  relics  of  which  have  drifted  down  in 
the  popular  belief  to  a  period  within  our  remembrance.' 

R.  G.  White  (1861) :  Shakespeare  would  not  have  hesitated  a  moment  about 
imitating  Middleton,  or  any  other  writer,  had  it  suited  his  purpose  to  do  so;  but  I 
believe  the  Scenes  in  The  Witch  to  be  the  imitations,  not  only  because  they  have  the 
air,  at  once  timid,  constrained,  and  exaggerated,  which  indicates  in  every  art  a  copy 
by  a  very  much  inferior  hand,  but  because  witchcraft  was  an  essential  motive  power 
in  the  very  story  which  Shakespeare  had  chosen  to  dramatise.  And  witchcraft  being 
thus  inherent  in  his  plot,  and  the  superstitions  of  his  day  furnishing  him  ample  ma- 
terial with  which  to  fulfil  his  indication, — exactly  the  material  too  which  he  used, — 
I  cannot  believe  that,  with  his  wealth  of  creative  power,  he  would  ever  have  thought 
of  going  to  the  work  of  a  younger  dramatist  for  the  mere  supernatural  costume  with 
which  to  dress  out  such  mysterious  and  unique  creatures  of  his  imagination  as  the 
three  weird  sisters  of  this  tragedy. 

To  the  instances  of  similarity  between  The  Witch  and  Macbeth^  given  by  Steevens, 
Messrs.  Clark  and  Wright  {Clarendon  Press  Series,  p.  viii,  1869)  add  the  follow- 
ing: *  the  innocence  of  sleep'  (p.  316,  Dyce's  ed.)  and  *I'll  rip  thee  down  from 
neck  to  navel '  (p.  319,  ibid.),  which  recall  Macbeth^  II,  ii,  47,  and  I,  ii,  28.  . . . 

*  We  have  no  means  of  ascertaining  the  date  of  Middleton' s  play.  We  know 
that  he  survived  Shakespeare  eleven  years,  but  tliat  he  had  acquired  a  reputation 
as  early  as  1600,  because  in  England"* s  Parnassus y  published  in  that  year,  a  poem 
is  by  mistake  attributed  to  him.  (See  D3rce's  account  of  Middleton,  Works,  vol.  i, 
p.  xiv.) 

*  If  we  were  certain  that  the  whole  of  Macbeth,  as  we  now  read  it,  came  from 
Shakespeare's  hand,  we  should  be  justified  in  concluding  from  the  data  before  us 
that  Middleton,  who  was  probably  junior  and  certainly  inferior  to  Shakespeare,  con- 
sciously or  unconsciously  imitated  the  great  master.  But  we  are  persuaded  that  there 
are  parts  of  Macbeth  which  Shakespeare  did  not  write,  and  the  style  of  these  seems 
to  us  to  resemble  that  of  Middleton.  It  would  be  very  uncritical  to  pick  out  of 
Shakespeare' s»works  all  that  seems  inferior' to  the  rest,  and  to  assign  it  to  somebody 
else.  At  his  worst,  he  is  still  Shakespeare ;  and  though  the  least  <*  mannered"  of 
all  poets,  he  has  always  a  manner  which  cannot  well  be  mistaken.  In  the  parts  of 
Macbeth  of  which  we  speak  we  find  no  trace  of  this  manner.     But  to  come  to  par- 


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DATE  OF  THE  PLAY  365 

ticnlars.  We  believe  that  the  second  scene  of  the  first  act  was  not  written  by  Shake- 
speare. Making  all  allowance  for  corruption  of  text,  the  slovenly  metre  is  not  like 
Shakespeare's  work,  even  when  he  is  most  careless.  The  bombastic  phraseology 
of  the  sergeant  is  not  like  Shakespeare's  language  even  when  he  is  most  bombastic. 
What  is  said  of  the  thane  of  Cawdor,  lines  64,  65,  is  inconsistent  with  what  follows 
in  scene  iii,  lines  77,  78,  and  125  sqq.  We  may  add  that  Shakespeare's  good  sense 
would  hardly  have  tolerated  the  absurdity  of  sending  a  severely  wounded  soldier  to 
carry  the  news  of  a  victory. 

'  In  the  first  thirty-seven  lines  of  the  next  scene,  powerful  as  some  of  them  are, 
especially  21  -26,  we  do  not  recognise  Shakespeare's  hand ;  and  surely  he  never 
penned  the  feeble  "  tag,"  II,  i,  73. 

*  Of  the  commencement  of  the  third  scene  of  the  second  act,  Coleridge  said  long 
ago  that  he  believed  **  the  low  soliloquy  of  the  Porter,  in  II,  iii,  to  have  been 
written  for  the  mob  by  some  other  hand." 

*  If  the  fifth  scene  of  act  III.  had  occurred  in  a  drama  not  attributed  to  Shake- 
speare, no  one  would  have  discovered  in  it  any  trace  of  Shakespeare's  manner. 

'  The  rich  vocabulary,  prodigal  fancy,  and  terse  diction  displayed  in  IV,  i,  3^40, 
show  the  hand  of  a  master,  and  make  us  hesitate  in  ascribing  the  passage  to  any  one 
but  the  master  himself.  There  is,  however,  a  conspicuous  falling-off  in  lines  41-49, 
after  the  entrance  of  Hecate. 

*  In  III,  V,  16,  it  is  said  that  Macbeth  'Moves  for  his  own  ends,  not  for  you"; 
but  in  the  play  there  is  no  hint  of  his  pretending  love  to  the  witches.  On  the  con- 
trary, he  does  not  disguise  his  hatred.  «  You  secret,  black,  and  midnight  hags  1" 
he  calls  them.     Similarly,  IV,  i,  147-154,  cannot  be  Shakespeare's. 

<In  IV,  iii,  lines  160-180,  which  relate  to  the  touching  for  the  evil,  were  prob- 
ably interpolated  previous  to  a  representation  at  Court. 

*  We  have  doubts  about  the  second  scene  of  act  V. 

*  In  V,  V,  lines  $4-57  are  singularly  weak,  and  read  like  an  unskilful  imitation  of 
other  passages,  where  Macbeth' s  desperation  is  interrupted  by  fits  of  despondency. 
How  much  better  the  sense  is  without  them ! 

*  In  V,  vii,  80,  8x,  the  words,  "  Before  my  body  I  throw  my  warlike  shield,"  are 
also,  we  think,  interpolated. 

*  Finally,  the  last  forty  lines  of  the  play  show  evident  traces  of  another  hand  than 
Shakespeare's.  The  double  stage-direction,  "  Exeunt,  fighting'*—'' Enter fighHng, 
and  Macbeth  slaine,**  proves  that  some  alteration  had  been  made  in  the  conclusion 
of  the  piece.  Shakespeare,  who  has  inspired  his  audience  with  pity  for  Lady  Mac- 
beth, and  made  them  feel  that  her  guilt  has  been  almost  absolved  by  the  terrible  . 
retribution  which  followed,  would  not  have  disturbed  this  feeling  by  calling  her  a 
"fiend-like  queen";  nor  would  he  have  drawn  away  the  veil  which  with  his  fine 
tact  he  had  dropt  over  her  fate,  by  telling  us  that  she  had  taken  off  her  life  "by 
self  and  violent  hands." 

'  We  know  that  it  is  not  easy  to  convince  readers  that  such  and  such  passages  are 
not  in  Shakespare's  manner,  because  their  notion  of  Shakespeare's  manner  is  partly 
based  on  the  assumption  thait  these  very  passages  are  by  Shakespeare.  Assuming, 
however,  that  we  have  proved  our  case  so  far,  how  are  we  to  account  for  the  intru- 
sion of  this  second  and  inferior  hand  ?  The  first  hypothesis  which  presents  itself  is 
that  Shakespeare  wrote  the  play  in  conjunction  with  Middleton  or  another  as  "  col- 
laborateur."  We  know  that  this  was  a  very  common  practice  with  the  dramatists 
of  his  time.     It  is  generally  admitted  that  he  assisted  Fletcher  in  the  composition 


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366  APPENDIX 

of  The  Two  Noble  Kinsmen  ;  and  Mr  Spedding  has  shown  conclusiTely,  as  we  think, 
that  Fletcher  assisted  him  in  the  composition  of  Henry  VIII, 

*  We  might  suppose,  therefore,  that  after  drawing  out  the  scheme  of  Macbeth, 
Shakespeare  reserved  to  himself  all  the  scenes  in  which  Macbeth  or  Lady  Macbeth 
appeared,  and  left  the  rest  to  his  assistant  We  must  further  suppose  that  he  largely 
retouched,  and  even  re- wrote  in  places,  this  assistant's  work,  and  that  in  his  own 
work  his  good  nature  occasionally  tolerated  insertions  by  the  other.  But,  then, 
how  did  it  happen  that  he  left  the  inconsistencies  and  extravagances  of  the  second 
scene  of  the  first  act  uncorrected  ? 

*  On  the  whole,  we  incline  to  think  that  the  play  was  interpolated  after  Shake- 
speare's death,  or  at  least  after  he  had  withdrawn  from  all  connection  with  the 
theatre.  The  interpolator  was,  not  improbably,  Thomas  Middleton ;  who,  to  please 
the  **  groundlings,"  expanded  the  parts  originally  assigned  by  Shakespeare  to  the 
weird  sisters,  and  also  introduced  a  new  character,  Hecate.  The  signal  inferiority 
of  her  speeches  is  thus  accounted  for.' 

[F.  J.  Fleay  {Sh.  Manual,  p.  251) :  <  I  desire  to  add  to  the  number  of  excep- 
tionable rhyming  tags  already  pointed  out  by    Clark  and  Wright.     For  instance, 

I,  iv,  60-65.     Macbeth  has  <* humbly  taken  his  leave"  and  been  dismissed  by  the 
king.     While  going  out  he  soliloquizes  thus : 

"  The  Prince  of  Cumberland. — ^That  is  a  step, 
On  which  I  must  fall  down,  or  else  o'erleap, 
For  in  my  way  it  lies.     Stars,  hide  your  fires  1 
Let  not  light  see  my  black  and  deep  desires : 
The  eye  wink  at  the  hand !  yet  let  that  be. 
Which  the  eye  fears,  when  it  is  done,  to  see." 

'  During  this,  Banquo  has  been  praising  him  to  Duncan  in  words  not  reported  to 
us.  Then  Duncan  goes  on,  **  True,  worthy  Banquo,"  etc.  This  is  not  like  Shake- 
speare :  but  is  just  such  an  attempt  at  being  like  Shakespeare  as  I  should  expect 
Middleton  to  write.  Note  especially  the  weakness  of  the  italicised  words  and  of 
the  next  line.  The  play  has  evidently  been  cut  down  at  this  point  In  II,  iii, 
181,  182  :  <<  there's  warrant  in  that  theft  Which  steals  itself,  when  there's  no  mercy 
left"     This  is  too  weak  and  thin  for  Shakespeare  to  emphasize,  and  the  ending  of 

II,  iv,  is  worse : 

''Ross.    ^^//,  I  will  thither. 

Macd,   Well,  may  you  see  things  well  done  there : — adieu— 
Lest  our  old  robes  sit  easier  than  our  new  1 

Posse.  Farewell,  father. 

Old  M.  God's  benison  go  with  you ;  and  with  those  That  would  make  good  of 
bad,  and  friends  of  foes !" 

Delete  both  couplets,  which  are  bad,  especially  the  last. 

« IV,  i,  181,  182,  "  No  boasting  like  a  fool.  This  deed  I'll  do  before  this  purpose 
cool,"  is  wretched.     See  how  the  passage  reads  without  it : 

**  give  to  the  edge  of  the  sword 
His  wife,  his  babes,  and  all  unfortunate  souls 
That  trace  him  in  his  line.     But  no  more  sights ! 
Where  are  these  gentlemen  ?" 


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DATE  OF  THE  PLAY  367 

« In  V,i,  end  [78-80]: 

*«  Doctor.  So,  good-night. 
My  mind  she  has  mated  and  amazed  my  sight 
I  think,  but  dare  not  speak.'* 

Omit  second  line  of  couplet 

*  In  V,  ii,  [39] f  the  invitation  "  to  pour  in  our  country's  purge  as  many  drops  of 
us  as  are  needed  to  dew  the  sovereign  flower  and  kill  the  weeds"  is  unlike  Shake- 

•  V,  iii,  [71,  72],  after  Macbeth' s  emphatic  declaration: 

"  I  will  not  be  afraid  of  death  and  bane 
Till  Bimam  forest  come  to  Dunsinane," 

the  Doctor's  washy  sentiment, 

<<  Were  I  from  Dunsinane  away  and  clear 
Profit  again  would  hardly  draw  me  here," 

is  sorely  out  of  place.     Why  should  our  sympathy  with  Macbeth  be  interrupted  by 
the  Doctor's  private  sentiments? 
•V,  iv,  [26-30] : 

*<  The  time  approaches. 
That  will  with  due  decision  make  us  know 
What  we  shall  say  we  have,  and  what  we  owe : 
Thoughts  speculative,  their  unsure  hopes  relate ; 
But  certain  issue,  strokes  must  arbitrate," 

cannot  surely  be  Shakespeare's. 
*V,vi,  [IS,  16]: 

'<  Makt  all  our  trumpets  speaJk;  give  them  all  breath 
Those  clamorous  harbingers  of  blood  and  death." 

This  tautology  cannot  be  Shakespeare's  ;  besides,  the  whole  sentiment  is  too  weak 
for  the  situation.  In  a  few  of  these  I  may  have  missed  some  inner  aesthetic  mean- 
ing which  is  too  deep  for  my  comprehension ;  but  the  number  of  them  is  far  too 
great  for  me  to  be  wrong  in  all.  I  conclude,  therefore,  that  Middleton  altered  the 
endings  of  many  scenes  by  inserting  rhyming  tags :  whether  he  cut  anjrthing  out 
remains  to  be  seen.  The  next  point  I  notice  is,  that  the  account  of  young  Siward's 
death  and  the  unnatural  patriotism  of  his  father,  which  is  derived  from  Holinshed's 
History  of  Englandy  and  not  of  Scotland,  like  the  rest  of  the  play,  is  a  bit  of  padding 
pat  in  by  Shakespeare  after  finishing  the  whole  tragedy ;  this  shows  great  haste  in 
its  composition :  to  my  mind  it  would  be  decidedly  better  if  the  first  whom  Macbeth 
combated  turned  out  to  be  the  fated  warrior  not  bom  of  woman.  . .  .  The  severely 
wounded  captain  in  I,  ii,  who  mangles  his  metre  so  painfully,  I  surrender  at  once 
to  the  Cambridge  Editors  as  Middleton' s.  In  all  probability,  however,  this  scene 
replaces  one  of  Shakespeare's  ;  one  of  whose  lines  at  least,  '*The  multiplying  vil- 
lanies  of  nature,"  seems  to  be  left  in  it  as  it  now  stands.  In  this  scene  Ross  comes 
in  afterwards,  and  is  sent  to  Macbeth  to  greet  him  with  his  new  title ;  he  sajrs,  "  /'ll 
see  it  done."    Lennox  also  is  present,  not  Angus.    Ross  and  Angus  take  the  message 


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368  APPENDIX 

to  Macbeth  in  I,  iii,  where  Angus  speaks  ten  lines,  and  then  disappears  till  V,  ii. ; 
he  there  has  seven  lines  to  repeat ;  so  that  in  all  he  has  seventeen.  He  is  not  the 
slightest  use  in  the  play.  Lennox  could  have  done  his  work  better  in  I,  iii.  On 
account  of  his  after  connection  with  Macbeth,  V,  ii.  is  not  wanted  at  all.  I  think, 
therefore,  that  Middleton  has  cut  down  Angus's  part  in  the  original  play  by  omitting 
scenes  in  which  he  appeared.  This  shows  that  the  play  has  been  greatly  abridged 
for  acting  purposes.    The  metre  of: 

"And  betimes  I  will  to  the  weird  sisters"; 

the  poverty  of  thought  in 

«  For  mine  own  good. 
All  causes  shall  give  way  ;  I  am  in  blood 
Stept  in  so  far,  that,  should  I  wade  no  more, 
Returning  were  as  tedious  as  go  o*er. 
Strange  things  I  have  in  head,  that  will  to  hand. 
Which  must  be  acted  ere  they  may  be  scann'd  "; 

the  putting  of  this  long  tag  in  Macbeth' s  mouth  when  he  is  so  bewildered  that  he 
answers  Lady  Macbeth' s — 

••  You  lack  the  season  of  all  natures,  sleep  "— 
by 

"  Come,  we'll  to  sleep," 

are  all  marks  of  inferior  work,  and  make  me  sure  that  this  part  has  been  worked 
over  by  Middleton.     IV,  i,  [i  13-1x9],  has  been  worked  over  in  a  similar  way : 

«*  That  will  never  be : 
Who  can  impress  the  forest ;  bid  the  tree 
Unfix  his  earth-bound  root?  sweet  bodements !  good ! 
Rebellious  dead,  rise  never,  till  the  wood 
Of  Bimam  rise ;  and  our  high-plac'd  Macbeth 
Shall  leave  the  lease  of  nature,  pay  his  breath 
To  time  and  mortal  custom." 

"'Our  high-plac'd  Macbeth"  cannot  be  said  by  Macbeth  himself:  it  must  be 
part  of  a  speech  of  a  witch.  "  Sweet  bodements !' '  looks  also  like  Middleton,  and  the 
whole  bit  is,  in  my  opinion,  a  fragment  of  Hecatis  inserted  by  him.  **  Rebellious 
dead"  seems  to  me  an  allusion  to  Banquo's  ghost,  misplaced  by  Middleton.  If  we 
read  "  Rebellion's  head  "  it  seems  a  mistaken  interpretation  of  the  armed  head  appa- 
rition :  in  any  case  it  is  not  Shakespeare.  But  more  detail  would  be  wearisome. 
Enough  is  given  for  my  purpose  to  make  it  likely  that  Middleton  was  a  recaster  of 
the  play,  not  a  joint  author.* — Ed.  ii.] 

All  the  witch-scenes  from  Middleton' s  *  tragi -coomodie '  are  here  subjoined.  I 
had  originally  intended  to  give  an  exact  reprint  from  a  copy  in  my  possession  pre- 
sented to  *  Hy,  Fuseii  from  the  Editor  George  Stevens*  (sic,  and  therefore  clearly 
not  in  the  autograph  of  Steevens),  but  Dyce,  in  his  preliminary  remarks  to  the  play 
in  his  edition  of  Middleton,  says  that  from  a  collation  of  the  original  MS  in  the 
Bodleian  Library  with  the  above  reprint  of  1778,  the  latter  was  found  to  be  not 
without  some  errors  and  omissions.  I  decided  therefore  to  give  Dyce's  text,  omitting 


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THE  WITCH  369 

''^    . 
his  fcx>t-iiotes,  which,  however  necessary  in  an  addition  of  Middleton,  would  not,  I 

think,  possess  any  interest  in  the  present  copy  of  Macbeth,* 

ACT  I.    SCENE  II. 
The  abode  of  Hecate. 

Enter  Hecate. 

Hee.  Titty  and  Tiffin,  Suckin  and  Pigen,  Liard  and  Robin  I  white 
spirits,  black  spirits,  grey  spirits,  red  spirits !  devil-toad,  devil-ram, 
devil-cat,  and  devil-dam!  why,  Hoppo  and  Stadlin,  Hellwain  and 
Packle! 

Stad,  \within\  Here,  sweating  at  the  vessel. 

Hec,  Boil  it  well. 

Hop,  [within]  It  gallops  now. 

He£,  Are  the  flames  blue  enough  ? 
Or  shall  I  use  a  littie  seething  more  ? 

Sfad,  [within']  The  nips  of  fairies  upon  maids'  white  hips 
Are  not  more  perfect  azure. 

Hec.  Tend  it  carefully. 
Send  Stadlin  to  me  with  a  brazen  dish, 
That  I  may  fdl  to  work  upon  these  serpents. 
And  squeeze  'em  ready  for  the  second  hour : 
Why,  when? 

Enter  Stadlin  ttrith  a  dish. 

Stad.  Here's  Sudlin  and  the  dish. 

Hec.  There,  take  this  unbaptised  brat ; 

[Giving  the  dead  body  of  a  child. 
Boil  it  well ;  preserve  the  fat : 
You  know  'tis  precious  to  transfer 
Our  'nointed  flesh  into  the  air. 
In  moonlight  nights,  on  steeple-tops. 
Mountains,  and  pine-trees,  that  like  pricks  or  stops 
Seem  to  our  height ;  high  towers  and  roofs  of  princes 
Like  wrinkles  in  the  earth ;  whole  provinces 
Appear  to  our  sight  then  even  leek 
A  russet  mole  upon  some  lady's  cheek. 
When  hundred  leagues  in  air,  we  feast  and  sing. 
Dance,  kiss,  and  coll,  use  every  thing : 
What  young  man  can  we  wish  to  pleasure  us, 

But  we  enjoy  him  in  an  incubus  ?  I 

Thou  know'st  it,  Stadlin  ?  ' 

Stad,  Usually  that's  done. 

Hec,  Last  night  thou  got'st  the  mayor  of  Whelplie's  son ; 
I  knew  him  by  his  black  doak  lin'd  with  yellow  ; 
I  think  thou' St  spoil' d  the  youth,  he's  but  seventeen  : 

♦  The  copy  from  Dyce  was  obligingly  prepared  for  the  press  by  my  friend,  J. 
Parker  Norris,  Esq. — Ed. 


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370  APPENDIX 

I'll  hmve  him  the  next  mounting.    Away,  in : 
Go,  feed  the  vessel  for  the  second  hour. 

Stad.  Where  be  the  magical  herbs  ? 

Hec,  They're  down  his  throat ; 
His  month  cramm'd  full,  his  ears  and  nostrib  stuff 'd. 
I  thrast  in  eleoselinum  lately, 
Aconitum,  frondes  populeas,  and  soot — 
You  may  see  that,  he  looks  so  b[l]ack  i'  th'  mouth — 
Then  slum,  acorum  vulgare  too, 
Fentaphyllon,  the  blood  of  a  flitter-mouse  [bat], 
Solanom  somnificum  et  oleum. 

Stad.  Then  there's  all,  Hecate. 

Hec,  Is  the  heart  of  wax 
Stuck  full  of  magic  needles  ? 

Stad.  Tis  done,  Hecate. 

Hec.  And  is  the  fanner's  picture  and  his  wife's 
Laid  down  to  th'  fire  yet  ? 

Stad.  They're  a-roasting  both  too. 

Hec.  Good  \^Exit  Sladlin]  ;  then  their  marrows  are  a-melting  subtly. 
And  three  months'  sickness  sucks  up  life  in  'em. 
They  denied  me  often  flour,  barm,  and  milk. 
Goose-grease  and  tar,  when  I  ne'er  hurt  their  chumings, 
Their  brew-locks,  nor  their  batches,  nor  forespoke 
Any  of  their  breedings.    Now  I'll  be  meet  with  'em : 
Seven  of  their  young  pigs  I've  bewitched  already, 
Of  the  last  litter ; 

Nine  ducklings,  thirteen  goslings,  and  a  hog. 
Fell  lame  last  Sunday  after  even-song  too ; 
And  mark  how  their  sheep  pro^>er,  or  what  sup 
Each  milch-kine  gives  to  th'  pail :  I'll  send  these  snakes 
Shall  milk  'em  all 

Beforehand ;  the  dew-skirted  dairy-wenches 
Shall  stroke  dry  dugs  for  this,  and  go  home  cursing ; 
I'll  mar  their  sillabubs  and  swathy  feastings 
Under  cows'  bellies  with  the  parish-youths. 
Where's  Firestone,  our  son  Firestone? 

Enter  FiRXSTONB. 

Fire.  Here  am  I,  mother. 

Hec.  Take  in  this  brazen  dish  fiill  of  dear  ware :  [Gives  disk. 

Thou  shalt  have  all  when  I  die ;  and  that  will  be 
Even  just  at  twelve  a'clock  at  night  come  three  year. 

Fire,  And  may  you  not  have  one  a'clock  in  to  th'  dozen,  mother? 

Hec.  No. 

Fire.  Your  spirits  are,  then,  more  unconscionable  than  bakers. 
You'll  have  lived  then,  mother,  sizscore  year  to  the  hundred;  and 
metfainks,  after  sizscore  years,  the  devil  might  give  you  a  cast,  for  he's 
a  fruiterer  too,  and  has  been  from  the  beginning;  the  first  i^ple  that 
e'er  was  eaten  came  through  his  fingers:  the  costermonger's,  then,  I 


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THE  WITCH  371 

hold  to  be  the  andentest  trade,  though  some  would  have  the  tailor 
pricked  down  before  him. 

Hec.  Go,  and  take  heed  you  shed  not  by  the  way ; 
The  hour  must  have  her  portion  :  'tis  dear  sirup ; 
Each  charmed  drop  is  able  to  confound 
A  family  consisting  of  nineteen 
Or  one-and-twenty  feeders. 

Fire,  Marry,  here's  stuff  indeed  ! 
Dear  sirup  call  you  it  ?  a  little  thing 
Would  make  me  give  you  a  dram  on't  in  a  posset. 
And  cut  you  three  years  shorter.  [Aside. 

Hec,  Thou  art  now 
About  some  villany. 

Hre.  Not  I,  forsooth. — 
Truly  the  devil's  in  her,  I  think :  how  one  villain  smells  out  another 
straight  1  there's  no  knavery  but  is  nosed  like  a  dog,  and  can  smell  out 
a  dog's  meaning.  \Aside,'\ — Mother,  I  pray,  give  me  leave  to  ramble 
abroad  to-night  with  the  Nightmare,  for  I  have  a  great  mind  to  over- 
lay a  fat  parson's  daughter. 

Hec,  And  who  shall  lie  with  me,  then  ? 

Fire,  The  great  cat 
For  one  night,  mother ;  'tis  but  a  night : 
Make  shift  with  him  for  once. 

Hec,  You're  a  kind  son ! 
But  'tis  the  nature  of  you  all,  I  see  that ; 
You  had  rather  hunt  after  strange  women  still 
Than  lie  with  your  own  mothers.    Get  thee  gone; 
Sweat  thy  six  ounces  out  about  the  vessel. 
And  thou  shalt  play  at  midnight ;  the  Nightmare 
Shall  call  thee  when  it  walks. 

Fire,  Thanks,  most  sweet  mother.  [Exit, 

Hec.  Urchins,  Elves,  Hags,  Satyrs,  Pans,  Fawns,  Sylvans,  Kitt- 
with-the-candlestick,  Tritons,  Centaurs,  Dwarfs,  Ifops,  the  Spoo[r]n, 
the  Mare,  the  Man-i'-th'-oak,  the  Hellwain,  the  Fire-drake,  the 
Pnckle  f  A  ab  hur  hus ! 

Enter  Sebastian. 

Seh,  Heaven  knows  with  what  unwillingness  and  hate 
I  enter  this  damn'd  place :  but  such  extremes 
Of  wrongs  in  love  fight  'gainst  religion's  knowledge. 
That  were  I  led  by  this  disease  to  deaths 
As  numberless  as  creatures  that  must  die, 
I  could  not  shun  the  way.    I  know  what  'tis 
To  pity  madmen  now  ;  they're  wretched  things 
That  ever  were  created,  if  they  be 
Of  woman's  making,  and  her  faithless  vows. 
I  fear  they're  now  a-ldssing :  what's  a-dock? 
'Tis  now  but  supper-time,  but  night  will  come. 
And  all  new-married  couples  make  short  suppers. — 


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372  APPENDIX 

Whatever  thou  art,  I've  no  spare  time  to  fear  thee; 
My  horrors  are  so  strong  and  great  already. 
That  thou  seemest  nothing.     Up,  and  laze  not : 
Hadst  thou  my  business,  thou  couldst  ne*er  sit  so; 
'Twould  firk  thee  into  air  a  thousand  mile, 
Beyond  thy  ointments.     I  would  I  were  read 
So  much  in  thy  black  power  as  mine  own  griefs ! 
I'm  in  great  need  of  help ;  wilt  give  me  any  ? 

Hec,  lliy  boldness  takes  me  bravely ;  we're  all  sworn 
To  sweat  for  such  a  spirit :  see,  I  regard  thee ; 
I  rise  and  bid  thee  welcome.     What's  thy  wish  now  ? 

Seb,  O,  my  heart  swells  with't  I     I  must  take  breath  first 

Hec.  Is't  to  confound  some  enemy  on  the  seas? 
It  may  be  done  to-night :  Stadlin's  within  ; 
She  raises  all  your  sudden  ruinous  storms. 
That  shipwreck  barks,  and  tear  up  growing  oaks, 
Fly  over  houses,  and  take  Anno  Domini 
Out  of  a  rich  man's  chimney — a  sweet  place  for't ! 
He'd  be  hang'd  ere  he  would  set  his  own  years  there ; 
They  must  be  chamber*  d  in  a  five-pound  picture, 
A  green  silk  curtain  drawn  before  the  eyes  on't ; 
His  rotten,  diseas'd  years  !^-or  dost  thou  envy 
The  fat  prosperity  of  any  neighbour  ? 
I'll  call  forth  Hoppo,  and  her  incantation 
Can  straight  destroy  the  young  of  all  his  cattle ; 
Blast  vineyards,  orchards,  meadows ;  or  in  one  night 
Transport  his  dung,  hay,  com,  by  reeks  [ricks],  whole  stacks, 
Into  thine  own  ground. 

Seb,  This  would  come  most  richly  now 
To  many  a  country  grazier ;  but  my  envy 
Lies  not  so  low  as  cattle,  com,  or  vines : 
'Twill  trouble  your  best  powers  to  give  me  ease. 

Hec»  Is  it  to  starve  up  generation  ? 
To  strike  a  barreness  in  man  or  woman  ? 

Seb.  Hah  I 

Hec,  Hah,  did  you  feel  me  there  ?     I  knew  your  grief. 

Seb.  Can  there  be  such  things  done  ? 

Hec.  Are  these  the  skins 
Of  serpents  ?  these  of  snakes  ? 

Seb.  I  see  they  are. 

Hec.  So  sure  into  what  house  these  are  convey' d, 

\Giving  serpent-skins^  etc.^  to  Sebastian* 
Knit  with  these  chamis  and  retentive  knots. 
Neither  the  man  begets  nor  woman  breeds. 
No,  nor  performs  the  least  desires  of  wedlock. 
Being  then  a  mutual  duty.     I  could  give  thee 
Chirocineta,  adincantida, 
Archimedon,  marmaritin,  calicia. 
Which  I  could  sort  to  villanous  barren  ends ; 


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THE  WITCH  373 

Bat  this  leads  the  same  way.     Moie  I  could  mstance ; 
As,  the  same  needles  thrust  into  their  pillows 
That  sew  and  sock  up  dead  men  in  their  sheets ; 
A  privy  gristle  of  a  man  that  hangs 
After  sunset ;  good,  excellent ;  yet  all's  there,  sir. 

Seb.  You  could  not  do  a  man  that  special  kindness 
To  part  'em  utterly  now?  could  you  do  that? 

Hec,  No,  time  must  do't :  we  cannot  disjoin  wedlock ; 
'Tis  of  heaven's  fastening.     Well  may  we  raise  jars. 
Jealousies,  strifes,  and  heart-burning  disagreements. 
Like  a  thick  scurf  o'er  life,  as  did  our  master 
Upon  that  patient  mirade  [Job] ;  but  the  work  itself 
Our  power  cannot  disjoint 

Seb,  I  depart  happy 
In  what  I  have  then,  being  constrained  to  this. — 
And  grant,  you  greater  powers  that  dispose  men, 
That  I  may  never  need  this  hag  agen  !  [Aiide^  and  exU» 

Hec.  I  know  he  loves  me  not,  nor  there's  no  hope  on't ; 
'Tis  for  the  love  of  mischief  I  do  this. 
And  that  we're  sworn  to  the  first  oath  we  take. 

Re-enter  Firestone. 

Fire,  O,  mother,  mother  ! 

Hec,  What's  the  news  with  thee  now? 

Fire.  There's  the  bravest  young  gentleman  within,  and  the  fineli- 
est  drunk  !  I  thought  he  would  have  fallen  into  the  vessel ;  he  stum- 
bled at  a  pipkin  of  child's  grease;  reeled  against  Stadlin,  overthrew 
her,  and  in  the  tumbling-cast  struck  up  old  Puckle's  heels  with  her 
clothes  over  her  ears. 

Hec.  Hoyday! 

Fire.  T  was  fain  to  throw  the  cat  upon  her  to  save  her  honesty,  and 
all  little  enough ;  I  cried  out  still,  I  pray,  be  covered.  See  where  he 
comes  now,  mother. 

Fn/er  Almachildes. 

Mm.  Call  you  these  witches  ?  they  be  tumblers,  methinks, 
Very  flat  tumblers. 

Hec.  'Tis  Almachildes — fresh  blood  stirs  in  me — 
The  man  that  I  have  lusted  to  enjoy ; 
I've  had  him  thrice  in  incubus  already.  [^AsuU. 

Aim.  Is  your  name  Goody  Hag  ? 

Hec.  'Tis  any  thing  : 
Call  me  the  horrid' st  and  unhallow'd  things 
That  life  and  nature  tremble  at,  for  thee 
I'll  be  the  same.     Thou  com'st  for  a  love-charm  now? 

Aim.  Why,  thou'rt  a  witch,  I  think. 

Hec.  Thou  shalt  have  choice  of  twenty,  wet  or  dry. 

Aim.  Nay,  let's  have  dry  ones. 

Hec,  If  thou  wilt  use't  by  way  of  cup  and  potion, 
I'll  give  thee  a  remora  shall  bewitch  her  straight. 


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374  APPENDIX 

Aim,  A  remon?  what's  that? 

Hec,  A  little  suck-stone ; 
Some  call  it  a  sea-lamprey,  a  small  fish. 

Aim,  And  must  be  butter'd? 

Hec,  The  bones  of  a  green  frog  too,  wondrous  precious 
The  flesh  consumed  by  pismires.  *  *  « 

Aim,  And  now  you  talk  of  frogs,  I've  somewhat  here  ; 
I  come  not  empty-pocketed  from  a  banquet, 
I  leam'd  that  of  my  haberdasher's  wife : 
Look,  goody  witch,  there's  a  toad  in  marchpane  for  yon. 

[  Gives  marchpane, 

Hec,  O  sir^  you've  fitted  me ! 

Aim,  And  here's  a  spawn  or  two 
Of  the  same  paddock-brood  too,  for  your  son. 

[Gives  Hiker  pieces  of  marchpane. 

Fire,  I  thank  your  worship,  sir  :  how  comes  your  handkercher 
So  sweetly  thus  beray'd?  sure  'tis  wet  sucket,  sir. 

Aim,  'Tis  nothing  but  the  sirup  the  toad  spit ; 
Take  all,  I  prithee. 

Hec,  This  was  kindly  done,  sir ; 
And  you  shall  sup  with  me  to-night  for  this. 

Aim,  How?  sup  with  thee?  dost  think  I'll  eat  fried  rats 
And  pickled  spiders? 

Hec,  No ;  I  can  command,  sir, 
The  best  meat  i'  th'  whole  province  for  my  friends, 
And  reverently  serv'd  in  too. 

Aim,  How? 

Hec,  In  good  frishion. 

Aim,  Let  me  but  see  that,  and  I'll  sup  with  you. 

[Hecaie  conjures;  and  enter  a  Cai playing  on  a 
fiddle^  and  Spirits  with  meat. 
The  Cat  and  Fiddle's  an  excellent  ordinary : 
You  had  a  devil  once  in  a  fox-skin  ? 

Hec,  O,  I  have  him  still :  come,  walk  with  me  sir. 

[Exeunt  all  except  Firestone, 

Fire,  How  apt  and  ready  is  a  drunkard  now  to  reel  to  the  devil  I 
Well,  I'll  even  in  and  see  how  he  eats ;  and  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  be  not 
the  fatter  of  the  twain  with  laughing  at  him.  [Exit, 

ACT  III.    SCENE  III. 

A  Field, 

Enter  HecaTB,  Stadun,  Hoppo,  and  other  Witches;  FIRESTONE  in 
the  baehground, 

Hec*  The  moon's  a  gallant ;  see  how  brisk  she  rides ! 
Stad,  Here's  a  rich  evening,  Hecate. 
Hec,  Ay,  is't  not,  wenches. 
To  take  a  journey  of  five  thousand  mile  ? 


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THE  WITCH  375 

Hop,  Ours  will  be  more  to-oight 

Hec.  O 'twill  be  predous  I 
Heard  yoa  the  owl  yet? 

Stad.  Briefly  in  the  copse. 
As  we  came  through  now. 

Hec.  'Tis  high  time  for  us  then. 

Stad,  There  was  a  bat  hung  at  my  lips  three  times 
As  we  came  through  the  woods,  and  drank  her  fill : 
Old  Puckle  saw  her. 

Hec,  You  are  fortunate  still ; 
The  Tery  screech-owl  lights  upon  your  shoulder 
And  woos  you,  like  a  pigeon.     Are  yon  furnish' d  ? 
Have  you  your  ointments  ? 

Stad.  All. 

Hec,  Prepare  to  flight  then ; 
I'll  overtake  you  swiftly. 

Stad,  Hie  thee,  Hecate  ; 
We  shall  be  up  betimes. 

Hec,  I'll  reach  you  quickly. 

{Exeunt  all  the  Witches  except  Hecate. 

Fire,  They  are  all  going  a-birding  to-night ;  they  talk  of  fowls 
i'  th'  air  that  fly  by  day ;  I  am  sure  they'll  be  a  company  of  foul  sluts 
there  to-night:  if  we  have  not  mortality  after* t,  I'll  be  hanged,  for 
they  are  able  to  putrefy  it,  to  infect  a  whole  region.  She  spies  me 
now. 

Hec,  What,  Firestone,  our  sweet  son  ? 

Fire,  A  litde  sweeter  than  some  of  you,  or  a  dunghill  were  too  good 
for  me.  \Adde, 

Hec,  How  much  hast  here  ? 

Fire,  Nineteen,  and  all  brave  plump  ones, 
Besides  six  lizards,  and  three  serpentine  eggs. 

Hec,  Dear  and  sweet  boy  I  what  heibs  hast  thou  ? 

Fire,  I  have  some  mannartin  and  mandragon. 

Hec,  Marmaritin  and  mandragora,  thou  wouldst  say. 

Fire,  Here's  panax  too — I  thank  thee — my  pan  aches,  I'm  sore, 
With  kneeling  down  to  cut  'em. 

Hec,  And  selago. 
Hedge-hyssop  too :  how  near  he  goes  my  cuttings  I 
Were  they  all  cropt  by  moonlight  ? 

Fire.  Every  blade  of  'em. 
Or  I'm  a  moon-calf,  mother. 

Hec,  Hie  thee  home  with  'em : 
Look  well  to  the  house  to-night ;  I'm  for  aloft. 

Fire,  Aloft,  quoth  you?  I  would  yon  would  break  your  neck 
once,  that  I  might  have  all  quickly  I  \Asid€,'\ — Hark,  hark,  mother  I 
they  are  above  the  steeple  already,  flying  over  your  head  with  a  noise 
[company]  of  musicians. 

Hec.  They're  they  indeed.    Help,  help  me ;  I'm  too  late  else. 


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376  APPENDIX 

Song  above. 
Come  away,  come  away, 
Hecate,  Hecate,  come  away ! 
He<,  I  come,  I  come,  I  come,  I  come. 
With  all  the  speed  I  may. 
With  all  the  speed  I  may. 
Where's  Stadlin? 
[Voice  abcve,'\  Here. 
Hec,  Where's  Packle? 
[  Voice  adoveJ]  Here ; 

And  Hoppo  too,  and  Hellwain  too ; 
We  lack  but  you,  we  lack  but  you ; 
Come  away,  make  up  the  count 
JSec,  I  will  but  'noint,  and  then  I  mount. 

[A  S^rii  like  a  cat  descends. 
[  Voice  above.']  There's  one  come's  down  to  fetch  his  dues, 
A  kiss,  a  coll,  a  sip  of  blood  ; 
And  why  thou  stay'st  so  long 
I  muse,  I  muse, 
Since  the  air's  so  sweet  and  good. 
Hec.  O,  art  thou  come  ? 

What  news,  what  news  ? 
^rii.  All  goes  still  to  our  delight : 
Either  come,  or  else 
Refuse,  refuse. 
Hec.  Now  I'm  fumish'd  for  the  flight. 

Fire,  Hark,  hark,  the  cat  sings  a  bniTe  treble  in  her  own  language ! 
Bee.  [going  up]  Now  I  go,  now  I  fly, 
Malkin  my  sweet  spirit  and  I. 
O  what  a  dainty  pleasure  'tis 
To  ride  in  the  air 
When  the  moon  shines  fair, 
And  sing  and  dance,  and  toy  and  kiss ! 
Over  woods,  high  rocks,  and  mountains, 
Over  seas,  our  mistress'  fountains, 
Over  steep  towers  and  turrets. 
We  fly  by  night,  'mongst  troops  of  spirits : 
No  ring  of  bells  to  our  ears  sounds. 
No  howls  of  wolves,  no  yelps  of  hounds ; 
No,  not  the  noise  of  water's  breach. 
Or  cannon's  throat  our  height  can  reach. 

[  Voices  above.]  No  ring  of  bells,  &c. 
Fire.  Well,  mother,  I  thank  your  kindness :  you  must  be  gambol- 
ling i'  th'  air,  and  leave  me  to  walk  here  like  a  fool  and  a  mortal. 

[Exii. 


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THE  WITCH  377 

ACT  V.     SCENE  II. 

TTu  Abode  of  Hecate  :  a  caldron  in  the  centre. 

Enter  Duchess^  Hecate,  and  Firestone. 

Hec*  What  death  is't  yoa  desire  for  Almachildes  ? 

Dnch,  A  sadden  and  a  subtle. 

Hec,  Then  I've  fitted  you. 
Here  lie  the  gifts  of  both  ;  sudden  and  subtle : 
His  picture  made  in  wax,  and  gently  molten 
By  a  blue  fire  kindled  with  dead  men's  eyes. 
Will  waste  him  by  degrees. 

Duck,  In  what  time,  prithee  ? 

Hec.  Perhaps  in  a  moon's  progress. 

Duch,  What,  a  month? 
Out  upon  pictures,  if  they  be  so  tedious  I 
Give  me  things  with  some  life. 

Hec.  Then  seek  no  farther. 

Duck,  This  must  be  done  with  speed,  dispatch' d  this  night. 
If  it  may  possible. 

Hec,  I  have  it  for  you  ; 
Here's  that  will  do't ;  stay  but  perfection's  time. 
And  that  not  five  hours  hence. 

Duch,  Canst  thou  do  this  ? 

Hec,  Can  I? 

Duch,  I  mean,  so  closely. 

Hec,  So  closely  do  you  mean  too  I 

Duch,  So  artfully,  so  cunningly. 

Hec,  Worse  and  worse ;  doubts  and  incredulities  I 
They  make  me  mad.     Let  scrupulous  creatures  know 
Cum  voluij  ripis  ipsis  mirantiims^  amnes 
In  fontes  rediere  suos  ;  concussague  sisto, 
Stantia  concutio  cantu  freta  ;  nubila  pello^ 
Nubilaque  induco;  ventos  ahigoque  vocoque ; 
Viperecu  rumpo  verbis  et  carmine  fauces  ; 
Et  silvas  moveo  ;  jubeoque  tremiscere  montes, 
Et  mugire  solum^  manesque  exire  sepulchris, 
Te  [quo"]  que,  /una,  traho.     Can  yon  doubt  me  then,  daughter, 
That  can  make  mountains  tremble,  miles  of  woods  walk. 
Whole  earth's  foundation  bellow,  and  the  spirits 
Of  the  entomb' d  to  burst  out  from  their  marbles, 
Nay,  draw  yond  moon  to  my  involv'd  designs  ? 

Fire,  I  know  as  well  as  can  be  when  my  mother's  mad,  and  our  great 
cat  angry,  for  one  spits  French  then,  and  th'  other  spits  Latin.      \Aside, 

Duch,  I  did  not  doubt  you,  mother. 

Hec,  No  I  What  did  you? 
My  power's  so  firm,  it  is  not  to  be  question' d. 

Duch,  Forgive  what's  past :  and  now  I  know  th'  offensiveness 
That  vexes  art,  I'll  shun  th'  occasion  ever. 

Hec,  Leave  all  to  me  and  my  five  sisters,  daughter : 


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378  APPENDIX 

It  shall  be  oonvey'd  in  at  howlet-time ; 

Take  yoa  no  care :  my  ^irits  know  their  moments ; 

Raven  or  screech-owl  never  fly  by  th'  door 

But  they  call  in — I  thank  'em — and  they  lose  not  by't ; 

I  give  'em  barley  soak'd  in  infants'  blood ; 

They  shall  have  semina  cum  sangmm^ 

Their  gorge  cnunm'd  full,  if  they  come  once  to  our  house ; 

We  are  no  niggard.  [Exit  Duchess, 

Fire,  They  fare  but  too  well  when  they  come  hither ;  they  eat  up  as 
nrach  t'other  night  as  would  have  made  me  a  good  consdonable  pudding. 

Ilec,  Give  me  some  lizard's-brain ;  quickly,  Firestone. 

[Firestone  brings  the  different  ingredients  far  the  charm,  as 
Hecate  calls  far  them, 
Where's  grannam  Stadlin,  and  all  the  rest  o'  th'  sisters? 

Fire,  All  at  hand,  forsooth. 

Enter  Stadun,  Hoppo,  and  other  Witches, 
Hec,  Give  me  marmaritin,  some  bear-breech  :  when  ? 
Fire,  Here's  bear-breech  and  lizard's-brain,  forsooth. 
Hec,  Into  the  vessel ; 
And  fetch  three  ounces  of  the  red-hair*  d  girl 
I  kill'd  last  midnight 

Fire,  Whereabouts,  sweet  mother  ? 

Hec,  Hip ;  hip  or  flank.     Where  is  the  aoopus? 

Fire,  You  shall  have  acopns,  forsooth. 

Hec,  Stir,  stir  about,  whilst  I  begin  the  charm. 

Black  spirits  and  white,  red  *  spirits  and  gray. 
Mingle,  mingle,  mingle,  you  that  mingle  may ! 
Titty,  Tiffin, 
Keep  it  stifi*  in ; 
Flredrake,  Puckey, 
Make  it  lucky ; 
Liard,  Robin, 
You  must  bob  in. 
Round,  around,  around,  about,  about ! 
All  ill  come  running  in,  all  good  keep  out ! 
First  Witch,  Here's  the  blood  of  a  bat 
Hec.  Put  in  that,  O,  put  in  that ! 
Sec,  Witch,  Here's  libbard's-bane. 
Hec,  Put  in  again  ! 

First  Witch.  The  juice  of  toad,  the  oil  of  add^. 
Sec,  Witch.  Those  will  make  the  younker  madder. 
Hec,  Put  in — there's  all^^nd  rid  the  stench. 
Fire,  Nay,  here's  three  ounces  of  the  red-hair'd  wench. 
All  the  Witches,  Round,  around,  around,  &c 
Hec,  So,  so,  enough  :  into  the  vessel  with  it 

*  Rowe,'in  Macbeth,  IV,  i,  changed  this  to  Blue^  and  was  followed  by  Pope, 
Theobald,  Hanmer,  Warburton,  Johnson,  Jennens,  Steevens  1773  and  1778.  *  Red ' 
was  restored  by  Steevens,  1785.— Ed. 


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SOURCE  OF  THE  PLOT  379 

Tliere,  't  hath  the  true  perfection.     I'm  so  light 
At  any  mischief!  there's  no  villainy 
But  is  a  tune,  methinks. 

Fire,  A  tune  ?  'tis  to  the  tune  of  damnation  then,  I  warrant  you, 
and  that  song  hath  a  villainous  burthen.  [Aside, 

Nee.  Come,  my  sweet  sisters ;  let  the  air  strike  our  tune, 
Whilst  we  shew  reverence  to  yond  peeping  moon. 

[  They  dance  the  IVitches*  Danee,  and  exeunt. 


SOURCE  OF  THE  PLOT 


The  historical  inddents  (if  a  medley  of  fable  and  tradition  may  be  accounted 
historical)  in  the  tragedy  of  Macbeth  are  found  in  the  Scotarum  Historue  of 
Hector  ^oicce,  first  printed  at  Paris  in  1526.  Tt^y  ftr^^i  or  Boyce,  was  the  first 
Principal  of  King's  College,  Aberdeen,  and  his  work  was  translated  into  the  Scotch 
dialect  by  John  Bellenden,  archdeacon  of  Moray,  in  1541.  Messrs  Clark  and 
Wright  say  that  there  is  <  reason  to  think  that  tjrjinihad  consulted  this  transl^ 
^tion.  The  name  Macbeth  itself  may  even  have  been  taken  from  Bellenden,  as  a 
rendering  of  the  **  Maccabseus  "  of  Boece,  and  from  the  same  source  may  have  been 
derived  the  translation  of  solatrum  amentiale  by  **  Mekilwort."  Be  this  as  it  may, 
Holinshed  is  Shakespeare's  authority,  Hector  Boece  is  Holinshed's,  and  Boece  fol- 
lows Fordun,  adding  to  him,  however,  very  freely.'  Although  Shakespeare  obtained 
the  materials  for  the  plot  of  this  tragedy  from  ^n1iri'^*^i  yet  he  did  not  confine 
himself  to  the  history  of  *  Macbeth,'  for  around  the  murder  of  Duncan  he  weaves 
certain  details  wbirh  ar^  )^ig»r>rifH»iiy  fipn"<xtfid  ^J^  ^J]fi  av^f  ^  King  Duffe,  the 
great-grandtaUier  of  Lady  Macbeth.  How  far  Shakespeare  diverged  from  the 
chronicler,  especially  in  the  character  of  Banquo,  the  student  can  best  determine  for 
himself  by  means  of  the  following  extracts,  which  contain  all  the  passages  referred 
to  throughout  the  play  by  the  various  commentators.  The  text  here  given  is  that  of 
the  edition  of  1587. 

It  appears  that  King  Duffe,  who  commenced  his  reign  '  in  the  yeare  after  the 
incarnation  968,  as  saith  Hector  Boetius,'  treated  <  diners  robbers  and  pillers  of  the 
common  people '  in  a  style  whiclTcreated  no  small  ofience ;  some  were  executed, 
and  the  rest  were  obliged  <  either  to  get  them  ouer  into  Ireland,  either  else  to  learoe 
some  manuall  occupation  wherewith  to  get  their  lining,  yea  though  they  were  neuer 
so  great  gentlemen  borne.'  There  was  therefore  great  murmuring  at  such  rigorous 
lefoims. 

But, '  In  the  meane  time  the  king  [Duffe]  fell  into  a  languishing  disease,  not  so 
greeuous  as  strange,  for  that  none  of  his  physicians  could  perceiue  what  to  make 
of  it  For  there  was  scene  in  him  no  token,  that  either  choler,  mdancholie,  flegme, 
or  any  other  vicious  humor  did  any  thing  abound,  whereby  his  bodie  should  be 
brought  into  such  decaie  and  consumption  (so  as  there  remained  vnneth  anie  thing 
vpon  him  sane  skin  and  bone). 

*  And  sithens  it  appeared  manifestlie  by  all  outward  signes  and  tokens,  that  nat- 
undl  moisture  did  nothing  faile  in  the  vitall  spirits,  his  colour  also  was  fresh  and  faire 
to  behold,  with  such  liuelines  of  looks,  that  more  was  not  to  be  wished  for ;  he  had 
also  a  temperat  desire  and  appetite  to  his  meate  &  drinke,  but  yet  could  he  not  sleepe 
in  the  night  time  by  any  prouocations  that  could  be  deuised,  but  still  fell  into  exceed- 


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ing  sweats,  which  by  no  means  might  be  restreined.  The  physicians  percduing  all 
their  medicines  to  want  due  effect,  yet  to  put  him  in  some  comfort  of  helpe,  dedared 
to  him  that  they  would  send  for  some  cunning  physicians  into  forreigne  parts,  who 
happilie  being  inured  with  such  kind  of  diseases,  should  easilie  cure  him,  namelie 
so  soone  as  the  spring  of  the  yeare  was  once  come,  which  of  it  selfe  should  belpe 
much  therevnto.' 

The  Chronicle  goes  on  to  state  that  the  <  king  being  sicke  yet  he  regarded  iustice 
to  be  executed,'  and  that  a  rebellion  which  arose  was  kept  from  his  knowledge,  *  for 
doubt  of  increasing  his  sicknes.'     It  then  proceeds : 

'  But  about  that  present  time  there  was  a  murmuring  amongst  the  people,  how 
the  king  was  vexed  with  no  naturall  sicknesse,  but  by  sorcerie  and  magicall  art, 
practised  by  a  sort  of  witches  dwelling  in  a  towne  of  Murreyland,  called  Pores. 

*  Wlierevpon,  albeit  the  author  of  this  secret  talke  was  not  knowne :  yet  being 
brought  to  the  kings  eare,  it  caused  him  to  send  foorthwith  certeine  wittie  persons 
thither,  to  inquire  of  the  truth.  They  that  were  thus  sent,  dissembling  the  cause  of 
^  their  iomie,  were  receiued  in  the  darke  of  the  night  into  the  castell  of  Fores  by  the 
lieutenant  of  the  same,  called  HDonwald,  who  continuing  faithful!  to  the  king,  had 
•  kept  that  castell  against  the  rebels  to  the  kings  vse.  Vnto  him  therefore  these  mes- 
sengers declared  the  cause  of  their  comming,  requiring  his  aid  for  the  accomplish- 
ment of  the  kin^  pleasure. 

*■  The  souldiers,  which  laie  there  in  garrison  had  an  inkling  that  there  was  some 
such  matter  in  hand  as  was  talked  of  amongst  the  people ;  by  reason  that  one  of 
them  kept  as  concubine  a  yoong  woman,  which  was  daughter  to  one  of  the  witches 
^    as  his  paramour,  who  told  him  the  whole  maner  vsed  by  hir  mother  &  other  hir 
companions,  with  their  intent  also,  which  was  to  make  awaie  the  king.     The  soul- 
dier  hauing  learned  this  of  his  lenmian,  told  the  same  to  his  fellows,  who  made 
report  to  Donwald,  and  hee  shewed  it  to  the  kin^  messengers,  and  therewith  sent 
for  the  yoong  damosell  which  the  souldier  kept,  as  then  being  within  the  castell,  and 
caused  hir  vpon  streict  examination  to  confesse  the  whole  matter  as  she  had  scene 
and  knew.     Wherevpon  learning  by  hir  confession  in  what  house  in  the  towne  it  was 
where  they  wrought  their  mischiefous  mysterie,  he  sent  foorth  souldiers,  about  the 
middest  of  the  night,  who  breaking  into  the  house,  found  one  of  the 
*     *  witches  rosting  vpon  a  woodden  broch  an  image  of  wax  at  the  6er, 

resembling  in  each  feature  the  kings  person,  made  and  deuised  (as  is  to  be  thought) 
by  craft  and  art  of  the  diuell :  an  other  of  them  sat  reciting  ceiteine  words  of 
inchantment,  and  still  basted  the  image  with  a  certeine  liquor  verie  busilie. 

<  The  souldiers  finding  them  occupied  in  this  wise,  tooke  them  togither  with  the 
image,  and  led  them  into  the  castell,  where  being  streictlie  examined  for  what  pur- 
pose they  went  about  such  manner  of  inchantment,  they  answered,  to  the  end  to 
make  away  the  king  :  for  as  the  image  did  waste  afore  the  fire,  so  did  the  bodie  of 
the  king  breake  foorth  in  sweat.  And  as  for  the  words  of  inchantment,  they  semed 
to  keepe  him  still  waking  from  sleepe,  so  that  as  the  wax  euer  melted,  so  did  the 
kings  flesh  :  by  the  which  meanes  it  should  haue  come  to  passe,  that  when  the  wax 
was  once  deane  consumed,  the  death  of  the  king  should  immediatlie  follow.  So 
were  they  taught  by  euill  spirits,  and  hired  to  worke  the  feat  by  the  nobles  of  Mur- 
rey land.  The  standers  by,  that  heard  such  an  abhominable  tale  told  by  these 
witches,  streightwaies  brake  the  image,  and  caused  the  witches  (according  as  they 
had  well  deserued)  to  bee  burnt  to  death. 

'  It  was  said,  that  the  king,  at  the  verie  same  time  that  these  things  were  a  dooiog 


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SOURCE  OF  THE  PLOT  38 1 

within  the  castell  of  Fores,  was  deliuered  of  his  languor,  and  slept  that  night  with- 
out anie  sweat  breaking  foorth  vpon  him  at  all,  &  the  next  daie  being  restored  to  his 
strength,  was  able  to  doo  anie  maner  of  thing  that  lay  in  man  to  doo,  as  though  he 
had  not  beene  sicke  before  anie  thing  at  all.  But  howsoeuer  it  came  to  passe,  truth 
it  is,  that  when  he  was  restored  to  his  perfect  health,  he  gathered  a  power  of  men,  & 
with  the  same  went  into  Murrey  land  against  the  rebels  there,  and  chasing  them  from 
thence,  he  pursued  them  into  Rosse,  and  from  Rosse  into  Cathnesse,  where  appre- 
hending them,  he  brought  them  backe  vnto  Fores,  and  there  caused  them  to  be 
hanged  vp,  on  gallows  and  gibets. 

'  Amongest  them  there  were  also  certeine  yoong  gentlemen,  right  beautifuU  and 
goodlie  personages,  being  neere  of  kin  vnto  Donwald  capteine  of  the  cast^U,  and 
had  beene  persuaded  to  be  partakers  with  the  other  rebels,  more  through  the  fraudu- 
lent counsell  of  diuerse  wicked  persons,  than  of  their  ovme  accord  :  wherevpon  the 
foresaid  Donwald  lamenting  their  case,  made  earnest  labor  and  sute  to  the  king  to 
haue  begged  their  pardon  ;  but  hauing  a  plaine  deniall,  he  conceiued  such  an  inward  ^ 
malice  towards  the  king  (though  he  shewed  it  not  outwardlie  at  the  first),  that  the 
same  continued  still  boiling  in  his  stomach,  an4  ceased  not^  till  through_s€tting  on 
SiLh\B  wifc^  and  in  reuenge  of  such  vnthankefulnesse,  hee  found  meanes  to  murther 
the  king  within  the  foresaid  castell  of  Fores  where  he  vsed  to  soioume.  For  the  ^ 
kin^  being  in  that  countrie,  was  accustomed  to  lie  most  coq^monlie  within  the  same 
castell,  hauing  a  spedall  trust  in  Donwald,  as  n  man  whom  he  neuer  suspected. 

'But  Donwald,  not  forgetting  the  reproch  which  his  linage  had  susteined  by^ 
the  execution  of  those  his  kinsmen,  whome  the  king  for  a  spectacle  to  the  people  had 
caused  to  be  hanged,  could  not  but  shew  manifest  tokens  of  great  griefe  at  home 
amongst  his  familie  :  which  his  wife  perceiuing,  ceassed  not  to  trauell  with  him,  till 
she  vnderstood  what  the  cause  was  of  his  displeasure.  Which  at  length  when  she 
had  learned  by  his  owne  relation,  she  as  one  that  bare  no  lesse  malice  in  hir  heart 
towards  the  king,  for  the  like  cause  on  hir  behalfe.  than  hir  husband  did  for  his 
friends,  counselled  him  (sith  the  king  oftentimes  vsed  to  lodge  in  his  house  without 
anie  gard  about  him,  other  than  the  garrison  of  the  castell,  which  was  wholie  at  his 
commandement)  to  make  him  awaie,  and  shewed  him  the  meanes  wherby  he  might 
soonest  accomplish  it. 

'  Donwald  thus  being  the  more  kindled  in  wrath  by  the  words  of  his  wife,  deter-  1^ 
mined  to  follow  hir  aduise  in  the  execution  of  so  heinous  an  act.  Whervpon  deuis- 
ing  with  himselfe  for  a  while,  which  way  hee  might  best  accomplish  his  curssed 
intent,  at  length  he  gat  opportunitie,  and  sped  his  purpose  as  foUoweth.  It  chanced 
that  the  king  vpon  the  daie  before  he  purposed  to  depart  foorth  of  the  castell,  was 
long  in  his  oratorie  at  his  praiers,  and  there  continued  till  it  was  late  in  the  night. 
At  the  last,  comming  foorth,  he  called  such  afore  him  as  had  faithfullie  serued  him  in 
pursute  and  apprehension  of  the  rebels,  and  giuing  them  heartie  thanks,  he  bestowed 
sundrie  honorable  gifts  amongst  them,  of  the  which  number  Donwald  was  one,  as^ 
he  that  had  beene  euer  accounted  a  most  faithfull  seruant  to  the  king.'  . .  .  [See  I, 

▼ii,  74.] 

*  Then  Donwald,  though  he  abhorred  the  act  greatlie  in  his  heart,  yet  through  \ 
instigation  of  his  wife,  hee  called  foure  of  his  seruants  vnto  him  (whome  he  had  made 
priuie  to  his  wicked  intent  before,  and  framed  to  his  purpose  with  large  gifts)  and 
now  declaring  vnto  them,  after  what  sort  they  should  worke  the  feat,  they  gladlie 
obeied  his  instructions,  &  speedilie  going  about  the  murther,  they  enter  the  chamber 
(in  which  the  king  laie)  a  little  before  cocks  crow,  where  they  secretlie  cut  his  throte 


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382  APPENDIX 

as  he  lay  sleeping,  without  anie  boskling  at  all :  and  immediatlie  by  a  posterne  gate 
they  caried  foorth  the  dead  bodie  into  the  fields,  and  throwing  it  vpon  an  horsse 
there  prouided  readie  for  that  purpose,  they  conuey  it  vnto  a  place,  about  two  miles 
distant  from  the  castell,  where  they  staied,  and  gat  certeine  labourers  to  helpe  them 
to  tume  the  course  of  a  little  riuer  rurming  through  the  fields  there,  and  digging  a 
deepe  hole  in  the  chanell,  they  burie  the  bodie  in  the  same,  ramming  it  vp  with  stones 
\  and  grauell  so  closelie,  that  setting  the  water  in  the  right  course  againe,  no  man  could 
perceiue  that  anie  thing  had  beene  newlie  digged  there.  This  they  did  by  order 
appointed  them  by  Donwald  as  is  reported,  for  that  the  bodie  should  not  be  found,  & 
by  bleeding  (when  Donwald  should  be  present)  declare  him  to  be  guiltie  of  the 
murther.  For  such  an  opinion  men  haue,  that  the  dead  corps  of  anie  man  being 
slaine,  will  bleed  abundantlie  if  the  murtherer  be  present.  But  for  what  considera- 
tion soeuer  they  buried  him  there,  they  had  no  sooner  finished  the  worke,  but  that 
they  slue  them  whose  helpe  they  Tsed  herein,  and  streightwaies  therevpon  fled  into 
Orknie. 

*  Donwald,  about  the  time  that  the  murther  was  in  dooing,  got  him  amongst  them 
that  kept  the  watch,  and  so  continued  in  companie  with  them  all  the  residue  of  the 
night.  But  in  the  morning  when  the  noise  was  raised  in  the  kings  chamber  how 
the  king  was  slaine,  his  bodie  conueied  awaie,  and  the  bed  all  beraied  with  Uoud ; 
he  with  the  watch  ran  tWther,  as  though  he  had  knowne  nothing  of  the  matter,  and 
breaking  into  the  chamber,  and  finding  cakes  of  bloud  in  the  bed,  and  o4||die  floore 

I  about  the  sides  of  it,  he  foorthwith  slue  the  chamberleins,  as  guiltie  of  that  heinous 
murther,  and  then  like  a  mad  man  running  to  and  fro,  he  ransacked  euerie  comer 
within  the  castell,  as  though  it  had  beene  to  haue  seene  if  he  might  haue  found  either 
the  bodie,  or  anie  of  the  murtherers  hid  in  anie  priuie  place  ;  but  at  length  oonmiing 
to  the  posterne  gate,  and  finding  it  open,  he  burdened  the  chamberleins,  whome  be 
had  slaine,  with  all  the  fault,  they  hauing  the  keies  of  the  gates  coounitted  to  their 
keeping  all  the  night,  and  therefore  it  could  not  be  otherwise  (said  he)  but  that  they 
were  of  counsell  in  the  committing  of  that  most  detestable  murther. 

V  '  Finallie,  such  was  his  ouer  earnest  diligence  in  the  seuere  inquisition  and  tiiall 
of  the  ofiTendors  heerein,  that  some  of  the  lords  began  to  mlslike  the  matter,  and  to 
smell  foorth  shrewd  tokens,  that  he  should  not  be  altogither  deare  himselfe.  But 
for  so  much  as  they  were  in  that  countrie,  where  hee  had  the  whole  rule,  what  bj 
reason  of  his  friends  and  authoritie  togither,  they  doubted  to  vtter  what  they  thought, 
till  time  and  place  should  better  seme  therevnto,  and  heerevpon  got  them  awaie  euerie 
man  to  his  home.  For  the  space  of  six  moneths  togither,  after  this  heinous  murther 
thus  committed,  there  appeered  no  sunne  by  day,  nor  moone  by  night  in 
^    '  anie  part  of  the  realme,  but  still  was  the  skie  couered  with  continuall 

clouds,  and  sometimes  suche  outragious  windes  arose,  with  lightenings  and  tempests, 
that  the  ]>eople  were  in  great  feare  of  present  destraction.'   (pp.  149-151.) 

*  Monstrous  sights  also  that  were  seene  within  the  Scotish  kingdome  that  yeere' 

[that  is,  of  King  Duffe's  murder,  A.  D.  972]  *were  these,  horsses  in 
'     *         Louthian,  being  of  singular  beautie  and  swiftnesse,  did  eate  their  owne 
flesh,  and  would  in  no  wise  taste  anie  other  meate.     In  Angus  there  was  a  gentle- 
woman brought  foorth  a  child  without  eies,  nose,  hand,  or  foot.     There 
'     *    *    was  a  sparhawke  also  strangled  by  an  owle.'  (p.  152.) 
-k   Thus  far  the  Chronicle  of  King  Dufie  supplied  Shakespeare  with  some  of  the 
details  and  accessories  of  his  tragedy ;  and  we  now  turn  to  the  history  of  the  hero 
himself,  Macbeth.     But  there  is  one  other  incident  recorded  by  Holinshed,  on  one 


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SOURCE  OF  THE  PLOT  383 

'  of  the  few  mteixnediate  pages  of  his  Chronicle,  between  the  stories  of  King  Duffe 
and  Macbeth,  which  I  cannot  but  think  attracted  Shakespeare's  notice  as  he  passed 
from  one  story  to  the  other,  and  which  was  afterward  worked  up  by  him  in  connection 
with  Duncan's  murder.     As  far  as  I  am  aware,  it  has  never  been  noted  by  any  editor 

I  or  commentator.     It  seems  that  Kenneth,,  the  brother,  and  one  of  the  successors  of 

\  Duffe,  was  a  virtuous  and  able  prince,  and  would  have  left  an  unstained  name  had 
not  the  ambition  to  have  his  son  succeed  him  tempted  him  to  poison  secretly  his 

^nephew  Mdoime,  the  son  of  Duff  and  the  heir  apparent  to  the  throne.  Kenneth 
then  obtained  from  a  council  at  Scone  the  ratification  of  his  son  as  his  successor. 

*  Thus  might  he  seeme  happie  to  all  men,'  continues  Holinshed  (p.  158), '  but  yet  to 
himselfe  he  seemed  most  vnhappie  as  he  that  could  not  but  still  live  in  continuall 
feare,  least  his  wicked  practise  concerning  the  death  of  Malcome  Duffe  should  come 

to  light  and  knowledge  of  the  world.     For  so  commeth  it  to  passe,  that  such  as  are  y 
pricked  in  conscience  for  anie  secret  offense  oonmiitted,  haue  euer  an  vnquiet  mind.' 
[What  follows  suggested,  I  think,  to  Shakespeare  the  « voice,'  at  II,  ii,  46,  that  cried 

*  sleep  no  more.']  <  And  (as  the  fame  goeth)  it  chanced  that  a  voice  was  heard  as 
he  was  in  bed  in  the  night  time  to  take  his  rest,  vttering  vnto  him  these  or  the  like 
woords  in  effect:  "Thinke  not  Kenneth  that  the  wicked  slaughter  of  Malcome 
Duffe  by  thee  contriued,  is  kept  secret  from  the  knowledge  of  the  etemall  God,"  &c. 
. . .  The  king  with  this  voice  being  striken  into  great  dread  and  terror,  passed 
that  night  without  anie  sleepe  comming  in  his  eies.' 

'After  Malcolme'  [that  is,  <  after  the  incarnation  of  our  Saviour  1034  yeeres'] 
'  succeeded  his  nephue  Duncane,  the  sonne  of  his  daughter  Beatrice  :  for  Malcolme 
had  two  daughters,  the  one  which  was  this  Beatrice,  being  giuen  in  marriage  vnto  one 
Abbanath  Crinen,  a  man  of  great  nobilitie,  and  thane  of  the  Isles  and  west  parts  of 
Scotland,  bare  of  that  mariage  the  foresaid  Duncane  ;  The  other  called  Doada,  was 
maried  vnto  Sinell  the  thane  of  Glammis,  by  whom  she  had  issue  one 
Makbeth  a  valiant  gentleman,  and  one  that  if  he  had  not  beene  some-  '  ' 
what  cruell  of  nature,  might  haue  beene  thought  most  woorthie  the  gouemement  of 
a  realme.  On  tho  ^t^^y  ^^t  Prncane  was  <k)  «"^*  an<^  grntlff  of  P*'^!!!?^  th&t  ^ 
r^^r'"' ^S^'^-i!!^■J^5^^'^"^^""^  **"'^  "^<^p«^rs  of  these  twq_CQamns_to  hiuig  beene  so 
t^mpor^  ^d  intercbi^ng«>fthlU  h#>^nw^  hA»wi-|^  thpm,  tha^  W^^^  ^^  Qng  had  too 
mnrli  of  r]fiyni>poi^^  ^r^A  ^\^m,  /^»ii^ir  />f  r^i^iH>^  f^^^  mcane  vertue  betwixt  these  two 
extremities  might  haue  reigned  by  indifferent  partition  in  them  both,  so  should  Dnn-a 
cane  haue  proued  a  woorthie  king,  and  Makbeth  an  excellent  capteine.  1  The  begin- 
ning  of  Duncan^  reigne  was  verie  quiet  and  peaceable,  without  anie  notable  trouble  ; 
but  after  it  was  perceiued  how  negligent  he  was  in  punishing  offendors,  manie  mis- 
ruled persons  tooke  ocasion  thereof  to  trouble  the  peace  and  quiet  state  of  the  com- 
mon-wealth, by  seditious  commotions  which  first  had  their  beginnings  in  this  wise. 

'  Banquho  the  thane  of  Lochquhaber,  of  whom  the  house  of  the  Stewards  is 
descended,  the  which  by  order  of  linage  hath  now  for  a  long  time  inioied  the 
crowne  of  Scotland,  euen  till  these  our  daies,  as  he  gathered  the  finances  due  to  the 
king,  and  further  punished  somewhat  sharpelie  such  as  were  notorious  offendors, 
being  assailed  by  a  number  of  rebels  inhabiting  in  that  countrie,  and  spoiled  of  the 
monie  and  all  other  things,  had  much  a  doo  to  get  awaie  with  life,  after  he  had 
receiued  sundrie  grieuous  wounds  amongst  them.  Yet  escaping  their  hands,  after  • 
hee  was  somewhat  recouered  of  his  hurts  and  was  able  to  ride,  he  repaired  to  the 
court,  where  making  his  complaint  to  the  king  in  most  earnest  wise,  he  purchased 
at  length  that  the  offendors  were  sent  for  by  a  sergeant  at  armes,  to  appeare  to  make 


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384  APPENDIX 

answer  Toto  such  matters  as  should  be  laid  to  their  charge :  but  they  augmentiDg 
their  mischiefous  act  with  a  more  wicked  deed,  after  they  had  misused  the  messen- 
ger with  sundrie  kinds  of  reproches,  they  finallie  slue  him  also. 

<  Then  doubting  not  but  for  such  contemptuous  demeanor  against  the  kingi  regall 
authoritie,  they  should  be  inuaded  with  all  the  power  the  king  could  make,  Mak- 
dowald  one  of  great  estimation  among  them,  making  first  a  confederacie  with  his 
neerest  friends  and  kinsmen,  tooke  vpon  him  to  be  chiefe  capteine  of  all  such  rebels, 
as  would  stand  against  the  king,  in  maintenance  of  their  grieuous  offenses  latelie 
committed  agamst  him.  Manie  slanderous  words  also,  and  railing  tants  this  Mak- 
dowald  vttered  against  his  prince,  calling  him  a  faint-hearted  milkesop,  more  meet 
to  goueme  a  sort  of  idle  moonks  in  some  cloister,  than  to  haue  the  rule  of  such 
valiant  and  bardie  men  of  warre  as  the  Scots  were.  He  vsed  also  such  subtill  per- 
suasions and  forged  allurements,  that  in  a  small  time  he  had  gotten  togither  a  mightie 
power  of  men :  for  out  of  the  westeme  Isles  there  came  vnto  him  a  great  multitude 
of  people,  offering  themselues  to  assist  him  in  that  rebellious  quarell,  and 
out  of  Ireland  in  hope  of  the  spoile  came  no  small  number  of  Kernes  and 
Galloglasses,  offering  gladlie  to  seme  vnder  hun,  whither  it  should  please  him  to 
lead  them. 

♦  Makdowald  thus  hauing  a  mightie  puissance  about  him,  incountered  with  such  of 
the  kings  people  as  were  sent  against  him  into  Lochquhaber,  and  discomfiting  them, 
by  mere  force  tooke  their  capteine  Malcohne,  and  after  the  end  of  the  battell  smote 
off  his  head.  This  ouerthrow  being  notified  to  the  king,  did  put  him  in  woonder- 
full  feare,  by  reason  of  his  small  skill  in  warlike  affaires.  Calling  therefore  his 
nobles  to  a  councell,  he  asked  of  them  their  best  aduise  for  the  subduing  of  Mak- 
dowald &  other  the  rebels.  Here,  in  sundrie  heads  (as  euer  it  happeneth)  were 
sundrie  opinions,  which  they  vttered  according  to  euerie  man  his  skill.  At  length 
Makbeth  speaking  much  against  the  kings  softnes,  and  ouermuch  slacknesse  in  pun- 
ishing offendors,  whereby  they  had  such  time  to  assemble  togither,  he  promised  not-: 
withstanding,  if  the  chaige  were  conmiitted  vnto  him  and  vnto  Banquho,  so  to  order* 
the  matter,  that  the  rebels  should  be  shortly  vanquished  &  quite  put  downe,  and 
that  not  so  much  as  one  of  them  should  be  found  to  make  resistance  within  the 
countrie. 

'  And  euen  so  it  came  to  passe :  for  being  sent  foorth  with  a  new  power,  at  his 
« entring  into  Lochquhaber,  the  fame  of  bis  comming  put  the  enimies  in  such  feare, 
that  a  great  number  of  them  stale  secredie  awaie  from  their  capteine  Makdowald, 
\  who  neuerthelesse  inforced  thereto,  gaue  battell  vnto  Makbeth,  with  the  residue 
which  remained  with  him  :  but  being  ouercome,  and  fleeing  for  refuge  into  a  castell 
(within  the  which  his  wife  &  children  were  inclosed)  at  length  when  he  saw  how 
he  could  neither  defend  the  hold  anie  longer  against  his  enimies,  nor  yet  vpon  sur- 
render be  suffered  to  depart  with  life  saued,  hee  first  slue  his  wife  and  children,  and 
lastlie  himselfe,  least  if  he  had  yeelded  simplie,  he  should  haue  beene  executed  in 
most  cruell  wise  for  an  exrmple  to  other.  Makbeth  entring  into  the  castell  by  the 
gates,  as  then  set  open,  found  the  carcasse  of  Makdowald  lieng  dead  there  amongst 
the  residue  of  the  slaine  bodies,  which  when  he  beheld^  remitting  no  peece  of  his 
cruell  nature  with  that  pitifull  sight,  he  caused  the  head  to  be  cut  off,  and  set  vpon 
a  poies  end,  and  so  sent  it  as  a  present  to  the  king  who  as  then  laie  at  Bertha. 
The  headlesse  trunke  he  commanded  to  bee  hoong  vp  vpon  an  high  paire  of 
gallowes. 

*  Them  of  the  westeme  Isles  suing  for  pardon,  in  that  they  had  aided  Makdowald 


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in  his  tratorotts  enterprise,  he  fined  at  great  sums  of  moneie :  and  those  whome  he 
tooke  in  Lochquhaber,  being  come  thither  to  beare  armor  against  the  king,  he  put  to 
execution.  Hervpon  the  Ilandmen  conceiued  a  deadlie  grudge  towards  him,  call- 
ing him  a  couenant-breaker,  a  bloudie  tyrant,  &  a  cruell  murtherer  of  them  whome 
the  kinjs  mercie  had  pardoned.  With  which  reprochfull  words  Makbeth  being 
kindled  in  wrathfuU  ire  against  them,  had  passed  ouer  with  an  aimie  into  the  Isles, 
to  haue  taken  reuenge  vpon  them  for  their  liberall  talke,  had  he  not  beene  otherwise 
persuaded  by  some  of  his  friends,  and  partlie  pacified  by  gifts  presented  vnto  him 
pn  the  behalfe  of  the  Ilandmen,  seeking  to  auoid  his  displeasure.  Thus  was  iustice 
fmd  law  restored  againe  to  the  old  accustomed  course,  by  the  diligent  means  of 
Makbeth.  Immediatlie  wherevpon  woord  came  that  Sueno  king  of  Norway  was 
arriued  in  Fife  with  a  puissant  armie,  to  subdue  the  whole  realme  of  Scotland.' 
(pp.  168,  169.) 

<  The  crueltie  of  this  Sueno  was  such,  that  he  neither  spared  man,  woman,  nor 
child,  of  what  age,  condition  or  degree  soeuer  they  were.  Whereof  when  K.  Dun- 
cane  was  certified,  he  set  all  slouthfuU  and  lingering  delaies  apart,  and  began  to 
dissemble  an  armie  in  most  speedie  wise,  like  a  verie  valiant  capteine  :  for  oftentimes 
it  happeneth,  that  a  dull  coward  and  slouthfull  person,  constreined  by  necessitie,  be- 
commeth  verie  bardie  and  actiue.  Therefore  when  his  whole  power  was  come 
togither,  he  diuided  the  same  into  three  battels.     The  first  was  led  by  ^ 

Makbeth,  the  second  by  Banquho,  &  the  king  himselfe  gouemed  in  the 
maine  battell  or  middle  ward,  wherein  were  appointed  to  attend  and  wait  upon  his 
person  the  most  part  of  all  the  residue  of  the  Scotish  nobilitie. 

'  The  armie  of  Scotishmen  being  thus  ordered,  came  vnto  Culros,  where  incoun- 
tering  with  the  enimies,  after  a  sore  and  cruell  foughten  battell,  Sueno  remained  vic- 
torious, and  Malcolme  with  his  Scots  discomfited.  Howbeit  the  Danes  were  so 
broken  by  this  battell,  that  they  were  not  able  to  make  long  chase  on  their  enimies, 
but  kept  themselues  all  night  in  order  of  battell,  for  doubt  least  the  Scots  assembling 
togither  againe,  might  haue  set  vpon  them  at  some  aduantage.  On  the  morrow, 
when  the  fields  were  discouered,  and  that  it  was  perceiued  how  no  enimies  were  to 
be  found  abrode,  they  gathered  the  spoile,  which  they  diuided  amongst  them,  accord- 
ing to  the  law  of  armes.  Then  was  it  ordeined  by  commandement  of  Sueno,  that  no 
souldier  should  hurt  either  man,  woman,  or  child,  except  such  as  were  found  with 
weapon  in  hand  readie  to  make  resistance,  for  he  hoped  now  to  conquer  the  realme 
without  further  bloudshed. 

*  '  But  when  knowledge  was  giuen  how  Duncane  was  fled  to  the  castell  of  Bertha, 
and  that  Makbeth  was  gathering  a  new  power  to  withstand  the  incursions  of  the 
Danes,  Sueno  raised  his  tents  &  comming  to  the  said  castell,  laid  a  strong  siege  round 
about  it.  Duncane  seeing  himselfe  thus  enuironed  by  his  enimies,  sent  a  secret  mes^ 
sage  by  counsell  of  Banquho  to  Makbeth,  commanding  him  to  abide  at  Inchcuthill, 
till  he  heard  from  him  some  other  newes.  In  the  meane  time  Duncane  fell  in  fained 
communication  with  Sueno,  as  though  he  would  haue  yeelded  vp  the  castell  into  his 
hands,  vnder  certeine  conditions,  and  this  did  he  to  driue  time,  and  to  put  his  eni-  ^ 
mies  out  of  all  suspicion  of  anie  enterprise  ment  against  them,  till  all  things  were 
brought  to  passe  that  might  seme  for  the  purpose.  At  length,  when  they  were  fallen 
at  a  point  for  rendring  vp  the  hold,  Duncane  offered  to  send  foorth  of  the  castell  into 
the  campe  greate  prouision  of  vittels  to  refresh  the  armie,  which  offer  was  gladlie 
accepted  of  the  Danes,  for  that  they  had  beene  in  great  penurie  of  sustenance  manie 
dates  before, 
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386  APPENDIX 

*  The  Soots  heereypon  tooke  the  iuice  of  mekilwoort  berries,  and  mixed  te  wsmt 
in  their  ale  and  bread,  sending  it  thus  spiced  &  confectioned,  in  great  abundance  ▼mo 

their  enimies.  They  rdoising  that  they  had  got  meate  and  drinke  aofi- 
'  '  '  dent  to  satisfie  their  bellies,  fell  to  eating  and  drinking  after  such  gieedie 
wise,  that  it  seemed  they  stroue  who  might  deuoure  and  swallow  yp  most,  till  the 
operation  of  the  berries  spread  in  such  sort  through  all  the  parts  of  their  bodies,  Aat 
they  were  in  the  end  brought  into  a  fast  dead  sleepe,  that  in  manner  it  was  Tnpossible 
to  awake  them.  Then  foorthwith  Duncane  sent  vnto  Makbeth,  commanding  hin 
with  all  diligence  to  come  and  set  vpon  the  enimies,  being  in  easie  point  to  be  ouer- 
come.  Makbeth  making  no  delaie,  came  with  his  people  to  the  place,  where  his 
enimies  were  lodged,  and  first  killing  the  watch,  afterwards  entered  the  campe,  and 
made  such  slaughter  on  all  sides  without  anie  resistance,  that  it  was  a  wonderfuO 
matter  to  behold,  for  the  Danes  were  so  heauie  of  sleepe,  that  the  most  part  of  then 
were  slaine  and  neuer  stirred :  other  that  were  awakened  either  by  the  noise  or  other 
waies  foorth,  were  so  amazed  and  dizzie  headed  vpon  their  wakening,  that  they  weie 
not  able  to  make  anie  defense  :  so  that  of  the  whole  number  there  escaped  no  more 
but  onelie  Sueno  himselfe  and  ten  other  persons,  by  whose  helpe  he  got  to  his  ships 
lieng  at  rode  in  the  mouth  of  Taie. 

'The  most  part  of  the  mariners,  when  they  heard  what  plentie  of  meate  and 
drinke  the  Scots  had  sent  vnto  the  campe,  came  from  the  sea  thither  to  be  partaken 
thereof,  and  so  were  slaine  amongst  their  fellowes :  by  meanes  whereof  when  Sueno 
perceiued  how  through  lacke  of  mariners  he  should  not  be  able  to  conueie  awaie  his 
nauie,  he  furnished  one  ship  throughlie  with  such  as  were  left,  and  in  the  sane 
sailed  back  into  Norwaie,  cursing  the  time  that  he  set  forward  on  this  infortunaie 
ioumie.  The  other  ships  which  he  left  behind  him,  within  three  daies  after  his  de- 
parture from  thence,  were  tossed  so  togither  by  violence  of  an  east  wind,  that  beating 
and  rushing  one  against  another,  they  sunke  therei  and  lie  in  the  same  place  euen 
vnto  these  daies,  to  the  great  danger  of  other  such  ships  as  come  on  that  coast :  for 
being  couered  with  the  floud  when  the  tide  commeth,  at  the  ebbing  againe  of  the 
same,  some  part  of  them  appeere  aboue  water. 

•  The  place  where  the  Danish  vessels  were  thus  lost,  is  yet  called  Drownelow 
sands.  This  ouerthrow  receiued  in  manner  afore  said  by  Sueno,  was  verie  displeai- 
ant  to  him  and  his  people,  as  should  appeere,  in  that  it  was  a  custome  manie  yeerts 
after,  that  no  knights  were  made  in  Norwaie,  except  they  were  first  swome  to  reuenge 
the  slaughter  of  their  countriemen  and  friends  thus  slaine  in  Scotland.  The  Scots 
hauing  woone  so  notable  a  victorie,  after  they  had  gathered  &  divided  the  spoile  of 
the  field,  caused  solemne  processions  to  be  made  in  all  places  of  the  realme,  and 
thanks  to  be  giuen  to  almightie  God,  that  had  sent  them  so  faire  a  day  ouer  their 
enimies.  But  whilest  the  people  were  thus  at  their  processions,  woord  was  brought 
that  a  new  fleet  of  Danes  was  arriued  at  Kingcome,  sent  thither  by  Canute  king  of 
England,  in  reuenge  of  his  brother  Sueno^  ouerthrow.  To  resist  these  enimici, 
which  were  alreadie  landed,  and  busie  in  spoiling  the  countrie  ;  Makbeth  and  Ban- 
quho  were  sent  with  the  kings  authoritie,  who  hauing  with  them  a  conuenient  power, 
incountred  the  enimies,  slue  part  of  them,  and  chased  the  other  to  their  ships.    They 

that  escaped  and  got  once  to  their  ships,  obteined  of  Makbeth  for  a  great 
*       •    »  5>      suiQiQe  q{  gold,  that  such  of  their  friends  as  were  slaine  at  this  last  bick- 
ering, might  be  buried  in  saint  Colm^  Inch.'   In  memorie  whereof,  manie  old  sepid- 
tures  are  jret  in  the  said  Inch,  there  to  be  seene  grauen  with  the  armes  of  the  Dane% 
as  the  maner  of  burieng  noble  men  still  is,  and  heeretofore  hath  beene  vsed. 


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*  A  peace  was  also  concluded  at  the  same  time  betwixt  the  Danes  and  Scotish- 
men,  ratified  (as  some  haue  written)  in  this  wise :  That  from  thencefoorth  the  Danes 

should  oeuer  come  into  Scotland  to  make  anie  warres  against  the  Scots  by  anie  . 

maner  ^meanes.     And  these  were  the  warres  that  Duncane  had  with  forren  eni- 

mies,  in  the  seventh  yeere  of  his  reigne.     Shortlie  after  happened  a  strange  and 

▼ncouth  woonder,  which  afterwardjras  the  cause  of  much  trouble  in  the  realme  of  1       J 

Scotland,  as  ye  shall  after  heare.  (^It  fortuned  as  Makbeth  and  Bauquho  iournied  i:^,m.  ..,    *^ 

towards  Fores,  where  the  king  then  laie,  they  went  sporting  by  the  ^^_ 

waie  togither  without  other  company,  saue  onelie  themselues,  passing     *    *   *      ^i 

thorough  the  woods  and  fields,  when  suddenlie  in  the  middest  of  a  laund,  there  met     V/ 

them  three  women  in  strange  and  wild  apparell,  resembling  creatures  of  elder  world, 

whome  when  they  attentiuelie  beheld,  woondering  much  at  the  sight,  the  first  of  them 

spake  and  said ;  All  haile  Makbeth,  thane  of  Glammis  (for  he  had  latelie  entered 

into  that  dignitie  and  office  by  the  death  of  his  father  Sinell).    The  second 

of  them  said ;   Haile  Makbeth  thane  of  Cawder.      But  the  third  said ;     '  ^ '  ^' 

All  haile  Makbeth  that  heereafter  shalt  be  king  of  Scotland. 

*  Then  Banquho ;  What  manner  of  women  (saith  he)  are  yon,  that  seeme  so  litde 
fauourable  vnto  me,  whereas  to  my  fellow  heere,  besides  high  offices,  ye  assigne  also 
the  kingdome,  appointing  foorth  nothing  for  me  at  all  ?  Yes  (saith  the  first  of  them) 
we  promise  greater  benefits  vnto  thee,  than  vnto  him,  for  he  shall  reigne  in  deed,  but 
with  an  vnluckie  end  :  neither  shall  he  leaue  anie  issue  behind  him  to  succeed  in  his 
place,  where  contrarilie  thou  in  deed  shalt  not  reigne  at  all,  but  of  thee  those  shall 
be  borne  which  shall  gouem  the  Scotish  kingdome  by  long  order  of  continuall  ^ 
descent.  Herewith  the  foresaid  women  vanished  immediatlie  out  of  their  sight. 
This  was  reputed  at  the  first  but  some  vaine  fantasticall  illusion  by  Mack- 

beth  and  Banquho,  insomuch  that  Banquho  would  call  Mackbeth  in  iest,  *  '  *  .  ^  .  '' '  ' 
king  of  Scotland  ;  and  Mackbeth  againe  would  call  him  in  sport  likewise,  the  father 
\^  of  manie  kings.  But  afterwards  the  common  opinion  was,  that  these  women  were 
either  the  weird  sisters,  that  is  (as  ye  would  say)  the  goddesses  of  destinie,  or  else 
some  nymphs  or  feiries,  indued  with  knowledge  of  prophesie  by  their  necromanticall 
science,  bicause  euerie  thing  came  to  passe  as  they  had  spoken.  For  shortlie  after, 
the  thane  of  Cawder  being  condemned  at  Fores  of  treason  against  the  king  com- 
mitted; his  lands,  linings,  and  offices  were  giuen  of  the  kings  iiberalitie  to 
Mackbeth. 

*  The  same  night  after,  at  supper,  Banquho  iested  with  him  and  said  ;  Now  Mack- 
beth thou  hast  obteined  those  things  which  the  two  former  sisters  prophesied,  there 
remaineth  onelie  for  thee  to  purchase  that  which  the  third  said  should  come  to  passe.  ^ 
Wherevpon  Mackbeth  reuoluing  the  thing  in  his  mind,  began  euen  then  to  deuise  ' 
how  he  might  atteine  to  the  kingdome ;  but  yet  he  thought  with  himselfe  that  he  1 
must  tarie  a  time,  which  should  aduance  him  thereto  (by  the  diuine  prouidence)  as  it 
had  come  to  passe  in  his  former  preferment.'  . . .  [See  I,  iv,  50,  and  note.] 

*The  woords^f  the  three,  seird  sisters  also « (of  whom  before  ye  haue  heard) 
greatlie  incouraged.him.  herevnto,  but  speciallie  his  wife  lay  sore  vpon  him  to  attempt 
the  thing,  as  she  that  was  verie  ftmbitious,  burning  in  vnquenchable  desire  to  beare 
the  name  of  a  queene.  At  length  therefore,  communicating  his  purposed  intent  with  */  >  . 
his  trustie  friends,  amongst  whome  Banquho  was  the  chiefest,  vpon  confidence  of  their 
promised  aid,  he  slue  the  king  at  Enuems,  or  (as  some  say)  at  Botgosoane,  in  th^ 
nxt  yeare  of  his  reigne.  Then  hauing  a  companie  about  him  of  such  as  he  had 
made  priuie  to  his  enterprise,  he  caused  himselfe  to  be  proclamed  king,  and  fooith- 


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388  APPENDIX 

with  went  Tnto  Scone,  where  (by  common  consent)  he  receiued  the  inuesture  of 

the  kingdome  according  to  the  accustomed  maner.     The  bodie  of  Dun- 

*     '    *    cane  was  first  conueied  ynto  Elgine,  &  there  buried  in  kinglie  wise ;  but 

afterwards  it  was  remoued  and  conueied  vnto  CoUnekill,  and  there  laid  in  a  sepul- 

..  .  ture  amongst  his  predecessors,  in  the  yeare  after  the  birth  of  our  Sauiour, 

II,  iv,  47.  -  •*  '^  ^ 

1046. 

*  Malcohne  Cammore  and  Donald  Bane  the  sons  of  king  Duncane,  for  feare  of 
their  Hues  (which  they  might  well  know  that  Mackbeth  would  seeke  to  bring  to  end 
for  his  more  sure  confirmation  in  the  estate)  fled  into  Cumberland,  where  Malcolme 
remained,  till  time  that  saint  Edward  the  sonne  of  Etheldred  recouered  the  dominion 
of  England  from  the  Danish  power,  the  which  Edward  receiued  Malcolme  by  way 
of  most  friendlie  enterteinment :  but  Donald  passed  ouer  into  Ireland,  where  he 
was  tenderlie  cherished  by  the  king  of  that  land.  Mackbeth,  after  the  departure 
thus  of  Duncans  sonnes,  vsed  great  libenditie  towards  the  nobles  of  the  realme, 
thereby  to  win  their  fauour,  and  when  he  saw  that  no  man  went  about  to  trouble 
him,  he  set  his  whole  intention  to  mainteine  iustice,  and  to  punish  all  enormities  and 
abuses,  which  had  chanced  through  the  feeble  and  slouthfuU  administration  of  Dun- 
cane.' (pp.  1 69-1 7 1.) 

[And  so  vigorously  did  Macbeth  carry  out  his  reforms,  that  '  these  theeues,  bar- 
rettors,  and  other  oppressors  of  the  innocent  people  .  .  .  were  stieight  waies  appre- 
hended by  armed  men,  and  trussed  vp  in  halters  on  gibbets,  according  as  they  had 
iustlie  deserued.  The  residue  of  misdooers  that  were  left,  were  punished  and  tamed 
in  such  sort,  that  manie  yeares  after  all  theft  and  reiffings  were  little  heard  of^  the 
people  inioieng  the  blissefull  benefit  of  good  peace  and  tianquilitie.  Mackbeth  shew- 
ing himselfe  thus  a  most  diligent  ponisher  of  all  iniuries  and  wrongs  attempted  by 
anie  disordered  persons  within  his  realme,  was  accounted  the  sure  defense  and  buck- 
ler of  innocent  people  ;  and  hereto  he  also  applied  his  whole  indeuor,  to  cause  yoong 
men  to  exercise  themselnes  in  vertuous  maners,  and  men  of  the  church  to  attend 
their  diuine  seruice  according  to  their  vocations. 

*  He  caused  to  be  slaine  sundrie  thanes,  as  of  Cathnes,  Sutherland,  Stranauemey 
and  Ros,  because  through  them  and  there  seditions  attempts,  much  trouble  dailie  rose 
in  the  realme. ...  To  be  briefe,  such  were  the  woorthie  dooiogs  and  princelie 
acts  of  this  Mackbeth  in  the  administration  of  the  realme,  that  if  he  had  atteined 
therevnto  by  lightfiill  means,  and  continued  in  vprightnesse  of  iustice  as  he  began, 
till  the  end  of  his  reigne,  he  might  well  haue  beene  numbred  amongest  the  most 
noble  princes  that  anie  where  had  reigned.  He  made  manie  holesome  laws  and 
statutes  for  the  publike  weale  of  his  subiects.'  Holinshed  here  *  sets  foorth  accord- 
ing to  Hector  Boetius '  some  of  the  laws  made  by  Macbeth,  and  for  one  of  them  the 
king  certainly  deserves  a  handsome  notice  from  some  of  our  most  advanced  reformers 
of  the  present  day :  <  The  eldest  daughter  shall  inherit  hir  fathers  lands,  as  well  as 
the  eldest  sonne  should,  if  the  father  leaue  no  sonne  behind  him.'] 

'These  and  the  like  commendable  lawes  Makbeth  caused  t*^  ^tas  then  in 
vse,  goueming  the  realme  for  the  space  of  ten  yeares  in  equall  iustice.  But  this  was 
but  a  counterfet  zeale  of  equitie  shewed  by  him,  partlie  against  his  naturall  inclina- 
tion to  purchase  thereby  the  fauour  of  the  people.  Shortlie  after,  he  began  to  shew 
,  what  he  was,  in  stead  of  equitie  practising  cruelty.' .  .  .  [See  I,  vii,  15.]  <The 
'  woords  also  of  the  three  weird  sisters,  would  not  out  of  his  mind,  which  as  they 
promised  him  the  kingdome,  so  likewise  did  they  promise  it  at  the  same  time  vnto 
the  posteritie  of  Banquho.' . . .  [See  III,  i,  30.] 


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SOURCE  OF  THE  PLOT  389 

<  It  chanced  yet  by  the  benefit  of  the  darke  night,  that  though  the  father  were 
daine,  the  sonne  yet  by  the  helpe  of  almightie  God  reseruing  him  to  better  fortune, 
escaped  that  danger :  and  afterwards  hauing  some  inkeling  (by  the  admonition  of 
some  fiiends  which  he  had  in  the  court)  how  his  life  was  sought  no  lesse  than  his 
fathcA,  who  was  slaine  not  by  chancemedlie  (as  by  the  handling  of  the  matter  Mak- 
beth  woould  haue  had  it  to  appeare)  but  euen  ypon  a  prepensed  deuise :  wherevpon 
to  auoid  further  perill  he  fled  into  Wales.'  (p.  172.) 

[The  old  historian  here  makes  a  digression  in  order  to  *  rehearse  the  original! 
line  of  those  kings,  which  haue  descended  from  the  foresaid  Banquho.'  After 
what  has  been  quoted  on  pp.  I,  2,  it  is  scarcely  worth  while  here  to  note  more 
than  that  (according  to  Holinshed)  Fleance's  great-grandson  Alexander  had  two 
sons,  from  one  of  whom  descended  *  the  earles  of  Leuenoz  and  Demlie,*  and  from 
the  other  came  Walter  Steward,  who  *maried  Margerie  Bruce  daughter  to  king 
Robert  Bruce,  by  whome  he  had  issue  king  Robert  the  second  of  that  name' 
(p.  173),  'the  first'  (says  French,  p.  291)  *of  the  dynasty  of  Stuart,  which  con- 
tinued to  occupy  the  throne  until  the  son  of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots,  James,  the  sixth 
of  the  name,  was  called  to  the  throne  of  England,  as  James  the  First']    . 

*  But  to  retume  ynto  Makbeth,  in  continuing  the  historie,  and  to  begin  where  I  >|^ 
left,  ye  shall  Tuderstand  that  after  the  contriued  slaughter  of  Banquho.  nothing^  | 
pll^i^ered  with  the  foresaid  Makbeth :  for  in'maner  euerie  man  began  to  joubt  hisJ^ 
owne  lifrT^nh  nnnt  ¥iim  111  mumi^  in  thfi  tin^  ^tBeuce ;  and' euen  as  there  were 
manie  that  stood  in  feare  of  him,  so  likewise  stood  he  in  feare  of  manie,  in  such  sort  ■ 
that  he  began  to  make  those  awaie  by  one  surmised  cauillation  or  other,  whom  he 
thought  most  able  to  worke  him  anie  displeasure.  , 

<  At  length  he  found  such  sweetnesse  by  putting  his  nobles  thus  to  death,  that  his 
earnest  thirst  after  bloud  in  this  behalfe  might  in  no  wise  be  satisfied  :  for  ye  must  ^ 
consider  he  wan  double  profite  (as  hee  thought)  hereby :  for  first  they  were  rid  out 
of  the  way  whome  he  feared,  and  then  againe  his  coffers  were  inriched  by  their 
goods  which  were  forfeited  to  his  vse,  whereby  he  might  the  better  mainteine  a  gard 
of  aimed  men  about  him  to  defend  his  person  from  iniurie  of  them  whom  he  had  in 
anie  suspicion.  Further,  to  the  end  he  might  the  more  cruellie  oppresse  his  subiects 
with  all  tyrantlike  wrongs,  he  builded  a  strong  castell  on  the  top  of  an  hie  hfll  called 
Dnnsinane,  situate  in  Gowrie,  ten  miles  from  Perth,  on  such  a  proud  height,  that 
standing  there  aloft,  a  man  might  behold  well  neere  all  the  Countries  of  Angus, 
Fife,  Stennond,  and  Emedale,  as  it  were  lieng  vndemeath  him.  This  castell  then 
being  founded  on  the  top  of  that  high  hill,  put  the  realme  to  great  chaises  before  it 
was  finished,  for  all  the  stuffe  necessarie  to  the  building,  could  not  be  brought  vp 
without  much  toile  and  businesse.  But  Makbeth  being  once  determined  to  haue  the 
worke  go  forward,  caused  the  thanes  of  each  shire  within  the  realme,  to  come  and 
helpe  towards  that  building,  each  man  his  course  about. 

•  At  the  last,  when  the  tume  fell  vnto  Makduffe  thane  of  Fife  to  builde  his  part, 
he  sent  workemen  with  all  needfiill  prouision,  ana  commanded  them  to  shew  such 
diligence  in  euerie  behalfe,  that  no  occasion  might  bee  giuen  for  the  king  to  find 
fault  with  him,  in  that  he  came  not  himselfe  as  other  had  doone,  which  he  refused 
to  doo,  for  doubt  least  the  king  bearing  him  (as  he  partlie  understood)  no  great  good 
wfll,  would  laie  riolent  handes  vpon  him,  as  he  had  doone  vpon  diuerse  other. 
Shortly  after,  Makbeth  comming  to  behold  how  the  worke  went  forward,  and 
bipuse  he  found  not  Makduffe  there,  he  was  sore  offended,  and  said ;  I  perceine 
this  man  will  neuer  obeie  my  commandments,  till  he  be  ridden  with  a  snaffle :  but 


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390  APPENDIX 

I  shall  prottide  well  inough  for  him.  Neither  could  he  afterwards  abide  to  looke 
vpon  the  said  Makduffe,  either  for  that  he  thought  his  puissance  ouer  great ;  either 
else  for  that  he  had  learned  of  certeine  wizzards,  in  whose  words  he  put  great  con- 
fidence (for  that  the  prophesie  had  happened  so  right,  which  the  three  faries  or 
weird  sisters  had  declared  vnto  him)  that  he  ought  to  take  heed  of  Makduffe, 
who  in  time  to  come  should  seeke  to  destroie  him.        ^ 

*■  And  suerlie  herevpon  had  he  put  Makduffe  to  death,u>ut  that  a  certeine  witch, 
X.whome  hee  had  in  great  trust,  had  told  that  he  should  neuer  be  slaine  with  man 
borne  of  anie  woman,  nor  vanquished  till  the  wood  of  Bemane  came  to  the  castdl 
of  Dunsinane.'  . .  .  [See  IV,  i,  96.]     'This  vaine  hope  caused  him  to  doo  manie 
"TSutragious  things,  to  the  greeuous  oppression  of  his  subiects.     At  length  Makduffe, 
■^  '  \      i  ^  auoid  perill  of  life,  purposed  with  himselfe  to  passe  into  England,  to  procure  Mal- 

(        '^   .  '  \  colme  Cammore  to  claime  the  crowne  of  Scotland.     But  this  was  not  so  secret] ie 

*    .  V  ^        '  deuised  by  Makduffe,  but  that  Makbeth  had  knowledge  giuen  him  thereof :  for  kings 

(as  is  said)  haue  sharpe  sight  like  vnto  L3mx,  and  long  cars  like  vnto 
*•      *     '      *    Midas.     For  Makbeth  had  in  euerie  noble  mai&  house  one  slie  fellow 
or  other  in  fee  with  him,  to  reueale  all  that  was  said  or  doone  within  the  same,  by 
^     which  slight  he  oppressed  the  most  part  of  the  nobles  of  his  realme. 

<  Immediatlie  then,  being  aduertised  whereabout  Makduffe  went,  he  came  hastily 
with  a  great  power  into  Fife,  and  foorthwith  besieged  the  castell  where  Makduffe 
dwelled,  trusting  to  haue  found  him  therein.     They  that  kept  the  house,  vrithout  anie 
resistance  opened  the  gates,  and  suffered  him  to  enter,  mistrusting  none  euill.     Bat 
neuerthelesse  Makbeth  most  cruellie  caused  the  wife  and  children  of  Makdufie,  with 
all  other  whom  he  found  in  that  castell,  to  be  slaine.  /  Also  he  confiscated  the  goods 
^  of  Makduffe,  proclaimed  him  traitor,  and  confined  him  out  of  all  the  parts  of  his 
realme  ;  but  Makduffe  was  alreadie  escaped  out  of  danger,  and  gotten 
'     *       into  England  vnto  Malcolme  Cammore,  to  trie  what  purchase  hee  might 
make  by  means  of  his  support  to  reuenge  the  slaughter  so  cruellie  executed  on  his 
wife,  his  children,  and  other  friends.     At  his  comming  vnto  Malcolme,  he  declared 
into  what  great  miserie  the  estate  of  Scotland  was  brought,  by  the  detestable  cruel- 
ties exercised  by  the  tyrant  Makbeth,  hauing  committed  manie  horrible  slaughters 
\  '    t  Ai^d  murders,  both  as  well  of  the  nobles  as  commons,  for  the  which  he  was  hated 

right  mortallie  of  all  his  liege  people,  desiring  nothing  more  than  to  be  deliuered  of 
that  intollerable  and  most  heauie  yoke  of  thraldome,  which  they  sustdned  at  such 
a  caitifra  hands. 

'  Malcolme  hearing  Makduff&  woords,  which  he  vttered  in  verie  lamentable  sort, 
for  meere  compassion  and  verie  ruth  that  pearsed  his  sorrowfull  hart,  bewailing  the 
miserable  state  of  his  countrie,  he  fetched  a  deepe  sigh  ;  which  Makduffe  perceiuing, 
began  to  fall  most  eamestlie  in  hand  with  him,  to  enterprise  the  deliuering  of  the 
Scotish  people  out  of  the  hands  of  so  cruell  and  bloudie  a  tyrant,  as  Makbeth  by  too 
manie  plaine  experiments  did  shew  himselfe  to  be :  which  was  an  easie  matter  for 
him  to  bring  to  passe,  considering  not  onelie  the  good  title  he  had,  but  also  the 
earnest  desire  of  the  people  to  haue  some  occasion  ministred,  whereby  they  might 
be  reuenged  of  those  notable  iniuries,  which  they  dailie  susteined  by  the  outragious 
crueltie  of  Makbetfal  misgouernance.  Though  Malcolme  was  verie  sorowfull  for  the 
oppression  of  his  countriemen  the  Scots,  in  maner  as  Makduffe  had  declared ;  yet 
doubting  whether  he  were  come  as  one  that  ment  vnfeinedlie  as  he  spake,  or  else  as 
sent  from  Makbeth  to  betraie  him,  he  thought  to  haue  some  further  triall,  and  there- 
vpon  dissembling  his  mind  at  the  first,  he  answered  as  followeth. 


:    C 


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SOURCE  OF  THE  PLOT  391 

*  I  am  trolie  verie  sorie  for  the  miserie  chanced  to  my  countrie  of  Scotland,  but 
though  I  haue  neuer  so  great  affection  to  reiieue  the  same,  yet  by  reason  of  certeine 
incurable  vices,  which  reigne  in  me,  I  am  nothing  meet  thereto.  First,  such  immod- 
erate lust  and  voluptuous  sensualitie  (the  abhominable  founteine  of  all  vices)  follow- 
eth  me,  that  if  I  were  made  king  of  Scots,  I  should  seeke  to  defloure  your  maids  and  t'V  ^  ^ 

matrones,  in  such  wise  that  mine  intemperancie  should  be  more  importable  vnto  you 
than  the  bloudie  tyrannie  of  Makbeth  now  is.  Heereunto  Makduffe  answered  :  this 
suerly  is  a  verie  euill  fault,  for  manie  noble  princes  and  kings  haue  lost  both  Hues 
and  kingdomes  for  the  same ;  neuerthelesse  there  are  women  enow  in  ,„  ...  g^  - 
Scotland,  and  therefore  follow  my  counsell,  Make  thy  selfe  king,  and  '  *  * 
I  shall  conueie  the  matter  so  wiselie,  that  thou  shalt  be  so  satisfied  at  thy  pleasure  in 
such  secret  wise,  that  no  man  shall  be  aware  thereof. 

'  Then  said  Malcolme,  I  am  also  the  most  auaritious  creature  on  the  earth,  so 
that  if  I  were  king,  I  should  seeke  so  manie  waies  to  get  lands  and  goods,  that  I  ^\ 
would  slea  the  most  part  of  all  the  nobles  of  Scotland  by  surmised  accusations,  to 
the  end  I  might  inioy  their  lands,  goods,  and  possessions ;  and  therefore  to  shew 
you  what  mischiefe  may  insue  on  you  through  mine  vnsatiable^couetousnes,  I  will 
rehearse  vnto  you  a  fable.  There  was  a  fox  hauing  a  sore  place  on  him  ouerset  with 
a  swarme  of  flies,  that  continuallie  sucked  out  hir  bloud :  and  when  one  that  came 
by  and  saw  this  manner,  demanded  whether  she  would  haue  the  flies  driuen  beside 
hir,  she  answered  no :  for  if  these  flies  that  are  alreadie  full,  and  by  reason  thereof 
sucke  not  verie  egerlie,  should  be  chased  awaie,  other  that  are  emptie  and  fellie  an 
hungred,  should  light  in  their  places,  and  sucke  out  the  residue  of  my  bloud  farre 
more  to  my  greeuance  than  these,  which  now  being  satisfied  doo  not  much  annoie 
me.  Therefore  saith  Malcolme,  suffer  me  to  remaine  where  I  am,  least  if  I  atteine 
to  the  regiment  of  your  realme,  mine  inquenchable  auarice  may  prooue  such ;  that 
ye  would  thinke  the  displeasures  which  now  grieue  you,  should  seeme  easie  in 
respect  of  the  vnmeasurable  outrage,  which  might  insue  through  my  comming 
amongst  you. 

'  Makdufie  to  this  made  answer,  how  it  was  a  far  woorse  fault  than  the  other :  for 
auarice  is  the  root  of  all  mischiefe,  and  for  that  crime  the  most  part  of  our  kings 
haue  beene  slaine  and  brought  to  their  finall  end.    Yet  notwithstanding  follow  my 
counsell,  and  take  vpon  thee  the  crowne.     There  is  gold  and  riches  inough  in  Scot- 
land to  satisfie  thy  greedie  desire.     Then  said  Malcolme  againe,  I  am  furthermore  ^ 
inclined  to  dissimulation,  telling  of  leasings,  and  all  other  kinds  of  deceit,  so  that  I        C  *-  -   ^-  ' 
naturallie  reioise  in  nothing  so  much,  as  to  betraie  &  deceiue  such  as  put  anie  trust 
or  confidence  in  my  woords.     Then  sith  there  is  nothing  that  more  becommdth  a  ^ 
prince  than  constancie,  veritie,  truth,  and  iustice,  with  the  other  laudable  fellowship 
of  those  faire  and  noble  vertues  which  are  comprehended  onelie  in  soothfastnesse, 
and  that  lieng  vtterlie  ouerthroweth  the  same ;  you  see  how  vnable  I  am  to  goueriie 
anie  prooince  or  r^on  :  and  therefore  sith  you  haue  remedies  to  doke  and  hide  fill 
the  rest  of  my  other  vices,  I  praie  you  find  shift  to  cloke  this  vice  amongst  the 
residue. 

'  Then  said  Makduffe :  This  yet  is  the  woorst  of  all,  and  there  I  leaue  thee,  and 
therefore  saie ;  Oh  ye  vnhappie  and  miserable  Scotishmen,  which  are  thus  scourged 
with  so  manie  and  sundrie  calamities,  ech  one  aboue  other !  Ye  haue  one  curssed 
and  wicked  tyrant  that  now  reigneth  oner  you,  without  anie  right  or  title,  oppressing 
you  with  his  most  bloudie  cruel  tie.  This  other  that  hath  the  right  to  the  crowne,  is 
so  replet  with  the  inconstant  behauiour  and  manifest  vices  of  Englishmen,  that  he  is 


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,    392  APPENDIX 

nothing  woorthie  to  inioy  it :  for  by  his  owne  confession  he  is  not  onelie  ftuaritioas, 
and  giuen  to  vnsatiable  lust,  but  so  false  a  traitor  withall,  that  no  trust  is  to  be  had 
▼nto  anie  woord  he  speaketh.  Adieu  Scotland,  for  now  I  account  my  selfe  a  ban- 
ished man  for  euer,  without  comfort  or  consolation:  and  with  those  woords  the 
brackish  teares  trickled  downe  his  cheekes  verie  abundantlie. 
^^   \,  *  At  the  last,  when  he  was  readie  to  depart,  Maloolme  tooke  him  by  the  sleeue,  and 

--'  <.  "**  Av  *  said :  Be  of  good  comfort  Makduffe,  for  I  haue  none  of  these  vices  before  remem-_ 

bred,  but  haue  iested  with  thee  in  thi«  manner,  oneHe  to  prooue  thy  mind  :.{or  diuerse 
times  heeretofore  Bath  Makbeth  sought  by  this  manner  of  meanes  to  bring  me  into 
his  hands,  but  the  more  slow  I  haue  shewed  my  selfe  to  condescend  to  thy  motion 
and  request,  the  more  diligence  shall  I  vse  in  accomplishing  the  same.  Incontinentlie 
heereupon  they  imbraced  ech  other,  and  promising  to  be  faithfull  the  one  to  the  other, 
they  fell  in  consultation  how  they  might  best  prouide  for  all  their  businesse,  to  bring 
the  same  to  good  effect.  Soone  after,  Makduffe  repairing  to  the  borders  of  Scotland, 
addressed  his  letters  with  secret  dispatch  vnto  the  nobles  of  the  realme,  declaring 
how  Malcolme  was  confedeiat  with  him,  to  come  hastilie  into  Scotland  to  daime 
the  crowne,  and  therefore  he  required  them,  sith  he  was  right  inheritor  thereto,  to  assist 
him  with  their  powers  to  recouer  the  same  out  of  the  hands  of  the  wrongfiill  Tsoiper. 
<  In  the  meane  time,  Malcolme  purchased  such  fauor  at  king  Edwards  hands,  that 
^  old  Siward  earle  of  Northumberland,  was  appointed  with  ten  thou^nd  men  to  go 
with  him  into  Scotland,  to  support  him  in  this  enterprise,  for  reoouerie  of  his  right. 
After  these  newes  were  spread  abroad  in  Scotland,  the  nobles  drew  into  two  seuexall 
factions,  the  one  taking  part  with  Makbeth,  and  the  other  with  Maloolme.  Heere- 
upon insued  oftentimes  sundrie  bickerings,  &  diuerse  light  skinnishes :  for  those  that 
were  of  Malcolms  side,  would  not  ieopard  to  ioine  with  their  enimies  in  a  pight 
field,  till  his  comming  out  of  England  to  their  support.  But  after  that  Makbeth  per- 
ceiued  his  enimies  power  to  increase,  by  such  aid  as  came  to  them  foorth  of  Eng- 
land  with  his  aduersarie  Malcolme,  he  recoiled  backe  into  Fife,  there  purposing  to 
abide  in  campe  fortified,  at  the  castell  of  Dunsinane,  and  to  fight  with  his  enimies^ 
if  they  ment  to  pursue  him  ;  howbeit  some  of  his  friends  aduised  him,  that  it  should 
be  best  for  him,  either  to  make  some  agreement  with  Malcolme,  or  else  to  flee  with 
all  speed  into  the  lies,  and  to  take  his  treasure  with  him,  to  the  end  he  might  wage 
sundrie  great  princes  of  the  realme  to  take  his  part,  &  reteine  strangers,  in  whome 

he  might  better  trust  than  in  his  owne  subiects,  which  stale  dailie  from 
'     '     *    him :  but  he  had  such  confidence  in  his  prophesies,  that  he  beleeued  he 
should  neuer  be  vanquished,  till  Bimane  wood  were  brought  to  Dunsinane ;  nor  yet 
to  be  slaine  with  anie  man,  that  should  be  or  was  borne  of  anie  woman. 

'  Malcolme  following  hastilie  after  Makbeth,  came  the  night  before  the 

battell  vnto  Bimane  wood,  and  when  his  armie  had  rested  a  while  there 
to  refresh  them,  he  commanded  euerie  man  to  get  a  bough  of  some  tree  or  other  of 
that  wood  in  his  hand,  as  big  as  he  might  beare,  and  to  march  foorth  therewith  in 
such  wise,  that  on  the  next  morrow  they  might  come  doselie  and  without  sight  in 
this  manner  within  viewe  of  his  enimies.  On  the  morrow  when  Makbeth  beheld 
them  comming  in  this  sort,  he  first  maruelled  what  the  matter  ment,  but  in  the  end 
remembred  himselfe  that  the  prophesie  which  he  had  heard  long  before  that  time,  of 
the  comming  of  Bimane  wood  to  Dunsinane  castell,  was  likelie  to  be  now  fulfilled. 
Neuerthelesse*  he  brought  his  men  in  order  of  battell,  and  exhorted  them  to  doo 
yaliantlie,  howbeit  his  enimies  had  scarsely  cast  from  them'their  boughs,  when  Mak- 
beth perceiuing  their  numbers,  betooke  him  streict  to  flight,  whom  Makduffe  pursued 


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with  great  hatred  euen  till  he  came  vnto  Lunfannaine,  where  Makbeth  perceiuing 
that  Makduffe  was  hard  at  his  backe,  leapt  beside  his  horsse,  saieng :  Thou  traitor, 
what  meaneth  it  that  thou  shouldest  thus  in  vaine  follow  me  that  am  not  appointed 
to  be  slaine  by  anie  creature  that  is  borne  of  a  woman,  come  on  therefore,  and 
receiue  thy  reward  which  thou  hast  deserued  for  thy  paines,  and  therwithall  he 
lifted  vp  his  swoord  thinking  to  haue  slaine  him. 

*  But  Makduffe  quicklie  auoiding  from  his  horsse,  yer  he  came  at  him,  answered 
(with  his  naked  swoord  in  his  hand)  saieng :  It  is  true  Makbeth,  and  now  shall  thine 
i]|g2|j[a^]^crueltie  haue  an  end,  for  I  am  euen  he  that  thy  wizzards  haue  told  thee 
of,  who  was  neuer  borne  of  my  mother,  but  ripped  out  of  her  wombe  :  therewithal! 
he  stept  vnto  him,  and  slue  him  in  the  place.  Then  cutting  his  head  from  his 
shoulders,  he  set  it  vpon  a  pole,  and  brought  it  vnto  Malcolme.  This 
was  the  end  of  Makbeth,  after  he  had  reigned  17  yeeres  ouer  the  Scot-  '  ' 
xshmen.  In  the  beginning  of  his  reigne  he  accomplished  manie  woorthie  acts, 
yerie  profitable  to  the  common- wealth  (as  ye  haue  heard),  but  afterward  by  illusion 
of  the  diuell,  he  defamed  the  same  with  most  terrible  crueltie.  He  was  slaine  in 
the  yeere  of  the  incarnation  1057,  and  in  the  16  yeere  of  king  EdwardI  reigne  ouer 
the  Englishmen. 

'  Malcolme  Cammore  thus  recouering  the  relme  (as  ye  haue  heard)  by  support  of 
king  Edward,  in  the  16  yeere  of  the  same  Edwards  reigne,  he  was  crowned  at  Scone 
the  25  day  of  Aprill,  in  the  yeere  of  our  Lord  1057.  Immediatlie  after  his  corona- 
tion he  called  a  parlement  at  Forfair,  in  the  which  he  rewarded  them  with  lands 
and  linings  that  had  assisted  him  against  Makbeth,  aduancing  them  to  fees  and 
offices  as  he  saw  causey  &  commanded  that  speciallie  those  that  bare  the  surname  of 
anie  offices  or  lands,  should  haue  and  inioy  the  same.  He  created  manie  earles, 
lords,  barons,  and  knightSL  Manie  of  them  that  before  were  thanes,  were  at  this 
time  made  earles,  as  Fife,  Menteth,  AthoU,  Leuenox,  Murrey,  Cathnes, 
Rosse,  and  Angus.  These  were  the  first  earles  that  haue  beene  heard  '  ' 
of  amongst  the  Scotishmen,  (as  their  histories  doo  make  mention).'    (pp.  ^4-176.) 

In  the  *fift  Chapter'  of  'the  eight  Booke  of  the  historie  of  England,'  p.  192, 
Shakespeare  found  the  account  of  the  death  of  young  Siward,  which  he  has  vptGKy- 
duced  in  Act  V.: 

<  About  the  thirteenth  yeare  of  king  Edward  his  reigne  (as  some  write)  or  rathe^ 
about  the  nineteenth  or  twentith  yeare,  as  should  appeare  by  the  Scotish  writers, 
Siward  the  noble  earle  of  Northumberland  with  a  great  power  of  horssemen  went 
into  Scotland,  an^  in  battell  put  to  flight  Mackbeth  that  had  vsurped  the  crowne  of 
Scotland,  and  tlu(t  doonc,  placed  Malcolme  surnamed  Camoir,  the  sonne  of  Dun- 
cane,  sometime  Inng  of  Scotland,  in  the  gouemement  of  that  realme,  who  afterward 
slue  the  said  Macbeth,  and  then  reigned  in  quiet.  Some  of  our  English  writers  say, 
that  this  Malcolme  was  king  of  Cumberland,  but  other  report  him  to  be  sonne  to  the 
king  of  Cumberland.  But  heere  is  to  be  noted,  that  if  Mackbeth  reigned  till  the 
yeare  1061,  and  was  then  slaine  by  Malcolme,  earle  Siward  was  not  at  that  battell ; 
for  as  our  writers  doo  testifie,  he  died  in  the  yeare  1055,  which  was  in  the  yeare 
next  after  (as  the  same  writers  affirme)  that  he  vanquished  Mackbeth  in  fight,  and 
slue  manie  thousands  of  Scots,  and  all  those  Normans  which  (as  ye  haue  heard) 
were  withdrawen  into  Scotland,  when  they  were  driuen  out  of  England. 

<  It  is  recorded  also,  that  in  the  foresaid  battel],  in  which  earle  Siward  vanquished 
the  Scots,  one  of  Siwards  sonnes  chanced  to  be  slaine,  whereof  although  the  father 


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394  APPENDIX 

had  good  cause  to  be  sorrowftill,  yet  when  he  heard  that  he  died  of  a  wound  which 
he  had  receiued  in  fighting  stoutlie  in  the  forepart  of  his  bodie,  and  that  with  his 
face  towards  the  enimie,  he  greatlie  reioised  thereat,  to  heare  that  he  died  so  man- 
fullie.  But  here  is  to  be  noted,  that  not  now,  but  a  little  before  (as  Henrie  Hunt, 
saith)  that  earle,  Siward,  went  into  Scotland  bimselfe  in  person,  he  sent  his  sonne 
with  an  armie  to  conquere  the  land,  whose  hap  was  there  to  be  slaine.'  . . .  [See 
V,  viu,  63.] 

Such  are  the  sources  from  which  Shakespeare  drew  the  materials  of  the  tragedy 
of  Macbethy  and,  of  course,  for  his  purpose  it  mattered  little  whether  it  were  founded 
on  fact  or  were  the  baseless  fabric  of  a  dream.  Yet,  as  the  editors  here  and  there, 
during  the  progress  of  the  tragedy,  call  attention  to  various  points  where  historic 
truth  is  said  to  be  violated,  it  may  be  worth  while  as  briefly  as  possible  to  compare 
the  fiction  with  the  fact  What  follows  is  condensed  from  Chalmers's  C<»Ud<mia, 
bk,  iii,  ch,  vii. 

The  rebellion  of  Macdonwald,  from  the  Western  Isles,  is  mere  fable.  The 
old  historians  may  have  confounded  it  either  with  the  rebellion  of  Gilcomgain, 
the  maormor  of  Moray,  in  1033,  or  with  the  rebellious  conduct  of  Torfin,  Dun- 
can* s  cousin.  Nor  was  there  during  the  reign  of  Duncan  any  invasion  of  Fife  by 
Sweno,  Norway's  king.  It  was  to  put  down  the  rebellion  of  Torfin  that  Duncan 
marched  northward  through  the  territorial  government  of  Macbeth,  and  was  slain 
by  treasonous  malice  at  Bothgowanan,  near  Elgin,  and  many  miles  from  Inver- 
ness, in  A.  D.  1039.  Macbeth' s  father  was  not  Sinel,  but  Finley,  or  Finlegh,  the 
maormor,  or  prince,  of  Ross,  not  the  thane  of  Glamis,  and  was  killed  about  the  year 
1020,  in  some  encounter  with  Malcolm  II,  the  grandfather  of  Duncan.  Thus  by 
lineage  Macbeth  was  thane  of  Ross,  and  afterwards  by  marriage  the  thane  <^ 
Moray.  This  same  grandfather  of  Duncan,  Malcolm  II,  also  dethroned  and 
moreover  slew  Lady  Macbeth' s  grandfather;  on  both  sides  of  the  house,  there- 
fore, there  was  a  death  to  be  avenged  on  the  person  of  Duncan.  But  of  the  two, 
Lady  Macbeth' s  wrongs  were  far  heavier  than  her  husband's,  and  might  well  fill 
her  from  crown  to  toe  topfull  of  direst  cruelty.  Her  name  was  Lady  Gruoch  and 
^  her  first  husband  was  Gilcomgain,  the  maormor  of  Moray,  a  prince  of  the  highest 
rank  and  next  to  the  royal  family ;  upon  him  Malcolm's  cruelty  fastened,  and  he 
was  burnt  within  his  castle  with  fifty  of  his  clan,  and  his  young  wife  escaped  by 
flight  with  her  infant  son  Lulach.  She  naturally  sought  refuge  in  the  neighboring 
county  of  Ross,  then  governed  by  Macbeth,  and  him  she  married.  About  a  year 
after  the  death  of  her  first  husband.  Lady  Gruoch' s  only  brother  was  slain  by  the 
<  command  of  that  same  aged  Malcolm  II,  whose  peaceful  death  soon  after,  unpre- 
dpitated  by  poison,  flame,  or  sword,  is  not  one  of  the  least  incredible  traditions  of 
that  misty  time. 

In  1054  the  Northumbrians,  led  by  Siward  and  his  son  Osbert,  penetrated  prob- 
ably to  Dunsinnan,  and  in  that  vicinity  Macbeth  met  them  in  a  furious  battle ;  but 
Bellona's  bridegroom  was  defeated,  and  fled  to  the  North.  It  was  not  till  two  years 
afterwards,  on  the  5th  of  December,  1056,  that  he  was  slain  by  Macduff. 

Of  the  fate  of  Lady  Macbeth,  apart  from  the  lines  of  Shakespeare,  history,  tradi- 
tion, and  fable  are  silent. 

The  Scotch  saw  with  indignation  foreign  mercenaries  interfere  in  their  domestic 
affairs,  and  the  name  of  Macbeth  long  remained  popular  in  Scotland,  and  men  of 
great  consequence  held  it  an  honour  to  bear  it 


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WINTOWNIS  CRONYKIL  395 

The  Clarendon  Editors  add :  <  The  single  point  upon  which  historians  agree 
is  that  the  reign  of  Macbeth  was  one  of  remarkable  prosperity  and  vigoroos  goTem- 
ment 

<  With  regard  to  Duncan,  we  may  add  a  few  details  of  his  real  history  as  told  by 
Mr  Robertson  {Scotland  under  her  Early  Kings,  vol.  i,  chap.  5).  He  was  the  son 
of  Bethoc  or  Beatrice,  daughter  of  Malcolm,  and  Crinan,  Abbot  of  Dunkeld.  In 
1030  he  succeeded  his  grandfather.  He  laid  siege  to  Durham  in  1040,  but  was  re- 
pulsed with  severe  loss,  and  his  attempt  to  reduce  Thorfin  to  subjection  was  attended 
with  the  same  disastrous  consequences.  **  The  double  failure  in  Northumberland 
and  Moray  hastening  the  catastrophe  of  the  youthful  king,  he  was  assassinated  *  in  ^ 
the  Smith's  bothy,'  near  Elgin,  not  far  from  the  scene  of  his  latest  battle,  the  Maor-  \ 
mor  Macbeth  being  the  undoubted  author  of  his  death." 

'  Mr  Robertson  adds  in  a  note :  *'  Slain  *  a  duce  suo,'  writes  Marianus.  Tigher- 
nach  adds  immalurd  ataie,  contrary  to  all  modem  ideas  of  Duncan.  Marianus  was 
bom  in  1028,  Tighemach  was  his  senior ;  their  authority,  therefore,  at  this  period  as 
contemporaries,  is  very  great  Bothgaivanan  means  *  the  Smith's  bothy,'  and  under 
this  word  may  lurk  some  long-forgotten  tradition  of  the  real  circumstances  of  Dun- 
can's murder.  The  vision  of  a  weary  fugitive,  a  deserted  king,  rises  before  the 
mind's  eye,  recalling  *  Beaton's  Mill '  and  the  fate  of  James  the  Third."  ' 


WINTOWNIS  CRONYKIL 

The  following  is  a  digest  of  Wintownis  Cronykily  bk,  vi,  chap,  xviii.  As  far  as 
certain  historical  details  are  concerned  Chalmers  {Caledonia^  i,  406)  considers  Win- 
town  as  <  more  veracious '  than  Buchanan,  Boethius,  or  Holinshed : 

Makbeth-Fynlayk,  dreamed  one  night  as  he  lay  asleep,  that  he  was  sitting  beside 
the  king  ;  and  as  he  sat  there,  he  thought  three  women  appeared  unto  him ;  and  it 
seemed  that  they  were  <  Werd  Systrys.'  The  first  of  the  three  spake,  saying :  '  Lo, 
yonder  is  the  Thane  of(Crwmbawchty.'l  The  second  said :  '  I  see  the  thane  of 
Morave.'     But  the  third  said :  <  I  see  the  King.' 

And  now  it  came  to  pass  shortly  that  Macbeth  was  made  thane  of  both  Crwm- 
bawchty  and  Morave.  Two  sayings  of  the  <  Werd  Systrys '  being  thus  accomplished ; 
Macbeth  began  to  think  of  the  third  ;  so  Macbeth  killed  Dunkan,  who  was  then  King 
of  Scotland,  and  he  made  himself  king  and  Dame  Grwok  his  wife  was  queen. 

Now  the  seventeen  years  of  Macbeth' s  reign  were  prosperous  years.  But  the 
three  sons  of  the  old  king  were  banished  and  fled  to  England,  where  they  were 
received  by  St.  Edward  who  was  then  king,  and  he  *  trettyd  thame  rycht  curtasly.' 

And  in  the  days  when  Macbeth  was  king  of  Scotland,  he  set  himself  to  building 
a  great  house  upon  the  *hycht  of  Dwnsynane.'  Stones  and  timbers  were  brought 
from  Fjrfe  and  Angus,  dragged  by  many  oxen.  Now  it  happened  that  one  day 
Makbeth  saw  a  yoke  of  oxen  that  failed  in  the  draught.  He  asked  whose  yoke  it 
was,  and  they  told  him  Makduff,  thane  of  Fyfe's.  Then  said  Makbeth  to  the  thane 
of  Fyfe :  '  Go  thou  and  place  thine  own  neck  in  the  yoke.'  For  he  never  doubted 
but  that  Makduff  would  yield  through  fear  of  him  ;  but  the  Thane  of  Fyfe  departed 
privily  and  escaped.  When  he  heard  how  that  Makduff  had  fled  Makbeth  was 
exceeding  wroth  ;  and  decided  to  proceed  against  him  at  his  castle  in  Fyfe.  Mak- 
duff's  Lady  met  Makbeth  and  pointing  out  a  sail  far  out  at  sea,  said  unto  him, 
*■  Yonder  is  Makduff  whom  thou  shalt  never  again  see '  syne  thow  wald  hawe  put  hys 
Neek  In-til  thi  yhoke.'    Then  did  Makduff  fly  to  England  where  he  met  the  sons  of 


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396  APPENDIX 

DuDkan.  King  Edward  ooonselled  MakdufF  to  look  after  the  three  youths  and 
aid  them  to  regain  the  kingdom  of  Scotland.  The  two  elder  brothers  su^>ected 
Makduff  and  refused  to  listen  or  to  go  with  him,  fearing  lest  they  should  suffer  the 
same  fate  as  their  father.  But  the  third  Malcolme,  although  *  he  was  noucht  of 
lauchfull  bed/  was  thought  of  Makduff  to  be  of  stout  heart,  and  fit  to  bear  the  crown 
of  Scotland. 

'  Nay,'  answered  Malcolme, '  there  is  no  such  lecherous  man  as  I ;  a  king  should 
be  honourable,  and  that  I  am  not.'  Thus  with  many  like  words  against  his  own 
self  did  Malcolme  meet  all  Makduff' s  arguments ;  yet  did  Makduff  continue  to  per- 
suade him.  <  I  am  so  fedse  that  no  man  may  trust  a  word  I  say,'  said  Malcome,  and 
for  this  Makduff  had  no  word  to  answer,  but  turned  to  leave  him.  '  Nay,  then/ 
said  Malcolme,  *  I  will  go  with  thee,  and  show  how  loyal  and  steadfast  I  can  be.' 
And  now  jojrfuliy  both  went  to  take  farewell  of  King  Edward,  who  bade  the  *  Lord 
of  Northwmbyrland  Schyr  Swyrd'  to  giye  them  his  aid. 

So  they  departed  and  came  to  Brynnane,  where  they  took  counsel ;  for  they  heard 
that  Makbeth  had  great  faith  in  a  saying  that  no  harm  should  come  to  him  until 
he  saw  the  wood  of  Brynnane  brought  to  Dwnsynane.  Then  of  that  wood  did 
each  man  take  a  branch  in  his  hand  and  march  upon  Dwnsynane,  which  when  Mac- 
beth saw  he  fled  unto  the  wood  of  Lunfanan.  Makduff  pursued  him,  but  a  knight 
who  was  nearest  to  Makbeth  engaged  him  in  battle.  '  You  fight  in  vain,'  then  said 
Makbeth,  <  for  no  man  bom  of  woman  may  harm  me.'  Then  answered  the  Knight, 
<  I  was  torn  from  my  mother's  womb,  and  so  was  not  bom.  Now  shall  your  wick- 
edness cease.'     Thus  was  Makbeth  slain  in  the  Wood  of  Lunianan. 

Farmer,  in  his  Essay  m  the  Learning  of  Shakespeare  (2d  ed.  p.  56,  1767),  says: 
^Macbeth  was  certainly  one  of  Shakespeare's  latest  productions,  and  it  might  possi- 
bly have  been  suggested  to  him  by  a  little  performance  on  the  same  subject  at 
Oxford,  before  king  James,  1605.  I  will  transcribe  my  notice  of  it  from  Wake's 
Rex  PkUonieus  :  "  Fabulse  ansam  dedit  antiqua  de  Kegi&  prosapi&  historiola  apud 
Scoto-Britannos  celebrata,  quae  narrat  tres  olim  Sibyllas  occurrisse  duobus  Scotia 
proceribus,  Macbetho  6^  Banchoni,  &  ilium  prsedixisse  Regem  futurum,  sed  Regem 
nullum  geniturum ;  hunc  Regem  non  futurum,  sed  Reges  geniturum  multos.  Vati- 
cinii  veritatem  rerum  eyentus  oomprobaviL  Banchonis  enim  d  stirpe  Potentissimus 
Jacobus  oriundus."  p.  29.' 

Subsequendy  Dr  Fanner  characteristically  added  : 

*  Since  I  made  the  observation  here  quoted,  I  have  been  repeatedly  told  that  I 
unwittingly  make  Shakespeare  leamed,  at  least  in  Latin,  as  this  must  have  been  the 
language  of  the  performance  before  king  James.  One  might,  perhaps,  have  plausi- 
bly said,  that  he  probably  picked  up  the  story  at  second-hand;  but  mere  accident  has 
thrown  a  pamphlet  in  my  way,intitled  T^e  Oxford  Triutriph,hj  one  Anthony  Nixon, 
1605,  which  explains  the  whole  matter :  **  This  performance,"  says  Anthony,  '*  vras 
first  in  Latine  to  the  king,  then  in  English  to  the  queene  and  young  prince":  and, 
as  he  goes  on  to  tell  us,  *'  the  conceit  thereof  the  kinge  did  very  much  applaude." 
It  is  likely  that  the  friendly  letter,  which  we  are  informed  king  James  once  wrote  to 
Shakespeare,  was  on  this  occasion.' 

The  mention  of  this  interlude  of  course  inflamed  M  alone' s  curiosity,  and  after 
detailing  the  difliculties  of  his  search  for  it,  he  triumphantly  adds :  *  At  length  chance 
threw  into  my  hands  the  very  verses  that  were  spoken  in  1605,  by  three  young  gea- 


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SOURCE  OF  THE  PLOT  397 

tlemen  of  that  college ;  and,  "  that  no  man  **  (to  use  the  words  of  Dr  Johnson)  <<  may 
ever  want  them  more,"  I  will  here  transcribe  them. 

*•  There  is  some  difficulty  in  reconciling  the  different  accounts  of  this  entertain- 
ment. The  author  of  Rex  PlatonUus  says,  "  Tres  adolescentes  condnno  Sibyllanmi 
habitu  induti,  h  collegio  [Divi  Johannis]  prodeuntes,  ct  carmina  lepida  altematim 
canentes,  Regi  se  tres  esse  Sibyllas  profitentur,  quae  Banchoni  olim  sobolis  imperia 
prsedixerant,  &c.  Deinde  tribus  principibus  suaves  felicitatum  triplicitates  triplicatis 
carminum  vicibus  succinentes, — principes  ingeniosa  fictiuncula  delectatos  dimittunt." 
'  But  in  a  manuscript  account  of  the  king's  visit  to  Oxford  in  1605,  in  the  Museum 
(MSS,  Baker,  7044),  this  interlude  is  thus  described :  "  This  being  done,  he  [the 
king]  rode  on  untill  he  came  unto  St  John's  college,  where  coming  against  the  gate, 
three  young  youths,  in  habit  and  attire  like  Nymphes^  confronted  him,  representing 
England,  Scotland,  and  Ireland ;  and  talking  dialogue-wise  each  to  other  of  their 
state,  at  last  concluded,  yielding  up  themselves  to  his  gracious  government "  With 
this  A.  Nixon's  account,  in  The  Oxford  Triumph^  quarto,  1605,  in  some  measure 
agrees,  though  it  differs  in  a  very  material  point ;  for,  if  his  relation  is  to  be  credited, 
these  young  men  did  not  alternately  recite  verses,  but  pronounced  three  distinct 
orations :  **  This  finished,  his  Majestie  passed  along  till  hee  came  before  Saint  John's 
college,  when  three  little  boyes,  coming  foorth  of  a  casde  made  all  of  ivie,  drest  like 
three  nympkes^  (the  conceipt  whereof  the  king  did  very  much  applaude,)  delivered 
three  orations^  first  in  Latine  to  the  king,  then  in  English  to  the  queene  and  young 
prince ;  which  being  ended,  his  majestie  proceeded  towards  the  east  gate  of  the  dtie, 
where  the  townesmen  againe  delivered  to  him  another  speech  in  English." 

'  From  these  discordant  accounts  one  might  be  led  to  suppose,  that  there  were 
six  actors  on  this  occasion,  three  of  whom  personated  the  Sybills,  or  rather  the  Weird 
Sisters,  and  addressed  the  royal  visitors  in  Latin,  and  that  the  other  three  represented 
England,  Scotland,  and  Ireland,  and  spoke  only  in  English.  I  believe,  however, 
that  there  were  but  three  young  men  employed ;  and  after  reciting  the  following 
Latin  lines  (which  prove  that  the  weird  sisters  and  the  representatives  of  England, 
Scotland,  and  Ireland  were  the  same  persons),  they  might,  perhaps,  have  pronounced 
some  English  verses  of  a  similar  import,  for  the  entertainment  of  the  queen  and  the 
princes. 

'  To  the  Latin  play  of  Vertunmusy  written  by  Dr  Mathew  Gwynne,  which  was 
acted  before  the  king  by  some  of  the  students  of  St  John's  college  on  a  subsequent 
day,  we  are  indebted  for  the  long-sought-for  interlude,  performed  at  St  John's  gate  ; 
for  Dr  Gwynne,  who  was  the  author  of  this  interlude  also,  has  annexed  it  to  his 
Vertumnus,  printed  in  4to  in  1607. 

'  **  Ad  regis  introitum,  e  Joannensi  Collegio  extra  portam  urbis  borealem  sito,  tres 
quasi  Sibyllse,  sic  (ut  e  sylva)  salutarunt. 

z.  Fatidicas  olim  fama  est  cednisse  sorores 

Imperium  sine  fine  tuae,  rex  indyte,  stirpis. 

Banquonem  agnovit  generosa  Loquabria  Thanum ; 

Nee  tibi,  Banquo,  tuis  sed  sceptra  nepotibus  illse 

Immortalibus  immortalia  vatidnatae : 

In  saltum,  ut  lateas,  dum  Banquo  recedis  ad  aula. 

Tres  eadem  pariter  canimus  tibi  fata  tuisque, 

Dum  spectande  tuis,  e  saltu  accedis  ad  urbem  ; 

Teque  salutamus :  Salve,  cui  Scotia  servit ; 

2.  Anglia  cui,  salve.    3.  Cui  servit  Hibemia^  salve. 


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398  APPENDIX 

1.  Gallia  cni  titulos,  terras  dant  caeteimy  salye. 

2.  Quern  divisa  prius  oolit  una  Britannia,  salve. 

3.  Summe  Monarcha  Britannice,  Hibemice,  Gallice,  salve. 

1.  Anna,  parens  regum,  soror  uxor,  filia,  salve. 

2.  Solve,  Henrice  hueres,  princeps  pulcherrime,  salve. 

3.  Dux  Carole,  et  perbelle  Polonice  regule,  salve 
I.  Nee  metas  fatis,  nee  tempore  ponimus  istis  ; 
Quin  orbis  regno,  famae  sint  terminus  astra : 
Canutum  referas  regno  quadruplice  darum  ; 
Major  avis,  sequande  tuis  diademate  solis. 

Nee  serimus  csedes,  nee  bella,  nee  anxia  corda ; 

Nee  furor  in  nobis ;  sed  agente  calesdmus  illo 

Numine,  quo  Thomas  Whitus  per  somnia  motus, 

Londinenses  eques,  musis  haec  tecta  dicavit 

Musis  ?  imo  Deo,  tutelarique  Joanni. 

Ille  Deo  charum  et  curam,  prope  prsetereuntem 

Ire  salutatum,  Christi  precursor,  ad  aedem 

Christi  pergentem,  jussit     DictA  ergo  salute 

Peige,  tuo  aspectu  sit  laeta  Academia,  peige.*' 
It  is  perhaps  needless  to  add  that  Dr  Fanner's  hypothesis  has  not  to  this  day 
found  any  advocates. 

I  subjoin  the  traditionary  sources  of  one  or  two  other  incidents  employed  in  this 
tragedy. 

SiMROCK  (Z^>  Quelien  des  Shakespeare,  ii,  256, 1 870,  ed.  2) :  The  story  told  by 
Boethius  can  hardly  be  founded  on  history,  but  certainly  it  has  a  deep  foundation  in 
popular  legends.  The  gaps  in  the  story  have  been  manifestly  supplied  from  popular 
tales.  Grinmi,  in  his  notes  on  the  story  of  the  Fisherman  and  his  Wife,  has  com- 
pared Lady  Macbeth  with  the  Etrurian  Tanaquil,  who  also,  like  Eve,  tempts  her 
husband  to  aim  at  high  honours.  In  Livy's  history,  this  resemblance  crops  out  in 
Tullia,  the  wife  of  the  easy-going  Tarquin.  The  incident  of  the  moving  forest  is 
found  in  myths  in  various  other  ways.  It  corresponds  closely  to  the  story  of  King 
Grflnewald,  which  Professor  Schwarz  has  preserved  in  his  Hessian  NotaHlia  derived 
from  oral  tradition.  '  A  King  had  an  only  daughter,  who  possessed  wondrous  gifts. 
Now,  once  upon  a  time  there  came  his  enemy,  a  King  named  Grflnewald,  and 
besieged  him  in  his  castle,  and,  as  the  siege  lasted  long,  the  daughter  kept  con- 
tinually encouraging  her  father  in  the  castle.  This  lasted  till  May-day.  Then  all 
of  a  sudden  the  daughter  saw  the  hostile  army  approach  with  green  boughs :  then 
fear  and  anguish  fell  on  her,  for  she  knew  that  all  was  lost,  and  said  to  her 
father,  "Father,  you  must  yield,  or  die,  I  see  the  green-wood  dnwing  nigh.*" 
(See  Grimm's  German  Popular  Tales,  i,  148.)  Here  the  correspondence  to  the 
legend  of  Macbeth  is  not  to  be  mistaken.  The  daughter  plays  the  same  part  here 
as  the  witches  there.  She  knows,  by  means  of  her  miraculous  gifts,  that  her  father 
cannot  be  conquered  till  the  green-wood  moves  upon  them ;  but,  as  she  considers 
this  impossible,  she  incites  hun  to  confidence ;  but,  when  the  supposed  impossible 
incident  actually  comes  to  pass,  she  counsels  him  to  surrender.  On  the  other  hand, 
no  prophecy  appears  to  have  anticipated  the  conning  of  Fredegunda,  who  hung  bells 
on  her  horses,  and  ordered  each  of  her  warriors  to  take  a  bough  in  his  hand,  and 
thus  to  march  against  the  enemy ;  whereby  the  sentinels  of  the  hostile  camp  were 


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399 


deceived,  believing  their  horses  were  browsing  in  the  neighbouring  forest,  until  the 
Franks  let  their  boughs  fall,  and  the  forest  stood  leafless,  but  thick  with  the  shafts 
of  glancing  spears.  (See  Grimm's  German  Popular  Tales^  ii>  9i*)  It  was  merely 
a  military  stratagem ;  just  as  Malcolm,  when  he  commanded  his  soldiers,  on  their 
forward  march,  to  conceal  themselves  with  boughs,  had  no  other  end  in  view,  for  he 
knew  not  what  had  been  prophesied  to  Macbeth.  The  following  passage  from  Joh. 
Weyer,  De  PrttsHgiUy  Frankfurt,  1586,  p.  329,  is  noteworthy :  *  Whoever  wishes  to 
give  himself  the  appearance  of  having  a  thousand  men  or  horse  round  him,  let  him 
have  a  year-old  willow  bough  cut  off  at  a  single  stroke,  with  certain  conjurations, 
repetition  of  barbarous  words,  and  rude  characters.'  A  single  man  might  really  find 
some  difficulty  in  giving  himself,  by  the  use  of  this  boasted  charm,  the  appearance 
of  a  whole  army ;  but  the  inventor  evidently  founded  his  pretension  upon  a  popular 
legend,  according  to  which  a  bold  army  had,  by  this  artifice,  concealed  its  weakness 
from  an  enemy  superior  in  numbers.  According  to  Holinshed,  however,  Malcolm's 
army  was  superior  in  number  to  that  of  Macbeth,  and  the  concealment  with  the 
boughs  was  only  made  use  of  in  order  that,  when  they  were  thrown  away,  sudden 
vision  of  the  superiority  of  numbers  might  create  more  terror.  In  my  Manual  of 
German  Mythology^  p.  557,  it  is  shown  that  the  legend  of  the  moving  forest  orig- 
inated in  the  German  religious  custom  of  May-festivals,  or  Sunmier-welcomings,  and 
that  '  King  GrOnewald '  is  originally  a  Winter-giant,  whose  dominion  ceases  when 
the  May-feast  begins  and  the  green-wood  draws  nigh.  This  is  the  mythical  basis  of 
the  Macbeth-legend. 

The  second  prediction  that '  none  of  woman  bom  should  harm  Macbeth '  we  can 
also  trace  in  ^Prince  Wladimir  and  his  Table-round*  (Leipsig,  1 819),  where  the 
same  prophesy  is  made  over  the  cradle  of  the  hero  Tugarin,  the  son  of  a  snake. 
In  the  Shdh-n&ma  of  Firdausi,  Rustum  *  was  born,  as  was  Macduff.  And  in  many 
other  instances  heroes  and  demi-gods  were  similarly  ushered  into  the  world,  and  it 
always  implied  power  and  heroic  strength.  Such  an  one  was  W5lsung,  Sigurd's 
ancestor.  It  was,  however,  not  the  case  with  the  unborn  Burkart,  Burchardus  in- 
genitus,  whose  skin  remained  always  so  tender  that  every  gnat  brought  blood,  and 
his  tutor  was  therefore  obliged  to  abolish  the  rod  utterly,  and  alter  all  he  grew  up  a 
learned  and  virtuous  man. 

Halliwell  :  The  incident  of  cutting  down  the  branches  of  the  trees  is  related 
in  the  old  romance  life  of  Alexander  the  Great,  thus  translated  in  the  Thornton  MS, 
in  the  library  of  Lincoln  Cathedral  :  '  In  the  mene  tyme,  Kyng  Alexander  remowed 
his  oste,  and  drew  nere  the  cit^  of  Susis,  in  the  whilke  Darius  was  lengand  the 
same  tyme,  so  that  he  mygte  see  alle  the  heghe  hillez  that  ware  abowune  the  dtee. 
Than  Alexander  commanded  alle  his  mene  that  ilkane  of  thame  suld  cutte  downe  a 
brawnche  of  a  tree,  and  here  thame  forth  with  thame,  and  dryfe  bifore  thame  alle 
manere  of  bestez  that  thay  mygte  fynde  in  the  way ;  and  when  the  Percyenes  saw 
thame  fra  the  heghe  hillez,  thay  wondred  thame  gretly.' 

Dr  J.  G.  RiTTER  {Programm  der  ReaUchule  zu  Leer,  1871),  in  his  excellent 
notes  on  Macbeth^  cites  the  following  extract,  in  reference  to  the  antiquity  of  the 
legend  of  the  'moving  forest':  Croniques  de  St  Denis.  Bibl.  Imp.  Paris,  Cod. 
10298,  f.  17  :  Lors  s'  esmut  I'ost  (de  Fr6degonde)  tout  de  nuiz.  et  les  mena  Landris 

*  llie  '  Hercules  of  Persia,'  as  he  is  termed  by  Mr  Fitzgerald  in  his  exquisite 
rendering  of  the  Ruhdiydt  of  Omar  Khayydm, — Ed. 


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400  APPENDIX 

qui  les  guioit  panni  un  bois.  Tantftt  comme  cil  Landris  entra  dedens  le  bois  il 
pendi  une  clochete  au  col  de  son  cheval  et  prist  une  grant  branche  d'arbre  toute 
foilluc.  et  sen  couvri  au  miex  qu'  il  pot  lui  et  son  cheval.  et  dist  a  touz  les  autres  que 
il  feissent  aussi,  et  il  le  firent  tuit  communement  qtii  miex  miex.  et  vindrent  ausi 
comme  a  ore  de  matines  sus  leurs  anemis.  et  tenait  tout  ades  Fr6degonde  Qothaire 
son  61s  devant  chevaliers,  porce  que  il  en  eussent  pitie.  qar  s'  il  avenist  qu'  il  fussent 
vaincuz,  11  enfens  fust  a  toz  iors  et  chetis  et  maudis.  Quant  il  vindrent  bien  pres  de 
lor  anemis  uns  de  ceus  qui  eschaigaitoi  1'  ost  les  vit,  et  les  regarda  au  miex  qu'  il  pot 
en  tel  maniere  comm*  il  estoient  atome.  et  li  sembla  que  ce  fust  un  bois.  II  s'  esmer- 
vcilla  que  ce  estoit,  et  vint  a  un  de  ses  compaignons  et  li  disL  Je  vols  fist  il  ci  pres 
de  nos  un  bois,  et  ersoir  n'  en  i  avoit  point  Iors  li  dist  ses  compains.  biaux  amis  tu 
manjas  ersoir  et  beus  trop.  tu  songes.  Ne  te  souvient  il  pas  que  nos  meismes  ersoir 
nos  chevaux  pestre,  et  n'  os  tu  pas  les  clochetes  qui  lor  furent  pendues  as  cox? 
Endementres  que  il  parloient  ensi  la  forest  que  il  avaient  veue  oscurement  leur 
apparut  en  apert,  qar  il  jeterent  jus  les  ramissiaux  et  aparurent  les  armes  tot  aperte- 
ment.  les  gnetes  escrierent :  trai,  trai.  T  ost  estoit  endormie  por  le  travail  qu'  il 
avoient  le  jor  devant  eu.  et  cil  se  ferirent  en  els  hardiement.  cil  qui  s*  en  porent  foir 
s'en  foirenL  et  mult  en  i  ot  d'  ocis  et  de  pris.  Tant  fist  Fridegonde  q'  ele  vainqui 
la  bataille. 


CRITICISMS 


Johnson  :  This  play  is  deservedly  celebrated  for  the  propriety  of  its  fictions,  and 
solemnity,  grandeur,  and  variety  of  its  action  ;  but  it  has  no  nice  discrimination  of 
character ;  the  events  are  too  great  to  admit  the  influence  of  particular  dispositions, 
and  the  course  of  the  action  necessarily  determines  the  conduct  of  the  agents. 

The  danger  of  ambition  is  well  described ;  and  I  know  not  whether  it  may  not  be 
said,  in  defence  of  some  parts  which  now  seem  improbable,  that,  in  Shakespeare's 
time,  it  was  necessary  to  warn  credulity  against  vain  and  delusive  predictions. 

The  passions  are  directed  to  their  true  end.  Lady  Macbeth  is  merely  detested ; 
and  though  the  courage  of  Macbeth  preserves  some  esteem,  yet  every  reader  rejoices 
at  his  fall. 

Steevens  :  It  may  be  worth  while  to  remark  that  Milton,  who  left  behind  him  a 
list  of  no  less  than  CII.  dramatic  subjects,  had  fixed  on  the  story  of  this  play  among 
the  rest  His  intention  was  to  have  begun  with  the  arrival  of  Malcolm  at  Macduff's 
castle.  •  The  matter  of  Duncan  (says  he)  may  be  expressed  by  the  appearing  of  his 
*  ghost.'  It  should  seem,  fix>m  this  last  memorandum,  that  Milton  disliked  the 
licence  his  predecessor  had  taken  in  comprehending  a  history  of  such  length  within 
the  short  compass  of  a  play,  and  would  have  new- written  the  whole,  on  the  plan  of 
the  ancient  drama.  He  could  not  surely  have  indulged  so  vain  a  hope  as  that  of 
excelling  Shakespeare  in  the  tragedy  of  Macbeth, 

Campbell  :  Enlightened  criticism  and  universal  opinion  have  so  completely  set 
the  seal  of  celebrity  on  this  tragedy,  that  it  will  stand  whilst  our  language  exists  as 
a  monument  of  English  genius.  Nay,  it  will  outlast  the  present  form  of  our  lan- 
guage, and  speak  to  generations  in  parts  of  the  earth  that  are  yet  uninhabited.  No 
drama  in  any  national  theatre,  taking  even  that  of  Greece  into  the  account^  has  more 
wonderfully  amalgamated  the  natural  and  supematural,— or  made  the  substances  of 


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CRITICISMS  401 

truth  more  awful  by  their  superstitious  shadows, — than  has  the  tragedy  of  Macbeth. 
The  progress  of  Macbeth  in  crime  is  an  unparalleled  lecture  in  ethical  anatomy. 
The  heart  of  a  man,  naturally  prone  to  goodness,  is  exposed  so  as  to  teach  us  clearly 
through  what  avenues  of  that  heart  the  black  drop  of  guilt  found  its  way  to  expel 
the  more  innocent  blood.  A  semblance  of  superstitious  necessity  is  no  doubt  pre- 
served in  the  actions  of  Macbeth  ;  and  a  superficial  reader  might  say  that  the  Witches 
not  only  tempted,  but  necessitated,  Macbeth  to  murder  Duncan.  But  this  is  not  the 
case,  for  Shakespeare  has  contriyed  to  give  at  once  the  awful  appearance  of  preter- 
natural impulse  on  Macbeth' s  mind,  and  yet  visibly  leave  him  a  free  agent,  and  a 
voluntary  sinner.  If  we  could  imagine  Macbeth  conjuring  the  hags  to  re-appear  on 
the  eve  of  his  inevitable  death,  and  accusing  them  of  having  caused  him  to  murder 
Duncan,  the  Witches  might  very  well  say,  <  We  did  not  oblige  you  to  any  such  act, 
we  only  foretold  what  would  have  happened  even  if  you  had  not  murdered  Duncan, 
namely,  that  you  should  be  Scotland's  King.  But  you  were  impatient.  You  did 
not  consider  that,  if  the  prediction  was  true,  it  was  no  duty  of  yours  to  bestir  your- 
self in  the  business ;  but  you  had  a  wife,  a  fair  wife,  who  goaded  you  on  to  the 
murder.'  If  the  Witches  had  spoken  thus,  there  would  be  matter  in  the  tragedy  to 
bear  them  out ;  for  Macbeth  absolutely  says  to  himself, — *  If  it  be  thus  decreed,  it 
must  be,  and  there  is  no  necessity  for  me  to  stir  in  the  affiur.' 

Fletcher  (p.  109)  :  Macbeth  seems  inspired  by  the  very  genius  of  the  tempest. 
This  drama  shows  us  the  gathering,  the  discharge,  and  the  dispelling  of  a  domestic 
and  political  storm,  which  takes  its  peculiar  hue  from  the  individual  character  of  the 
hero.  It  is  not  in  the  spirit  of  mischief  that  animates  the  <  weird  sisters,'  nor  in  the 
passionate  and  strong-willed  ambition  of  Lady  Macbeth,  tha.t  we  find  the  mainspring 
of  this  tragedy,  but  in  the  disproportioned  though  poetically  tempered  soul  -bf  Mac- 
beth himself.  A  character  like  his,  of  extreme  selfishness,  with  a  most  irritable 
fiucy,  must  produce,  even  in  ordinary  circumstances,  an  excess  of  morbid  apprehen- 
siveness ;  which,  however,  as  we  see  in  him,  is  not  inconsistent  with  the  greatest 
physical  courage,  but  generates  of  necessity  the  most  entire  moral  cowardice.  When, 
therefore,  a  man  like  this,  ill  enough  qualified  even  for  the  honest  and  straightfor- 
ward transactions  of  life,  has  brought  himself  to  snatch  at  an  ambitious  object  by  the 
commission  of  one  great  sanguinary  crime,  the  new  and  false  position  in  which  he 
finds  himself  by  his  very  success  will  but  startle  and  exasperate  him  to  escape,  as 
Macbeth  says,  from  '  horrible  imaginings '  by  the  perpetration  of  greater  and  greater 
actual  horrors,  till  inevitable  destruction  comes  upon  him  amidst  universal  execra- 
tion. Such,  briefly,  are  the  story  and  the  moral  of  Macbeth,  The  passionate  ambi- 
.  tion  and  indomitable  will  of  his  lady,  though  agents  indispensable  to  urge  such  a 
man  to  the  one  decisive  act  which  is  to  compromise  him  in  his  own  opinion  and  that 
of  the  world,  are  by  no  means  primary  springs  of  the  dramatic  action.  Nor  do  the 
'weird  sisters'  themselves  do  more  than  aid  collaterally  in  impelling  a  man,  the 
inherent  evil  of  whose  nature  and  purpose  has  predisposed  him  to  take  their  equivo-^ 
cal  suggestions  in  the  most  mischievous  sense.  And,  finally,  the  very  thunder-cloud 
which,  from  the  beginning  almost  to  the  ending,  wraps  this  fearful  tragedy  in 
physical  darkness  and  lurid  glare,  does  but  reflect  and  harmonize  with  the  moral 
blackness  of  the  piece. . . . 

The  very  starting-point  for  an  enquiry  into  the  real,  inherent,  and  habitual  nature 
of  Macbeth,  independent  of  those  particular  circumstances  which  form  the  action 
of  the  play,  lies  manifestly,  though  the  critics  have  commonly  overlooked  it,  in  the 
26 


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402  APPENDIX 

question,  With  whom  does  the  scheme  of  usurping  the  Scottish  crown  by  the  murder 
of  Duncan  actually  originate  ?  We  sometimes  find  Lady  Macbeth  talked  of  as  if 
she  were  the  first  contriver  of  the  plot,  and  suggester  of  the  assassination ;  but  this 
notion  is  refuted,  not  only  by  implication,  in  the  whole  tenour  of  the  piece,  but  most 
explicity  in  I,  vii,  56-60.  Most  commonly,  howeyer,  the  witchei  (as  we  find  the 
'  weird  sisters '  pertinaciously  miscalled  by  all  sorts  of  players  and  of  critics)  have 
borne  the  imputation  of  being  the  first  to  put  this  piece  of  mischief  in  the  hexo's 
mind.  Yet  the  prophetic  words  in  which  the  attainment  of  ro3ralty  is  promised  him 
contain  not  the  remotest  hint  as  to  the  means  by  which  he  is  to  arrive  at  it.  They 
are  simply  *A11  hail,  Macbeth  !  that  shalt  be  king  hereafter,' — an  announcement 
which,  it  is  plain,  should  have  rather  inclined  a  man  who  was  not  already  harixmr- 
ing  a  scheme  of  guilty  ambition,  to  wait  quietly  the  course  of  events.  According  to 
Macbeth' s  own  admission,  the  words  of  the  weird  sisters  on  this  occasion  convey 
anything  rather  than  an  incitement  to  murder  to  the  mind  of  a  man  who  is  not 
meditating  it  already. 

The  first  thing  that  strikes  us  in  such  a  character  is  the  intense  selfishness, — the 
total  absence  both  of  sympathetic  feeling  and  moral  principle, — and  the  consequent 
incapability  of  remorse  in  the  proper  sense  of  the  term.  So  far  from  finding  any 
check  to  his  design  in  the  fact  that  the  king  bestows  on  him  the  forfeited  title  of  the 
traitorous  thane  of  Cawdor  as  an  especial  mark  of  confidence  in  his  loyalty,  this 
only  serves  to  whet  his  own  villainous  purpose.  The  dramatist  has  brought  this 
forcibly  home  to  us  in  I,  iv,  23-65.  It  is  from  no  '  con^nnctious  visiting  of  nature,' 
but  from  sheer  mor€U  cowardice^ — ^from  fear  of  reiribtUum  in  tMis  life, — that  we  find 
Macbeth  shrinking,  at  the  last  moment,  from  the  commission  of  his  enormous  crime. 
This  will  be  seen  the  more  attentively  we  consider  I,  vii,  5-32,  and  37-41.  In  all 
this  we  trace  a  most  clear  consciousness  of  the  impossibility  that  he  should  find  of 
masking  his  guilt  from  the  public  eye, — the  odium  which  must  consequently  fid! 
upon  him  in  the  opinions  of  men, — end  the  retribution  it  would  probably  bring  upon 
him.  But  here  is  no  evidence  of  true  moral  repugnance,  and  as  little  of  any 
religious  scruple, — <  We'd  jump  the  life  to  come.'  The  dramatist,  by  this  brief  but 
significant  parenthesis,  has  taken  care  to  leave  us  in  no  doubt  on  a  point  so  moment- 
ous towards  forming  a  due  estimate  of  the  conduct  of  his  hero.  However,  he  feels, 
as  we  see,  the  dissuading  motives  of  worldly  prudence  in  all  their  force.  But  one 
devouring  passion  urges  him  on, — ^the  master-passion  of  his  life, — the  lust  of  power, 
I,  vii,  31.  Still,  it  should  seem  that  the  considerations  of  policy  and  safety  regard- 
ing this  life  might  even  have  withheld  him  from  the  actual  commission  of  the  mur- 
der, had  not  the  spirit  of  his  wife  come  in  to  fortify  his  failing  purpose.  At  all 
events,  in  the  action  of  the  drama  it  is  her  intervention,  most  decidedly,  that  termi- 
nates his  irresolution,  and  urges  him  to  the  final  perpetration  of  the  crime  which  he 
himself  had  been  the  first  to  meditate. 

It  has  been  customary  to  Ulk  of  Lady  Macbeth  as  of  a  woman  in  whom  the 
love  of  power  for  its  own  sake  not  only  predominates  over,  but  almost  excludes, 
every  human  affection,  every  sympathetic  feeling.  But  the  more  closely  the  dra- 
matic development  of  this  character  is  examined,  the  more  fallacious,  we  believe, 
this  view  of  the  matter  will  be  found.  Had  Shakespeare  intended  so  to  repre- 
sent her,  he  would  probably  have  made  her  the  first  contriver  of  the  assassination 
scheme.  For  our  own  part,  we  regard  the  very  passage  which  has  commonly 
been  quoted  as  decisive  that  personal  and  merely  selfish  ambition  is  her  all- 
absorbing  motive,  as  proving  in  reality  quite  the  contrary.     It  is  true  that  even 


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CRITICISMS  403 

Coleridge  desires  ns  to  remark  that  in  her  opening  scene  <  she  evinces  no  womanly 
life»  no  wifely  joy,  at  the  return  of  her  husband,  no  pleased  terrors  at  the  thought 
of  his  past  dangers.'  We  must,  however,  beg  to  observe  that  she  shows  what 
she  knows  to  be  far  more  gratifying  to  her  husband  at  that  moment,  the  most 
eager  and  passionate  sympathy  in  the  great  master-wish  and  purpose  of  his  mind. 
Has  it  ever  been  contended  that  Macbeth  shows  none  of  the  natural  and  proper 
feelings  of  a  husband,  because  their  common  scheme  of  murderous  ambition  forms 
the  whole  burden  of  his  letter  which  she  has  been  perusing  just  before  their  meet- 
ing ?  Can  anything  more  clearly  denote  a  thorough  union  between  this  pair,  in 
affection  as  well  as  ambition,  than  the  single  expression,  *  My  dearest  partner  of 
greatness*  f  And  seeing  that  his  last  words  to  her  had  contained  the  injunction  to 
lay  their  promised  greatness  to  her  heart  as  her  chief  subject  of  rejoicing,  are  not 
the  first  words  that  she  addresses  to  him  on  their  meeting  the  most  natural,  sympa- 
thetic, and  even  obedient  response  to  the  charge  which  he  has  given  her?  See  I, 
V,  60-63.  ^^  ^^  maintain  that  there  is  no  less  of  affectionate  than  of  ambitious 
feeling  conveyed  in  these  lines, — ^nay,  more,  it  is  her  prospect  of  his  exaltation, 
chiefly,  that  draws  from  her  this  burst  of  passionate  anticipation,  breathing  almost  a 
lover's  ardour.  Everything,  we  say,  concurs  to  show  that,  primarily,  she  cherishes 
the  scheme  of  criminal  usurpation  as  his  object, — the  attainment  of  which  she  mis- 
takenly believes  will  render  him  happier  as  well  as  greater ;  for  it  must  be  carefully 
borne  in  mind  that,  while  Macbeth  wavers  as  to  the  adoption  of  the  means,  his 
longing  for  the  object  itself  as  constant  and  increasing,  so  that  his  wife  sees  him 
growing  daily  more  and  more  uneasy  and  restless  under  this  unsatisfied  craving. . . . 
She  is  fully  aware,  indeed,  of  the  moral  guiltiness  of  her  husband's  design, — that 
he  *  would  wrongly  win,'  and  of  the  suspicion  which  they  are  likely  to  incur,  but 
the  dread  of  which  she  repels  by  considering,  <  What  need  we  fear  who  knows  it, 
when  none  can  call  our  power  to  account  ?'  Nor  is  she  inaccessible  to  remorse. 
The  very  passionateness  of  her  wicked  invocation,  *Come,  come,  you  spirits,'  etc., 
is  a  proof  of  this.  We  have  not  here  the  language  of  a  cold-blooded  murderess, 
but  the  vehement  effort  of  uncontrollable  desire  to  silence  the  '  still,  small  voice ' 
of  her  human  and  feminine  conscience.  This  very  violence  results  from  the  resist- 
ance of  that  *  milk  of  human  kindness '  in  her  tram  bosom,  of  which  she  fears  the 
operation  in  her  husband's  breast.  Of  religions  impressions,  indeed,  it  should  be 
carefully  noted  that  she  seems  to  have  even  less  than  her  husband. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  is  plain  that  she  covets  the  crown  for  her  husband,  even 
more  eagerly  than  he  desires  it  for  himself.  With  as  great,  or  greater,  vehemence 
of  passion  than  he,  she  has  none  of  his  excitable  imagination.  Herein,  we  conceive, 
lies  the  second  essential  difference  of  character  between  them ;  from  whence  pro- 
ceeds, by  necessary  consequence,  that  indomitable  steadiness  to  a  purpose  on  which 
her  heart  is  once  thoroughly  bent,  which  so  perfectly  contrasts  with  the  incurably 
fluctuating  habit  of  mind  in  her  husband.  She  covets  for  him,  we  say,  '  the  golden 
round '  more  passionately  even  than  he  can  covet  it  for  himself, — nay,  more  so,  it 
seems  to  us,  than  she  would  have  coveted  it  for  her  own  individual  brows.  Free 
from  all  the  apprehensions  conjured  up  by  an  irritable  fancy, — from  all  the  '  horrible 
imaginings'  which  beset  Macbeth, — ^her  promptness  of  decision  and  fixedness  of  will 
are  proportioned  to  her  intensity  of  desire ;  so  that,  although  he  has  been  the  first 
contriver  of  the  scheme,  she  has  been  the  first  to  resolve  immovably  that  it  shall  be 
carried  into  effect. . . . 

It  is  most  important  that  we  should  not  mistake  the  nature  of  Macbeth' s  nervous 


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404  APPENDIX 

perturbation  while  in  the  Tery  act  of  consummating  his  first  great  crime.  The  more 
closely  we  examine  it,  the  more  we  shall  find  it  to  be  devoid  of  all  genuine  com- 
punction. This  character  is  one  of  intense  selfishness,  and  is  therefore  incapable  of 
any  true  moral  repugnance  to  inflicting  injury  upon  others ;  it  shrinks  only  from 
encountering  public  odium,  and  the  retribution  which  that  may  produce.  Once 
persuaded  that  these  will  be  avoided,  Macbeth  falters  not  in  proceeding  to  aj^ly  the 
dagger  to  the  throat  of  his  sleeping  guest.  But  here  comes  the  display  of  the  other 
part  of  his  character, — that  extreme  nervous  irritability,  which,  combined  with  an  B 
active  intellect,  produces  in  him  so  much  highly  poetical  rumination, — and  at  the 
same  time,  being  unaccompanied  with  the  slightest  portion  of  self-command,  subjects  I 
him  to  such  signal  moral  cowardice.  We  feel  bound  the  more  earnestly  to  solicit  ' 
the  reader's  attention  to  this  distinction,  since,  though  so  clearly  evident  when  once' 
pointed  out,  it  has  escaped  the  penetration  of  some  even  of  the  most  eminent  critics. 
The  poetry  delivered  by  Macbeth,  let  us  repeat,  is  not  the  poetry  inspired  by  a  glow- 
ing or  even  a  feeling  heart, — it  springs  exclusively  from  a  morbidly  irritable  fancy. 
We  hesitate  not  to  say,  that  his  wife  mistakes,  when  she  apprehends  that  the  <  milk 
of  human  kindness'  will  prevent  him  from  'catching  the  nearest  way.'  The  fact  is 
that,  until  after  the  banquet  scene,  she  mistakes  his  character  throughout.  She  judges 
of  it  too  much  from  her  own.  Possessing  generous  feeling  herself,  she  is  susceptible 
of  remorse.  Full  of  self-control,  and  afflicted  with  no  feverish  imagination,  she  is 
dismayed  by  no  vague  apprehensions,  no  fantastic  fears.  Consequently,  when  her 
husband  is  withheld  from  his  crime  simply  by  that  dread  of  contingent  consequences 
which  his  fancy  so  infinitely  exaggerates,  she,  little  able  to  conceive  of  this,  naturally 
ascribes  some  part  of  his  repugnance  to  that  '  milk  of  human  kindness,'  those  '  com- 
punctious visitings  of  nature,'  of  which  she  can  conceive.  .  .  .  The  perturbation 
which  seizes  Macbeth  the  instant  he  has  struck  the  fatal  blow,  springs  not,  we  repeat, 
from  the  slightest  consideration  for  his  victim.  It  is  but  the  necessary  recoil  in  the 
mind  of  every  moral  coward,  upon  the  final  performance  of  any  decisive  act  from 
which  accumulating  selfish  apprehensions  have  long  withheld  him, — heightened 
and  exaggerated  by  that  excessive  morbid  irritability  which,  after  his  extreme  sel- 
fishness, forms  the  next  great  moral  characteristic  of  Macbeth.  It  is  the  sense  of 
all  the  possible  consequences  to  himself ,  and  that  alone,  which  rushes  instantly  and 
overwhelmingly  upon  his  excitable  fancy,  so  as  to  thunder  its  denunciations  in  his 
very  ears. 

The  following  scene  shews  us  Macbeth  when  his  paroxysm  ensuing  upon  the  act 
of  murder  has  quite  spent  itself,  and  he  is  become  quite  himself  again, — that  is,  the 
cold-blooded,  cowardly,  and  treacherous  assassin.  Let  any  one  who  may  have  been 
disposed,  with  most  of  the  critics,  to  believe  that  Shakespeare  has  delineated  Mac- 
beth as  a  character  originally  remorseful,  well  consider  that  speech  of  most  elabo- 
rate, refined,  and  cold-blooded  hypocrisy,  in  which,  so  speedily  after  his  poetical 
whinings  over  his  own  misfortune  in  murdering  Duncan,  he  alleges  his  motives  for 
killing  the  two  sleeping  attendants.  Assuredly,  too,  the  dramatist  had  his  reasons 
for  causing  Macbeth' s  hypocritically  pathetic  description  of  the  scene  of  the  murder 
to  be  thus  publicly  delivered  in  the  presence  of  her  whose  hands  have  had  so  large 
a  share  in  giving  it  that  particular  aspect.  It  lends  double  force  to  this  most  char- 
acteristic trait  of  Macbeth' s  deportment,  that  he  should  not  be  moved  even  by  his 
lady's  presence  from  delivering  his  affectedly  indignant  description  of  that  bloody 
spectacle,  in  terms  which  must  so  vividly  recall  to  her  mind's  eye  the  sickening 
objects  which  his  own  moral  cowardice  had  compelled  her  to  gaze  upon.     His 


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CRITICISMS  405 

words  draw  from  Lady  Macbeth  the  instant  exclamation,  *  Help  me  hence,  ho !' 
And  shortly  after  she  is  carried  out,  still  in  a  fainting  state.  ...  It  is  most  im- 
portant, in  order  to  judge  aright  of  Shakespeare's  metaphysical,  moral,  and  religious 
meaning  in  this  great  composition,  that  we  should  not  mistake  him  as  having  repre- 
sented that  spirits  of  darkness  are  here  permitted  absolutely  and  gratuitously  to 
seduce  his  hero  from  a  state  of  perfectly  innocent  intention.  It  is  plain  that  such  an 
error  at  the  outset  vitiates  and  debases  the  moral  to  be  dmwn  from  the  whole  piece. 
Macbeth  does  not  project  the  murder  of  Duncan  because  of  his  encounter  with  the 
weird  sisters ;  the  weird  sisters  encounter  him  because  he  has  projected  the  murder, — 
because  they  know  him  better  than  his  royal  master  does,  who  tells  us,  '  There  is  no 
art  to  find  the  mind's  construction  in  the  face.'  But  these  ministers  of  evil  are 
privileged  to  see  '  the  mind's  construction '  where  human  eye  cannot  penetrate, — in 
the  mind  itself.  They  repair  to  the  blasted  heath  because,  as  one  of  them  says  after- 
wards of  Macbeth,  *  something  wicked  this  way  comes.'  In  the  next  two  lines, — 
'  I  come,  Graymalkin ! — Paddock  calls,' — we  perceive  the  connection  of  these  beings 
with  the  world  invisible  and  inaudible  to  mortal  senses.  It  is  only  through  these 
mysterious  answers  of  theirs  that  we  know  anything  of  the  other  beings  whom  they 
name  thus  grotesquely,  sufficiently  indicating  spirits  of  deformity  akin  to  themselves, 
and  like  themselves  rejoicing  in  that  elemental  disturbance  into  which  they  mingle 
as  they  vanish  from  our  view. . . . 

In  V,  iii,  27-33,  ^«  ^^^  mere  poetical  whining  over  his  own  most  merited  situa- 
tion. Yet  Hazlitt,  amongst  others,  talks  of  him  as  '  calling  back  all  our  sympathy ' 
by  this  reflection.  Sympathy  indeed !  for  the  exquisitely  refined  selfishness  of  this 
most  odious  personage  I  • 

Macbeth,  let  us  observe,  is  an  habitual  soliloquist ;  there  was  no  need  of  any 
somnambulism  to  disclose  to  us  his  inmost  soul.  But  it  would  have  been  inconsistent 
with  Lady  Macbeth' s  powers  and  habits  of  self-control  that  her  guilty  oonsdonsness 
should  have  made  its  way  so  distincdy  through  her  lips  in  her  waking  moments. 
Her  sleep-walking  scene,  therefore,  becomes  a  matter  of  physiological  truth  no  less 
than  of  dramatic  necessity. .  . . 

Although  the  dramatist  has  clearly  represented  his  hero  and  heroine  as  persons 
of  middle  age,  and  absorbed  in  an  ambitious  enterprise  which  little  admits  of  any 
of  the  lighter  expressions  of  conjugal  tenderness,  yet  the  words  which  drop  from 
Macbeth,— yny  dearest  love,*  'dearest  chuck,'  'sweet  remembrancer.V  etc. — do 
imply  a  very  genuinely  feminine  attraction  on  the  part  of  his  wife.  As  for  mere 
complexion,  in  this  instance,  as  in  most  others,  Shakespeare,  perhaps  for  obvious 
reasons  of  theatrical  convenience,  appears  to  have  given  no  particular  indication,  but 
that  he  conceived  his  Lady  Macbeth  as  decidedly  and  even  softly  feminine  in  person, 
results  not  only  from  the  language  addressed  to  her  by  her  husband,  but  from  all 
that  we  know  of  those  principles  of  harmonious  contrast  which  Shakespeare  invaria- 
bly follows  in  his  greatest  works.  In  the  present  instance  it  pleased  him  to  reverse 
the  usual  order  of  things  by  attributing  to  his  hero  what  is  commonly  regarded  as 
the  feminine  irritability  of  fancy  and  infinnity  of  resolution.  To  render  this  pecu- 
liarity of  character  more  striking,  he  has  contrasted  it  with  the  most  undoubted 
physical  courage,  personal  strength,  and  prowess ; — in  short,  he  has  combined  in 
Macbeth  an  eminently  masculine  person  with  a  spirit  in  other  respects  eminently 
feminine,  but  utterly  wanting  the  feminine  generosity  of  affection.  To  this  character, 
thus  contrasted  within  itself,  he  has  opposed  a  female  character  presenting  a  contrast 
exactly  the  reverse  of  the  former.     No  one  doubts  that  he  has  shown  us  in  the  spirit 


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4o6  APPENDIX 

of  Lady  Macbeth  that  masculine  finnness  of  will  which  he  has  made  wanting  in  her 
husband.  The  strictest  analogy,  then,  would  lead  him  to  complete  the  harmonizing 
contrast  of  the  two  characters  by  enshrining  this  *  undaunted  mettle '  of  hers  in  a 
frame  as  exquisitely  feminine  as  her  husband's  is  magnificently  manly.  This  was 
requisite,  also,  in  order  to  make  her  taunts  of  Macbeth's  irresolution  operate  with 
the  fullest  intensity.  Such  sentiments  from  the  lips  of  what  is  called  a  masculine- 
looking  or  speaking  woman,  have  little  moral  energy  compared  with  what  they 
derive  from  the  ardent  utterance  of  a  delicately  feminine  voice  and  nature.  Mrs 
Siddons  then,  we  believe,  judged  more  correctly  in  this  matter  than  the  public. 

Hallam  (iii,  p.  310) :  The  majority  of  readers,  I  believe,  assign  to  Macbeth  . . . 
the  pre-eminence  among  the  works  of  Shakespeare ;  many,  however,  would  rather 
name  Othello^  and  a  few  might  prefer  Lear  to  either.  The  great  epic  drama,  as  the 
first  may  be  called,  deserves  in  my  own  judgement,  the  post  it  has  attained,  as  being, 
in  the  language  of  Drake,  '  the  greatest  effort  of  our  author*  s  genius,  the  most  sub- 
lime and  impressive  drama  which  the  world  has  ever  beheld.' 

Hunter  {^New  lUustrtOions,  ii,  158) :  This  play  has  more  the  air  of  being  a  draft, 
if  not  unfinished,  yet  requiring  to  be  retouched  and  written  more  in  full  by  its  author, 
than  any  other  of  his  greater  works.  Full  of  incident  as  it  is,  it  is  still  one  of  the 
shortest  of  the  plays.  Like  The  Tempest  in  this  respect,  we  feel  that  it  would  be 
better  if  it  were  longer.  We  want  more  of  the  subdued  and  calm.  There  are 
also  more  passages  than  in  other  plays  which  seem  to  be  carried  beyond  the  just 
limits  which  part  the  true  sublime  from  the  inflated  or  the  obscure, — ^passages 
which  we  may  suppose  to  have  been  in  the  mind  of  Jonson  when  he  said  of 
the  soaring  genius  of  Shakespeare,  *  sufflaminandus  est  J  What  might  not  Mac- 
beth have  been  had  the  Poet  been  induced  to  sit  down  with  the  play,  as  it  now 
is,  before  him,  and  to  direct  upon  it  the  full  force  of  his  judgement  and  fine 
taste,  removing  here  and  there  a  too  luxuriant  expression,  and  giving  us  here  and 
there  a  breadth  of  verdure  on  which  the  mind  might  find  a  momentary  repose  and 
refresh  itself  amidst  the  multitude  of  exciting  incidents  which  come  in  too  rapid  a 
succession  upon  us !  .  . .  There  can  hardly  be  a  doubt  that  there  are  very  serious 
corruptions  in  the  text  of  Macbeth^  for  which  the  author  cannot  be  held  responsible, 
except  indeed  we  take  the  ground  that  he  ought  not  to  have  scattered  such  precious 
leaves  to  the  wind. 

It  is  of  Shakespeare  himself  improving  Shakespeare  that  I  speak,  for  any  efforts 
by  any  other  hand  have  but  disfigured  and  debased  what  he  had  left  us.  Who  more 
worthy,  if  any,  to  make  the  attempt  than  Dryden  or  D'Avenant?  both  great  poets, 
and  both  living  before  the  Genius  of  the  age  of  Shakespeare  and  Spenser  had  wholly 
lost  his  influence.  They  jointly  practised  on  77u  Tempest^  but  when  we  look  at  the 
result  we  see  that  there  is  a  circle  in  which  none  should  walk  but  the  great  master 
spirit  himself.  The  same  may  be  said  of  D*Avenant's  alterations  of  Macbeth,  The 
chief  of  them  is  to  make  the  Witches  occupy  a  larger  space  in  the  play,  probably 
that  there  might  be  more  music.  The  effect  of  this  is,  that  the  just  balance  of  the 
several  parts  is  not  only  disturbed,  but  destroyed.  It  has  also  this  other  unfortunate 
effect,  that  the  mind  is  too  much  drawn  off  from  the  remits  to  the  previous  prepa- 
rations. 

The  connection  of  the  story  with  the  family  which  had  become  seated  on  the 
English  throne,  the  lustre  which  it  cast  upon  the  family  when  looked  at  as  a  gene- 


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CRITICISMS  407 

alogist  not  over-solicitous  abont  his  authorities  would  contemplate  it,  and  the  striking 
character  of  the  incidents  themselves,  appear  to  have  kept  the  story  very  much  in 
the  eye  of  the  public  in  the  interval  between  the  first  performance  of  this  play  and 
the  close  of  the  theatres,  when  a  fatal  doom  was  impending  over  one  of  the  princes, 
who  in  innocence  and  mirth  had  been  greeted  by  the  wayward  sisters  at  the  gate  of 
Saint  John's.  It  is  alluded  to^in  Burton's  Anatomy  of  Melancholy ;  and  Hey  wood 
tells  the  story  at  large,  but  with  some  remarkable  variations,  in  his  Hierarchy  of  the 
Blessed  Angels,  In  particular  he  makes  the  Witches  <  three  virgins  wond'rous  fair  As 
well  in  habit  as  in  features  rare,'  and  he  represents  Banquo  as  dying  at  a  banquet, 
not  killed  by  Macbeth.  Very  inartificially  he  calls  him  *  Banquo-Stuart.'  Macbeth 
also,  in  Heywood,  is  slain  by  Malcolm. 

Beside  the  main  subject  of  the  midnight  murder  of  a  King  sleeping  in  the  house 
of  one  of  his  nobles,  and  surrounded  by  his  guards,  the  death  and  appearance  of  the 
ghost  of  Banquo,  and  the  whole  machinery  and  prophecy  of  the  wayward  sisters, 
with  the  interior  view  of  a  castle  in  which  is  a  conscience-stricken  Monarch  reduced 
to  the  extremity  of  a  siege,  the  Poet  seems  to  have  intended  to  concentrate  in  this 
play  many  of  the  more  thrilling  incidents  of  physical  and  metaphysical  action.  The 
midnight  shriek  of  women ;  sleep,  with  its  stranger  accidents,  such  as  laughing,  talk- 
ing, walking,  as  produced  by  potions,  as  disturbed  by  dreams,  as  full  of  wicked 
thoughts ;  the  hard  beating  of  the  heart ;  the  parched  state  of  the  mouth  in  an  hour 
of  desperate  guilt ;  the  rou^ng  of  the  hair  at  a  dismal  treatise ;  physiognomy ;  men 
of  manly  hearts  moved  to  tears ;  the  wild  thoughts  which  haunt  the  mind  of  guilt, 
as  in  the  air-drawn  dagger,  and  the  fancy  that  sleep  was  slain  and  the  slayer  should 
know  its  comforts  no  more ;  death  in  some  of  its  stranger  varieties, — the  soldier 
dying  of  wounds  not  bound  up,  the  spent  swimmer,  the  pilot  wrecked  on  his  way 
home^  the  horrible  mode  of  Macdonnel's  death,  the  massacre  of  a  mother  and  her 
children,  the  hired  assassins  perpetrating  their  work  on  the  belated  travellers, — these 
are  but  a  portion  of  the  terrible  circumstances  attendant  on  the  main  events  of  this 
tragic  tale. 

He  goes  for  similar  circumstances  to  the  elements,  and  to  the  habits  of  animals 
about  which  superstitions  had  gathered, — ^the  flitting  of  the  bat,  the  flight  of  the  crow 
to  the  rooky  wood,  the  fights  of  the  owl  and  the  falcon,  and  of  the  owl  and  the  wren, 
the  scream  of  the  owl,  the  chirping  of  the  cricket,  the  croak  of  the  prophetic  raven, 
and  bark  of  the  wolf,  the  horses  devouring  one  another,  the  pitchy  darkness  of  night, 
the  murky  darkness  of  a  lurid  day,  a  storm  rattling  in  the  battlements  of  an  ancient 
fortress, — we  have  all  this  before  we  have  passed  the  bounds  of  nature  and  entered 
the  regions  of  metaphysical  agency. 

There  we  have  the  spirits  which  tend  on  mortal  thoughts,  the  revelations  by 
magot-pies,  the  moving  of  stones,  the  speaking  of  trees,  and  lamentings  heard  in  the 
air,  and  almost  the  whole  of  the  mythology  of  the  wayward  sisters, — their  withered 
and  wild  attire,  their  intercourse  with  their  Queen,  their  congr^ating  in  the  hour  of 
storms  on  heaths  which  the  lightning  has  scathed,  the  strange  instruments  employed 
by  them,  the  mode  of  their  operations,  and  their  compelling  the  world  invisible  to 
disclose  the  secrets  of  futurity. 

D.  J.  Snider  (i,  172)  :  Macbeth  can  be  divided  into  two  distinct  worlds,  which 
are  the  threads  of  the  entire  action — the  supernatural  and  the  natural.  These  terms 
are  not  completely  antithetic,  but  they  are  sufficient  to  convey  the  meaning  which  is 
intended  to  be  conveyed.     The  supernatural  world  is  that  of  the  Weird  Sisters,  who 


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408  APPENDIX 

seem  to  enter  the  action  from  the  outside  and  direct  its  conrse.  They  appear  to 
Macbeth  twice ;  the  essential  toming-points  of  his  career  are  thns  marked.  The 
first  time  they  incite  him  to  guilt,  the  second  time  they  lead  him  to  retribution.  . . . 
^The  natural  world  is  composed  of  two  well-defined  groups.  In  the  first  are  those 
whom  the  Weird  Sisters  determine — Banquo,  Macbeth,  and,  less  directly  and  less 
strongly.  Lady  Macbeth.  They  manifest  a  r^ular  gradation  in  their  relations 
towards  this  external  power ;  Banquo  resists  its  temptations  wholly ;  Lady  Macbeth 
yields  to  them  wholly,  or,  rather,  brings  to  their  aid  her  own  strength  of  will ; 
Macbeth  fluctuates — ^resisting  at  first,  but  finally  yielding.  These  characters  also 
manifest  the  influence  of  imagination  with  greater  or  less  intensity ;  they  have,  in 
particular,  the  double  element  above  mentioned,  for  they  are  impelled  both  by 
external  shapes  and  by  internal  motives.  The  second  group  of  the  natural  world 
comprises  Duncan  and  the  remaining  persons  of  the  play  who  do  not  come  in  con- 
tact with  the  Weird  Sisters,  nor  are  directly  influenced  by  their  utterances.  But  this 
group  is,  for  the  most  part,  set  in  motion  by  the  first  group  of  the  natural  worid ; 
both  move  along  together  at  first,  and  then  collide.  The  external  element  thus 
reaches  through  the  entire  play ;  the  first  impulse  is  given  by  the  Weird  Sisters ;  is 
received  by  one  set  of  characters ;  through  these  is  transmitted  to  a  still  difl*erent  set 
of  characters,  who  finally  react,  punish  the  usurper,  and  restore  the  rightful  king. 
The  first  group,  it  ought  to  be  added,  disintegrates  within  itself,  for  Banquo 
refuses  to  listen  to  the  advances  of  Macbeth,  seeks  to  avenge  the  murder  of  Dun- 
can, and  at  last  is  destroyed  by  his  comrade  in  arms. . . .  Shakespeare  has  not  intro- 
duced a  double  guilt  into  this  drama ;  hence  the  fate  of  only  one  set  of  characters 
is  adequately  motived.  For  the  death  of  Duncan,  of  Banquo,  and  of  Macdufi''s 
family,  there  can  be  found  no  justification  from  their  deeds.  Critics  have  sought  to 
make  out  a  case  against  them,  but  without  success.*  They  have  committed  no  eth- 
ical violation  worthy  of  death ;  they  are  innocent  beings  overwhelmed  in  a  catas- 
trophe from  without ;  and  this  is  deeply  consistent  with  the  form  and  movement  of 
the  play,  which  exhibits  fate — external  determination.  The  Weird  Sisters,  the  instru- 
ments of  destiny,  give  Macbeth  his  impulse ;  he  is  driven  upon  these  guiltless  victims, 
who  fall  because  they  stand  in  the  way  of  a  mighty  force.  Such  is  the  outward  form, 
though  it  must  not  be  thought  that  Macbeth  is  released  from  the  responsibility  of  his 
act  The  inner  truth  is  that  these  shapes  are  himself—his  own  desires,  his  own 
ambition.  The  peculiarity  of  the  present  work  is  that  the  ethical  elements,  usually 
the  most  prominent,  are  withdrawn  into  the  background  to  make  room  for  another 
principle. . . .  The  main  interest  is  psychological ;  the  activities  of  the  mind  seem  to 
leap  at  once  into  independent  forms  of  the  imagination.  Although  Macbeth  knows 
abstractly  of  his  own  ambition,  still  his  chief  temptation  seems  to  spring  from  the 
phantoms  of  the  air ;  and,  though  an  external  punishment  is  brought  home  to  him, 
still  his  retribution  as  well  as  that  of  his  wife  is  mainly  found  in  the  fantastic  work- 
ings of  the  brain.  Judging  by  its  language,  its  treatment,  its  theme,  we  may  call 
this  play  the  Tragedy  of  the  Imagination. — Ed.  ii. 

A.  RoFFE  (An  Essay  upon  the  Ghost  Belief  of  Shakespeare^  p.  i8  [privately 
printed,  London,  1851]) :  In  an  essay  upon  Macbeth  may  be  found  the  following 
passage  of  criticism,  in  the  sceptical  school  (as  usual),  relative  to  the  Ghost  of  Ban- 
quo  :  <  If  we  believe  in  the  reality  of  the  Ghost  as  a  shape  or  shadow  existent  without 
the  mind  of  Macbeth,  and  not  exclusively  within  it,  we  shall  have  difficulties  which 

*  See  Appendix:  German  Criticisms.--G£RVINUS. 


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CRITICISMS  409 

may  be  pot  under  two  heads — Why  did  the  Ghost  come  ?  Why  did  he  go,  on  Mac- 
beth's  approach,  and  at  his  bidding  ? ...  It  is  clear  from  the  scene,  that  Macbeth 
drove  it  away,  and  also  that  he  considered  it  as  much  an  illusion  as  his  wife  would 
fain  have  had  him,  when  she  whispered  about  the  air-drawn  dagger.'  This  piece 
of  criticism  is  cited  on  account  of  its  mode  of  testing  the  question  of  objective  reality. 
With  sceptics,  by  the  way,  very  curiously,  a  ghost  is  always  expected  to  be  thor- 
oughly reasonable  in  every  one  of  its  comings  and  goings,  although  uniformly  men 
are  not  so.  What,  however,  for  the  present  we  would  eamesdy  request  of  the  sceptic 
is,  to  do  with  these  apparendy  abnormal  things  as  he  would  with  any  branch  of  nat- 
ural science ;  that  is,  enquire  as  to  facts.  He  would  then  find  that  the  instances  are 
indeed  numerous  in  which  persons,  just  deceased,  appear  to  those  whom  they  have 
known  and  then  quickly  disappear.  These  passing  manifestations  also  occasionally 
take  place  when  the  person  appearing  is  not  either  dead  or  dying  :  neither  does  it 
follow  necessarily  that  the  person  seeing,  or,  as  the  sceptic  would  say,  fancying  that 
he  sees,  must  always  be  thinking  of  the  one  seen.  An  examination  into  the  general 
facts  leads  to  the  conclusion  that  thought  of  the  person  appeared  to,  on  the  part  of 
the  one  appearing,  is  the  cause,  according  to  certain  laws  of  the  internal  world,  of 
the  manifestations,  which  should  therefore,  it  is  conceived,  be  understood  as  having 
an  objective  reality.  This  theory  and  its  facts  must  be  considered  in  judging  of 
Shakespeare's  intentions.  Of  him  we  should  always  think  as  of  the  artist  and 
student  of  nature,  until  it  can  be  shown  that  he  ever  forgets  himself  in  those  char- 
acters. 

While  treating  upon  this  subject,  let  it  be  observed,  that  it  is  the  scepticism  as  to 
the  objective  reality  of  Banquo's  Ghost  which  has  originated  the  question  as  to 
whether  he  should  be  made  visible  to  the  spectators  in  the  theatre,  since,  as  the 
sceptics  observe,  he  is  invisible  to  all  the  assembled  guests,  and  does  not  speak  at 
all.  But  for  this  scepticism,  it  would  never  have  been  doubted  that  the  Ghost  should 
be  made  visible  to  the  theatre,  although  he  is  invisible  to  Macbeth' s  company,  and 
although  no  words  are  assigned  to  him.  This  doubt  existing,  illustrates  to  us  how 
stage-management  itself  is  affected  by  the  philosophy  which  may  prevail  upon  cer- 
tain subjects.  Upon  the  Spiritualist  view,  Banquo's  Ghost,  and  the  Witches  them- 
selves, are  all  in  the  same  category,  all  belonging  to  the  spiritual  world,  and  seen  by 
the  spiritual  eye  ;  and  the  mere  fact  that  the  Ghost  does  not  speak,  is  felt  to  have  no 
bearing  at  all  upon  the  question  of  his  presentation  as  an  objective  reality. 

The  Spiritualist,  when  contending  for  the  absolute  objectivity  of  Banquo's  Ghost, 
may  possibly  be  asked  whether  he  also  claims  a  like  reality  for  *  the  air-drawn 
dagger.'  To  this  he  would  reply,  that,  to  the  best  of  his  belief,  a  like  reality  was 
not  to  be  affirmed  of  that  dagger,  which  he  conceives  to  have  been  a  representation^ 
in  the  spiritual  world,  of  a  dagger,  not,  however,  being  on  that  account  less  real  (if 
by  unreality  we  are  to  understand  that  it  was,  in  some  incomprehensible  way,  gen- 
erated in  the  material  brain),  but  only  differing  from  what  we  should  term  a  real 
bond  fide  dagger,  as  a  painting  of  a  dagger  differs  from  a  real  one. 

That  the  spiritual  world  must  have  its  representations  as  well  as  its  realities^  is  a 
point  which  has  already  been  touched  upon,  and  this  dagger,  called  by  Lady  Mac- 
beth 'the  air-drawn  dagger,'  we  suppose  to  be  one  of  those  representations.  Its 
objective  reality,  however,  still  remains  untouched ;  for,  once  grant  that  the  spiritual 
world  is  a  real  world, — ^nay,  the  most  real  world, — and  it  follows  that  whatsoever 
is  represented  in  it  has  its  basis  in  reality,  as  much  as  an  imitative  dagger  in  a  paint- 
ing has  its  basis  in  the  colours  and  canvas,  which  are  also  realities. 


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4IO  APPENDIX 

The  belief  that  every  man  is  attended  by  spirits,  both  good  and  evil,  is  not  uncon- 
nected with  this  view  concerning  represented  objects  in  the  spiritual  world.  That  our 
thoughts  appear  to  be  injections  is  within  every  one's  experience,  and  the  guardian 
angel  and  the  tempting  demon  are  constantly  admitted  in  poetical  language,  or  the 
language  of  the  feelings^  because  they  are  felt  to  be  truths.  If  then  thoughts,  both 
good  and  evil,  are  what  they  appear  to  be,  injections, — ^whlch  injected  thoughts  we 
are  free  to  receive  or  to  reject, — they  must  be  from  a  source  capable  of  thought, 
namely,  from  the  inhabitants  of  the  spiritual  world.  From  that  same  source  would 
also  come  those  vivid  representations,  such  as  that  of  the  '  air-drawn  dagger,'  which 
are  felt  to  be  in  harmony  with  our  present  train  of  thoughts.  That  the'dagger  should 
have  this  kind  of  reality  is  quite  consistent  with  Macbeth' s  reflections  upon  it  As 
being  a  representation  to  the  internal  sight  only  (for  it  is  presumed  that  all  would 
agree  that  it  was  not  depicted  on  the  retina  of  the  external  eye),  he  cannot,  of  course, 
clutch  it  with  his  bodily  hands,  nor,  indeed,  even  with  his  spiritual  hands.  . . . 

The  fact  of  the  change  which  Macbeth  perceives,  as  to  the  dagger,  is,  we  conceive, 
quite  in  harmony  with  the  doctrine  here  advocated,  of  spiritual  representations. 
J^rst  of  all,  he  sees  simply  a  dagger,  marshalling  him  upon  his  way,  but  afterwards 
he  sees  upon  its  blade  and  handle  spots  of  blood,  '  which  was  not  so  before.'  Hyp- 
notism, as  we  are  informed,  continually  displays  facts  similar  to  this  of  the  '  air-drawn 
dagger,'  in  which  the  mind,  having  been  artificially  fixed  upon  some  point,  becomes 
so  much  open  to  the  power  of  another  mind  as  to  see  representations  of  the  injected 
or  suggested  thoughts.  You  can  cause  the  patient  to  see,  as  it  were,  a  lamb,  and  you 
can  change  this  lamb  at  your  will  into  a  wolf.  The  Spiritualist  does  not  desire  any 
one  to  think  that  these  are  real  lambs  or  wolves ;  he  is  content  to  have  it  admitted 
that  they  are  real  representations  of  them,  reflected  upon  the  interned  or  spiritual  eye^ 
and  he  is  not  aware  of  anything  which  should  oblige  us  to  believe  that  at^  sight  is 
possible  without  some  sight-organisation^  such  as  is  the  eye,  and  such  as  is  not  the 
brain,  apart  from  the  eye. 

Mr  Fletcher  maintains  that  Banqno's  Ghost  should  be  no  more  visible  on  the 
stage  than  the  air-drawn  dagger.  We  fully  believe  that  there  is  a  most  powerful 
stage-reason,  namely,  intelligibility^  for  making  the  Ghost  of  Banquo  visible  to  the 
theatre;  but  that  reason  does  not  apply  to  the  dagger, — ^because  what  is  spoken 
by  Macbeth  makes  intelligible  all  that  he  experiences  with  respect  to  that  dagger. 
Also,  when  we  go  on  to  perceive  that  the  spiritual  world  has,  and  must  have,  not 
only  its  realities^  but  its  representations  likewise,— of  which  last  the  dagger  is  appa- 
rently one, — we  have  an  additional  aigument  still,  to  show  that  the  reasoning  which 
may  belong  to  Banquo' s  Ghost  would  not  necessarily  apply,  in  all  its  points,  to  this 
appearance  of  the  dagger.  It  should,  however,  be  noted,  that  the  Spiritualist  does 
not  venture  to  say,  that  under  no  circumstances  should  the  dagger  be  made  visible  to 
the  theatre ;  he  believes  that,  supposing  Macbeth  superintended  and  performed  by 
persons  who  seriously  pondered  the  questions  of  the  spiritual  worid,  and  the  play 
also  witnessed  by  a  theatre  of  such  persons,  the  idea  of  making  the  dagger  visible 
might  be,  at  least,  entertained;  because  all  concerned  would  look  at  the  whole  a£Gur 
from  a  grave  point  of  view,  and  would  not  be  on  the  search  for  the  ridiculous, — 
which  search  is,  indeed,  frequently  nothing  else  but  an  effect  of  ignorance  or 
thoughtlessness.  . . . 

Dr  Mayo  (Letters  upon  the  Truths  contaiued  in  Popular  Superstitions)  unites 
with  the  general  body  of  the  sceptics  in  pronouncing  the  clothing  of  spirits  to  be 
alone  enough  to  destroy  our  belief  in  any  objective  reality  for  the  wearers  of  the 


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CRITICISMS  411 

clothes. . . .  Very  wonderful,  certainly,  to  the  Spiritualist  is  the  logic  of  Scepti- 
cism,— there  cannot  be  real  coats  and  waistcoats  in  the  spiritual  world!  that  is 
enough  to  settle  the  question  as  to  the  reality  of  the  wearers,  although  if  such  argu- 
ments are  to  be  persisted  in,  they  may  as  well  be  applied  at  once  to  the  bodily  form 
itself  of  the  spirit.  In  the  natural  world  a  man's  body  is  as  much  from  the  elements 
of  nature  as  his  coat  and  Ms  waistcoat  are.  The  truth  is,  that  to  deny  that  the  spirit- 
ual world  is,  to  the  spiritual  man,  objective  and  similar  to  the  natural  world,  is  tanta- 
mount to  denying  it  altogether ;  for  who  can  really  believe  in  that  of  which  he  has 
no  conception  ;  and  without  objectivity  there  is  no  conception,  either  in  the  worlds 
of  matter  or  of  mind.  Such  denials,  as  Dr  Mayors,  are  an  assuming  to  be  wiser 
than  are  the  great  artists  who  represent  what  is  spiritual  by  forms,  and  thereby 
somewhat  minister  to  an  earnest  want  of  the  mind,  which  want  is  in  itself  alone 
enough  to  show  that  all  scepticism  involves  nothing  less  than  a  separation  of  the 
intellect  from  the  feelings,  to  the  infinite  detriment  of  the  former.  Dr  Mayo  con- 
ceives that  all  is  set  at  rest  by  asking,  <  Whence  come  the  aerial  coats  and  waist- 
coats ?'  but  suppose  the  question  tested  by  an  inversion  of  itself,  and  that  we  should 
ask.  Whence  come  what  Dr  Mayo  conceives  to  be  the  real  coats  and  waistcoats  ? 
It  must  then  be  replied  that  all  nature  and  its  substances  are  of  a  divine  and  spirit- 
ual origin,  and  that  when  a  man  makes  up  some  of  those  substances  into  the  forms 
of  coats  and  waistcoats,  those  forms  are  also  of  a  spiritual  origin,  because  the  man 
contrives  them  by  a  spiritual  act. 

J.  F.  KiRKE  {Atlantic  Monthly ,  April,  1895)  :  Macbeth  may  be  called  a  typical 
Elizabethan  drama,  in  the  same  sense  in  which  the  (Edipus  Tyrannus  has  been 
called  a  typical  Greek  drama;  bearing  the  same  analogy,  though  not  the  same 
resemblance,  which  King  Lear  bears  to  the  (Edipus  Coloneus,  It  is  distinguished 
by  concentration  and  rapid  movement  of  action,  and  by  the  absence  of  subordinate 
complications  partaking  of  the  nature  of  digression,  or  conunentary. .  . . 

The  version  of  his  story  which  Shakespeare  borrowed  from  Holinshed  was  a 
creation  of  the  popular  imagination,  working  upon  dimly-remembered  facts,  inter- 
preting them  by  its  own  familiar  processes,  and  thus  not  only  adorning  the  tale,  but 
pointing  the  moral.  The  result  of  this  operation,  in  the  present  case,  was  to  trans- 
form one  of  the  commonest  events  of  mediaeval  history  into  an  unconscious  repro- 
duction in  mediaeval  guise  of  the  story  of  the  Fall  of  Man.  Here  is  essentially  the 
same  situation,  with  the  same  natural  and  supernatural  agencies.  In  both  there  is 
the  violation  of  the  divine  command — *  Ye  shall  not  eat,*  'Thou  shalt  not  kill*; 
in  both  there  is  the  tempter  seeking  to  defeat  the  will  of  the  Almighty — ^the  subtle 
serpent,  the  witches,  or  the  power  which  they  serve ;  in  both  there  is  the  delusive 
assurance,  keeping  the  word  of  promise  to  the  ear,  and  breaking  it  to  the  hope — 
'  Ye  shall  not  surely  die,'  '  No  man  [sic]  of  woman  bom  shall  harm  Macbeth ' ;  in 
both  there  are  the  husband  and  the  wife,  the  woman  the  bolder  of  the  two,  not 
only  an  accomplice,  but  an  instigator  of  the  deed.  .  . . 

One  might  have  expected  that  Macbeth  would  prove  the  most  popular  of  Shake- 
speare's tragedies,  both  with  the  actors  and  with  audiences.  Such  has,  however, 
not  been  the  case.  Except  on  rare  occasions,  Macbeth,  despite  its  apparent  suprem- 
acy as  an  <  acting  play,'  has  less  attraction  than  Lear,  Othello,  and,  above  all,  Hamlet, 
Nor  is  the  reason  far  to  seek.  Of  the  two  elements  which  Aristotle*  s  definition  requires 
in  tragedy,  it  has  but  one.  It  works  by  terror  alone,  and  does  not  touch  the  springs 
of  pity.    It  has  no  bursts  and  swells  of  pathos,  no  outpours  of  tenderness,  no  sweet 


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412  APPENDIX 

dews  of  hapless  love.  Lacking  these,  it  lacks  charm.  The  characters  on  whom  the 
interest  is  concentrated  are  not  the  innocent  sufferers,  but  the  guilty  workers  of  woe, 
and,  if  not  outcasts  from  our  S3rmpathy  in  the  woe  they  thereby  bring  upon  them- 
selves, they  are  far  firom  making  any  demands  upon  our  affection.  Macbeth  stands 
alone  among  Shakespeare's  great  productions  as  a  picture  of  chme  and  retribution 
unrelieved  by  any  softer  features.  Like  some  awful  Alpin^^ak,  girdled  with  glaciers 
and  abysses,  with  no  glimpses  of  flower-bespangled  vales  and  pastures. 

This  sternness  renders  the  ethical  motive,  without  which  tragedy  is  invertebrate, 
especially  prominent  in  Macbeth,  We  are  never  for  an  instant  beguiled  away  from 
the  contemplation  of  that  spectacle  which  inspires  the  same  kind  of  awe  as  a  ship- 
wreck— that  of  the  temptation,  surrender,  and  perdition  of  a  soul.  What  gives  to  the 
spectacle  its  heroic  proportions  lies  in  the  nature  of  the  seduction  and  in  the  charac- 
ter of  those  who  yield  to  it. 

It  is  somewhat  singular  that  Macbeth  and  his  wife  have  each  found  apologists 
who  seek  to  extenuate  the  criminality  of  the  one  at  the  expense  of  the  other.  Each 
in  turn  has  been  depicted  as  devoid  of  remorse,  as,  in  fact,  incapable  of  this  sentiment. 
Such  a  view  seems  to  proceed  from  a  lack  of  de6niteness  in  the  conception  of  the 
term.  The  remorse  which  is  the  starting-point  of  repentance  and  atonement  cannot 
be  theirs ;  expiation  is  impossible  ;  penitence  were  unavailing.  But  if  remorse  be 
the  gnawing  consciousness  of  guilt,  it  is  apparent  as  the  mental  condition  of  both. 
The  effort  to  stifle  the  voice  of  conscience  would  alone  testify  to  its  existence, — the 
voice  that  speaks  so  loudly  in  Lady  Macbeth' s  declaration  that  'these  deeds  must 
not  be  thought  After  these  ways ;  so,  it  will  make  us  mad^  and  in  Macbeth*s  con- 
fession that  he  has  put  rancors  in  the  vessel  of  his  peace,  and  given  his  etemnl  jewel 
to  the  common  enemy  of  man.  It,  surely,  and  not  the  mere  apprehension  of  earthly 
vengeance,  is  the  source  of  those  terrible  dreams  that  shake  them  nightly.  The  wild 
impulse  to  harden  the  mind  by  the  commission  of  fresh  crimes  is  the  very  delirium 
of  remorse.  It^is  remorse  with  all  its  attendant  horrors  that  overtakes  this  wretched 
pair  and  drags  them  to  their  final  doom.  For  it  is  a  remorse  in  which  there  lurks 
no  hope  of  redemption.     It  is  the  remorse  of  the  damned. — Ed.  ii. 

F.  J.  FURNIVALL  (p.  Ixxvii. ) :  Macbeth  is  the  play  of  conscience,  though  the  workings 
of  that  conscience  are  seen  much  more  clearly  in  Lady  Macbeth  than  in  her  husband. 
The  play  shows,  too,  the  separation  from  man  as  well  as  God,  the  miserable  trust- 
less isolation  that  sin  brings  in  its  train.  As  compared  with  Othello^  the  darkness 
and  terror  close  in  on  us  much  more  rapidly.  [Furnivall  divides  all  the  plajrs 
into  four  groups,  numbered  respectively  ist,  2d,  etc.,  periods ;  these  groups  are  again 
subdivided  and  lettered.  In  the  Third  Period  (1601-1608)  Macbeth  and  Othello 
are  classed  together  under  b.  The  Tempter-yielding  GroupJ\  Before  the  play  opens 
there  must  have  been  consultations  between  the  guilty  pair  on  Duncan's  murder ; 
and  when  the  play  opens  the  pall  of  fiendish  witchcraft  is  over  us  from  the  first.  The 
fall  of  the  tempted  is  terribly  sudden.  The  climax  of  the  play  is  in  the  second  Act, 
not  the  fifth,  and  no  repentance  is  mixed  with  the  vengeance  at  its  dose.  The  only 
relief  is  in  the  galTantry  of  Macbeth,  the  gratitude  of  Duncan,  and  the  pleasant  pic- 
ture of  Macbeth' s  castle  so  well  put  into  Duncan's  and  Banquo's  mouths.  The 
links  with  Othello  are  that  the  hero  is,  like  Othello,  a  great  commander  who  has 
won  many  victories  for  his  State,  that  his  temptation  is  both  from  within  and  with- 
out itself,  that  the  working  of  passion  in  both  is  alike  quick,  that  the  victims  and  the 
murderers  alike  die,  that  Othello  is  accused  of  witchcraft  as  Macbeth  practises  it. 


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CRITICISMS  413 

And  as  the  disappointed  ambition  of  lago  in  not  getting  the  place  given  to  Cassio  is 
the  root  of  all  the  evil  in  Othelloy  so  the  immediate  motive  for  Macbeth's  action  here 
is  the  Prince  of  Cumberland's  nomination  to  the  throne,  which  Macbeth  believed  to 
be  his.  As,  too,  Emilia's  knocking  at  the  door  relieves  the  strain  after  Desdemo- 
na's  murder,  so  does  that  of  the  porter  here  after  Duncan's.  The  murder  of  the 
king  and  the  ghost  of  Banquo  connect  the  play  with  Hamlet^  while  the  portents 
before  Duncan's  death  are  like  those  before  the  death  of  Hamlet's  father  and  Julius 
Caesar.  With  Richard  II L  we  note  the  murderer  clearing  his  way  to  the  throne,  and 
his  enemies  out  of  his  way  when  he  has  it,  as  well  as  the  working  of  conscience  in 
Richard's  sleep  as  in  Lady  Macbeth's,  though  she  feels  it  always,  he  only  when  his 
will  is  dead. 

Macbeth  had  the  wrong  nature  for  a  murderer :  he  was  too  imaginative  ;  he  could 
jump  the  life  to  come,  but  it  was  the  judgment  here  he  dreaded ;  the  terrors  that  his 
own  Keltic  imagination  created  to  torment  him.  What  Richard  III.  passed  over 
with  chuckling  indifference,  nay,  with  delight,  deprived  Macbeth  of  sleep  and 
haunted  every  moment  of  his  life.  After  his  second  visit  to  the  witches  it  seems  to 
me  that  the  courage  of  desperation  takes  the  place  of  the  feebleness  of  the  guilty 
soul ;  and  except  in  his  two  drops  down  after  the  servant  and  the  messenger  have 
announced  the  English  force  (V,  iii,  v,  end),  he  faces  his  fate  with  the  courage  and 
coolness  that  should  have  possessed  him  all  along.  He  is  tied  to  the  stake,  and 
fight  he  will ;  but  though  he  quails  again  before  Macduff's  tongue,  he  is  yet  taunted 
by  it  into  fighting,  as  before  into  murder,  by  his  wife. .  •  • 

When  one  compares  such  [a  passage,  as  for  example  Act  III,  ii,  21-33],  ^^ 
any  of  Shakespeare's  early  work  in  Levis  Labours  Lost  or  Romeo  and  Juliet^  say, 
one  is  amazed  at  the  Poet's  growth  in  knowledge  of  men's  minds,  of  life,  in  reflective 
power,  in  imagination.  Dramatically,  too,  what  a  splendid  advance  the  play  is  on 
Hamlet  I— ^n,  ii. 

J.  CoMYNS  Carr  (p.  17) :  Lit  as  by  the  light  of  the  under-world,  the  fell 
purpose  of  the  guilty  pair  stands  plainly  revealed  to  us  on  the  very  threshold 
of  the  drama :  the  seeds  of  murder  had  been  sown  long  before  the  weird  sisters 
have  shrieked  their  fatal  preface  to  the  action ;  and  before  we  meet  with  Macbeth 
or  Lady  Macbeth,  the  souls  of  both  are  already  deeply  dyed  in  blood.  Noth- 
ing, indeed,  could  be  more  absurd  than  to  suggest  that  the  murder  of  Duncan 
was  the  fruit  of  sudden  impulse  on  either  his  part  or  hers ;  nor  could  anything  be 
more  destructive  of  the  whole  scheme  of  the  Poet's  work  than  the  assumption  that 
his  enfeebled  virtue  was  overborne  by  the  satanic  strength  of  her  will.  We  cannot 
too  often  remind  ourselves  that  there  is  no  question  of  virtue  here :  it  could  not  live 
in  the  air  they  had  learned  to  breathe :  it  has  passed  beyond  the  ken  of  minds  that 
have  long  brooded  over  crime.  And  it  may  be  pointed  out  that  Shakespeare  him- 
self has  been  at  particular  pains  to  make  this  clear  to  us ;  for  he  doubdess  felt,  and 
righdy  felt,  that  unless  the  starting-point  were  clearly  kept  in  view,  the  subsequent 
development  of  the  action,  with  the  contrast  of  character  it  is  designed  to  illustrate, 
would  lose  all  significance.  Therefore  at  the  first  entrance  of  Macbeth,  when  the 
eulogy  of  othe'rs  had  but  just  pictured  him  to  us  as  a  soldier  of  dauntless  courage 
fighting  loyally  for  his  sovereign,  we  are  allowed  to  see  that  the  thought  of  Duncan's 
death  has  already  found  a  lodging  in  his  heart.  As  the  weird  sisters  lift  the  veil  of 
the  future  and  point  the  dark  way  to  the  throne,  the  vision  that  presents  itself  to  his 
eyes  is  but  the  mirrored  image  of  the  bloody  picture  seated  in  his  own  brain ;  and  in 


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414  APPENDIX 

foretelling  the  end  they  wring  from  his  lips  a  confession  of  the  means  which  he  has 
already  devised  for  its  fulfilment.   [I,  Hi,  150-158.] 

His  written  message  to  Lady  Macbeth  contains  no  hint  of  murder,  and  yet  the 
words  she  utters  as  she  holds  his  letter  in  her  hand  have  no  meaning  unless  we  sup- 
pose that  the  violent  death  of  Duncan  had  long  been  the  subject  of  conjugal  debate. 
Nor,  indeed,  would  the  conduct  of  either  be  humanly  explicable  unless  we  clearly 
grasp  the  situation  as  it  is  here  plainly  stated  by  Shakespeare.  Her  superlative  strength 
in  executive  resource  is  only  consistent  with  the  assumption  that  she  has  accepted 
without  questioning  a  policy  that  was  none  of  her  own  devising  :  his  apparent  weak- 
ness, on  the  other  hand,  is  the  inevitable  attitude  of  an  imaginative  temperament, 
which  feels  all  the  responsibilities  and  forecasts  the  consequences  of  the  crime  it  has 
conceived.  I  suggest  that  the  ideal  motive  of  the  drama  lies  in  its  contiast  of  the 
distinctive  qualities  of  sex  as  these  are  developed  under  the  pressure  of  a  combined 
purpose  and  a  common  experience ;  and  it  will  be  found,  at  any  rate,  that  the  special 
individuality  which  the  author  has  assigned  to  Macbeth  not  less  than  to  his  wife 
aptly  serves  the  end  I  have  supposed  he  had  in  view.  . .  .  There  is  at  least  this  truth 
underlying  Dr  Johnson's  criticism,  that,  excepting  the  malign  influences  tmder  which 
their  natures  are  exhibited,  there  is  nothing  abnormal  in  the  character  of  either ; 
and  that  what  is  particularly  distinctive  about  them  has  been  added  with  the  view  of 
giving  ideal  emphasis  to  tendencies  that  are  common  to  all. . . . 

It  must  never  be  forgotten  that  the  murder  of  Duncan  means  everything.  It  is 
the  touchstone  by  which  temperament  and  disposition  are  tried  and  developed ;  the 
instrument  of  evolution  which  the  Poet  has  found  ready  to  his  hand,  and  which  he 
has  wielded  with  all  the  extraordinary  force  of  his  genius.  The  first  of  a  long  list 
of  horrors  committed  by  Macbeth,  it  nevertheless  in  essence  contains  them  all ;  and 
though  it  hurries  his  unfortunate  partner  by  a  more  terrible  passage  to  a  swifter 
doom,  it  illumines  as  by  lightning  flashes  every  phase  of  the  woman's  nature,  from 
the  first  passionate  impulse  of  evil  to  the  remorse  that  cannot  find  refuge  even  in 
madness,  and  is  only  silenced  by  death. 

On  the  threshold  of  this  terrible  adventure  in  what  mood  do  we  find  them? 
The  project,  as  we  have  seen,  is  no  stranger  to  the  breast  of  either,  and  yet  with 
what  a  strangely  different  effect  has  the  poison  worked  its  spell !  They  have  been 
apart,  and  the  soul  of  each  has  been  thrown  back  upon  itself.  In  the  thick  of 
action  Macbeth  has  become  infirm  of  purpose ;  alone  in  her  castle  at  Inverness, 
Lady  Macbeth  has  brooded  over  the  crime  until  it  has  completely  possessed  her. 
With  the  concentration  of  a  woman's  nature,  she  has  driven  from  her  brain  all  other 
thoughts  save  this ;  and  she  waits  now  with  impatient  expectancy  for  the  hour  which 
shall  put  her  courage  to  the  proof.  Here,  as  we  see,  the  divergence  of  sex  has 
already  asserted  itself,  working  such  a  transformation  that  when  they  meet  thej 
scarcely  recognise  one  another.  The  sudden  coming  of  the  occasion  so  long  plotted 
and  desired  by  both  has  hastened  the  development  of  individual  character.  He  finds 
in  his  partner  a  being  so  formidable  that  he  regards  her  for  the  moment  with  feelings 
of  mingled  admiration  and  dismay.  And  though,  with  the  woman's  finer  instinct,  she 
has  partly  divined  and  anticipated  his  mood,  she  is  appalled  at  the  extent  of  the 
change  it  has  wrought  in  him.  Beneath  the  armour  of  the  valiant  soldier  she  finds, 
as  she  thinks,  the  trembling  heart  of  a  coward,  and,  struck  with  sudden  terror  at  his 
failing  purpose,  she  tries  to  recall  him  to  his  former  self.  From  this  moment  they 
are  strangers  in  spirit,  though  the  old  bond  still  holds  them  together.  And  yet  to 
us,  who  view  the  whole  picture  with  the  Poet's  larger  vision,  the  process  of  develop- 


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CRITICISMS  415 

ment  moves  in  obedience  to  inevitable  law.  For  at  such  a  crisis  it  is  natoral  for  a 
man  to  anticipate :  for  a  woman  to  remember ;  on  the  eve  of  action  be  looks  forward 
with  apprehension  ;  on  the  morrow  she  looks  back  with  regret. . . .  [After  the  assas- 
sination of  Duncan]  Macbeth  and  his  wife  change  places.  In  outward  seeming  at 
least  their  positions  are  reversed,  though  when  we  look  beneath  the  surface  there  is 
an  inexorable  consistency  in  the  conduct  of  both.  He,  whose  imagination  had  fore- 
seen all  the  consequences  of  this  initial  step  in  crime,  braces  himself  without  hesita- 
tion to  the  completion  of  his  fatal  task ;  she,  who  had  foreseen  nothing,  is  thrown 
back  upon  the  past,  her  dormant  imagination  now  terribly  alert,  and  picturing  to  her 
broken  spirit  all  the  horrors  she  had  previously  ignored.  As  the  penalty  of  his  crime 
is  unresting  action,  her  heavier  doom  is  isolated  despair ;  and  it  is  significant  to 
observe  that  it  is  she  who  suffers  most  acutely  all  the  moral  torments  he  had  only 
anticipated  for  himself.  Macbeth  indeed  had  '  murdered  sleep,'  but  it  was  her  sleep 
he  had  murdered  as  well  as  his  own ;  and  the  blood  that  he  feared  not  *  all  great 
Neptune's  ocean'  would  wash  away,  counts  for  little  with  one  who  afterwards 
plunged  breast-high  into  the  full  tide  of  blood,  but  remains  with  her  a  haunting 
memory  to  the  end.  This  change  is  already  well  marked  in  the  scene  immediately 
following  the  murder,  when  he  suddenly  wrests  the  conduct  of  afiidrs  from  her 
hands,  and  she  sinks  appalled  at  the  dark  vista  of  unending  crime  which  his  readi- 
ness in  resource  now  first  opens  to  her  view.  He,  who  before  had  stood  with  trem- 
bling feet  upon  the  brink  of  the  stream,  now  rushes  headlong  into  the  flood :  to 
complete  the  chain  of  suspicion  he  murders  the  two  grooms  without  an  instant's 
hesitation;  and  before  the  next  act  opens  he  has  already  planned  the  death  of 
Banquo  and  his  son. 

But  from  this  point  he  proceeds  alone.  Her  help  is  no  longer  needed,  and  even 
if  it  were  not  so,  she  has  none  now  to  give.  Her  dream  is  shattered ;  and  she  who 
had  felt  the  'future  in  the  instant'  can  only  brood  over  the  wreck  of  the  past. 
Bitterest  of  all  to  her  woman's  soul,  the  evil  she  had  wrought  for  his  sake  now 
breaks  their  lives  asander  and  parts  them  forever.  In  all  tragedy  there  is  nothing 
so  pitiful  in  its  pathos  as  the  passage  in  which  she  strives  to  grant  to  her  husband 
the  support  of  which  she  herself  stands  so  sorely  in  need.  She  feels  instinctively 
that  he  shuns  her  company,  and  surmises  that  he  too  is  suffering  the  lonely  pangs  of 
remorse : — *  How  now,  my  lord !  why  do  you  keep  alone.  Of  sorriest  fancies  your 
companions  making  ?'  With  what  a  jarring  note  comes  the  answer : — '  We  have 
scotched  the  snake,  not  killed  it,'  etc.  And  yet,  despite  this  answer,  with  its  clear 
indication  of  the  true  drift  of  his  thoughts,  she  still  fails  to  realize  the  gulf  that 
divides  them.  And  when,  after  the  banquet  scene,  he  strips  off  the  mask  and  bares 
the  inner  workings  of  his  breast,  she  listens  without  understanding,  and  still  inter- 
preting his  sufferings  by  her  own,  answers  him  from  the  sleepless  anguish  of  her 
soul : — 'You  lack  the  season  of  all  natures,  sleep.'  In  the  interval,  before  we  meet 
Lady  Macbeth  again,  and  for  the  last  time,  she  has  learned  all ;  and  beneath  the 
weight  of  her  guilty  knowledge  her  shattered  nerves  have  snapped  and  broken. 
Throughout  the  wandering  utterances  of  her  dying  hours  her  imagination  is  unalter- 
ably fixed  upon  the  scene  and  circumstances  of  Duncan's  death,  but  across  this  un- 
changing background  flit  other  spectres  besides  that  of  the  murdered  king.  Banquo 
is  there  and  Macduff's  unhappy  wife :  she  is  spared  no  item  in  the  dreary  catalogue 
of  her  husband's  crimes ;  and  yet,  always  overpowering  these  more  recent  memories, 
come  the  thick-crowding  thoughts  of  that  one  fatal  hour,  when  her  spirit  shot  like  a 
flame  across  the  sky,  and  then  fell  headlong  down  the  dark  abyss  of  night. — Ed.  ii. 


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4l6  APPENDIX 

LotTNSBURY  (p.  415) :  The  element  of  poetic  justice  is  not  absent  from  Shake- 
speare's representation  of  life  any  more  than  it  is  from  life  itself.  But  in  both  it  at 
times  never  appears  at  all ;  in  both  it  acts  imperfectly  when  it  does  appear.  In 
Macbeth  the  punishment  falls  upon  the  guilty  husband  and  the  guilty  wife.  But 
that,  after  all,  is  a  matter  of  subsidiary  consequence  ;  as  an  end  in  view  it  scarcely 
plays  any  part  in  the  development  of  the  drama.  It  is  the  gradual  transforming 
power  of  sin,  when  once  it  has  taken  full  possession  of  the  soul,  which  here  arrests 
the  attention.  It  is  the  different  character  of  the  devastation  wrought  by  it  in  differ- 
ent natures  which  furnishes  a  study  as  full  of  psychological  interest  as  it  is  of  dra- 
matic. Macbeth,  at  the  opening  of  the  play,  the  valiant  general,  the  loyal  subject, 
promises  even  then,  though  unfixed  in  principle,  to  end  his  career  as  honourably  as 
ithas  been  begun.  His  wife  it  is  who  at  the  outset  is  the  dominant  character.  In 
her  dauntless  hardihood  she  gives  courage  and  strength  to  her  husband's  infirm  pur- 
pose, which,  while  longing  for  the  fruits  of  crime,  shrinks  from  its  commission.  Bat 
before  the  play  approaches  its  conclusion,  the  positions  of  the  two  have  been  reversed. 
The  gallant  soldier  of  the  early  part  has  become  a  cruel  tyrant,  as  inaccessible  to 
remorse  as  he  is  to  pity.  The  man,  who  at  his  first  entrance  into  crime  was  horrified 
by  the  phantoms  of  his  own  disordered  brain,  comes  to  encounter  recklessly  and 
defy  undauntedly  the  terrors  of  the  visible  and  invisible  worlds.  The  moral  nature 
has  become  an  absolute  wreck.  But  with  the  hardening  of  the  heart  and  the  deaden- 
ing of  the  conscience  have  disappeared  entirely  the  compunctions  which  once  unnerved 
the  resolution  and  the  tremors  which  shook  the  soul.  Not  so  with  Lady  Macbeth. 
Her  nature,  far  finer  and  higher  strung,  though  at  the  beginning  more  resolute,  pays 
at  last  in  remorseful  days  and  sleepless  nights  the  full  penalty  of  violated  law. 
While  Macbeth  grows  stronger  as  a  man  by  the  very  course  which  destroys  his 
susceptibility  to  moral  considerations,  this  very  susceptibility  on  her  part  increases 
with  the  success  of  the  deed  she  has  prompted  and  in  which  she  has  taken  deter- 
mined part.  The  woman  could  not  unsex  herself  wholly,  and  succumbs  at  last  to 
the  long-continued  and  increasing  strain  of  a  burden  she  was  not  fitted  to  bear. — 
Ed.  ii. 


GERMAN  TRANSLATIONS 

However  pleasant  may  be  the  task  to  trace  the  gradual  growth  of  a  just  appre- 
ciation of  Shakespeare  in  Germany  from  Lessing's  solitary  voice  a  hundred  years 
ago  down  to  the  present  day,  when  a  Shakespeare  Society^  numbering  among  its 
active  members  some  of  the  most  eminent  names  in  the  present  literature  of  that 
country,  puts  forth  annually  a  volume  of  criticisms  on  the  dramas  of  him  whom,  as 
Heine  says,  <a  splendid  procession  of  German  literary  kings,  one  after  another 
throwing  their  votes  into  the  urn,  elected  Emperor  of  Literature,'  yet  such  a  review 
can  scarcely  with  propriety  come  within  the  scope  of  a  volume  like  the  present,  which 
is  dedicated  to  one  play  alone.  Of  the  duties  of  an  editor  there  is  perhaps  none 
harder  than  that  which  obliges  him  to  keep  steadfastly  to  the  purpose  of  his  labours, 
and  resolutely  to  resist  all  temptations  to  wander  into  neighboring  quarters  with 
which  he  may  justly  be  expected  to  have  become  better  acquainted  than  many  of  his 
readers. 

In  order,  therefore,  to  keep  as  near  as  possible  to  the  subject  of  the  present  vol- 
ume, I  propose  to  confine  mjrself  to  a  brief  notice  only  of  some  of  the  more  promi- 
nent translations  of  Macbeth^  devoting  more  space  to  the  exposition  of  the  parts  in 


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GERMAN  TRANSLATIONS  417 

which  the  tianslators  have  diverged  from  the  original  than  to  those  passages  wherein 
they  have  been  faithfbl.  It  is  thus,  I  think,  that  we  can  best  estimate  Shakespeare's 
painful  struggle  for  life  in  a  nation  that  now  daims  him  for  its  own.  When  we 
see  Goethe  remodel  Romeo  and  Juliet  in  a  style  that  can  be  paralleled  only  by 
D'Avenant's  version  o{  Macbeth^  and  find  Schiller  putting  pious  morality  in  the 
mouth  of  a  coarse  Porter,  then  we  know  how  sore  was  the  battle  that  Schlegel 
fought,  and  how  valuable  are  the  labours  of  the  German  Shakespeare  students  of 
to-day,  since  their  labours  have,  after  all,  more  than  counterbalanced  those  dark 
and  imperfect  pages  of  their  literary  history.* 

The  first  considerable  attempt  to  translate  Shakespeare  into  German  was  made  by 
WiELAND  in  1763.  There  had  been  before  that  various  translations  of  separate 
plays,  but  Wieland's  twenty- two  dramas  first  gave  Germany  an  idea  of  the  extent 
and  variety  of  the  original.  The  translator  followed  Warburton's  text,  and  did  not 
attempt  a  uniformly  metrical  rendering ;  by  the  Witch-scenes  in  Macbeth  he  was  com- 
pletely gravelled  (as  so  many  of  his  countrymen,  since  his  day,  have  been)  and 
confessed  himself  utterly  unable  to  reproduce  the  rhythm  of  the  original. 

Twelve  years  later  appeared  the  translation  in  prose  by  Eschenburg  of  all  the 
dramas.  His  Macbeth  has  the  advantage,  in  common  with  all  prose  translations,  of 
having  nothing  sacrificed  to  the  rhythm,  and  was  the  basis  of  Schiller's  metrical 
translation  some  thirty  years  later.  In  the  incantation  of  the  Witches  in  the  first 
Scene  of  the  fourth  Act  he  mistook  '  baboon '  for  baby^  and  translated  it '  Cool  it  with 
a  bab/s  blood,'  <  KOhlt's  mit  eines  Sfluglings  Blut ';  and,  so  far  will  a  naughty  deed 
shine  in  this  ^^a/ world,  this  *  baby'  of  Eschenburg' s  has  been  adopted  by  Schiller 
(of  course),  Benda,  Kaufmann,  and  Ortlepp. 

Just  before  Eschenburg,  however,  in  1773,  there  appeared  in  Vienna,  •  Macbeth, 
a  Tragedy,  in  five  Acts,'  by  Stephanie  der  JOngere.  There  is  nothing  on  the 
title-page  to  indicate  that  it  is  a  translation  from  Shakespeare ;  it  is,  perhaps,  unfair 
therefore  to  judge  of  it  from  that  point  of  view.  The  opening  scene  is  laid  in  'Qyds- 
dale,'  between  « Hamilton '  and  *  Prebles,'  seventeen  years  after  the  murder  by  Mac- 
beth of  <  his  uncle,  Duncan.'  Macbeth  and  Banquo  have  lost  themselves  in  a  deep 
forest,  in  the  blackest  of  nights  and  the  fiercest  of  thunderstorms.  From  their  con- 
versation we  learn  that  Banquo  helped  Macbeth  and  Lady  Macbeth  to  murder 
Duncan.  At  last  they  both  hear  a  hollow  cry.  *Macb.  Hold  I  I  see  a  figure—. 
Banq.  You  are  right.  Sir  I  I  also  see—.  Macb.  Holloa  I  who  goes  there?  (The 
Ghost  of  Duncan  approaches.)  Banq,  Stand,  and  answer  or  else,—  (draws  his 
dagger).  Macb.  Who  art  thou? — ^I  command  thee :  disclose  whom  thou  art  (also 
draws  his  dagger).  Ghost.  Thy  uncle  whom  thou  murderedst !  (vanishes.) '  Mac- 
beth in  terror  appeals  to  his  companion  to  know  whether  or  not  it  were  Duncan. 
Banquo  with  true  Scotch  logic  replies  that  it  could  not  have  been  Duncan  because 
him  they  had  stabbed  and  buried  and  *  heaped  earth  upon  his  grave,  and  we  stamped 
it  down  hard  to  keep  hun  safe.— It  must  have  been  his  ghost.— That  is  what  it  was  I 
— Even  this  tempest  could  not  blow  him  away.'  Macbeth  cannot  bring  himself  to 
believe  it,  and  again  appeals  to  Banquo,  *  Didst  thou  hear  his  horrible  voice? — was  it 
English  ?    By  God !  it  was  so  plain  that  the  worst  Scotchman  could  have  under- 


*  For  full  information  on  the  rise  and  progress  of  Shakespearian  criticism  in  Ger- 
many, see  Gen&e's  Geschichte  der  Shakespeare schen  Dramen  in  Deutschland^  Leip- 
sig,  1870 ;  and  the  Introduction  to  Tuimm's  Shakespeareana  von  1564  bis  1871. 
London,  1872. 

27 


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4l8  APPENDIX 

stood  it  I*  As  the  plot  unfolds,  we  find  that  Macduff,  who  is  aided  by  the  English 
in  his  rebellion  against  Macbeth,  has  a  lovely  daughter,  Gonenll,  liYing  at  Dnnsinane 
in  closest  friendship  with  Lady  Macbeth,  and  with  whom  Fleance  is  deeply  in  love, 
and  whom  he  was  about  to  marry  when  the  feast  took  place  at  the  castle.  At  this 
feast  the  ghost  of  Banquo,  whom  Macbeth  had  murdered  with  his  own  hands,  ap- 
peared to  all  eyes  and  pointed  out  his  murderer.  Fleance  then  very  naturally  ran 
away.  Macbeth*  s  course  now  becomes  much  perplexed,  and  he  thinks  that  if  he 
had  an  heir  the  people  would  once  more  rally  around  him,  and  he  could  drive  off 
the  English  and  the  rebellious  Thanes  who  are  now  closely  hemming  him  in.  He 
therefore  makes  desperate  love  to  Gonerill,  and  offers  for  her  sake  to  remove  Lady 
Macbeth,  and  to  give  a  free  pardon  to  her  father,  the  traitor  Macduff.  Before,  how- 
ever, he  can  carry  out  his  plans,  Macduff,  in  disguise,  gains  admission  to  the  castle 
and  carries  off  his  daughter.  Before  Macbeth  discovers  Goneriirs  flight,  and  while 
he  is  plotting  with  Lady  Macbeth  new  atrocities  in  order  to  exterminate  the  memory 
of  Duncan  from  the  minds  of  men  and  give  repose  to  himself,  the  statue  of  Duncan 
speaks  and  says,  '  That  thou  shalt  never  obtain  till  Duncan  be  avenged  1  Vengeance 
is  at  hand !     Prepare  for  judgement  and  tremble  !' 

This  supernatural  horror  drives  Lady  Macbeth  insane,  and  while  re-enacting  the 
murder  of  Duncan  she  imagines  Macbeth  to  be  her  victim  and  stabs  him.  This 
restores  her  to  her  senses,  and  her  first  stab  not  proving  immediately  fatal,  at  her 
husband's  urgent  request  she  obligingly  gives  him  a  second,  which  permits  him  to 
expatiate  on  the  horrors  of  remorse  before  he  expires.  Macduff  and  the  English 
forces  rush  in.  Malcolm  is  crowned.  Duncan's  spirit  appears  and  blesses  Malcolm, 
with  the  words,  '  I  am  avenged  I  Govern.  Be  a  Friend,  a  Father,  a  Judge,  and  a 
King.'  They  all  then  depart,  and  none  too  soon,  for  the  castle  is  discovered  to  be 
in  flames,  and  Lady  Macbeth  is  seen  rushing  hither  and  thither,  until,  espying  Mac- 
beth's  corpse,  she  falls  upon  it,  with  the  words :  '  Consume  me,  flames  !  But  also 
consume  my  soul !'  The  roof  foils  in,  and  both  bodies  are  buried  in  flames  and 
smoke. 

In  1777,  F.  J.  Fischer*  adapted  for  the  stage  a  new  translation  of  Mtubetk^  be- 
cause the  public  desired  to  see  this  '  tragedy  of  Shakespeare's  with  as  few  alterations 
as  Hamlet,^     Duncan  does  not  appear  in  it 

Seven  years  later  appeared  BCrger's  translation,  in  prose  throughout  except  the 
scenes  with  the  Witches.  In  the  latter  the  author  of  Lenore  could  not  restnin  his 
imagination  while  dealing  with  so  congenial  a  subject,  and  accordingly  inserts  lines 
and  even  entire  scenes.  Here  and  there  he  tokes  strange  liberties  with  the  text  For 
instance,  *  Here  I  have  a  pilot's  thumb,  Wreck'd  as  homeward  he  did  come,'  is  ren- 
dered, '  Schau,  a  Bankrutirers  Daum,  Der  sich  selbst  erhing  am  Baum  !*  Duncan 
does  not  appear  in  person ;  all  his  commendations  of  Macbeth  are  conveyed  by 
letter,  wherein  there  is  no  intimation  of  his  selection  of  the  Prince  of  Cumberland  as 
his  heir.  This  important  point  in  the  tragedy  is  only  alluded  to  as  a  matter  of  hear- 
say by  Banquo  to  Ross.  The  First  Act  closes  with  a  Witch-scene,  of  which  the  refrain  is : 

'  Fischgen  lockt  der  Angelbissen 
Gold  nn  Hoheit  das  Gewissen.' 

An  original  Witch-scene  closes  the  Second  Act  also. 


*  For  this  notice  of  Fischer  I  am  indebted  to  the  excellent  volume  of  GsNte's 
already  referred  to. — Ed. 


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GERMAN  TRANSLATIONS  419 

D'Avenant,  I  think,  suggested  this  scene,  and,  in  my  opinion,  Bttrger's  is  an 
improvement,  if  that  be  any  praise. 

In  the  Fifth  Act  Lady  Macbeth' s  death  is  thus  given : 

'  Waiiiiiff  Woman  (rushing  in).  Come,  dear  Doctor,  for  God's  sake,  come !  The 
Queen — she's  off! 

Doctor.  What  ?    You  don't  mean  dead?    Impossible  I 

Waiting  Woman.  Yes  I  Yes  I  Yes  I— What  a  pother  there  was  in  her  bed  1 
How  she  cried,  <  help !  help  !'  half  strangled  1  Then  there  were  smacks  and  cracks. 
When  I  ran  to  her  she  jerked  and  rattled  and  gasped  for  the  last  time.  God 
Almighty  knows  what  claws  those  were  that  turned  her  face  to  her  back,  and  left 
such  blue  pinches. 

Doctor.  It  is  undoubtedly  a  stroke  of  apoplexy.  Madam.  The  lancet  will 
relieve  it. 

Waiting  Woman.  Oh,  in  vain  !  in  vain  I     Who  can  stay  God's  judgement? 

Doctor.  I  will  return  as  soon  as  I  have  announced  it  to  the  King.     [Exeunt.^ 

Schiller's  translation  was  published  in  1801.  He  adopted  as  his  text  Eschen- 
burg's  prose  translation.  From  this  source  we  certainly  have  a  right  to  expect  an 
excellent  and  faithful  rendering  of  the  original,  and  we  are  not  disappointed  except 
in  the  Witch-scenes,  in  the  Porter  scene,  and  in  the  omission  of  Lady  Macduff. 
There  is  no  play  of  Shakespeare's  so  compressed  in  its  action  as  Macbeth,  and  no 
shade  of  character  can  be  varied  without  marring  the  effect  of  the  whole  tragedy ; 
and  since  it  is  one  of  the  shortest,  still  less  can  there  be  any  omission  of  entire 
scenes.  The  omission,  therefore,  of  Lady  Macduff  and  her  son  is  fatal  to  Schiller's 
translation  as  a  work  of  art,  and  still  lower  does  it  fall  when  we  find  Witches  that 
are  supernatural  and  hellish  only  in  the  stage-directions.  Schiller  was  evidently 
afraid  of  the  fatalism  which  the  predictions  of  the  Witches  seem  to  imply — he  there- 
fore in  the  opening  scene  actually  represents  these  twilight  hags,  to  whom  fair  is  foul 
and  foul  is  fair,  as  la3ring  down  axioms  of  free  agency  : 

*  Third  W.  'Tis  ours,  in  human  hearts  to  sow  bad  seed, 
To  man  it  still  belongs  to  do  the  deed.' 

And  as  though  to  divest  these  hatefiil  things,  the  mere  projections  upon  the  outer 
world  of  all  that  is  vile  in  our  own  breasts,  of  every  attribute  of  badness,  Schiller 
makes  his  First  Witch  plaintively  ask  why  they  are  seeking  Macbeth' s  ruin,  since  he 
is  hravfi  and  just,  and  good  t 

Before  the  entrance  of  Macbeth  and  Banquo,  Schiller  introduces  the  Witches  as 
chanting  the  following  lines : 

Erster  Aufzug.    Vierter  Auftritt. 

Eine  Heide. 

Die  drei  Hexen  begegnen  einander. 

Erste  Hexe.    Schwester,  was  hast  du  geschafit  I     Lass  h5ren  I 
Ziveite  Hexe.  Schiffe  trieb  ich  um  auf  den  Meeren. 
Dritte  Hexe  (sur  ersten).  Schwester !  was  du? 


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420  APPENDIX 

Erste  Hexe,  Einen  Fischer  fand  ich,  zerlompt  and  arm, 

Der  flickte  singend  die  Netze 

Und  trieb  sein  Handwerk  ohne  Hann, 

Als  besftss'  er  kostliche  Schfttze, 

Und  den  Morgen  und  Abend,  nimmer  mUd, 

BegrOsst'  er  mit  seinem  lustigen  Lied. 

Mich  verdross  des  Bettlers  froher  Gesang, 

Ich  hatt's  ihm  verschworen  schon  lang  und  lang — 

Und  als  er  welder  zu  fischen  war, 

Da  liess  einen  Schatz  ich  ihn  finden ; 

Im  Netze,  da  lag  es  blank  und  baar, 

Dass  fast  ihm  die  Augen  eiblinden. 

Er  nahm  den  hOllischen  Feind  ins  Haas, 

Mit  seinem  Gesange,  da  war  es  aus. 
Die  twei  andem  Hexen,  Er  nahm  den  hOllischen  Feind  ins  Haas, 

Mit  seinem  Ges&nge,  da  war  es  aus  I 
Erste  Hexe.  Und  lebte  wie  der  verlome  Sohn, 

Liess  allem  GelOsten  den  ZOgel, 

Und  der  fialsche  Mammon,  er  floh  davon, 

Als  h&tt'  er  Gebeine  und  FlOgel. 

Er  vertraute,  der  Thor !  auf  Hexengold, 

Und  weiss  nicht,  dass  es  der  H5lle  zoUt ! 
Die  wwei  andem  Hexen.  Er  vertraute,  der  Thor !  auf-Hexengold, 

Und  weiss  nicht,  dass  es  der  HOlle  zollt ! 
Erste  Hexe,  Und  als  nun  der  bittere  Mangel  kam, 

Und  verschwanden  die  Schmeichelfreunde, 

Da  verliess  ihn  die  Gnade,  da  wich  die  Scham, 

Er  ergab  sich  dem  h5llischen  Feinde. 

Freiwillig  bot  er  ihm  Herz  und  Hand 

Und  zog  als  R&uber  durch  das  Land. 

Und  als  ich  heut  will  voiiiber  gehn, 

Wo  der  Schatz  ihm  ins  Netz  gegangen. 

Da  sah  ich  ihn  heulend  am  Ufer  stehn, 

Mit  bleich  geh&rmten  Wangen, 

Und  h5rte,  wie  er  verzweifelnd  sprach : 

Falsche  Nixe,  du  hast  mich  betrogen ! 

Du  gabst  mir  das  Gold,  du  ziehst  mich  nach  I 

Und  sttlrzt  sich  hinab  in  die  Wogen. 
Die  wwei  andem  Hexen,  Du  gabst  mir  das  Gold,  du  ziehst  mich  nach ! 

Und  stiirzt  sich  hinab  in  den  wogenden  Bach  ! 
Erste  Hexe,  Trommeln  !  Tronmieln !  Macbeth  koomit,  etc.,  etc. 

I  have  rendered  it  into  English  as  follows : 

Act  I.    Scene  iv. 

A  heath.     Enter  the  three  Witches, 

First  W.  Sister,  what  hast  thou  been  doing?    Let's  know! 
Sec,  W,  Ships  on  the  sea  I  drove  to  and  fro. 
Third  W.  Sister,  what  thou  ? 


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GERMAN  TRANSLATIONS  42 1 

Firsi  W,  I  fonnd  a  fisherman  poor  and  forlorn, 

Who  sang  as  he  toiled  a  gay  measure. 
He  was  mending  his  nets  that  were  broken  and  torn 

As  though  he  were  lord  of  a  treasure. 
And  Morning  and  Evening,  always  gay, 
He  greeted  them  with  a  rollicking  lay. 
I  hated  the  beggar's  cheerful  song, 
And  I  plotted  against  him  all  day  long. — 
At  last  when  his  craft  again  he  plies. 

And  when  his  dripping  nets  unfold, 
I  let  appear  to  blind  his  eyes, 

A  bag  of  ruddy,  glittering  gold. 
He  has  carried  the  hellish  foe  away, — 
He'll  sing  no  more  for  many  a  day. 
Sec.  and  Third  W,  He  has  carried  the  hellish  foe  away,— 

He'll  sing  no  more  for  many  a  day. 
Fira  W.  He  lived  thenceforth  like  the  Prodigal  Son, 

Himself  in  no  lust  denying. 
And  let  false  mammon  away  from  him  run 

As  though  it  had  legs  or  were  flying. 

He  trusted,  the  fool,  in  the  Witch's  gold. 

And  never  knew  that  to  Hell  he  was  sold. 

Sec.  and  Third  W.  He  trusted,  the  fool,  in  the  Witch's  gold. 

And  never  knew  that  to  Hell  he  was  sold. 
First  W.  And  when  at  last  to  want  he  came 

And  fled  were  the  friends  of  an  hour, 
Then  deserted  by  honor,  abandoned  by  shame. 

He  yielded  himself  to  the  Devil's  power. 
Freely  surrendering  heart  and  hand, 
He  roamed  as  a  robber  over  the  land. 
And  when  to-day  I  chanced  to  pass  o'er 

The  spot  where  his  wealth  he  discovered, 
I  saw  him  raving  upon  the  shore, 

His  cheeks  they  were  pale  and  blubbered. 
I  heard  his  cry  of  despair  with  glee : 

« Thou' St  deceived  me,  thou  devil's  daughter : 
Thou  gavest  me  gold,  so  now  take  me !' 

And  down  he  plunged  in  the  water. 
Sec.  and  Third  W.  <  Thou  gavest  me  gold,  so  now  take  me  V 

And  down  he  plunged  in  the  boiling  sea. 
First  W,  A  drum,  a  drum  Macbeth  doth  come,  &c.,  &c. 

Did  not  Burger's  refrain, 

*  Fischgen  lockt  der  Angelbissen 
Gold  und  Hoheit  das  Gewissen,' 

supply  Schiller  with  a  hint  for  the  foregoing  ? 

The  severest  wrench,  however,  to  which  Schiller  subjected  this  tragedy  is  to  be 


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422  APPENDIX 

found  in  the  Porter's  soliloquy,  where,  instead  of  a  coarse,  low,  sensual  hind,  we 
have  a  lovely,  lofty  character,  the  very  jingling  of  whose  keys  calls  to  prayer  like 
Sabbath  bells.  Is  it  not  surprising  that  the  great  German  poet  should  have  (ailed 
utterly  in  seeing  the  purpose  of  this  rough  jostling  with  the  outer  world  after  the 
secret  horrors  of  that  midnight  murder  ?  Can  such  things  be  and  overcome  us  like 
a  summer's  cloud  without  our  special  wonder?  Schiller's  scene  I  have  here  trans- 
lated: 

ACT  II.    Scene  v. 

Enter  Porter,  with  keys.    Afterwards  Macduff  and  Ross. 

Porter  (Singing).  The  gloomy  night  is  past  and  gone. 
The  lark  sings  clear;  I  see  the  dawn, 
With  heaven  its  splendor  blending, 
Behold  the  sun  ascending : 
His  light,  it  shines  in  royal  halls. 
And  shines  alike  through  beggar's  walls. 
And  what  the  shades  of  night  concealed 
By  his  bright  ray  is  now  revealed.  [Knocking. 

Knock  !  knock  !  have  patience  there,  whoe'er  it  be, 
And  let  the  porter  end  his  morning  song. 
'Tis  right  God's  praise  should  usher  in  the  day ; 
No  duty  is  more  urgent  than  to  pray. — 

(Singing,)  Let  songs  of  praise  and  thanks  be  swelling 

To  God  who  watches  o'er  this  dwelling, 

And  with  his  hosts  of  heavenly  powers 

Protects  us  in  our  careless  hours. 

Full  many  an  eye  has  closed  this  night 

Never  again  to  see  the  light 

Let  all  rejoice  who  now  can  raise. 

With  strength  renewed,  to  Heaven  their  gaze. 

[He  unbars  the  gate.     Enter  Macduff  and  Ross. 
Ross.  Well,  friend,  forsooth,  it  needs  must  be  you  keep 
A  mighty  organ  in  your  bosom  there 
To'  wake  all  Scotland  with  such  trumpetings. 

Porter.  I  faith,  'tis  true,  my  lord,  for  I'm  the  man 
That  last  night  mounted  guard  around  all  Scotland. 
Ross.  How  so,  friend  porter? 
Porter.  Why,  you  see,  does  not 

The  king's  eye  keep  o'er  all  men  watch  and  ward 
And  all  night  long  the  porter  guard  the  king  ? 
And  therefore  I  am  he  who  watched  last  night 
Over  all  Scotland  for  yon. 

Ross.  You  are  right. 

Macduff.  His  graciousness  and  mildness  guard  the  king ; 
'Tis  he  protects  the  house,  not  the  house  him  ; 
God's  holy  hosts  encamp  round  where  he  sleeps. 

Ross.  Say,  porter,  b  thy  master  stirring  yet? 
Our  knocking  has  awaked  him.     Lo  I  he  comes,  &c.,  &c. 


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GERMAN  TRANSLATIONS  423 

The  original  runs  thus : — 

ZWEITER  AUFZUG.      FONFTER  AUFTRITT. 

Pf^rtner  mU  SchlHsseln,     Hemach  Macduff  und  RossE. 

Pflrtner  {kommt  singend).  Verschwunden  ist  die  finstre  Nacht, 
Die  Lerche  schlftgt,  der  Tag  erwacht. 
Die  Sonne  kommt  mit  Piangen 
Am  Himmel  au%^;angen. 
Sie  scheint  in  K5nig8  Prunkgemach, . 
Sie  scheinet  durch  des  Settlers  Dach, 
Und  was  in  Nacht  verboigen  war, 
Das  macht  sie  kund  und  offenbar. 
{Starierts  JOopfen,) 

Poch  I  poch  I  Gednld  da  draussen,  weir's  auch  ist ! 
Den  Pf5rtner  lasst  sein  Morgenlied  voUenden. 
Ein  guter  Tag  fiLngt  an  mit  Gottes  Preis ; 
's  ist  kein  Geschflft  so  eilig,  als  das  Beten. 
{Singt  wetter,) 

Lob  sei  dem  Herm  und  Dank  gebracht, 
Der  fiber  diesem  Haus  gewacht, 
Mit  seinen  heil'gen  Schaaren 
Uns  gnftdig  wollte  bewahren. 
Wohl  Mancher  schloss  die  Augen  schwer 
Und  5finet  sie  dem  Licht  nicht  mehr ; 
Drum  freue  sich,  wer,  neu  belebt, 
Den  frischen  Blick  zur  Sonn'  erhebt ! 
(Er  schliesst  auf^  Macduff  und  Rosse  treten  auf.) 

Rosse.  Nun,  das  muss  wahr  sein,  Freund,  ihr  fUhret  eine 
So  helle  Orgel  in  der  Brust,  dass  ihr  damit 
Ganz  Schottland  kdnntet  aus  dem  Schlaf  posaunen. 

Pflrtner,  Das  kann  ich  auch,  Herr,  denn  ich  bin  der  Mann, 
Der  euch  die  Nacht  ganz  Schottland  hat  gehfltet 

Rosse,  Wie  das,  Freund  Pflrtner  ? 

Pfdrtner,  Nun,  sagt  an  !     Wachte  nicht 

Des  K5nigs  Auge  fUr  sein  Volk,  und  ist*s 
Der  Pfortner  nicht,  der  Nachts  den  K5nig  hatet? 
Und  also  bin  ich's,  seht  ihr,  der  heut  Nacht 
Gewacht  hat  fiir  ganz  Schottland. 

Rosse.  Ihr  habt  Recht. 

Macduff,  Den  Kdnig  hfltet  seine  Gnad'  und  Milde. 
Er  bringt  dem  Hause  Schutz,  das  Haus  nicht  ihm ; 
Denn  Gottes  Schaaren  wachen,  wo  er  scU&ft. 

Ross^  Sag',  Pf5rtner!  ist  dein  Herr  schon  bei  der  Hand? 
Sieh !  unser  Pochen  hat  ihn  au^eweckt. 
Da  kommt  er. 

The  next  translation  after  Schiller's  appeared  in  1810,  by  Heinrtch  Voss,  who 
pnblished  several  of  the  plays  that  Schlegel  had  not  translated,  and  among  them 


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424 


APPENDIX 


Macbeth,  This  translation  some  twenty  years  later  he  revised  and  improved ;  it  is 
undoubtedly  more  literal  than  Schiller's  (nor  is  it  to  be  wondered  at,  since  Schiller 
translated  at  second  hand),  and  yet  despite  the  terrible  blemishes  in  the  latter,  its 
rhythm  is  so  much  more  flowing  than  Voss's,  and  its  language  so  much  choicer, 
that  I  confess  I  should  prefer  Schiller  to  Voss.  Take,  for  example,  the  first  few  lines 
of  I,  vi,  and  compare  the  two  translations.     Thus,  Schiller : 

Konig,  Dies  Schloss  hat  eine  angenehme  Lage. 
Leicht  und  erquicklich  athmet  sich  die  Luft, 
Und  ihre  Milde  schmeichelt  unsem  Sinnen. 

Banquo.  Und  dieser  Sonmiergast,  die  Mauerschwalbe, 
Die  gem  der  Kirchen  heiPges  Dach  bewohnt, 
Beweist  durch  ihre  Liebe  zu  dem  Ort, 
Dass  hier  des  Himmels  Athem  lieblich  schmeckt. 
Ich  sehe  keine  Friesen,  sehe  keine 
Verzahnung,  kein  vorspringendes  GebAlk, 
Wo  dieser  Vogel  nicht  sein  hangend  Bette 
Zur  Wiege  fUr  die  Jungen  angebant, 
Und  immer  fand  ich  eine  mildre  Luft, 
Wo  dieses  fromme  Thier  zu  nisten  pflegt 

Thus,  Voss,  in  1829 : 

Mmg.  Des  Schlosses  Lag*  ist  angenehm ;  die  Luft, 
So  leicht  und  lieblich,  o  wie  schmeichelt  sie 
In  Ruh  die  Sinn'  uns  1 

Banquo,  Dieser  Sommergast, 

Die  Tempelfreundin  Schwalbe,  giebt  Beweis 
Mit  ihrer  traulichen  Ansiedelung, 
Dass  hier  des  Himmels  Handi  anmuthig  weht 
Kein  Ueberdach,  kein  Fries,  kein  Pfeiler  hier, 
Kein  Winkelchen,  wo  dieser  Vogel  nicht 
Hangbette  sich  und  Kinderwieg*  erbaut : 
Wo  der  gem  heckt  und  hauset,  fand  ich  immer 
Die  reinste  Luft 

It  will  be  seen  that  Voss  is,  word  for  word,  nearer  to  the  original,  and  yet  the  re- 
pose that  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  so  finely  indicated  is  the  better  felt  in  Schiller's  trans- 
lation. The  very  first  line  of  Voss's  is  rough  and  jagged,  full  of  harsh  sibilants ; 
while  Schiller's  glides  as  wooingly  as  a  summer  breeze.  The  conciseness  of  'Tern- 
pel  freundin '  is  dearly  purchased  by  Voss  when  Schiller  can  unfold  so  laxge  a  share 
of  the  meaning  of  *  Temple  haunting '  in  '  Die  gem  der  Kirchen  heil'ges  Dach 
bewohnt.'  On  the  other  hand,  Voss' s  line» '  Dass  hier  des  Himmels  Hanch  anmuthig 
weht,'  is  far  more  graceful  than  Schiller's  corresponding  translation.  But  how  fiu- 
short  both  <^  them  fall  of  the  original,  and  how  utterly  untranslatable  this  short 
passage,  taken  at  random,  is !  I  have,  with  no  little  care,  and  with  an  earnest  desire 
to  discover  beauties,  examined  the  rendering  of  these  few  lines  in  Eschenburg, 
Benda,  Kaufmann,  Tieck,  Spiker,  Lachicann,  Hilsenberg,  Korner,  Ortlsfp, 
Rapp,  Simrock,  Jacob,  Jencken,  Heinichen,  Max  Moltke,  Jordan,  Boden- 
STEDT,  and  Leo,  and  there  is  not  one  of  them  which  to  English  ears  reproduces  the 


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GERMAN  TRANSLATIONS  425 

origiiial,  I  might  almost  add,  in  any  one  line.  The  happiest  translation  of  the  pas- 
sage is,  I  think,  that  of  Dorothea  Tieck  (in  Schlegel  andTiECK's  Neue  Ausgabe^ 
Berlin,  1855),  which,  after  all,  I  strongly  suspect  to  be  Mommsen's  ;  it  is  wholly 
different  from  the  edition  of  1833,  and  a  great  improvement  upon  it  That  exquisite 
phrase,  redolent  with  balmy  languor,  '  Heaven's  breath  smells  wooingly  here,'  has 
been  caught  more  happily  by  Kaufmann  than  by  any  other  translator :  '  dass  Him- 
melshauch  Hier  buhlend  weht.'  '  Wooingly  *  is  not  *  lockend,'  nor  '  lieblich,'  nor 
'  erquicklich,*  nor  *  anmuthig,'  as  the  various  other  Editors  translate  it ;  but '  buhlend,' 
which,  taken  in  its  best  sense  (as  used  by  Goethe  in  ^Ei  war  ein  JC9nig  in  TkuU '), 
comes  nighest  in  meaning  and  in  musical  cadence ;  the  paraphrase  of  Dorothea 
Tieck's  (Mommsen's?)  is  not  without  its  charm,  'dass  hier  Des  Himmels  Athem 
sum  Verweilen  ladeL'  Thus  critically  might  we  deal  with  every  sentence  of  this 
great  tragedy,  and  the  conclusion  to  which  we  should  come  would  be,  I  think,  that 
if  our  German  friends  and  fellow-students  can  be  roused  to  enthusiasm  for  Shake- 
speare when  studied  in  a  foreign  language,  to  what  high  pitch  would  their  reverence 
and  admiration  reach  could  they  but  for  a  single  moment  read  him  with  English 
eyes !  If  at  the  present  day  we  are  less  loud  than  they  in  our  exclamations  of  won- 
der and  delight  over  these  immortal  dramas,  it  may  be  that  it  is  not  the  stolidity  of 
indifference,  but  the  silence  of  awe. 

In  1824  appeared  a  free  translation  of  Shakespeare  by  one  Meyer.  (No  more 
explicit  identification  of  the  translator  than  the  simple  name  appears  on  the  title-page, 
which  about  corresponds  to  *  Smith '  in  English,  and  perhaps  it  is  as  well  that  it 
should  be  left  thus  vague.)  This  translation  scarcely  deserves  to  be  recorded  here, 
except  that  the  sale  of  four  editions  in  one  year  bears  a  sad  testimony  to  German 
popular  taste.  It  would  be  time  wasted  to  pick  out  all  the  droll  absurdities  of  this 
translation ;  one  or  two  must  sufiBce. 

In  the  scene  where  Macduff  hears  of  the  slaughter  of  his  household,  Meyer  thus 
improves  on  Shakespeare's  phrase,  '  He  has  no  children ' : 

*  Ross,  Let  quick  revenge  console  thee  I 
Macd,  Revenge  ? 

Ha  I  Ha !  ha  1  ha !  has  he,  pray,  blonde-haired  laddies?' 

In  the  closing  scene  between  Macbeth  and  Macduff,  Meyer  rises  with  the  occa- 
sion. Scarcely  has  Macbeth  slain  young  Siward  before  Macduff  is  heard  behind  the 
scenes  shouting  *  Halloh  I  halloa  !  hi  I  Macbeth !  Macbeth !  Macbeth  t 

Macb,  Forsooth  one  weary  of  his  life,  and  blind  I 
Who  finds  not  death  within  his  own  domain, 
And  therefore  seeks  out  me. — Hi  I  here  is  Macbeth  !' 

Macduff  hereupon  rushes  forward,  and  at  the  sight  of  Macbeth  instantly  falls  upon 
his  knee  with  the  exclamation :  <  God  be  thanked  I  Ha  I  have  I  got  thee  now  ?' 
After  fighting  awhile  Macduff  tells  Macbeth  the  manner  in  which  he  was  ushered 
into  the  world,  and  the  play  proceeds : 

<  Maeb,  Accursed  t  Accursed  be  Heaven,  Earth,  and  Hell ! 
Hold,  Macduff  I  holdl        [Macduff  pauses  in  the  fight;  Macbeth^  with  upraised 
sword  and  shieldy  essays  to  speak  ;  in  vain  ! — Rage  and  despair 
deny  him  words^ — at  last  he  relieves  himself  hy  a  horrible  yeU 
of  laughter^ — rushing  again  upon  Macduff: 


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426  APPENDIX 

Now,  Macduff,  come  on ! 

[Aimh^  a  powerful  blew  at  Macda^. 
To  Hdl  before  me  t 

[Macduff  receives  the  blow  upon  his  shield^  attdthe  Hade 
of  Macbeth*  s  suford flies  from  the  handle,     Macbeth  bellows^ 
My  sword  too  ? — 

[Hurling  the  hemdle  at  MacdugTs  head. 
Be  dash'd  in  pieces ! 

Macd,  (running  the  unarmed  Mcubeth  through  the  body)  Down  to  Satan  ! 
Maeb.  (drawing  at  the  same  instant  a  concealed  dagger^  a$td  collecting  all  his  last 
strength  ffUngs  himself  upon  Macduff^  and  plunges  the  weapon  into  his  neck  with  the 
cry)  Come  along  with  me  1 

[Bothf  each  in  the  other's  clutchyfall^  struggling  in  deaths 

to  the  ground.     At  this  moment  a  shout  of  triumph  is  heard 

from  the  walls^  and  clouds  of  smoke  andflcune  ascend  from 

vanquished  Dunsinane. 

Macb,  (with  his  face  turned  to  the  burning  castle,  and  with  upraised  fist ,  shouts) 

Accursed !  accursed !  accursed  !  (and dies,) 

Macd,  (disengaging  himself  from  Macbeth,  rises  with  difficulty  to  his  knees,  folds 
his  hands,  and  sinks  down  with  the  prayer)  God  be  praised !  My  wife,  I  come ! 
Children  !  (and  dies  upon  the  body  of  Macbeth, )' 

Malcolm  and  Ross  enter,  and  after  covering  the  corpses  with  their  country's  flag 
they  are  joined  by  Old  Siward  (who  is  wounded  unto  death),  preceded  by  his  regi- 
mental band  plajring  <God  Save  the  King!'  The  curtain  falls  as  he  places  the 
crown  on  Malcolm's  head,  with  the  words,  'Praise  God,  and  be  the  opposite  of 
Macbeth !' 

In  1825  appeared  a  translation  of  all  the  dramas  by  Bbnda  ;  this  contains  also  a 
good  selection  of  notes  from  the  Variorum  of  1821. 

In  the  following  year  Spikkr  translated  Macbeth,  but  it  possesses  no  more  merit 
than  that  by  Lachmann  a  few  years  later.  In  1830  Kaufmann  translated  a  number 
of  the  plays,  and,  with  the  exception  of  Schiller's,  his  translation  of  Macbeth  is  by 
far  the  most  elegant  that  has  appeared.  In  literalness  it  is  much  superior  to 
Schnicr's. 

In  1S33  the  great  translation  by  Schlegbl  and  TiECK  was  completed  by  the  pub- 
lication of  the  ninth  volume,  which  contained  Macbeth,  From  this  time  Shakespeare 
may  be  said  to  be  £edrly  domiciled  among  the  Gennans,  and  not  a  year  has  since 
elapsed  that  has  not  brought  some  contribution  from  them  to  Shakespearian  liter- 
ature. Many  translations,  more  or  less  successful  in  the  rendering  of  passages  here 
and  there,  have  succeeded  Schlegel  and  Tieck's,  but  demanding  no  further  notice 
now.  Their  titles  will  be  found  in  the  list  of  books  which  follows  the  Appendix  to 
this  volume.  Within  the  last  five  years,  however,  three  remarkable  translations 
have  appeared ;  one  under  the  editorship  of  Bodenstbdt,  assisted  by  Frbiugrath, 
GiLDEMEiSTEK,  Hetsk,  Kurz,  Wilbrandt,  and  others.  The  second  under  the 
supervision  of  Dingelstbdt,  aided  by  Jordan,  Seeger,  Simrock,  Viehoff,  and 
Gen&e.  The  third  is  a  republication  of  Schlegel  and  Tieck's  translation,  thoroughly 
revised  and  corrected  by  such  competent  and  eminent  scholars  as  Elze,  Hertzberg 
(the  translator  of  the  Canterbury  Tales),  Schmidt  (the  translator  of  Lallah  Rookh 
and  Macaulay's  Lays  of  Ancient  Rome),  Leo,  Hbrwbgh,  and  Dblius  ;  it  is  issued 


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GERMAN  TRANSLATIONS  427 

under  the  auspices  of  the  German  Shakespeare  Society,  guided  by  that  venerable 
▼eteran  in  the  field  of  Shakespearian  scholarship,  Ulrici.  Shakespeare  is  indeed 
surrounded  by  <  the  kingdom's  pearl.' 

Gennany,  in  the  present  generation,  possesses  two  scholars  of  whom  it  may  well 
be  proud :  Ulrici  and  Delius.  The  English  edition  of  Shakespeare  by  the  latter, 
with  German  notes,  is  one  which  no  editor,  English  or  Gennan,  can  afiford  to  over- 
look ;  the  notes  are  clear,  concise,  and  to  the  point,  and  although  that  point  is  often 
one  which  can  claim  the  attention  of  German  students  only,  yet  English  readers  may 
gain  much  instruction  from  noting  the  difficulties  that  occur  to  foreigners ;  a  hidden 
beauty  is  not  seldom  thus  revealed  ;  such  at  least  is  my  experience.  More  than  thirty 
years  ago  Delius  published  an  edition  of  Macbeth  from  the  text  of  the  First  Folio, 
with  a  collation  of  the  other  three  Folios,  and  vrith  explanatory  notes.  It  is  not  my 
intention  to  bring  up  the  sins  of  his  youth  against  him,  but  it  is  interesting  to  note 
how  the  rashness  of  his  earlier  years  has  calmed  down  into  the  wiser  caution  of 
more  thorough  knowledge.  Several  of  his  bold  assertions  of  1841  are  not  alluded 
to  in  1871 ;  one  of  his  readings,  however,  is  noteworthy.  In  I,  v,  69,  Delius  gives 
as  the  text  of  F, :  <  Give  solid  soueraigne  sway,  and  Masterdome,'  and  in  a  note 
expresses  wonder  that  'F,,  F,,  and  F^  should  have  changed  ** solid"  into  solely ^ 
which  in  connection  with  *<  sovereign "  is  pleonastic'  Simrock,  in  1842,  in  his 
reprint  of  F,,  also  gives  *  solid '  as  the  reading  of  that  text  Now,  no  one,  I  think, 
who  has  ever  had  much  experience  in  collating  the  early  editions  of  Shakespeare, 
will  ever  assert  that  this  or  that  reading  is  not  to  be  found  in  them  ;  all  that  can  be 
said  is  that  it  is  or  is  not  in  the  copies  that  he  has  examined.  Accordingly,  I  need 
only  say  that  the  word  is  not  solid  but  '  solely '  in  my  own  copy  of  F,,  in  the  Reprint 
of  1807,  in  Booth's  Reprint,  in  Staunton's  Photolithograph,  and  solid  is  not  noted 
as  a  varia  lectio  by  those  lynx-eyed  editors,  Clark  and  Wright  It  therefore  remains 
as  a  curious  variation  of  the  text  of  that  particular  copy  only  of  the  F^  from  which 
the  German  editors  printed. 

But  aliquando  dormttat^  etc.,  and  even  in  his  last  edition  Delius  falls  into  one  or 
two  errors,  almost  incomprehensible  in  view  of  his  excellent  knowledge  of  English. 
One  occurs  at  II,  ii,  25,  where  I  inserted  Delius's  note,  of  course  without  comment 
further  than  to  note  that  Bodenstedt  was  lodged  with  Delius,  in  their  own  accepta- 
tion of  the  phrase.  Another  occurs  at  IV,  i,  116,  where  Macbeth,  honor-stricken  at 
the  show  of  kings,  says,  '  Start,  eyes !'  which  the  German  editor  in  1865  explains 
by  'Macbeth  mag  nicht  mehr  hinblicken,  und  heisst  deshalt  seine  Augen  scheu 
abspringen  von  diesem  Schauspiel,'  '  Macbeth  can  gaze  no  longer,  and  therefore  bids 
his  eyes  start  away  from  this  sight.'  In  his  last  edition,  187 1,  Delius  repeats  this 
note  word  for  word,  but  adds  the  saving  clause  *  or  from  their  sockets.'  But  where 
there  is  so  much  to  praise,  the  indication  of  errors  is  an  ungrateful  task  that  finds 
its  justification  alone  in  the  warning  which  it  may  convey  to  other  and  less  learned 
German  scholars. 

I  cannot  omit  to  mention  an  edition  of  Macbeth  edited  with  German  explanatory 
notes  by  Ludwig  Herrig,  which  must,  I  should  think,  admirably  meet  the  wants 
of  students  of  English.  A  note  of  his,  that  perhaps  reads  the  strangest  to  English 
ears,  is  that  which  I  have  quoted  at  I,  iii,  76,  where  Herrig  gravely  denies  that '  By 
Sinel's  death '  is  an  adjuration,  an  interpretation  which  no  Englishman  would  ever 
dream  of  imputing  to  the  phrase  in  that  passage. 

In  conclusion,  to  give  an  idea  of  the  difficulty  with  which  the  Germans  have  to  con- 
tend in  translating  Shakespeare,  in  certain  passages,  I  subjoin  the  various  versions  of 


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428  APPENDIX 

'  Double,  double,  toil  and  trouble; 
Fire  bum  and  cauldron  bubble.' 

£schenbbrg(i776);  Schiller  (x8oi);  Ortlepp  (1838) : 
Rilstig,  rUstig  1  nimmer  mtlde ! 
Feuer,  brenne :  Kessel,  siede ! 

Wagner  (1779)  (for  this  quotation  I  am  indebted  to  Simrock): 
Holteii,  polteriy  ruck  !  ruck  I  ruck  ! 
Feuerchen  brenn  I    Kesselcfaen  schluck ! 

BOrger  (1784) ;  Voss  (1810) ;  Keller  and  Rap?  (184s);  Max  Moltkk: 
Lodre,  brodle,  dass  sich's  modle  I 
Lodre,  Lohe !  Kessel,  brodle  1 

£.  ScHLBGEL,  BOrger,  and  A.  W.  Schlegel  (an  unfinished  timiislatkm,  accord- 
ing to  Genie) ;  also  Schlegel  and  Tieck  (1855) : 

Mischt,  ihr  alle !  mischt  am  Schwalle  I 
'       Feuer,  brenn',  und,  Kessel,  walle  I 

Voss  (in  his  notes,  p.  214,  ed.  1829) : 

Dopple  Mah'  sei,  dopple,  dopple  I 
Lodre,  Glut ;  du  Kessel,  bopple  1 

or 
Doppdt  Mah'  und  Kraft  gekoppeltl 
Gluten  flammt,  ihr  Brodel  boppelt  1 


Bknda  (1825): 
Spiker  (1826): 


Doppdt !  doppelt  Werk  und  MOb', 
Brenne  Feu'r  und  Kessel  sprtth ! 

Doppelt,  doppelt  Fleiss  und  Miihe, 
Feuer  brenn'  ond  Kessel  sprflhe ! 


Lachbiann  (1829) : 

Glflhe  Brfihe,  lohn  der  Mtthe, 
Kessel  wall',  und  Feuer  sprtthe. 

Kautfmann  (1830) : 

Brudle,  brudle,  dass  es  sprudle ! 
Feuer  brenne,  Kessel  brudle ! 

TiECK  (1833): 

Feuer  sprUhe,  Kessel  gltihe ! 

Spait  am  Werk  nicht  Fleiss  noch  Mdhe! 

Hilsenberg  (1836) : 

Gltihe,  sprUhe,  Hezenbrflhe, 
Feuer  brenn'  und  Kessel  glflhe  I 

KOrner  (1836) : 

Dopplet,  dopplet  Flag'  und  Mflh, 
Aufwall,  Kessel ;  Feuer,  glflh ! 


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GERMAN  CRITICISMS  429 

Hunichen  (1841) : 

Brodle,  schwitze  Gift  und  Galle, 
Feuer  brenne,  Kessel  walle ! 

SiMROCK  (1842): 

Brudle,  brudle,  dass  es  sinidle, 
Feuer  brenne,  Kessel  spmdle. 

Jacob  (1S48) : 

Doppelt,  doppelt  Fleiss  und  Mflhe ! 
Spriihe  Feuer,  Kessel  gluhe  I 

JENCKEN  (1855): 

Gltlhe,  Kessel,  poltre,  polter, 
BrUhe  Noth  und  Todes-Foltcr. 

SCHINK  (for  this  I  am  indebted  to  Gen^e) : 

Puh !  puh !     Wiirrer  Kessel,  pub  I 

Wttrrel'  wttrreP  Kessel,  halt  nicht  Rast  noch  Rah  I 

BODENSTEDT  (1867): 

Nun  verdoppelt  Fleiss  und  Miihe, 
Kessel,  schftume ;  Feuer,  sprtthe ! 


Jordan  (1867) : 
Leo  (1871): 


Mehret,  mehret,  Qual  und  MUhe, 
Flackre  Flamme,  brodle  Brilhe. 


Feuer  toller,  Kessel  voUer, 
Rilstig,  rUstig !     Brodeln  soil  er. 


Is  it  not  noteworthy  that  for  one  most  common  word,  '  cauldron,'  the  German 
language,  with  all  its  wealth,  appears  to  have  no  equivalent? 

Well  and  truly  does  Southey  say  in  reference  to  Camoens,  as  quoted  by  Hal- 
lam  :  *  In  every  language  there  is  a  magic  of  words  as  untranslatable  as  the  Sesame 
in  the  Arabian  tale, — you  may  retain  the  meaning,  but  if  the  words  be  changed  the 
spell  is  lost  The  magic  has  its  effect  only  upon  those  to  whom  the  language  is  as 
familiar  as  their  mother-tongue,  hardly,  indeed,  upon  any  but  to  those  to  whom  it  is 
really  such.' 


GERMAN  CRITICISMS 

A.  W.  ScHLEGEL  (  ii,  p.  197) :  Who  could  exhaust  the  praise  of  this  sublime 
work  ?  Since  The  Furies  of  iEschylus,  nothing  so  grand  and  terrible  has  ever  been 
composed.  The  Witches  are  not,  it  is  true,  divine  Eumenides,  and  are  not  intended 
to  be  so ;  they  are  ignoble  and  vulgar  instraments  of  hell.  A  German  poet  there- 
fore very  ill  understood  their  meaning  when  he  transformed  them  into  mongrel 
beings,  a  mixture  of  fates,  furies,  and  enchantresses,  and  clothed  them  with  tragical 


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430  APPENDIX 

dignity.    Let  no  man  lay  hand  on  Shakespeare's  works  to  change  anything  essential 
in  them  ;  he  will  be  sure  to  punish  himself.  . . . 

Shakespeare's  picture  of  the  witches  is  truly  magical :  in  the  short  scenes  where 
they  enter,  he  has  created  for  them  a  peculiar  language,  which,  although  composed 
of  the  usual  elements,  still  seems  to  be  a  collection  of  formulae  of  incantation.  The 
sound  of  the  words,  the  accumulation  of  rh3rmes,  and  the  rh3rthmus  of  the  verse, 
form,  as  it  were,  the  hollow  music  of  a  dreary  dance  of  witches.  These  repulsive 
things,  from  which  the  imagination  shrinks  back,  are  here  a  symbol  of  the  hostile 
powers  which  operate  in  nature,  and  the  mental  horror  outweighs  the  repugnance 
of  our  senses.  The  witches  discourse  with  one  another  like  women  of  the  very 
lowest  dass,  for  this  was  the  dass  to  which  witches  were  supposed  to  belong ;  when, 
however,  they  address  Macbeth,  their  tone  assumes  more  elevation ;  their  predictions, 
which  they  either  themsdves  pronounce,  or  allow  their  apparitions  to  deliver,  have 
all  the  obscure  brevity,  the  majestic  solemnity,  by  which  orades  have  in  all  times 
contrived  to  inspire  mortals  with  reverential  awe.  We  here  see  that  the  witches  are 
merely  instruments ;  they  are  governed  by  an  invisible  spirit,  or  the  ordering  of  such 
great  and  dreadful  events  would  be  above  their  sphere. . .  .  Shakespeare  wished 
to  exhibit  an  ambitious  but  noble  hero,  who  yields  to  a  deep-laid  hellish  temptation ; 
and  all  the  crimes  to  which  he  is  impdled  by  necessity,  to  secure  the  fruits  of  his 
first  crime,  cannot  altogether  obliterate  in  him  the  stamp  of  native  heroism.  He  has 
therefore  given  a  threefold  division  to  the  guilt  of  that  crime.  The  first  idea  comes 
from  that  being  whose  whole  activity  is  guided  by  a  lust  of  wickedness.  The  weird 
sisters  surprise  Macbeth  in  the  moment  of  intoxication  after  his  victory,  when  his 
love  of  glory  has  been  gratified ;  they  cheat  his  eyes  by  exhibiting  to  him  as  the 
work  of  fate  what  can  only  in  reality  be  accomplished  by  his  own  deed,  and  gain 
credence  for  their  words  by  the  immediate  fulfilment  of  the  first  prediction.  The 
opportunity  for  murdering  the  king  immediately  offers  itself ;  the  wife  of  Macbeth 
conjures  him  not  to  let  it  slip  ;  she  urges  him  on  with  a  fiery  eloquence  which  has 
all  those  sophisms  at  command  that  serve  to  throw  a  false  grandeur  over  crime. 
Little  more  than  the  mere  execution  falls  to  Macbeth  ;  he  is  driven  to  it,  as  it  were, 
in  a  state  of  commotion  in  which  his  mind  is  bewildered.  Repentance  immediately 
follows,  nay,  even  precedes  the  deed,  and  the  stings  of  his  conscience  leave  him  no 
rest  either  night  or  day.  But  he  is  now  fairly  entangled  in  the  snares  of  hell ;  it  is 
truly  frightful  to  behold  that  Macbeth,  who  once  as  a  warrior  could  spurn  at  death, 
now  that  he  dreads  the  prospect  of  the  life  to  come,  clinging  with  growing  anxiety 
to  his  earthly  existence,  the  more  miserable  it  becomes,  and  pitilessly  removing  out 
of  his  way  whatever  to  his  dark  and  suspidous  mind  seems  to  threaten  danger. 
However  much  we  may  abhor  his  deeds,  we  cannot  altogether  refuse  to  S3rmpatbise 
^nth  the  state  of  his  mind  ;  we  lament  the  ruin  of  so  many  noble  qualities,  and  even 
in  his  last  defence  we  are  compelled  to  admire  in  him  the  struggle  of  a  brave  will 
with  a  cowardly  consdence.  We  might  believe  that  we  witness  in  this  tragedy  the 
overruling  destiny  of  the  ancients  entirely  according  to  their  ideas  ;  the  whole  orig- 
inates in  a  supernatural  influence  to  which  the  subsequent  events  seem  inevitably 
linked.  We  even  find  here  the  same  ambiguous  orades,  which,  by  their  liberal  ful- 
filment, deceive  those  who  confide  in  them.  Yet  it  may  be  shown  that  the  Poet  has 
displayed  more  enlightened  views  in  his  work.  He  wishes  t<J  show  that  the  conflict 
of  good  and  evil  in  this  world  can  only  take  place  by  the  permission  of  Providence, 
which  converts  the  curse  that  individual  mortals  draw  down  on  their  heads  into  a 
blessing  to  others.      An  accurate  scale  is  followed  in  the  retaliation.  .  .  .  Banqoo 


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GERMAN  CRITICISMS  431 

atones  by  an  early  death  for  the  ambitious  curiosity  which  prompted  him  to  wish  to 
know  his  glorious  descendants,  as  he  thereby  rouses  Macbeth*  s  jealousy  ;  but  he  pre- 
served his  mind  pure  from  the  bubbles  of  the  witches.  In  the  progress  of  the 
action  this  piece  is  altogether  the  reverse  of  Hamlet;  it  strides  forward  with  amaz- 
ing rapidity,  from  the  first  catastrophe  (for  Duncan's  murder  may  be  called  a  catas- 
trophe) to  the  last  In  every  feature  we  see  a  vigorous  heroic  age  in  the  hardy 
North  which  steels  every  nerve.  The  precise  duration  of  the  action  cannot  be 
ascertained, — ^years  perhaps,  according  to  the  story, — but  we  know  that  to  the  imag- 
ination the  most  crowded  time  appears  always  the  shortest  Here  we  can  hardly 
conceive  how  very  much  can  be  compressed  into  so  narrow  a  space ;  not  merely 
external  events, — the  very  innermost  recesses  of  the  minds  of  the  persons  of  the 
drama  are  laid  open  to  us.  It  is  as  if  the  drags  were  taken  from  the  wheels  of  time, 
and  they  rolled  along  without  interruption  in  their  descent.  Nothing  can  equal  the 
power  of  this  picture  in  the  excitation  of  horror.  We  need  only  allude  to  the  cir- 
cumstances attending  the  murder  of  Duncan,  the  dagger  that  hovers  before  the  eyes 
of  Macbeth,  the  vision  of  Banquo  at  the  feast,  the  madness  of  Lady  Macbeth, — what 
can  we  possibly  say  on  the  subject  that  will  not  rather  weaken  the  impression  ? 
Such  scenes  stand  alone,  and  are  to  be  found  only  in  this  Poet ;  otherwise  the  tragic 
muse  might  exchange  her  mask  for  the  head  of  Medusa. 

Franz  Horn  (i,  p.  49) :  We  possess,  first  of  all,  in  this  drama  what  there  is  much 
said  about  at  random,  a  pure,  simple  tragedy  of  Destiny,  that  is,  as  concerns  Macbeth, 
the  representation  of  a  conflict  in  which  freedom,  not  yet  complete  in  itself,  suffers 
defeat  and  becomes  the  prey  of  necessity.  But  this  result  by  no  means  proves  the 
absolute  supremacy  of  destiny,  but  only  the  danger  in  a  certain  individual  of  an  ill- 
secured  and  imperfect  freedom  which,  as  such,  must  necessarily  yield  to  destiny. 
The  Poet  shows  throughout  that  Macbeth  was  noi  forced  to  act  because  destiny  willed 
it,  but  that  he  fell  because  he  put  no  faith  in  his  freedom  ;  but  he  could  not  trust  that, 
because  he  understood  not  how  to  render  it  complete. . .  . 

The  necessity  which  Macbeth  obe3rs,  because  he  is  not  free,  exists  in  his  own 
heart,  whose  weakness  the  dark  powers  make  use  of  to  prepare  him  for  his  fall.  He 
is  of  sufiBcient  importance  to  stir  up  all  hell  against  him ;  a  prey,  such  as  he  is,  is 
quite  worth  the  trouble,  and  Hell  as  Hell  is  perfectly  right  when  it  busies  itself  so 
eagerly  about  him. 

The  power  of  Hell  it  is  that  meets  us  in  the  very  first  scene  ;  a  circumstance  which 
deserves  special  notice,  since  elsewhere,  as  in  Hamlet ,  The  Tempest,  Julius  Casar, 
the  Poet,  with  the  carelessness  of  genius,  always  makes  preparation  for  his  supernatu- 
ral appearances  by  premonitory  hints,  broken  stories,  music,  etc.  But  not  so  here. 
The  spectator  is  at  once  the  witness  of  certain  representatives  of  the  hellish  Power, 
and  is,  from  the  very  beginning,  to  understand  that  they  are  the  levers  of  the  Drama, 
and  we  are  made  immediately  to  see  the  grim  conqueror.  Hell,  before  its  gradual 
advance  to  victory  is  represented.  .  .  . 

As  she  is  conmionly  represented,  Lady  Macbeth  is  nothing  more  than  the  maxi- 
mum of  ambition,  a  person  who,  in  order  to  obtain  a  crown,  avails  herself  of  every 
means,  even  the  most  horrible.  Such  indeed  is  she,  and  much  more.  It  may  be  said 
that  she  would  set  half  the  earth  on  fire  to  reach  the  throne  of  the  other  half.  But, — 
and  here  lies  the  depth  of  her  peculiar  character, — not  for  herself  alone ;  but  for  him, 
her  beloved  husband.  She  is  a  tigress  who  could  rend  all  who  oppose  her;  but  her 
mate,  who,  in  comparison  with  her,  is  gende,  and  disposed  somewhat  to  melancholy. 


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432  APPENDIX 

him  she  embnu^es  with  genuine  love.  In  relation  to  him  her  affection  is  great  and 
powerful,  and  bound  up  with  all  the  roots  and  veins  of  her  life,  and  consequently  it 
passes  into  weakness.  The  connection  of  this  fearful  pair  is  not  without  a  certain 
touching  passionateness,  and  it  is  through  this  that  the  Lady  first  lives  before  us,  as 
otherwise  she  would  be  almost  without  distinctive  features,  and  would  appear  only 
as  the  idea  of  the  most  monstrous  criminality.  Ambition  without  Love  is  cold, 
French-tragic,  and  incapable  of  awakening  deep  interest  Here  Love  is  the  more 
moving  as  it  reigns  in  the  conjugal  relation ;  and  truly,  to  the  atrocious  crimes  per- 
petrated by  this  pair,  there  was  need  of  such  a  counterpoise,  in  order  that  they  may 
appear  as  human  beings  suffering  wreck,  and  not  as  perfect  devils.  . . . 

So  long  as  there  appears  any  possibility  of  preventing  the  outbreak  of  his  heart, 
torn  to  bleeding.  Lady  Macbeth  tries  everything  in  the  way  of  warning  and  reproach 
that  female  sagacity  and  skill  can  in  such  a  case  suggest  But  when  all  is  in  vain, 
and  the  guests  have  been  dismissed  with  the  commonplace  excuse  that  the  King  is 
suffering  from  his  old  malady,  and  the  miserable  guilty  pair  are  alone,  when  any 
less  loving  and  less  distinguished  woman's  nature  would  have  vented  itself  in  end- 
(less  reproaches  at  his  having  betrayed  her  and  made  her  wretched,  she  has  not  one 
word  of  upbraiding ;  but  calmly  recognizing  the  fact  that  what  is  done  is  done,  she 
only  gently  reminds  him  that  he  'lacks  the  season  of  all  natures,  sleep,'  and» 
although  knowing  that  he  will  not  be  able  to  sleep,  as  he  has  murdered  sleep,  he 
lets  himself  be  led  away  by  her  like  a  tired  child. . . . 

The  King,  Duncan,  has  been  drawn  with  great  freedom  and  tenderness,  in  accord- 
ance with^  his  fine  and  tender  nature.  He  is  an  amiable  person,  gentle  and  mild, 
and  with  a  lively  sense  of  Love  and  Nature.  But  he  is  no  captain,  and  indeed  no 
soldier.  Consequently  he  takes  no  part  in  the  battle  which  is  fought  for  his  crown. 
It  may  even  be  that  we  smile  at  him  a  little  when,  upon  the  wounded  soldier's 
reporting  to  him  how,  when  the  fight  was  half  through,  the  Norwegian  King  came 
to  the  help  of  the  rebels,  the  question  comes  from  his  lips :  '  Dismayed  not  this  our 
captains,  Macbeth  and  Banquo  V  which  receives  a  true  soldierlike  and  witty  answer. 
Our  light  laughter  the  Poet  has  not  begrudged  us,  for  it  does  not  impair  the  love 
with  which  he  inspires  us. . .  . 

Macbeth  lingers  over  this  thought,  and  says  that  against  this  horrible  deed  Dun- 
can's virtues  will  plead  like  angels,  trumpet-tongued ;  he  sees  Pity,  that,  like  a  naked, 
new-bom  babe,  will  descend  from  Heaven,  and  while  it  draws  tears  from  every  good 
man's  eyes,  it  must  inflame  all  hearts  with  rage  against  the  murderer  of  the  unpro- 
tected. He  says  all  this  to  himself;  only  upon  one  point  is  he  silent — Duncan's 
age,  approaching  its  utmost  limit.  This  one  circumstance,  all  sufficient  to  tame  the 
lion  and  protect  the  lamb,  he  dares  not  name  even  to  himself,  nor  to  us,  for  only 
when  he  forgets  this  circumstance  can  the  deed  be  thought  possible,  which  otherwise 
could  hardly  be.  But  we  are  not  to  remain  in  uncertainty  about  Duncan's  age,  and 
Macbeth  himself,  in  a  fearfully  touching  picture,  has  to  bring  it  before  us.  He  has 
killed  the  grooms,  who,  suspecting  the  murderer,  were  to  be  silenced  forever.  Nat- 
urally, Macduff  asks  why  he  did  so  ;  and  then,  in  order  in  some  measure  to  excuse 
himself,  he  has  to  describe  the  scene  which  he  had  just  seen  and  caused.  So  he  says : 
■  Here  lay  Duncan,  His  silver  skin  laced  with  his  golden  blood,'  etc.  Now  the  deed 
first  stands  complete  before  our  eyes  ;  we  have  learned  all,  but  all  in  due  time.  We 
now  take  back  the  light  smile  that  arose  at  an  earlier  stage,  for  the  hoary  head  might 
well  have  kept  itself  aloof  from  the  fight  which  was  fought  for  him,  and  the  aged 
man  may  fittingly  ask,  as  he  did,  '  Dismayed  not  this  our  captains  ?'  . . . 


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433 


A  very  remarkable  passage  is  found  in  Act  I,  Scene  vi.  Duncan  bas,  in  a  pleas- 
ant way,  invited  himself  to  sup  and  pass  the  night  in  Macbeth' s  castle,  and  every 
reader  and  spectator  anticipates  that  he  is  here  delivered  to  his  murderers.  Duncan 
now  actually  appears  before  the  castle  in  company  with  his  faithful  Banquo,  and  the 
question  presses  upon  us:  How  would  a  hundred  and  again  a  hundred  of  our 
European  poets  have  made  Duncan  talk  ? 

Most  of  them  would  have  made  him  express  himself  thoughtfully,  gravely,  omi- 
nously, after  the  manner,  doubtless,  of  Henry  IV.  of  France,  who  hears  <  in  his  pre- 
saging ear  the  footfall  of  the  murderer  seeking  him  through  the  streets  of  Paris ; 
feeling  the  spectral  knife  long  ere  Ravaillac  had  armed  himself  therewith.*  Or,  if 
the  King  were  represented  as  unaware  of  coming  evil,  some  friend,  at  least,  would 
warn  him,  and  upon  being  questioned  whence  came  his  forebodings,  would  say  no 
more  than  that  a  mysterious  voice  within  prompted  him  thus  to  speak.  It  is  not  to 
be  denied  that  in  many  tragedies  such  a  treatment  might  be  proper.  But  here  it 
would  disturb  the  effect ;  for  into  the  calm,  soft  spirit  of  Duncan,  and  into  the  bold 
heart  of  Banquo,  no  mystic  voices  can  penetrate. 

Other  poets  might  perhaps  have  hoped  to  produce  an  exhilarating  effect  by  sharp 
contrasts,  and  even  to  have  put  the  King  in  a  light-hearted,  merry  mood,  which 
would  have  been  sufficiently  out  of  place. 

Our  Poet,  in  his  wisdom  and  clear  insight  into  human  nature,  has  struck  the  right 
point,  and  is  thoroughly  human  and  humane  in  introducing  the  repose  which  he  here 
opens  before  us,  in  order  to  deepen  the  tragic  pathos  that  follows. . .  . 

It  has  been  remarked  above  that  Macbeth,  before  the  deed,  suggests  to  himself, 
with  one  single  exception,  ever3rthing  that  duty  and  conscience  can  urge  against  his 
crime,  and  that  he  prophesies  to  himself,  in  a  manner,  the  whole  tortured  life  that 
awaits  him.  He  has  murdered  sleep,  and  is  now  himself  to  sleep  no  more.  Who 
does  not  know  the  fearful  legend  of  the  Wandering  Jew  who  cannot  die  ?  We  see 
here  something  similar :  a  hero,  inwardly  torn  by  the  cunning  powers  of  darkness 
and  by  himself,  scourged  by  the  Furies,  doomed  for  ever  to  wake,  and  yet  so  fully 
recognizing  the  infinite  blessing  of  sweet,  holy  sleep,  and  so  touchingly  painting  this 
blessed  gift  to  his  own  thirsting  soul.  But  the  ceaseless  watcher  falls  at  last  into  a 
feverish,  distracted  condition,  and,  rent  and  torn,  he  will  rend  and  tear,  and  believes 
that  he  is  fated  to  do  so.  He  believes  himself  thus  fated,  because  what  begins  in 
treason  and  blood  can,  so  he  thinks,  only  in  treason  and  blood  be  continued. 

That  he  errs  in  this  belief  is  evident,  for  as  long  as  there  are  human  beings,  the 
traitor  will  believe  that  he  is  conspired  against,  and  the  murderer  that  he  is  sur- 
rounded by  murderers.  But  at  last  he  too  will  be  bent  upon  destroying ;  for  such 
sinners,  as  he  has  become  one  of,  feel  at  last  a  certain  horrible  tedium  which  can 
only  be  relieved  by  frequent  crime.  [See  Tacitus' s  description  of  the  last  years  of 
Tiberius.]  . . . 

The  tragic  heroes  of  the  French  stage  manifest  almost  no  natural  pain,  but 
express  it  only  in  low,  fine  tones,  intimating  that  they  suffer  deeply,  and  would 
express  their  sufferings  in  an  ordinary  way  were  it  becoming  to  do  so  in  the  presence 
of  princes  and  princesses,  or  even  of  the  master  of  ceremonies.  The  modem  English 
treat  pain  mostly  in  a  metaphysical  style  of  speech.  Addison's  Cato  feels  no  pain  at 
all ;  his  breast  is  a  philosophical  anvil,  and  from  which,  alas !  when  it  is  struck,  we 
cannot  even  see  any  beautiful  sparks  fly.  Many  of  the  Germans  are  too  broad,  and 
on  such  occasions  bring  out  a  paragraph  in  mediocre  iambics  from  their  philosoph- 
ical sheets.     Others, — some  good  fellows  with  the  rest, — instantly  administer  relig- 


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434  APPENDIX 

ioas  consolation  (which  certainly  should  attend  upon  every  sorrow),  whereby  Natare 
is  deprived  of  her  rights,  as  she  shows  herself  in  at  least  two-thirds  of  mankind  who 
do  not  yet  always  live  in  the  pure  atmosphere  of  religion,  and  we  are  deprived  of 
the  sympathy  which  it  is  intended  we  should  feel.  But  how  altogether  different  is 
our  Poet  \  We  mention  only,  in  passing,  the  great  word,  <  he  has  no  children,'  <  the 
sweet  little  ones,'  for  every  one  knows  these  grand  heart-sounds,  and  no  one  ven- 
tures to  imitate  them  in  other  places  where  they  do  not  belong.  But  I  may  quote 
as  a  true  warning  and  poetic  law,  addressed  to  all  poets,  the  following  passage : 

'  MaL  Dispute  it  like  a  man. 
Macd,  I  shall  do  so ; 

But  I  must  also  feel  it  like  a  man. 
I  cannot  but  remember  such  things  were, 
And  were  most  precious  to  me,'  etc. 

Put  these  lines  before  hundreds  of  French,  English,  and  German  tragedies,  and 
they  sound  like  scathing  satire ;  put  them  before  Egmont  or  William  Tdl,  and  they 
give  us  a  hearty  delight  Let  them  never  again,  ye  dear  poets,  sound  like  irony,  but 
give  us  human  beings  with  hearts  that  can  bleed  and  heal !  Then  you  will  never 
shrink  from  that  motto.  .  .  . 

But,  it  may  be  asked,  might  not  the  murder  of  Macduff's  wife  and  son  have  been 
omitted  ?  I  doubt  it,  for  it  was  not  permitted  to  the  Poet  to  foiget,  what  is  almost 
superfluously  clear,  that  Necessity  must  have  its  issue  in  Act.  That  such  a  neces- 
sity existed,  arising  from  the  character  of  Macbeth,  and  from  the  moment  in  which 
he  decides  upon  the  extermination  of  the  hated  house,  needs  no  proof.  There  is 
another  question  of  more  importance  :  could  not  this  new  monstrous  crime  at  least 
have  been  withdrawn  from  our  eyes  ?  A  certain  tenderness  dictates  this  suggestion, 
and  Sclnller  doubtless  was  of  this  opinion,  as  he  suppresses  the  whole  scene.  Were 
it  now  to  be  set  on  the  stage  according  to  the  prevailing  taste,  no  small  part  of  the 
public  would  be  outraged  to  such  a  degree  as  to  refuse  to  enter  further  into  the  hor- 
rors of  this  tragedy ;  as  one  is  bound  not  to  terrify,  but  only  gently  and  gradually  to 
elevate  the  public  taste,  the  omission  for  the  present  may  well  be  excused.  The 
scene  itself  hovers  on  the  extremest  limit  of  tragedy,  and  is  almost  too  horrible  and 
harrowing.  .  . . 

Our  Schiller  has  annihilated  the  whole  Shakespearian  potter,  from  top  to  toe, 
and  created  instead  one  entirely  new.  This  new  creation  is  quite  a  good  fellow  and 
pious ;  he  sings  a  morning  song  whose  noble  seriousness  makes  it  worthy  of  admis- 
sion into  the  best  hymn-books.  The  jest  also,  which  he  subsequently  throws  out  to 
the  lords  as  they  enter,  that  he  had  kept  watch  over  all  Scotland  through  the  night, 
is  respectable  and  loyal  like  the  whole  man.  But  how  comes  this  preacher  in  the 
wilderness  here  ?  Does  he  fit  the  whole  organism  of  the  piece  ?  Does  it  not  appear 
as  if  he  were  all  ready  to  afford  the  repose  which  the  whole  idea  of  the  scene  is  to 
give  ?  And  might  not  one  almost  say  that  it  was  a  little  officious  in  him  that  he 
wants  to  do  it?  It  is  possible  that  this  porter  may  be  thought  excellent,  provided 
Shakespeare  is  not  known ;  but  him  we  know,  and  how  he  knew  how  to  make  the 
Columbus  egg  stand  up,  so  I  imagine  the  choice  will  not  be  found  difficult.  On  this 
account  I  declare  my  preference  for  Shakespeare's  porter  without  circumlocution, 
and  promise  in  advance  to  pay  the  greatest  attention  to  any  reasons  to  the  contrary 
that  may  be  produced. 


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GERMAN  CRITICISMS  435 

H.  Ulrici  (p.  206)  :  If  lofty  energy  of  will  and  action  be  the  particular  field  on 
which  the  force  of  the  tragic  principle  is  here  to  manifest  itself,  then  the  opening  scene, 
with  the  invention  of  the  witches,  is  particularly  well  calculated  to  place  at  once  in 
the  dearest  light  the  tragic  basis  on  which  the  whole  fable  is  to  be  raised. . .  .  The 
undeniable,  though  dark  and  mysterious,  connection  between  this  life  and  the  next, 
constrains  us  to  ascribe  to  the  spiritual  world  a  certain  influence  on  the  spirits  yet 
embodied  on  this  earth.  In  this  truth  lies  the  profound  meaning  of  the  Christian 
doctrine  of  devils  and  evil  spirits. .  . . 

This  belief,  which,  from  the  commencement  of  l^al  measures  for  the  punishment 
of  witchcraft  towards  the  end  of  the  fifteenth  century,  acquired,  no  doubt,  an  out- 
ward, practical  importance  directly  opposed  to  its  spiritual  nature,  was  employed  by 
Shakespeare,  not  merely  as  available  for  his  poetical  purposes,  but  because  he  had  a 
dear  discernment  of,  and  a  vivid  faith  in,  its  profound  truth.  His  witches  are  a 
hybrid  progeny ;  partly  rulers  of  nature,  and  belonging  to  the  nocturnal  half  of  this 
earthly  creation;  partly  human  spirits,  fallen  from  their  original  innocence,  and 
deeply  sunk  in  evil.  They  are  the  fearful  echo  which  the  natural  and  spiritual 
world  gives  back  to  the  evil  which  sounds  forth  from  within  the  human  breast 
itself,  didting  it,  helping  it  to  unfold  and  mature  itself  into  the  evil  purpose  and  the 
wicked  deed. .  .  . 

Their  flattering  promises  do  but  represent  the  cunning  self-deception  which  nestles 
within  the  guilty  bosom,  and  by  glittering  hopes  and  self-deluding  sophistry,  keep 
up  the  courage  for  awhile,  until  at  last  the  cheat  is  stripped  of  its  disguise.  The 
real  criminal,  who,  as  his  actions  show,  has  no  will  but  for  his  own  interest,  is,  by  his 
very  nature,  solitary.  Consequently,  Macbeth  and  his  wife  stand  alone  on  one  side, 
while  on  the  other  are  collected  tc^ether  against  him  the  nobles  of  his  kingdom,  the 
whole  State  and  people ;  and  all  the  human  race,  in  short.  Accordingly,  the  moral] 
of  the  action  lies  partly  in  this  unavoidable  and  gradually  deepening  estrangement 
of  the  guilty  one  from  God  and  all  his  fellows,  and  partly  in  the  fearful  rapidity  with 
which  the  criminality  of  Macbeth  swells  and  grows  up  from  moment  to  moment  by 
an  intrinsic  necessity,  until  it  reaches  its  inevitable  goal  of  retribution  and  deat}uJ 
For  this  reason,  the  Scottish  nobles,  Macduff,  Lennox,  Ross,  Montdth,  and  Angus, 
with  Banquo  at  their  head,  are  necessary  figures  in  the  picture  before  us ;  their  whole 
conduct — their  first  hesitation,  and  gradual  abandonment  of  Macbeth — is  suffidently 
accounted  for  by  the  fundamental  idea  of  the  piece.  Malcolm  and  Donalbain,  on 
the  other  hand,  are  indispensable  as  the  representatives  of  kingly  power,  and,  there- 
fore, of  the  objective  authority  of  justice  and  morality^  from  which  alone  the  ultimate 
restoration  of  law  and  order  is  to  be  looked  for.  On  this  account  it  was  necessary^ 
that  they  should  be  rescued  from  the  danger  which  threatened  them.  The  organt?^^ 
unity  and  intrinsic  necessity  with  which  the  whole  action  of  Macbeth  is  gradually 
evolved  out  of  the  given  characters  and  incidents,  constitute,  as  in  all  other  of 
Shakespeare's  dramas,  the  beauty  and  perfection  of  the  composition^  which  are 
reflected  again  with  twofold  splendor  in  the  conclusion. 

As  the  universal  sinfulness  of  man  is  made  from  the  very  beginning  the  ground- 
work of  the  whole  fable,  so,  in  the  conclusion,  the  power  of  sin  is  carried  to  its 
highest  pitch,  as  it  reveals  itself  objectively  in  the  utter  disorganization  and  helpless- 
ness of  the  whole  nation,  and  subjectively  in  Lady  Macbeth' s  aberration  of  intellect, 
and  the  moral  blindness  of  her  husband,  equally  bordering  on  madness,  and  passing 
at  last  into  the  mental  weakness  of  despair.  The  terrible  and  horrible,  and  to  speak 
generally,  the  unpoetical,  dement  which  is  involved  in  the  description  of  such  men- 


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436  APPENDIX 

tal  states  has  its  justification  in  the  present  case,  as  in  Lear^  not  only  in  psychological 
reasons,  but  also  in  aesthetic  considerations,  and  in  the  fundamental  idea  of  the  piece. 
Although  evil  is  thus  made  its  own  avenger,  still,  wherever  it  has  struck  so  deep  a 
root,  true  help  and  restoration  can  only  come  from  the  redeeming  grace  and  love  of 
God.  This  truth  is  embodied  in  the  person  of  the  pious,  holy,  and  divinely  gifted 
King  of  England,  who,  by  his  miraculous  touch,  diffuses  the  blessing  of  health,  and 
who  is  here  called  in  to  rescue  a  neighbouring  kingdom  from  tyranny  and  ruin.  As, 
however,  his  holy  arm  and  healing  hand  cannot  consistently  wield  the  sword  of 
vengeance,  he  is  represented  by  the  noble,  pious,  and  magnanimous  Siward,  whose 
son  falls  a  sacrifice  for  the  delivery  of  Scotland.  By  the  aid  of  England,  Malcolm 
and  Donalbain,  with  the  Scottish  nobles,  succeed  in  destroying  this  monster  of 
tyranny,  and  in  restoring  order  and  justice  to  their  oppressed  country. 

But  it  may  be  asked,  where,  in  all  the  course  of  this  tragic  development,  are  we 
to  look  for  any  consolatory  and  elevating  counteraction  ?  Where  is  the  necessity  for 
the  immolation  of  so  many  innocent  victims,  who,  apparently  at  least,  have  no  share 
in  the  represented  guilt  ?  Our  answer  must  primarily  be  directed  to  the  second 
objection.  The  tragic  poet  is  not  required  to  imitate  history  in  all  its  length  and 
breadth,  but  to  condense  its  general  features  within  a  particular  and  limited  space. 
Accordingly,  he  must  be  at  liberty  to  introduce  as  many  subordinate  figures  as  may 
appear  necessary,  and  to  employ  them  as  such,  agreeably  to  the  purpose  he  had  in 
view  in  creating  them.  If,  therefore,  he  introduces  any  personages  merely  as  the 
passive  objects  of  the  actions  and  influences  of  others,  and  not  as  independent  agents, 
it  will  be  sufficient  if  he  exhibit  their  fortunes  and  sufferings  objectively  only,  while, 
from  their  subjective  basis  in  their  individual  characters  and  pursuits,  from  which 
alone  the  true  reason  of  their  destiny  is  to  be  discovered,  he  does  not  attempt  to 
account  for  it,  except  by  a  few  slight  hints  and  allusions.  Of  the  latter,  however, 
sufficient  is  furnished  us  by  Shakespeare  in  the  present  piece.  Thus  the  gracious 
Duncan  does  not  seem  to  have  fallen  altogether  blameless.  This  we  are  led  to  infer 
from  the  numerous  revolts  against  his  authority,  which  Macbeth  successively  sup- 
pressed. Whether  they  were  the  result  of  an  arbitrary  rule  or  injustice,  or  (as  the 
chronicles  assert  from  which  Shakespeare  drew  his  materials)  of  an  unkingly  weak- 
ness and  cowardice,  at  any  rate  he  is  open  to  the  reproach  of  unfitness  for  the  duties 
of  his  office  and  state.  His  sons,  again,  expose  themselves  to  the  suspicion  of  having 
slain  their  own  father  by  their  precipitate,  and,  though  prudent,  yet  most  unmanly 
and  cowardly  flight  Banquo,  too,  evidently  broods  with  arrogant  complacency  on 
the  promised  honours  of  his  posterity,  and  so  brings  down  destruction  on  his  own 
head.  Lastly,  the  wife  and  children  of  Macduff  suffer  for  the  selfishness  of  their 
natural  protector,  who,  forgetful  of  his  duty  as  a  husband  and  father,  has  left  them 
to  secure  his  own  personal  safety.  Accordingly,  he  is  punished  by  the  loss  of  all  his 
little  ones ;  while  the  fate  that  falls  upon  his  wife  is  not  altogether  unmerited  by  the 
asperity  with  which  she  rails  at  her  husband  for  his  desertion  of  her.  All,  in  short, 
both  nobles  and  commons,  are  guilty.  With  a  mean  and  selfish  cowardice,  and  a 
sinful  compliance,  they  overlook  the  lawful  successor  to  the  throne,  and  submit  to 
the  usurped  authority  of  Macbeth.  He  who  weakly  complies  with  evil,  involves 
himself  in  its  guilt  and  fearful  consequences.  In  such  matters  there  reigns  an 
intrinsic  necessity,  and  the  more  imperceptible  are  its  threads,  the  more  inextric- 
ably do  they  seize  upon  and  wind  themselves  round  us.  The  fundamental  idea 
of  the  piece  is  not  merely  illustrated  in  the  characters  and  fortunes  of  Macbeth  and 
his  wife,  but  all  the  subordinate  personages  and  incidents  reflect  it  in  a  great  variety 


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GERMAN  CRITICISMS  437 

of  light  and  shade.  Throughout  we  meet  the  same  sinful  wilfulness  and  conduct 
under  yarious  modifications,  and  equally  visited  with  sure  but  varying  degrees  of 
retribution. 

An  answer  to  the  second  of  the  previous  objections  satisfies,  at  the  same  time,  the 
first  also,  in  some  measure.  The  tragical  is  not  confined  exclusively  to  the  fate  and 
fortunes  of  Macbeth,  which  form,  at  most,  but  one  portion  of  it.  The  death  of 
Macbeth  awakens  no  other  sensation  than  a  painful  conviction  of  the  frailty  of  all 
human  grandeur ;  certainly  it  suggests,  in  the  immediate  instance,  no  soothing  or 
elevating  thought,  and  does  but  breathe  of  eternal  ruin  and  death.  Mediately, 
however,  it  does  give  rise  to  higher  and  calmer  feelings ;  this  purifying  and  instruc- 
tive result,  however,  is  the  other  element  of  the  tragical  in  this  drama,  which,  at  the 
same  time,  is  closely  and  influentially  connected  with  the  first.  Something,  no 
doubt,  is  lost  of  force  and  effect  by  this  division  of  the  tragic  interest ;  nevertheless, 
together  the  two  parts  make  it  complete. 

By  the  sufferings  which  the  crime  of  Macbeth  brings  upon  all  the  other  characters 
their  own  faults  and  weaknesses  are  atoned  for,  their  virtue  and  resolution  confirmed, 
and  their  minds  purified,  until  at  last  they  rise  great  and  powerful  and  throw  off  the 
unworthy  yoke  which  they  had  been  in  such  criminal  haste  to  accept.  In  the 
suicidal  consequences  of  evil,  as  here  exhibited,  we  may  read  the  comforting  and 
instructive  lesson  that  ultimately  victory  is  ever  with  the  good. 

In  conclusion,  we  must  make  a  remark  or  two  upon  the  character  of  Malcolm. 
Consistently  with  the  fundamental  idea  of  the  piece,  whose  design  was  to  exhibit 
the  vanity  and  inevitable  ruin  of  human  energy,  will,  and  action,  considered  as  the 
leading  spring  of  historical  development,  whenever  it  resigns  itself  entirely  to  earthly 
objects,  the  action  advances  with  extraordinary  rapidity  and  a  tearing  haste.  All  is 
action ;  act  presses  upon  act,  and  event  upon  event.  The  dark  and  supernatural 
powers,  whose  evil  influence  prevails  throughout,  would  seem  to  have  annulled  the 
usual  course  of  time.  But  it  is  only  the  irresistible  sequence  with  which  crime  fol- 
lows crime  that  can  proceed  with  such  rapidity.  Good  requires  time  and  patience ; 
the  virtuous  deed  demands  for  its  fulfilment  much  of  forethought,  mature  prepara- 
tion, and  calm  collectedness  of  mind.  As  if  designing  to  call  attention  to  this  im- 
portant truth,  our  Poet  has  placed  Malcolm's  lingering  and  thoughtful  deliberation 
in  direct  contrast  to  the  stormy  and  impetuous  activity  of  Macbeth.  It  is  almost 
superfluous  to  remark  the  truthfulness  with  which  Shakespeare  has  here  sketched 
the  two  principal  forms  under  which  the  human  will  historically  develops  itself. 
Beautifully,  indeed,  has  he  painted  these  two  forms  of  historical  action.  On  the  one 
hand,  the  hasty  deed  following  close  upon  the  heels  of  resolve,  and  like  a  hostile 
inroad,  securing  its  end  by  desolation  and  dismay  ;  on  the  other,  a  deliberation  which 
anticipates  and  weighs  all  possible  contingencies,  from  which  the  breaking  of  the 
boughs  in  Birnam  Wood  derives  a  motive  and  ceases  to  appear  purely  accidental, 
which  precedes  action  by  a  long  interval,  and  works  out  its  end,  however  tardily,  yet 
certainly.  Furthermore,  the  historical  significancy  of  the  tragedy  is  obvious  in  all 
this.  Even  externally  it  is  projected  distinctly  enough.  The  tyranny  of  Macbeth 
plunges  a  whole  people  in  misery,  and  his  crimes  have  set  two  great  nations  in  hos- 
tile array  against  each  other.  There  could  not  be  a  more  pregnant  and  impressive 
illustration  of  the  solemn  truth  that  the  evil  influence  of  crime,  like  a  poisonous  ser- 
pent coiled  within  the  fairest  flowers,  spreads  over  the  whole  circle  of  human  exist- 
ence, not  only  working  the  doom  of  the  criminal  himself,  but  scattering  far  and  wide 
the  seeds  of  destruction  ;  but  that  nevertheless  the  deadly  might  of  evil  is  overcome 


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438  APPENDIX 

by  the  love  and  justice  of  God,  and  good  at  last  is  enthroned  as  the  conqueror  of 
the  world.  Lastly,  Macbeth  is  the  tragedy  in  which,  above  all  others,  Shakespeare 
has  distinctly  maintained  his  own  Christian  sentiments,  and  a  truly  Christian  view 
of  the  system  of  things. 

H.  T.  RdrsCHER  (i,  p.  140) :  In  the  seventh  scene  of  the  first  act  the  task  is  set 
before  the  actor  of  portraying  the  progressive  steps  whereby,  in  Macbeth*  s  mind,  the 
moral  barriers  to  crime  are  thrown  down.  Each  speech  of  Lady  Macbeth' s  is  to  a 
certain  extent  a  successful  assault  against  the  stoutly-defended  intrenchments  of 
mora]  abhorrence.  The  memory  of  Duncan's  giaciousness,  the  appeal  to  the  deep 
damnation  of  his  taking  off,  the  doubt  of  success,  and  the  final  decision  to  do  the  deed 
are  successively  unfolded  as  stages  of  development  in  Macbeth*  s  character,  and  are 
dearly  defined  in  this  marvellous  colloquy.  The  difficulty  in  acting  it  consists 
mainly  in  portraying  a  gradual  victory  over  moral  aversion,  and  in  making  manifest 
by  the  expression  of  the  features  and  by  the  voice  the  opposition  presented  at  each 
step.  While  Lady  Macbeth  is  speaking,  Macbeth' s  nature  works  restlessly  on, 
and  his  face  and  gestures  must  therefore  so  far  reflect  that  working  that  his  words 
which  follow  must  constantly  reveal  as  a  natural  consequence  all  the  previous 
emotion.  . .  . 

Lady  Macbeth' s  strength  of  purpose  is  exactly  commensurate  with  her  ambition. 
Whatsoever,  in  her  hours  of  solitude,  her  imagination  has  fancied  to  be  the  end  and 
aim  of  life,  that  she  is  ready,  with  a  fearless,  unwavering  courage,  to  put  into  execu- 
tion. She  is  therefore  a  foe  to  all  half  measures  and  indecision,  because  the  price 
of  the  crime  is  thereby  paid  without  obtaining  inward  satisfaction  in  exchange  for  iL 
Lady  Macbeth' s  rdle  in  the  composition  of  the  drama  is  not  only  to  dear  away  her 
husband's  consdentious  scruples,  and  to  save  him  from  vacillation,  but  also  to  afford 
a  lesson^  in  her  awn  fate,  of  the  eternal  laws  of  the  moral  world.  It  is  by  no  means  / 
Lady  Macbeth  that  enkindles  Macbeth 's  ambition  and  aspirations  to  the  crovm ;  \ 
these  were  aroused  by  the  meeting  with  the  Witches,  who,  as  we  have  shown,  merdy 
stirred  up  the  desires  which  had  been  for  a  long  time  previously  working  in  that 
heroic  breast.  Macbeth  could  not  have  been  the  hero  of  the  tragedy  had  he  recdved 
his  first  inspiration  from  his  wife.  She  would  appear  as  a  mere  instrument  in  the 
progress  of  the  action,  and  afford  no  higher  poetic  interest  if  her  rOle  dosed  ^n 
hurrying  Macbeth  on  to  the  deed. ...  '^ 

After  all,  this  is  the  secret  in  acting  Lady  Macbeth  :  to  permit,  in  the  very  n^^ 
of  the  intoxication  of  ambition,  in  the  very  midst  of  an  iron  resolution,  those  accents 
of  nature  *  to  be  heard  which  betray  a  secret  horror  and  the  shattering  of  her  nerves.  Il  ' 
Even  when  she  seeks  to  restore  to  her  husband  his  lost  repose,  and  to  banish  terror  ^ 
from  his  breast,  by  assuming  an  air  of  gaiety,  when  she  strives  with  tender  care  to 
ward  off  from  him  the  ill  effects  of  his  horror  at  the  sight  of  Banquo's  ghost,  even 
then  we  can  detect  in  delicate  touches  the  struggle  of  the  powers  of  evil  with  her 
invindble  human  nature.    And  when  Lady  Macbeth  tells  her  husband  that  he  needs  • 
the  season  of  all  natures,  sleep,  her  face  and  her  voice  unconsciously  confess  that 
her  conch  also  sleep  does  not  visit.     The  phrases  with  which  she  endeavors  to 
restore  Macbeth' s  self-command  ought  to  be  made  to  reveal,  by  the  expression  of 
voice  and  eye,  that  her  life  is  approaching  its  destruction. 

In  the  fiflh  act  we  behold  the  distracted  woman.  We  are  made  aware  of  the 
changed  aspect  of  Lady  Macbeth's  -ruined  life  by  the  secret  whispering  of  her  at- 

*  *  Had  he  not  resembled  my  father  as  he  slept,  I  had  done 't.* 


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GERMAN  CRITICISMS  439 

tendants,  which  conceal  what  they  forbode.  Night-vigils  of  agony  have  furrowed 
her  (ace,  the  wonted  fire  of  her  eyes  has  burnt  out,  a  vacant  stare  betrays  the  mental 
desolation,  her  sleep-walking  shows  a  restless,  hunted  soul.  One  thought  alone  is 
breathed  from  this  torn  breast,  but  one  woe  swells  from  the  desolated  depths. 
Everything  is  here  stamped  with  the  character  of  a  completely  involuntary  agent ; 
her  accents  betray  the  working  of  the  spirit  from  the  abyss  that  inexorably  demands 
its  victim.  Over  the  whole  scene  broods  that  mysterious  tone  which  intimates  infi- 
nitely more  tlian  it  directly  says,  and  in  which  there  hovers  the  grisly  memory  of  the 
inexpiable  past  and  the  deadness  of  soul  to  all  things  temporal.  The  horrors  of  the 
past,  like  ever-present  demons,  close  around  the  heart,  the  lamp  of  life  flickers  dim, 
and  tells  of  the  speedy  end  of  a  ruined  existence 

(DU  Kunst  der  dramaHschm  Darstellung,  p.  319,  Zweite  Auflage,  BerUn,  1864) : 
The  appearance  of  Banquo's  ghost  is  the  direct  result  of  Macbeth' s  state  of  mind ; 
the  ghost  is  therefore  visible  only  to  him.  Everything  around  and  about  Macbeth 
is,  for  Macbeth,  as  though  it  were  not ;  the  instant  that  Banquo's  ghost  rises,  he  is 
completely  transported  out  of  himself,  and  is  engrossed  solely  with  the  creatures  of 
his  brain.  The  difficult  task  which  the  actor  has  before  him,  when  portraying  the 
effect  upon  Macbeth  of  this  apparition,  is  to  make  us  feel  in  every  speech  addressed 
to  the  gliost  that  mental  horror  of  the  soul,  that  demoniacal  terror  of  the  mind,  which 
communicates  itself  with  irresistible  power  to  every  expression  of  the  fiace  and  voice. 
The  more  conscious  Macbeth  becomes  of  this  irresistible  power,  by  the  reappear- 
ance of  the  ghost,  the  more  horror-stricken  does  he  grow,  until  at  last  he  is  com- 
pletely unmanned.  The  gradually  increasing  effect  of  this  apparition  depends, 
therefore,  upon  the  power  the  actor  has  of  unfolding  the  mental  distraction,  the 
growing  discord,  in  the  soul  of  Macbeth.  Most  actors  endeavor  to  portray  this 
climax  by  mere  physical  strength  of  voice,  by  struggling,  as  it  were,  to  make  a  more 
powerful  impression  upon  the  ghost,  whereas  the  mental  horror  at  the  sight  of  an 
apparition  can  only  be  made  truly  manifest  by  the  intense  strength  of  a  terror  which 
one  strives  to  repress.  It  is  not  the  heightened  voice  of  passion,  growing  ever 
louder  and  louder,  but  the  trembling  tones  almost  sinking  to  a  whisper,  that  can  give 
us  the  true  picture  of  the  power  of  the  apparition  in  this  scene.  It  is  Macbeth*  s  vain 
struggle  to  command  himself,  and  the  dark  forces  constantly  bursting  forth  with  in- 
creasing power  from  his  internal  consciousness,  that  we  want  to  see  portrayed  by  the 
revelation  of  his  mental  exhaustion  and  by  his  control  over  face  and  voice,  weak- 
ened by  mental  terror.  Thus  alone  can  this  scene  he  produced  as  it  was  in  the 
mind  of  the  Poet ;  assuredly  one  of  the  greatest  tasks  ever  set  before  an  actor. 

{Shakespeare  in  seinen  Mehsten  Character- bUden  enihUllt  und eniwiekelt,  ^,  62, 
Dresden,  1864)  :  There  are  certain  inferences  to  be  drawn  in  regard  to  the  personal 
appearance  of  Lady  Macbeth.  She  enters  reading  her  husband's  letter  containing 
the  first  announcement  of  the  sayings  of  the  Weird  Sbters.  The  mighty  passion  of 
ambition  bursts  at  once  in  Lady  Macbeth' s  imagination  into  full  flame  by  these  few 
lines ;  she  appears  well-nigh  intoxicated  with  that  emotion  ;  her  whole  appearance 
ought  to  be  ro3ral,  as  one  for  whose  powerful  features  and  majestic  bearing  the 
diadem  is  the  befitting  adornment.  Her  countenance  ought  to  display  noble  and 
energetic  outlines,  from  whose  every  feature  mean  desires  are  banished ;  it  should 
presage  demoniac  forces,  with  never  a  trace  of  moral  ugliness  nor  aught  reoellant. 
The  glittering  eye  betrajrs  the  restless,  busy  ardor  of  the  disposition,  while  the  finely- 


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440  APPENDIX 

chiselled  lips,  and  the  nostrils,  must  eloquently  express  scorn  of  moral  opposition, 
and  a  determined  purpose  in  crime.  Her  queenly  bearing,  as  well  as  the  nobility 
of  all  her  movements,  proclaims  her  title  to  the  highest  earthly  greatness  and  power. 
Lady  Macbeth' s  looks  ought  to  enchain,  and  yet,  withal,  chill  us,  for  such  features 
can  awaken  no  human  S3rmpathy,  and  can  only  disclose  the  dominion  of  monstrous 
powers.  Lady  Macbeth,  therefore,  will  have  the  more  powerful  effect  the  more 
majesty  is  thrown  around  her  person,  because  she  will  be  thereby  at  once  removed 
to  a  r^on  in  which  all  ordinary  standards  are  dwarfed,  for  we  have  here  before  us 
a  nature  in  which  dwells  a  spirit  made  up  of  savage  elements,  and  which  reveals 
its  own  peculiar  laws  in  its  projects  as  fearfully  as  in  its  ruin. 

HiECKE :  In  trying  to  find  out  the  dominant  idea  of  any  profoundly  poetical  work 
it  seems  to  me  that  we  are  especially  liable  to  adopt  this  or  that  one-sided  view,  just 
in  proportion  as  we  study  only  the  htro^  or  only  the  attendant  circumstances;  the 
former  being  surely  less  doubtful  than  the  latter,  because  the  circumstances  represent 
merely  the  ground- work  for  the  action  of  the  characters  ;  but  if  we  are  to  arrive  at  a 
definite  decision  on  the  subject  of  the  dominant  idea,  we  must  consider  both  of  these 
elements  together,  which,  to  use  one  of  Goethe's  favorite  similes,  are  to  each  other 
like  warp  and  woof. 

If  then  we  regard  this  drama  only  from  the  first  point  of  view,  we  might  pro- 
nounce its  domincmt  idea  to  be  the  representation  of  Ambition  as  a  demoniac  force 
seducing  a  noble  hero  to  evil,  depraving  him  more  and  more,  until  at  last  his 
own  destruction,  as  well  as  that  of  others  through  him,  is  felt  to  be  a  just  retribu- 
tion. From  the  second  point  of  view  we  might  regard  as  the  dominant  idea,  to 
glorify  a  well-ordered  kingdom,  by  depicting  the  fearful  consequences  of  treason. 
Neither  of  these  two  views  would  be  untrue,  but  neither  of  them  would  present 
the  whole  truth.  Any  one  who  should  adopt  the  first  could  be  immediately  dis- 
lodged from  his  one-sided  and  defective  position  by  the  question  whether  in  the 
present  case  the  power  of  ambition  manifests  and  asserts  itself  in  the  circle  of 
home,  or  of  friendship,  or  in  the  moral  sphere  of  a  lover  and  his  mistress,  or  in 
civil  society.  For  in  all  these  spheres  that  idea  can  be  treated  very  dramatically, 
and  yet  that  very  sphere  would  be  omitted  within  which  that  idea  is  here  unfolded, 
viz.,  the  sphere  of  state-craft  And  thus,  on  the  other  hand,  an  outrage  against 
royalty  as  against  the  Lord's  anointed  could  in  truth  spring  from  internal  fiurtions, 
from  hatred  and  dissension  in  the  royal  family,  from  an  uncivilized  familiarity  with 
barbarous  customs  and  the  like,  all  of  which  are  cases  in  which  ambition  either 
plays  no  part  (as  when  some  love  intrigue  is  the  spring)  or  else  only  a  very  sub- 
ordinate rdle.  All  these  situations  would  afford  material  for  a  drama,  and  each  one 
would  turn  out  utterly  different  from  Macbeth^  and  yet  in  any  case  the  idea  that  has 
been  adopted  must  be  carried  out  in  the  drama.  Verily,  between  the  idea  and  its 
development  there  would  remain  the  same  difference  as  between  an  outline  and  a 
perfect  picture,  but  at  all  hazards  the  outline  must  be  exact  Let  us,  therefore, 
combine  both  of  these  two  views,  and  pronounce  the  idea,  which  is  the  moving 
power  of  our  drama,  to  be :  the  representation  of  ambition  as  a  fiendish  living  force^ 
driving  on  an  heroic  nature ^  that  is  possessed  of  high  aims  and  capable  of  the  gra$td- 
est  deeds,  yet  restricted  by  external  barriers,  to  conspiracy  against  an  anointed  power ^ 
an  established  hereditary  royalty,  on  fecUty  to  which  depends  not  only  the  prosperity 
of  all,  but  the  true,  genuine  happiness  of  the  conspirator  himself;  hereby  dooming 
countless  numbers  to  destruction,  as  well  as  plunging  the  rebel  himself  into  spiritual 


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GERMAN  CRITICISMS  44 1 

andy  by  the  final  moral  concatenation^  into  physical  ruin^  but  by  these  very  means 
causing  the  power  which  has  been  outraged  to  emerge  all  the  more  gloriously, 

G.  G.  Gkrvinus  (ii,  p.  146) :  However  criminal  and  violent  this  passion  [ambi- 
tion] may  appear  to  us  as  it  is  developed  in  Macbeth,  it  is  not  in  him  from  the- 
outset ;  the  strongest  temptations  were  needed  to  stir  it  into  a  headlong  activity. 

Banquo  is  contrasted  with  Macbeth  as  a  complemental  character,  and  this  con- 
trast is  revealed  immediately  in  the  effect  on  both  of  the  witches'  temptation.  Ban- 
quo  has  the  same  heroic  courage,  as  high  deserts  and  claims  as  Macbeth ;  it  is 
natural  that  the  same  ambitious  thoughts  should  occur  to  the  one  as  to  the  other. 
But  in  Banquo  they  spring  up  in  a  freer  organization,  capable  of  the  sweetest  mod- 
esty, and  therefore  they  do  not  master  him  as  they  do  Macbeth.  When  the  latter  is 
rewarded  by  his  sovereign  with  favours,  distinction,  visits,  titles,  and  power,  Banquo 
has  to  be  grateful  for  an  embrace  only,  a  mere  folding  to  the  heart.  And  the  modest 
man  replies:  'There  if  I  grow,  the  harvest  is  your  own.*  Even  the  fruit  of  this 
small  recompense  he  accords  to  the  king.  And  then  in  an  Aside,  out  of  the  hearing 
of  his  more  favoured  rival,  he  extols  to  the  king  the  qualities  of  Macbeth,  while  the 
latter  envies  him  from  the  very  first  on  account  of  the  prophecy  in  favor  of  his 
descendants  as  well  as  of  himself. . . . 

Lady  Macbeth  is  more  a  dependent  wife  than  an  independent,  masculine  woman, 
in  so  far  as  she  wishes  the  golden  round  rather  for  him  than  for  herself ;  her  whole 
ambition  is  for  him  and  through  him ;  of  herself,  and  of  elevation  for  herself,  she 
never  speaks. .  . .  We  see  in  this  marriage  a  union  of  esteem,  ay,  of  deep  reverence, 
rather  than  of  affection.  The  Poet  has  not  left  this  unexplained.  She  has  had 
children,  but  has  reared  none ;  this  may  have  added  another  sting  to  Macbeth' s 
jealousy  of  Banquo ;  but  the  most  natural  consequence  is  that  the  pair  are  drawn 
more  dosely  together  and  are  more  intent  on  the  gratification  each  can  afford  the 
other.  Our  Romanticists  have  made  L4idy  Macbeth  a  heroine  of  virtue,  and  Goethe 
rightly  derided  the  foolish  way  in  which  they  stamped  her  a  loving  spouse  and 
housewife.  Nevertheless,  the  relationship  of  the  two  to  each  other,  after  what  we 
have  said,  may  be  supposed  to  be  cordial,  and,  from  the  style  of  their  intercourse, 
even  tender.  . .  .  When  none  of  her  golden  expectations  are  fulfilled,  when,  instead 
of  successful  greatness,  the  ruin  of  the  land  and  of  her  husband  follows,  then  her 
powers  suddenly  collapse.  Trusting  in  him,  she  could  have  endured  forever  the  * 
conflicts  of  conscience,  of  nature,  and  of  a  harrowing  imagination,  but,  doubting  him, 
she  doubts  herself  also ;  like  ivy,  she  had  twined  her  fresh  verdure  around  the 
branches  of  the  kingly  tree,  but  when  the  trunk  totters,  she  falls  to  the  ground ;  her 
iron  heart  dissolves  in  the  fire  of  this  affliction  and  of  this  false  expectation.  There 
have  been  regrets  expressed  that  the  transition  in  her  from  masculine  strength  to 
feminine  weakness  has  not  been  more  fully  portrayed  by  the  Poet.  It  was,  however, 
no  gradual  transition,  but  a  sudden  downfall.  .  .  . 

It  is  very  noteworthy  tliat  for  the  murder  of  Banquo  Macbeth  employs  the  very 
incitements  which  had  wrought  most  effectually  upon  himself :  he  appeals  to  the 
manhood  of  the  murderers. .  .  . 

As  far  as  regards  poetic  justice  in  the  fates  of  Duncan,  Banquo,  and  Macduff, 
there  lies  in  their  several  natures  a  contrast  to  Macbeth' s.  .  .  .  King  Duncan  is  char- 
acterised in  history  as  a  man  of  greater  weakness  than  became  a  king ;  rebellions 
1^^  frequent  in  his  reign  ;  he  was  no  warrior  to  suppress  them,  no  physiognomist  to 
re^  treason  in  the  face  ;  after  he  had  just  passed  through  a  painful  experience  through 


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442  APPENDIX 

the  treachery  of  the  friendly  thane  of  Cawdor,  he  at  once,  oyerlooking  the  modest 
BanquOy  elevates  Macbeth  to  this  very  thaneship,  thereby  pampering  Macbeth' s 
ambition,  and  suffers  a  cruel  penalty  for  this  blunder  at  the  hands  of  the  new  thane, 
his  own  kinsman.  The  same  lack  of  foresight  ruins  Banquo.  He  had  been  admitted 
to  the  secret  of  the  Weird  Sisters  ;  pledged  to  openness  towards  Macbeth,  he  had  an 
opportunity  of  convincing  himself  of  his  obduracy  and  secrecy';  he  surmises  and  sus- 
pects Macbeth* s  deed,  yet  he  does  nothing  against  him  and  nothing  for  himself; 
like,  but  with  a  difference,  those  cowardly  impersonations  of  fear,  the  Doctor,  Sey- 
ton,  Ross,  and  the  spying  ironical  Lennox,  he  suppresses  his  thoughts  and  wilfully 
shuts  his  eyes ;  he  falls,  having  done  nothing  in  a  field  full  of  dangers.  Macduff  is 
not  quite  so  culpable  in  this  respect ;  he  is,  therefore,  punished,  not  in  his  own  per- 
son, but  in  the  fate  of  his  family,  which  makes  him  the  martyr-hero  by  whose  hand 
Macbeth  falls.  .  .  .  Macduff  is,  by  nature,  what  Macbeth  once  was,  a  mixture  of 
mildness  and  force ;  he  is  more  than  Macbeth,  because  he  is  without  any  admixture 
of  ambition.  When  Malcolm  accuses  himself  to  Macduff  of  every  imaginable  vice, 
not  a  shadow  of  ambition  to  force  himself  into  the  usurper's  place  comes  over  Mac- 
duff. So  noble,  so  blameless,  so  mild,  Macduff  lacks  the  goad  of  sharp  ambition 
necessary  to  make  him  a  victorious  opponent  of  Macbeth ;  the  Poet,  therefore,  by 
the  horrible  extermination  of  his  family,  drains  him  of  the  milk  of  human  kindness, 
and  so  fits  him  to  be  the  conqueror  of  Macbeth. 

F.  Kreyssig  (ii,  p.  346)  :  As  regards  wealth  of  thought,  Macbeth  ranks  far  below 
Hamlet;  it  lacks  the  wide,  free,  historic  perfection  which  in  JuIIms  Casar  raises  us 
above  the  horror  of  his  tragic  fall.  It  cannot  be  compared  with  Othello  for  complete- 
ness, depth  of  plot,  or  full,  rich  illustration  of  character.  But,  in  our  opinion,  it  excels 
all  that  Shakespeare,  or  any  other  poet,  has  created,  in  the  simple  force  of  the  harmo- 
nious, majestic  current  of  its  action,  in  the  transparency  of  its  plan,  in  the  nervous 
power  and  bold  sweep  of  its  language,  and  in  its  prodigal  wealth  of  poetical  coloring. 
He  who,  to  illustrate  this  last  particular,  should  attempt  to  make  a  collection  of  the  strik- 
ing passages  of  this  wonderful  poem,  would  be  tempted  to  transcribe  page  after  page. 
He  would  hardly  find  himself  under  any  necessity  of  making  selections  where  all  is 
so  fine.  With  especial  mastery  the  Poet  employs  the  colors  of  nature  and  of  place 
to  heighten  at  critical  points  the  interest  of  the  action.  It  is  here,  if  anywhere,  that 
we  may  test  the  correctness  of  the  idea  that,  for  the  true  poet,  nature  is  of  interest 
only  as  the  element  in  which  man  lives  and  moves.  Shakespeare  employs  her 
various  aspects  in  a  two-fold  manner,  and  with  equally  excellent  effect  in  his  tragic 
scenes.  First,  as  an  antithesis,  or  contrasting  background  for  human  action,  and, 
secondly,  symbolically,  as  a  magic  mirror,  reflecting  the  appearances  of  the  moral 
world  in  imaginative,  ominous  indefiniteness.  Both  kinds  of  representation  abound 
in  Macbeth,    .  . 

We  would  not  by  any  means  adduce  the  Porter's  conversation  with  Macduff 
as  an  example  of  tragic  style,  nor  would  we,  in  a  hyper-romantic  fashion,  quarrel 
with  Schiller  as  to  the  needlessness  and  inappropriateness  of  obscene  passages  to 
amuse  a  modem  German  public  and  afford  it  a  respite  in  the  intervals  of  tragic 
excitement.  But  let  modem  critits  forbear  to  reproach  the  poet  of  a  rader  age  and 
of  less  sensitive  nerves  for  offending  the  aesthetic  sensibility  of  a  later  time  with 
his  rough,  realistic  expressions,  in  keeping  as  they  are  with  the  age  described ;  after 
all,  the  coarseness  is  here  only  incidental ;  it  by  no  means  affects  the  general  tone 
or  tenor  of  the  scene.     The  child,  lightly  turning  away  from  its  mother's  coflEin  to 


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GERMAN  CRITICISMS  443 

the  breakfast-table  and  to  his  playthings,  appeals  to  our  natural  feeling  far  more 
powerfully  than  the  solemn  visage  of  the  undertaker  in  all  the  faultless  propriety 
of  his  spotless  cravaL  We  appeal  to  the  enthusiasts  in  ideal  art,  whether  the  respect- 
able solemnity  of  the  secondary  personages  in  the  tragedies  of  the  Weimar  stage  do 
not  greatly  resemble  these  same  undertakers ! . . . 

The  attempt  has  been  made  to  regard  and  to  represent  this  play  of  Macbeth  as  a 
symbolical  transfiguration  of  the  transition  from  Northern  barbarism  to  Christian 
civilization.  Macbeth  accordingly  stands  before  us  as  the  representative  of  rude, 
unfettered  nature ;  his  English  opponents  appear  as  the  heralds  of  a  higher  culture ; 
his  overthrow  is  interpreted  as  the  triumph  of  a  gentler  age  over  the  Titanic  strength 
of  barbaric  heroes.  Gervinus  has  developed  this  idea  in  his  Shakespeare  with  equal 
genius  and  skill ;  but,  as  in  his  conception  of  the  signification  of  Lear  and  Hamlet^ 
he  seems  to  me,  however,  to  have  taken  a  position  hard  to  hold  in  view  of  a  simple 
understanding  of  the  text.  It  is  true  the  English  king  is  expressly  styled  by  Len- 
nox the  '  pious  Edward,'  and  commended  for  his  clemency.  But  we  hear  nobler 
gentleness  and  humanity  ascribed  to  the  Scottish  Duncan.  Macbeth' s  foes  have 
not  the  most  distant  thought  of  introducing  new  customs,  or  of  changing  the  social 
order.  They  wish  merely  to  '  give  to  their  tables  meat,  and  sleep  to  their  nights.' 
It  is  only  actual,  personal  need  that  forces  them  into  the  conflict.  . . . 

So  Macbeth  affronts  us  as,  above  all  things,  the  man  of  action,  of  oveipowering 
strength  and  resolution.  Thus  does  the  bleeding  soldier,  fresh  from  the  ranks, 
depict  him  to  the  king.  . . . 

But  this  strength  is  not  at  all  that  of  a  common  nature.  It  is  the  honest  instinct 
of  a  naturally  noble  character  which  recoils  from  the  first  encounter  with  temptation, 
from  the  first  sight  of  the  Gorgon's  head  of  crime.  Thus  the  Poet  paints  it  in  his 
masterly  way. . . . 

With  a  keen,  inexorable  eye  Macbeth  examines  the  reasons  that  condemn  his 
crime  for  ever :  fealty  to  his  liege,  to  his  kinsman,  the  sanctity  of  his  guest^  the 
meekness  of  the  gracious  Duncan. 

He  does  not,  like  lago,  provide  himself  with  a  philosophy  of  egotism.  He  does 
not  persuade  himself  to  despise  the  virtuous  man  whom  he  purposes  to  destroy. 
And  later,  amid  all  the  horrors  of  his  bloody  career,  he  keeps  wholly  clear  from 
that  peculiarly  Lucifer's  sin,  from  the  diseased,  greedy  endeavor  to  lighten  the  con- 
sciousness of  his  own  worthlessness  by  increasing  the  guilt  of  his  confederates.  His 
wife's  deliberate,  seductive  influence  has  poisoned  his  life  for  ever.  He  feels  the 
torments  of  a  guilty  conscience  as  acutely  as  man  ever  did,  and  it  will  be  seen 
how  it  was  this  consuming  fire  of  suffering  that  supplied  him  with  the  force  needed 
for  the  full  developement  of  his  character.  But  his  tongue  utters  no  word  of 
reproach  to  his  accomplice,  the  originator  of  his  crime  and  of  his  misery.  The 
man,  in  his  strength,  even  deems  it  unseemly  to  allow  his  wife  to  share  the  terrible 
consequences  of  his  first  fatal  act :  '  Be  innocent  of  the  knowledge,'  etc.  . .  . 

We  have  before  us  no  bari>arian,  still  less,  a  callous  adept  in  crime.  He  feels 
the  enormity  of  his  guilt  with  the  pain  and  horror  only  to  be  found  in  natures  still 
unweakened  and  uncorrupted.  But  his  morality  is,  from  the  beginning,  more  the 
result  of  habit  and  feeling  than  of  thought  or  will. 

Whenever  he  rises  out  of  the  whirl  of  emotion  and  the  fitful  horror  of  crime  to  a 
calmer  contemplation  of  things,  we  find  him  busied  in  weighing,  not  his  own  moral 
scruples,  but  the  expediency  of  his  violent  deeds.  His  instincts  as  a  man  of  honor, 
more  than  his  sense  of  right,  shrink  from  the  deed.     He  would  fain  wear  in  their 


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APPENDIX 


newest  gloss  the  golden  opinions  which  he  has  bought  before  he  exposes  it  to  the 
hazard.  . .  . 

But  it  is  as  a  public  robber,  and  not  as  a  peijured  traitor,  that  he  appears  before 
the  judgement-seat  of  his  conscience.  He  is  the  fmest  t3rpe  that  we  possess  of  the 
old  Northern  barbarian.  The  ages  of  Teutonic  progress  produced  whole  races  of 
chieftains  whose  careers  and  fates  were  determinea  by  the  same  unscrupulous  crav- 
ing for  power  and  possession.  The  impression  th4se  annals  make  upon  us  is  the 
same  as  that  produced  by  reading  a  chapter  of  Thierry's  Merovingian  Kings,  which, 
with  its  correct  impress  of  every  feature,  forms  so\  great  a  contrast  to  the  senti- 
mental caricatures  that,  in  the  costume  of  the  Northmen  of  the  Middle  Ages,  play 
their  parts  in  the  poetry  of  modem  romance.  Equally  imposing,  but  far  more 
enigmatical,  alas !  is  the  character  of  his  vrife  at  his  side.  We  hazard  the  contra- 
diction which  this  *  alas  *  raises,  of  the  established  traditional  admiration  of  this 
character,  not  indeed  that  we  consider  the  fearful  deformity  and  demoniac  hardness 
of  this  woman  to  be  uimatural  and  irreconcilable  with  the  fundamental  laws  of  psy- 
chological truth.  We  do  not  at  all  believe  that  narrower  bounds  are  set  to  moral 
delinquency  in  the  weaker  sex  than  in  the  stronger.  We  do  not  undertake  to  pat 
out  of  sight  the  fact  that  the  very  tenderness  of  woman's  organization,  when  once 
in  the  power  of  evil,  degenerates  more  rapidly  and  more  completely  than  a  coarser 
but  stronger  nature.  We  are  prepared  to  allow  the  Poet  full  exercise  of  his  right  to 
draw  all  that  is  extreme  and  most  violent  in  good,  and  also  in  evil,  into  the  magic 
circle  of  his  plastic  genius, — but  we  feel  the  necessity  of  recognising  the  rule  in  the 
exception.  The  more  complete  the  corruption,  the  more  important  to  us  is  the 
knowledge  of  the  process  producing  such  an  effect ;  and  in  Lady  Macbeth  we  seem 
to  miss  the  dramatic  intuition  of  this  process.  In  a  word,  the  wife  of  the  thane  of 
Glamis  comes  before  us,  from  the  first,  as  an  accomplished  adept  in  crime,  a  being, 
compared  with  whom,  the  soldier,  unscrupulous  in  his  ambition,  but  not  yet  entirely 
hardened,  shows  almost  like  sentimental  innocence.  A  careless  hint  of  Macbeth' s 
hopes  suffices  for  her  to  seize  the  whole  idea  of  the  murder  without  a  trace  of 
scruple  or  inward  conflict  The  easy  good-nature,  the  *  milk  of  human  kindness'  in 
her  husband,  is  her  only  concern ;  and  immediately,  when  the  opportimity  comes 
unexpectedly,  the  image  of  the  crime  rises  out  of  the  chaos -of  undefined  wishes, 
filling  her,  it  is  true,  with  the  horror  which  seizes  even  the  strongest  in  the  actual 
presence  of  whatever  is  monstrous  in  imagination,  but  with  none  of  the  natural 
abhorrence  of  conscience  at  the  approach  of  inexpiable  guilt . . . 

And  we  are  to  accept  all  this  horrible  speech  (<  I  have  given  suck,'  etc.)  as  a 
complete,  accomplished  fact,  as  something  which  is  as  rmtural  as  womanly  pity  and 
womanly  love.  We  do  not  see  the  trace  of  a  struggle  preceding  this  fiendish  resolu- 
tion. We  can  hardly  reckon  as  such  the  fact  that  the  heroic  lady  nerves  herself  to 
the  task  by  means  of  a  powerful  draught,  or  that  other  fact  that  she  would  have 
struck  the  sleeping  king  but  for  his  likeness  to  her  father ;  rather  should  we  ascribe 
both  incidents  to  physical  weakness  than  to  any  prompting  of  pity.  And  after  the 
deed  she  maintains  her  full  self-possession.  Her  nerves  flinch  not  before  the  terri- 
ble fact  at  which  the  obdurate  soldier  starts  back.  Calmly  she  re-enters  the  chambo: 
of  horror  to  secure  to  her  husband — and  to  herself — the  fruit  of  the  king's  death 
through  the  judicial  execution  of  the  grooms.  Her  appearance  has  the  repose,  the 
assurance,  and  firmness  of  natural  feeling,  while  she  appears  to  us  and  to  herself 
the  personation  of  the  most  daring  rebellion  against  every  principle  of  society  and 
of  nature. . . . 


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GERMAN  CRITICISMS  445 

Macbeth  murders  Banquo  from  a  belief  in  that  very  oracle  which  made  it  evident 
that  the  murder  would  be  futile.  This  is  again  apparent  when  the  ghostly  appari- 
tion warns  him  against  Macduff,  although  the  very  next  prophecy  appears  to  deprive 
the  warning  of  all  point.  The  old  logic  of  passion,  and  an  evil  conscience !  It  is 
also  remarkable  how  Macbeth'  s  heroic  nature,  as  soon  as  the  weakness  of  his  first 
terrible  excitement  is  over,  occupies  itself,  with  ever-increasing  power,  in  the  new 
and  fatal  course  upon  which  he  has  entered,  while  the  unnatural  over-estimate  of 
her  powers  breaks  down  his  masculine  wife  before  the  disappointment  of  her 
hopes.  .  .  . 

Even  the  worst  disenchantment  of  all,  the  discovery  of  the  malignant  cimning  of 
the  last  oracle,  does  not  wrest  the  sword  from  his  hand.  He  pays,  as  a  man,  his 
fearful  penalty,  and  we  have  to  confess  that  long  before  Macdufif's  sword  reaches 
him  he  has  tasted  the  bitterest  punishment,  and  that  the  worst  dissonances  are  at  an 
end.  The  sharp,  bloody  remedy  of  the  terrible  soul-sickness  reconciles  our  aesthetic, 
as  well  as  edifies  our  moral,  nature.  To  express  in  few  words  our  judgement  on  the 
tragedy  of  Macbeth^  we  find  it  penetrates  less  deeply  than  Lear^  Othello,  and  Hamlet 
into  the  mysterious  region  where  thought  decides  both  deed  and  destiny.  Its  central 
life  rests  less  in  the  moral  and  spiritual  consciousness,  and  its  logical  developement, 
than  upon  the  unalloyed  strength  of  that  feeling  which  binds  the  individual,  though 
he  be  the  strongest,  to  the  laws  that  govern  our  race.  But  the  conflict  between  this 
feeling  and  the  overpowering,  selfish  impulse,  its  defeat  and  its  inexorable,  all-de- 
stroying revenge,  is  pictured  in  this  poem  with  unequalled  power.  And,  as  feeling 
and  action  are  more  under  the  control  of  the  art  of  the  poet  than  the  mysterious 
working  of  the  thought  that  mediates  between  the  two,  so  this  wonderful  drama 
surpasses  every  other  creation  of  old  or  modem  times,  by  the  enthralling  splendor 
of  its  poetical  coloring,  and  by  the  irresistible  force  of  its  dramatic  and  scenic  effect. 

J.  L.  F.  Flathe  (ii,  pp.  9-167) :  Shakespeare's  Macbeth  at  the  moment  when 
he  first  appears  in  the  tragedy  thinks  of  murder  and  of  nothing  but  murder. .  .  . 

The  devil  visits  those  only  who  invite  him  in.  A  fall  from  grace  is  the  result 
of  man's  alienating  his  heart  from  the  Being  to  whom  his  love  should  belong.  Only 
when  man  has  driven  forth  from  his  heart  its  inborn  purity,  and  wilfully  opened  the 
door  of  his  inner  world  to  demons,  does  evil  acquire  vitality  within  him,  and  find 
expression  in  action.  These  are  the  actual,  oft-repeated  thoughts  of  Shakespeare. 
He  never  entertains  the  idea  that  the  devil  can  be  the  lord  and  master  of  our  exist- 
ence. On  the  contrary,  it  is  said  in  Macbeth^  as  we  shall  hereafter  show,  that  all 
the  power  of  hell  has  been  crippled. 

Schlegel,  with  great  coolness  and  self-complacency,  has  copied  what  he  found  in 
Steevens  concerning  Banquo.  Consequently  he  declares  that  Banquo  preserves  all 
his  purity  and  honesty  of  purpose,  unaffected  by  the  infernal  suggestions  to  which 
poor,  gallant  Macbeth  succumbs. 

But  we  are  constrained  to  ask,  what  devil  gives  the  devil  such  power  over  this 
poor  devil  of  a  Macbeth,  that  he  is  so  immediately  led  astray,  while  we  see,  in  the 
case  of  Banquo,  that  any  man  who  chooses  can  easily  withstand  the  devil  ?  .  . . 

In  common  with  all  human-kind,  Macbeth  was  at  the  first,  if  not  honest,  at  least 
not  dishonest,  for  good  not  evil  is  original  and  innate  in  us.  It  is  true  it  must  be 
elevated  and  ennobled  by  that  free  will,  without  which  no  conflict  with  evil  is  possi- 
ble. Macbeth' s  position  in  life  was  an  exalted  one.  Sordid  want  and  poverty  could 
not  so  nearly  approach  him  as  to  lure  him  from  the  path  of  duty  and  virtue.     Power 


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446  APPENDIX 

and  honor,  on  the  contrary,  attracted  him  to  remain  true  to  the  Right  Their  in- 
crease, with  promise  of  calm  enjoyment,  would  be  the  result  of  that  adherence  to  it, 
to  which  he  was  still  more  constrained  by  his  rich  and  varied  mental  endowments. 

But  in  spite  of  every  incitement  to  good,  Macbeth  gradually  pursued  the  path  of 
evil.  He  turned  aside  from  the  wisdom  which  is  love  of  the  Divine,  renounced  the 
morality  which  consists  in  a  life  of  intellectual  activity,  and  even  abjured  conscience 
in  its  prime  and  essential  significance,  the  peculiarly  human  attribute  of  humanity. 
Thus  he  rendered  all  his  knowledge  not  only  empty  and  unproductive,  but  it  was  a 
positive  torture  to  him.  Macbeth  was  disposed  to  sensuality  and  sensual  delights. 
They  did  not  seek  him,  they  did  not  thrust  themselves  upon  him,  he  summoned 
them  to  him.  He  followed  a  path  that  we  have  seen  trodden  by  millions  upon 
millions  of  our  race.  For  ever  and  aye,  through  centuries,  through  cycles  of  histoiy, 
man  has  fallen  into  the  same  error  of  supposing  that  the  life  of  our  life  is  to  be 
found  in  the  miserable  gratifications  of  sense,  of  believing  that  sin,  frivolity,  and  wine 
must  be  aids  in  attaining  and  holding  fast  sensual  delights. 

At  first,  Macbeth  contented  himself  with  the  lesser  pleasures  that  the  worid  of 
sense  can  afford.  His  joy  lay  [IV,  iii,  69,  70]  in  luxury,  wealth,  and  women,  often 
most  miserably  won.  In  addition,  aware  that  evil  often  attains  its  ends  more 
speedily  in  virtue's  mask,  he  made  hypocrisy  his  constant  study.  The  tragedy  shows 
him  to  be  an  adept  in  it.  With  murder  in  his  heart,  he  addresses  the  fairest  words  • 
to  him  whose  death  is  the  aim  of  all  his  energies.  He  can  give  utterance  to  a 
lament  that  sounds  almost  genuine,  over  the  corpse  of  his  victim,  and  comfort  him- 
self as  if  this  death  had  wrung  his  very  soul.  The  tragedy  shows  us  Macbeth 
from  the  first  as  a  crafty  and  practised  hypocrite,  and  although  German  aesthetic  criti- 
cism in  particular  declares  that  the  Poet  here  portrays  a  noble,  heroic  nature,  degraded 
by  crime,  there  is  not  the  faintest  trace  of  any  such  to  be  discovered  in  the  piece  itself, 
although  searched  for  with  the  aid  of  a  hundred  thousand  spectacles.  . . . 

Thus  Shakespeare,  who  always  clings  firmly  to  the  realities  of  existence,  carries 
out  his  poetic  fable  of  Macbeth.  Unsatisfied  by  the  smaller  honors  that  he  has 
attained,  Macbeth  casts  his  eyes  upon  the  highest  of  which  he  knows,  a  royal  crown. 
This  only,  he  believes,  can  content  him.  It  rests  upon  the  head  of  a  reverend  old 
man,  and  Macbeth  has  not  the  shadow  of  foundation  to  a  daim  upon  it.  But  trained 
by  previous  crime,  his  feelings  already  blunted,  his  heart  already  hardened,  he  re- 
solves immediately  to  attain  it  by  murder.  He  takes  an  oath  to  commit  it  as  soon  as 
time  and  opportunity,  which  can  readily  be  arranged,  should  prove  fiivourable. 
The  tragedy  repeatedly  refers  to  this  oath,  which  dates  from  a  time  previous  to  its 
commencement. 

But  the  muider  of  a  king,  particularly  if  it  has  for  its  object  the  attainment  of  a 
dx)wn,  is  no  small  matter.  The  scaffold  and  the  sword  of  the  executioner  might 
well  be  the  answer  to  a  demand  for  earthly  dominion  made  after  such  a  fashion. 
Macbeth,  therefore,  is  a  prey  to  anxiety,  and  looks  about  for  aid  and  support.  Then 
he  encounters  the  witches  upon  his  path ;  and  they  are  to  appear  to  him  again  at  a 
later  period.  Macbeth  does  not  deceive  himself  with  regard  to  them  ;  he  knows  that 
they  are  infernal  spirits,  but  he  makes  friends  with  them  because  through  them  he 
hopes  to  steady  the  ground  beneath  him,  if  only  during  his  earthly  existence.  And 
thus  the  evil  that  was  within  him  strides  on  to  the  limits  ordained  for  it,  and  the 
sense  and  significance  of  the  poetic  fable  and  tragedy  are  first  revealed  to  us.  A 
gigantic  presentment  of  human  sin  is  unfolded.  For  the  sake  of  the  miserable 
delights  of  this  world  men  will  cast  their  humanity  into  the  dust — ^rebel  against  their 


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tme  selves,  outrage  diTinity,  nay,  if  tbey  could,  sell  themselves  to  the  devil.*  In 
Macbeth  is  manifest  in  especial  that  characteristic  of  human  nature  that  is  always, 
although  perhaps  not  to  the  degree  shown  in  this  instance,  conscious  of  wandering 
in  paths  of  error  that  can  only  lead  to  destruction. 

Macbeth  had  probably  long  revolved  in  his  own  breast  thoughts  of  murder  and 
the  ambitious  hopes  connected  with  them.  But  man  is  a  social  and  sympathetic 
being.  Macbeth  needs  a  human  breast  in  which  to  confide,  that  can  revel  with  him 
in  his  dreams  of  future  grandeur  and  magnificence.  And  to  whom  could  he  more 
prudently  turn  than  to  his  wedded  wife,  who  was  to  share  with  him  the  crown  ht 
hoped  to  win  f  And  yet  such  a  confidence  even  to  a  wife  is  a  serious,  if  not  a  dan- 
gerous affur.  Macbeth  can  only  have  brought  himself  to  reveal  his  murderous 
design  to  his  spouse  in  the  certainty  that  it  would  find  welcome  lodgement  with  her. 

Thus  Lady  Macbeth  makes  her  appearance  as  the  second  tragic  figure  in  the 
poetic  fable.  German  aesthetic  criticism,  following  the  lead  given  it  in  England, 
will  have  it  that  Lady  Macbeth  seduced  poor,  gallant  Macbeth  to  commit  the  murder, 
because  she  was  an  evil  woman,  familiar  with  crime,  in  fact,  more  a  tiger  than  a 
human  being.  Now,  since  no  human  being  comes  into  the  world  a  tiger,  certainly 
German  criticism,  especially  since  it  lays  claim  to  such  immense  erudition,  ought  to 
declare  by  whom  the  Lady  has  been  led  astray  and  transformed  to  a  tiger.  But  it 
eludes  the  trouble  of  such  a  revelation,  and  insists  that  its  assertion  that  the  Lady 
was  a  tiger  shall  be  satisfactory.  The  tragedy  itself  proves  as  clearly  as  daylight  that 
Shakespeare,  if  he  thought  of  seduction  at  all,  did  not  dream  of  it  as  practised  upon 
Macbeth  by  his  wife.  If  there  were  any  hint  of  such  arts,  bom  as  they  are  of  the 
slough  of  pseudo-rationalism,  it  might  far  sooner  be  shown  that  the  lady  was  seduced 
by  her  husband ;  at  least  some  apparent  proofs  in  support  of  such  an  idea  might  be 
gleaned  from  the  drama. 

Like  Macbeth,  Lady  Macbeth  is  self-corrupted.  And  once  corrupt,  she  is  worse 
than  her  husband.  Nothing  is  more  natural  than  this.  A  degenerating  woman 
always  falls  lower  than  a  man,  because  greater  force  of  evil  intent  is  necessary  to 
oveipower  a  more  exquisite  innate  purity.  Lady  Macbeth  has  already  committed  a 
number  of  minor  crimes  when  Macbeth  imparts  to  her  his  regicidal  schemes.  She 
exults  in  them  as  he  had  anticipated,  and  the  pair  are  hencefqrth  linked  firmly 
together  by  the  bond  that  so  often  unites  criminals  for  mutual  advantage. 

Because,  as  a  woman,  Lady  Macbeth  falls  lower  than  a  man,  she  is  more  intent 
on  murder  than  murderous  Macbeth  himself.  She  afironts  the  deed  more  boldly, 
setting  at  naught  minor  considerations  that  present  themselves  to  him.  The  rela- 
tions presented  by  the  tragedy  are  thus  perfectly  clear. .  . . 

It  is  true,  Banquo  has  not  attained  the  colossal  greatness  and  firmness  in  evil  that 
belong  to  Macbeth  and  Lady  Macbeth,  but  he  is  morally  well  prepared  for  deeds 
of  darkness.  He  will  not  seek  out  sin  in  its  lair,  and  bind  himself  by  an  oath  to 
create  an  opportunity  for  crime,  but  should  such  an  opportunity  with  fair  promise 
of  reward  present  itself,  he  is  not  the  man  to  refuse  to  take  advantage  of  it.  Banquo 
is  not  aware  of  Macbeth' s  murderous  intent  towards  the  king,  but  he  knows  his 
comrade  in  arms,  and  feels  that  he  would  not  shrink  from  a  bloody  deed  if  any  great 
advancement  were  to  be  attained  by  it. .  .  . 

[After  witnessing  Macbeth' s  emotion  at  the  saluUtionsof  the  witches,  and  dearly 

*  They  go  in  the  way  of  Cain  and  run  greedily  after  error  for  the  sake  of  worldly 
enjoyment,  and  perish  in  confusion. 


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448  APPENDIX 

discerning  his  intentions  of  making  them  good,  an]  honest  man  would  have  made  it 
his  task  from  that  moment  to  prevent  the  commission  of  a  great  crime.  A  virtuous^ 
nay,  even  a  tolerably  upright  Banquo  would  have  espoused  a  double  duty.  On  one 
side,  King  Duncan  should  have  been,  at  first  gently,  and  then  as  danger  threatened 
firmly  and  decidedly,  warned  against  an  easy  security,  an  unconditional  confidence. 
On  the  other  side,  there  was  Macbeth  to  be  gravely,  perhaps  menacingly,  advised. 
And  how  easy  a  task  would  this  last,  at  least,  have  proved  for  Banquo  1  Could  he 
not  say  to  Macbeth :  *  I  have  heard  the  witches  promise  you  a  royal  crown,  I  see 
the  tumult  of  agitation  excited  within  you — ^guard  against  any  thoughts  of  verifying 
the  prophecy  by  violence,  above  all,  take  heed  not  to  meditate  evil  towards  our  rev- 
erend King.  I  hold  you  responsible  for  his  safety :  should  he  die  and  I  suspect  you 
as  the  cause  of  his  death,  stand  in  awe  of  my  unflinching  testimony,  my  avenging 
sword.'  But  Banquo  in  neither  case  does  what,  as  matters  stand,  the  merest  sense 
of  duty,  of  honor,  and  of  virtue  requires  of  him.  On  the  contrary,  he  comports  him- 
self precisely  as  the  witches,  as  evil  spirits,  would  have  him,  since  he  neglects 
everything  that  could  delay  Macbeth  in  his  criminal  career.  The  witches  desire  that 
Macbeth  should  be  free  to  act,  to  murder — they  desire  that  Banquo  should  place  no 
obstacle  in  the  way  of  his  murderous  intent ;  and  their  desire  in  both  cases  is  fulfilled. 

If  Shakespeare  had  any  idea  of  a  seduction  from  the  path  of  virtue,  surely  it 
must  be  maintained  that  both  Macbeth  and  Banquo  were  the  victims  of  the  witches. 
It  is  ridiculous  for  German  aesthetic  criticism  to  talk  so  much  of  an  uncorrupted 
Banquo. 

Banquo  believes  that,  if  the  prophecy  with  regard  to  the  royal  honors  of  his  pos- 
terity be  true,  Macbeth  must  first  be  king — ^the  sceptre  must  fall  into  his  hands  for  a 
while.  At  least  the  witches  point  to  such  a  course  and  sequence  of  events.  There- 
fore he  abstains  from  working  for  Duncan  or  against  Macbeth.  He  will  do  nothing 
that  may  interfere  with  the  future  greatness  of  his  line.  If  woridly  afiairs  run 
smoothly,  men  do  not  greatly  trouble  themselves  as  whether  or  not  they  are  adul- 
terated by  something  of  the  devilish  element. 

In  the  legend,  Banquo's  sympathy  with,  nay,  complicity  in,  the  murder  of  Duncan 
is  made  perfectly  clear.  This  it  was  the  Poet's  task  to  do  away  with.  He  trans- 
forms Banquo's  crime  into  one  which  consists  in  remaining  silent,  in  refusing  to  act 
— and  thus  to  a  degree  veils  it.  .  .  . 

When  Macbeth  says :  '  Speak,  if  you  can. — What  are  you  ?*  it  must  not  be  in- 
ferred that  he  has  just  met  these  evil  beings  for  the  first  time.  Witches  can  take 
upon  themselves  a  variety  of  material  forms.  Macbeth  may  not  have  seen  them 
before  in  their  present  shapes.  By  his  question  he  wishes  to  ascertain  if  these  appa- 
ritions belong  to  the  class  of  evil  spirits  with  which  he  is  familiar.  In  this  very  scene 
there  is  proof  that  Macbeth  is  well  acquainted  with  witches  and  their  kind.  .  . . 

This  warning,  <  oftentimes  to  win  us  to  our  harm,'  etc.,  comes  oddly  enough 
from  the  lips  of  a  man  who  has  just  questioned  the  witches  himself  with  such  haste 
and  eagerness.  Here  we  have  the  first  glimpse  of  the  deceit  and  falsehood  practised 
by  Banquo  upon  himself.  .  .  . 

Banquo  would  so  gladly  esteem  himself  an  honourable  man  ;  therefore  he  warns 
Macbeth,  although  as  briefly  as  possible,  against  the  devil.  He  knows  that  a  mere 
warning  will  avail  nothing,  but  he  ignores  this,  wishing  to  be  able  to  say  to  himself, 
when  Macbeth  has  attained  his  end,  <  I  am  guiltless,  I  warned  him  against  the 
devil.'  Had  Banquo  been  really  true,  how  differently  he  would  have  borne  him- 
self!... 


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GERMAN  CRITICISMS  449 

When  Macbeth  says,  '  Come  what  come  may,  Time  and  the  hour  run  through  the 
roughest  day,'  he  for  the  first  time  resolves  to  murder  Duncan.  His  second  resolu- 
tion starts  into  life  when  the  King  announces  the  Prince  of  Cumberland  as  his 
successor. . . . 

One  word  of  caution  from  Banquo  [when  the  King  was  lavishing  honors  upon 
Macbeth]  would  have  sufficed  to  establish  measures  that  would  have  made  it  im- 
possible for  assassination  to  find  a  way  at  night  through  unclosed  doors.  But  Ban- 
quo  takes  good  care  to  speak  no  such  word.  A  villain  at  heart,  he  does  nothing  to 
impede  the  fulfilment  of  crime. .  . . 

Almost  every  line  of  the  tragedy  shows  the  falseness  of  the  German  aesthetic  criti- 
cism which  prates  smoothly  on  about  the  evil  seed  first  sown  by  the  witches,  and 
developed  to  murder  in  the  Castle  of  Macbeth.  On  the  contrary,  every  line  goes  to 
prove  that  evil  has  been  long  contemplated  there,  and  has  only  awaited  a  favorable 
opportunity. 

Banquo  enters  [II,  i.]  with  his  son  Fleance,  who  holds  a  torch.  Will  not  the 
man  do  something  at  last  for  his  king,  take  some  measures  to  prevent  a  cruel  crime  ? 
Everything  combines  to  enjoin  the  most  careful  watchfulness  upon  him,  if  duty  and 
honour  are  yet  quick  within  his  breast ;  and  here  we  come  to  a  speech  of  Banquo' s 
to  his  son  to  which  we  must  pay  special  heed,  since  upon  it  the  earlier  English  com- 
mentators, Steevens  among  them,  have  based  their  ridiculous  theory  that  in  this 
tragedy  Banquo,  in  contrast  to  Macbeth,  who  is  led  astray,  represents  the  man  un- 
seduced  by  evil.  Steevens  says  that  this  passage  shows  that  Banquo  too  is  tempted 
by  the  witches  in  his  dreams  to  do  something  in  aid  of  the  fulfilment  of  his  hopes, 
and  that  in  his  waking  hours  he  holds  himself  aloof  from  all  such  suggestions,  and 
hence  his  prayer  to  be  spared  the  *  cursed  thoughts  that  nature  gives  way  to  in 
repose.' 

A  stranger  or  more  forced  explanation  of  this  passage  can  hardly  be  imagined. 
It  is  true  that  somewhat  later  in  the  scene,  after  the  entrance  of  Macbeth,  Banquo 
speaks  of  having  dreamed  of  the  witches,  but  that  has  not  the  faintest  connection 
with  these  expressions.  He  is  neither  alluding  to  the  witches  nor  to  a  former  dream, 
nor  to  dreaming  at  all,  but  he  is  thinking  of  the  sleep  that  awaits  him  and  the 
thought  that  may  visit  him  in  it.  A  merely  superficial  reading  of  his  words  declares 
decidedly  against  Steevens' s  interpretation  of  them  ;  and  their  whole  meaning  and 
connection  are  still  more  opposed  to  it  It  is  impossible  that  Banquo  should  be 
incited,  either  waking  or  dreaming,  by  the  witches  to  action  in  aid  of  the  fulfilment 
of  his  hopes.    What  direction  could  such  action  take  ? 

Banquo' s  hopes  for  his  lineage  can  only  be  furthered  by  the  removal  of  Duncan 
and  by  Macbeth' s  accession  to  the  throne.  In  the  existing  state  of  affairs  nothing  is 
necessary  to  efiect  both  these  ends,  upon  Banquo' s  part,  but  that  he  should  do 
nothing  for  Duncan  or  against  Macbeth.  And  he  has  faithfully  remained  inactive  ; 
he  has  exactly  obeyed  the  unspoken  injunction  of  the  witches  to  pay  no  heed  to  the 
voice  of  truth,  of  duty,  nor  of  honour.  Therefore  it  is  clearly  impossible  that  the 
witches  should  come  to  the  sleeping  Banquo  to  require  anything  more  of  him  than 
what  he  is  already  doing.  He  opposes  no  obstacle  to  the  murder.  What  more  can 
the  witches  require  of  him  ? 

The  passage  in  question,  therefore,  must  be  elucidated  more  naturally,  and  more 
in  harmony  with  the  whole.  As  he  has  already  done,  Banquo  here  [II,  i.]  en- 
deavours as  far  as  possible  to  assert  his  own  innocence  to  himself,  while,  for  the  sake 
of  his  future  advantage,  he  intends  to  oppose  no  obstade  to  the  sweep  of  Macbeth' s 
29 


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450  APPENDIX 

sword.  It  is,  therefore,  necessary  that  he  should  pretend  to  himself  that  here  in 
Macbeth's  castle  no  danger  can  threaten  Duncan  nor  any  one  else.  Therefore  his 
sword  need  not  rest  by  his  side  this  night,  and  he  gives  it  to  his  son.  He  most  be 
able  to  say  to  himself,  in  the  event  of  any  fearful  catastrophe,  *■  I  never  thought  of, 
or  imagined,  any  danger,  and  so  I  laid  aside  my  arms.' 

And  yet,  try  as  he  may,  he  cannot  away  with  the  stifling  sensation  of  a  tempest 
in  the  air,  a  storm-cloud  destined  to  burst  over  Duncan's  head  this  very  night  He 
cannot  but  acknowledge  to  himself  that  a  certain  restless  anxiety  in  his  brain  is 
urging  him,  in  spite  of  his  weariness,  to  remain  awake  during  the  remaining  hours 
of  the  night  But  this  mood,  these  sensations,  must  not  last,  or  it  might  seem  a 
sacred  duty  either  to  hasten  to  the  chamber  of  King  Duncan  or  to  watch  it  closely, 
that  its  occupant  may  be  shielded  from  murderous  wiles.  To  avoid  this,  Banquo 
denounces  the  thoughts  of  Macbeth  that  arise  in  his  mind  as  *  cursed  thoughts.'  So 
detestably  false  are  they  that  a  merciful  Power  must  be  entreated  to  restrain  them 
during  sleep,  when  the  mind  is  not  to  be  completely  controlled. 

With  every  change  in  the  aspect  of  affairs  Banquo' s  self-deceit  appears  in  some 
new  form.  Banquo  here  banishes  his  thoughts  from  his  mind,  or  rather  maintains 
to  himself  that  he  has  banished  them,  or  that  he  must  banish  them  because  they  do 
injustice  to  noble  Macbeth,  whom,  nevertheless,  he  has  thought  it  necessary  to  warn 
against  the  devil.  .  .  . 

The  rOle  that  the  porter,  in  his  tipsy  mood,  assigns  himself,  and  the  speeches  that 
he  makes  in  character,  stand  in  significant  connection  with  the  whole  tragedy. 
Awakened  by  the  knocking  at  the  castle  gate,  he  imagines  himself  porter  at  the 
entrance  of  hell.  And  this  brings  us  to  the  central  point  of  the  drama,  wherein  is 
revealed  to  us  the  deepest  fall  made  by  man  into  the  abyss  of  evil.  For  those  who, 
like  Macbeth,  plunge  into  it,  voluntarily  and  knowingly,  the  other  world  can  unclose 
no  garden  of  delights  ;  an  allegorical  hell  awaits  them. 

Therefore  it  is  of  hell  that  the  porter  speaks :  and  therefore  it  is  that  the  Poet 
makes  him  speak  thus.  But  Macbeth  is  not  the  only  one  who  goes  this  way ;  men 
press  hither  in  crowds,  and  often  take  the  greatest  pains  and  trouble  not  to  avoid 
the  entrance  to  this  place  of  punishment  And  so  the  porter  grumbles  that  there  is 
such  a  constant  knocking  at  the  gate  of  hell,  and  that  crowds  of  all  conditions  stand 
without,  who  have  journeyed  along  the  primrose  way  to  the  everlasting  bonfire. 
As  he  enumerates  the  various  kinds  of  guests  at  this  g^te,  he  mentions  equivocators, 
traitors  who  juggle  with  the  Highest,  who  swear  by  this  to-day,  by  that  to-morrow, 
pursuing  their  wiles  beneath  God's  protection  and  invoking  his  aid. 

Some  of  the  earlier  English  critics  most  oddly  opine  that  the  Poet  here  intended 
an  allusion  to  the  Jesuits.  How  could  so  great  and  ingenious  a  poet  dream  of  inter- 
polating in  his  work  so  foreign  a  subject  ?  The  porter's  speech  evidently  hints  at 
Banquo.  As  if  by  chance,  the  man  imagines  waiting  for  admission  at  the  infernal 
gate  just  such  another  as  Banquo  ;  one  who,  like  him,  would  fain  shelter  his  treach- 
eries behind  the  name  of  God  taken  in  vain.  Banquo  did  that  when,  in  gross  self- 
deception,  he  implored  the  <  merciful  powers '  to  restrain  in  him  his  perfectly  jost 
thoughts  of  Macbeth,  which  he  would  fain  persuade  himself  are  *  cursed.'  .  .  . 

Lady  Macbeth  appears  as  the  second  figure  of  the  tragedy.  Alter  a  few  words, 
uttered  with  difficulty,  she  falls  down  in  a  swoon  and  is  bom  off  the  stage.  Any 
child  could  declare  that  this  swoon  was  only  feigned  to  avoid  all  further  embairass- 
ment  But  it  must  not  be  imagined  that  there  is  any  feigning  here.  The  Poet,  in 
Lady  Macbeth,  gives  another  view  of  human  nature  steeped  in  sin  from  that  por- 


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GERMAN  CRITICISMS  45 1 

trayed  in  Macbeth  himself.  In  her,  as  her  fonner  dreams  prove  mockeries  and 
unreal,  the  whole  mental  organization  receives  an  annihilating  blow  from  that  first 
deed  of  blood,  beneath  which  it  may  stagger  on  for  a  while,  but  from  which  it  can 
never  entirely  recover.  For  one  moment,  immediately  after  the  deed.  Lady  Macbeth 
can  overmaster  her  husband  and  stand  defiantly  erect,  as  if  to  challenge  hell  to 
combat.  But  this  was  but  a  momentary  intoxication  ;  it  is  even  now  over.  She  is 
already  conscious  that  she  can  never  banish  from  her  breast  the  consciousness  of  her 
crime ;  she  has  found  out  that  her  wisdom,  which  spumed  at  reflection,  is  naught. 
The  deed  that  she  has  done  stands  clear  before  her  soul  in  unveiled,  horrible  distinct- 
ness, and  therefore  she  swoons  away.    . 

Divine  sorrow  has  not  yet  found  entrance  to  her  breast,  but  it  is  approaching. 
She  will  still  try  to  maintain  herself  firmly  in  the  path  upon  which  she  has  entered, 
but  with  the  progress  of  events,  even  her  desire  to  do  so  will  become  weaker  and 
weaker.  . .  . 

And  Banquo  [III,  i,  21,  'Let  your  Higness  command  upon  me,'  etc.]  can  declare 
firm,  unalterable  fealty  to  the  very  man  whom  to  himself  he  has  just  accused,  almost 
in  so  many  words,  of  attaining  the  throne  by  the  assassination  of  his  royal  master  1 
Such  a  declaration  could  only  have  been  made  by  one  whose  own  heart  is  closely 
allied  to  evil.  The  emotion  excited  in  Banquo*s  breast  against  Macbeth  must  be- 
come stronger.  He  feels  obliged  to  invent  fair  words  to  conceal  his  secret.  The 
hypocrite  Macbeth  is  served  with  hyp>ocrisy.  .  .  . 

It  is  not  without  significance  that  in  this  scene  [III,  vi.]  there  is  frequent  mention 
of  most  pious  men  and  holy  angels.  Such  mention  is  meant  to  remind  us  that  there 
is  a  moral  force  always  present  in  the  world,  ready  to  come  forth  victorious  in  its 
time  and  place. .  .  . 

Macbeth  enters  [IV,  i.]  and  bears  unmistakable  testimony  to  the  fact  that  he  has 
been  familiar  with  this  company  long  before  the  beginning  of  the  tragedy.  He 
needs  not  to  inquire  the  way  leading  hither,  he  knows  it  already. 

ROmbun  (p.  68) :  The  dramatic  treatment  in  Macbeth  offers  but  small  scope 
for  realistic  criticism,  since  from  beginning  to  end  the  drama  is  enacted  in  the 
m3rthological  region  of  hoary  eld,  and  supernatural  powers  are  employed,  against 
which  there  can  be  no  pragmatic  criticism.  This  freedom  the  Poet  had  of  course 
the  same  right  to  use  as  had  the  old  tragedians,  or  Goethe  in  his  Ipkigenia^  when 
they  transported  us  to  the  land  of  the  old  gods  and  legendary  demigods.  If, 
however,  the  weird  sisters  are  not  to  be  considered  as  real,  as  the  majority  of 
Shakespeare  critics  would  fain  persuade  us,  but  only  as  the  hero*s  visions,  like  the 
Ghosts  in  Richard  I  11,^  merely  external  manifestations  of  mental  experiences,  desires, 
and  torments,  then  indeed  the  critic  from  the  realistic  point  of  view  would  have  to 
assert  himself  with  redoubled  power,  and  the  action  of  the  tragedy  would  be  utterly 
inconceivable.  But  this  conception  rests  upon  the  weakest  of  arguments,  and  is 
opposed  to  every  natural  interpretation. 

One  essential  point  is  clear— namely,  that  the  witches  foretell  the  future,  and  with 
an  accuracy  that  does  not  fail  in  the  very  smallest  particular.  Of  all  their  prophe- 
cies, only  one,  that  he  should  be  king,  has  any  previous  lodgement  in  Macbeth*  s 
breast ;  that  the  crown  should  descend  to  Banquo' s  children,  of  whom  the  last  two 
should  bear  two-fold  balls  and  treble  sceptres,  that  Macduff  should  slay  Macbeth,  that 
Bimam's  wood  should  come  to  Dunsinane,  and  the  like,  are  not  for  a  moment  to  be 
conceived  of  if  we  adopt  that  interpretation.     These  weird  sisters  had,  in  sooth,  no 


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452  APPENDIX 

control  over  Macbeth ;  their  prophecies  no  more  annihilated  his  free-will  than  the 
oracles  of  the  Delphic  god  debarred  G^pus  from  being  a  free  agent.  That  Banquo 
stood  in  a  different  relation  to  these  prophecies  from  Macbeth,  whereon  this  inter- 
pretation lays  so  much  stress,  does  not  in  the  least  change  the  state  of  the  case. 
Moreover,  the  tenor  of  the  prophecy  which  referred  to  him  was  not  of  such  a  nature 
as  called  for  any  action  on  his  part.  It  was  readily  conceivable,  since  he  himself 
belonged  to  the  royal  family,  that  his  descendants  should  wear  the  crown :  as  far  as 
he  was  concerned  he  could  neither  aid  nor  hinder  it.  Clearly  enough,  indeed,  does 
the  Poet  depict  his  witches  not  as  divine,  creative  beings,  bearing  sway  over  man,  bat 
as  devilish  ones,  leading  him  into  temptation  and  delighting  in  evil.  That  the  Poet 
must  have  conceived  of  them  as  creatures  real  and  superoatuxal,  and  prescient  of 
the  future,  no  unprejudiced  reader  will  have  the  least  doubt ...  A  poet  has  an 
undisputed  right  to  choose  for  himself  the  scene  of  his  dramatic  action.  If  he  trans- 
port us  to  a  world  of  pure  or  only  partial  fantasy,  we  must  follow  him  thither  and 
give  due  credit  to  all  the  imaginary  conditions  which  he  devises  for  us ;  but  if  he  trans- 
port us  to  real  and  historic  ground,  then  he  himself  must  respect  the  laws  which  there 
bear  sway,  and  must  submit  himself  to  the  criticism  which  they  sanction.  Thus  alone 
shall  we  be  able  to  understand  Shakespeare's  Macbeth  in  all  its  magnificent  beanty ; 
but  not  if  we  resolve  the  forms,  to  which  his  imagination  imparts  in  the  realm  of 
poetry  a  real  existence,  into  vague,  mongrel  things  of  vision  and  convenience. 
Under  such  conditions  there  is  little  to  be  said  against  the  action  in  Macbeth,  There 
are,  perchaiK:e,  a  few  trifling  gaps  in  the  action ;  for  instance,  the  instantaneous  flight 
of  the  two  Princes  after  Duncan's  death  is  noticeable  and  not  sufficiently  accounted 
for.  Also,  the  incentive  to  the  murder  of  Banquo  is  not  wholly  satisfactory.  Since 
Macbeth  is  childless,  and  Banquo  belongs  to  the  royal  race,  the  thought  that  Ban- 
quo' s  descendants  should  be  kings  could  convey  nothing  shocking  nor  intolerable 
to  Macbeth  ;  moreover,  he  must  take  the  prophecy  of  the  witches  as  a  whole,  with- 
out being  permitted  to  bring  to  naught  any  particular  item  of  it  that  he  pleased.  We 
must  have  recourse  to  the  excuse  that  in  the  soliloquy  where  he  resolves  upon  the 
murder,  Macbeth  contemplates  the  possibility  of  his  having  sons,  or  else,  which  is 
more  likely,  that  the  Poet,  who  in  this  place  also  may  have  written  from  scene  to 
scene,  forgot  in  this  passage  what  elsewhere  he  has  expressly  stated,  that  Macbeth 
was  a  childless  father. 

More  serious  difficulties  occur  in  the  character  of  Lady  Macbeth.  Her  demeanor 
before  the  deed  and  after  it  appears  to  violate  that  psychological  law  of  essential 
unity  and  consistency  of  character  to  which  Shakespeare  in  general,  although  with 
some  exceptions,  adheres.  The  workings  of  conscience  in  her  case  are  magical  and 
demoniacal,  and  not  psychologically  conceivable.  Whether  or  not  we  conceive  of 
conscience  as  an  iimate,  or  as  an  inculcated,  belief  in  the  absolute  obligation  of  cer- 
tain rules  in  human  life,  there  still  remains  a  something  in  the  consciousness,  a 
quality  or  a  force,  which  can  work  only  in  harmony  with  the  law  of  all  forces. 
Whenever,  then,  we  find  that  the  memory  of  a  criminal  act,  however  successful  and 
enduring  in  its  issues  it  may  have  been,  awakens  a  repentance  and  moral  detesta- 
tion so  consuming  that  for  no  single  instant  is  it  absent  from  the  mind  of  the  crim- 
inal, and  that  self-abhorrence  leads  to  insanity  and  suicide,  then  we  may  properly 
assume  for  such  a  character  a  susceptibility  to  moral  emotions  of  no  common  strength. 
Furthermore,  it  is  conceivable  that  with  such  a  susceptibility  there  may  coexist  a 
proneness  to  the  blackest  of  crimes  ;  for  in  the  same  breast  passions  and  desires  of  a 
different  and  far  more  violent  nature  may  be  harboured ;  but  in  this  case  it  appears 


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GERMAN  CRITICISMS  453 

to  us  to  follow  of  necessity  that  we  must  be  made  to  see  how,  in  the  moment  of  a 
lawless  deed,  the  voice  of  conscience  is  drowned,  thrast  down  into  a  corner  of  the 
hearty  overwhelmed  by  the  tempest  of  stormy  passion.  But  that  ice-cold  reasoning 
with  which  Lady  Macbeth  enkindles  her  husband  to  the  most  horrible  of  crimes, 
and  sneers  at  the  promptings  of  his  conscience  as  though  they  were  despicable, 
womanish  weakness ;  the  barbarous  roughness  with  which  she  speaks  of  plucking 
her  nipple  from  the  boneless  gums  of  the  babe  smiling  in  her  face,  and  dashing  its 
brains  out ;  the  wild  strength  with  which,  after  the  deed,  she  encourages  Macbeth 
and  spurs  him  on, — ^all  this  appears  to  us  unreconcileable  with  what  we  have  laid 
down.  It  is  not  till  late  that  the  Eumenides  enter  into  her,  and  like  Demons  from 
without,  whereas  the  Poet  ought  to  have  shown  us  how  all  along  they  were  lurking 
in  ambush  at  the  bottom  of  her  heart,  and  how  the  violence  of  their  onslaught  can 
be  calculated  by  the  long  and  powerful  pressure  to  which  the  nobler  emotions  were 
subjected. 

In  the  character  of  Macbeth,  wonderfully  and  strikingly  as  he  is  depicted,  we  miss 
something  also.  Before  he  falls  into  temptation  he  is  represented  by  the  Poet  as  of 
a  noble  nature,  as  we  gather  not  only  from  his  own  deportment,  but  more  clearly 
from  the  esteem  in  which  he  is  held  by  the  king  and  others.  We  have  a  right  to 
expect  that  this  better  nature  would  reappear;  after  his  glowing  ambition  had  at- 
tained its  end  he  ought  to  have  made  at  least  one  attempt,  or  manifested  the  desire, 
to  wear  his  ill-gotten  crown  with  glory,  to  expiate  or  extenuate  his  crime  by  sovereign 
virtues.  We  could  then  be  made  to  see  that  it  by  no  means  follows  that  evil  must 
breed  evil,  and  that  Macbeth  must  wade  on  in  blood  in  order  not  to  fall.  But  from 
the  very  first  meeting  with  the  witches  Macbeth  appears  like  one  possessed  of  all  the 
devils  of  Hell,  and  rushes  so  like  a  madman  from  one  crime  to  another,  that  the 
nobler  impulses  of  former  days  never  for  one  moment  influence  him.  Here  too,  as 
frequently  elsewhere,  Shakespeare  exaggerates  the  contrast,  and  the  effect,  at  the 
expense  of  psychological  truth ;  for,  to  completely  subvert  the  fundamental  basis  of 
a  character  assuredly  partakes,  always  and  everywhere,  of  the  nature  of  untruth. 
Without  the  idea  of  consistency  we  can  conceive  of  no  development  either  in  nature 
or  man.  .  .  . 

And  yet  all  such  criticisms  cannot  keep  us  from  pronouncing  Shakespeare's  Mac- 
beth the  mightiest  and  most  powerful  of  all  tragedies. 

MoRiTZ  Petri,  Pastor  (p.  38) :  No  poet  possesses  such  a  profound  knowledge 
of  the  dark  side  of  human  life,  and  none  has  laid  bare  its  depths  to  us  so  strikingly, 
as  Shakespeare.  He  knows  how  the  stealthy  tempter  invades  the  heart,  by  what 
struggles  he  enters  in,  by  what  path  alone  lies  salvation,  and  what  inward  and  out- 
ward wretchedness  he  who  knows  not  how  to  find  this  path  must  endure  until  he 
perishes  under  the  sorrows  of  life;  and  all  the  most  celebrated  and  greatest  of 
Shakespeare's  dramas  bear  the  inscription  in  dear  characters,  '  the  wages  of  sin  is 
death.' .  . .  But  in  order  not  to  miss  the  key  to  the  tragedy  of  Macbeth^  we  must, 
first  of  all,  acknowledge  that  there  is  outside  the  worid  of  man  a  realm  of  demons 
whose  dark,  secret  powers  seek  to  gain  an  influence  over  human  souls,  and  do  gain 
it,  except  so  far  as  they  are  opposed  ;  and  thus  it  happens  that  this  Satanic  band  is 
known  and  sought  after  by  man,  or  is  unknown  and  undesired,  and  its  influence  is 
only  bewailed  without  the  sufferer's  having  the  strength  to  withstand  its  power. 

This  definite  conception  and  recognition  of  a  spiritual  realm,  whose  influence 
over  human  souls  is  full  of  malignity,  woe,  and  terror,  is  to  be  found  in  all  periods  of 


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454  APPENDIX 

human  history,  and  in  all  stages  of  civilization.  Evident  traces  of  it  have  been  dis- 
covered among  the  ancient  Egyptians  at  the  time  of  the  Pharaohs.  It  runs  through 
'the  system  of  Hindoo  philosophy,  again  emerges  in  the  world  of  antiquity,  and  is  to 
be  discerned  throughout  all  Germanic  heathendom,  and  reappears  in  the  Australian 
and  American  races.  It  would  be  passing  strange  if  this  primitive  and  universal 
belief  in  the  existence,  and  in  the  secret  influence,  of  an  evil,  spiritual  world  were  a 
mere  fancy,  as  modem  times  would  £un  have  us  believe.  . .  . 

In  a  word,  Shakespeare  is  penetrated  with  the  truth,  of  which  we  have  proofs 
over  and  over  again  in  the  Bible,  that  there  is  a  secret  world  of  evil  spirits  that  with 
Satanic  cunning  lie  in  wait  for  human  souls,  conquering  the  unguarded  heart  and 
rejoicing  in  hurling  their  victim  to  the  dust  in  the  misery  of  sin.  Under  this  weight 
of  demoniac  influences  lies  Macbeth  when  the  drama  opens,  however  much  he  may 
struggle  against  it .  . . 

There  are  two  points  which  Shakespeare  especially  emphasizes  for  us  in  the  char- 
acter of  Macbeth.  Before  the  deed  we  mark  the  insidious  approach  of  the  tempter, 
and  the  terrible  conflict  with  the  powers  of  darkness,  and  then,  after  the  deed,  the 
strength  of  an  evil,  unappeased  conscience,  which  in  the  struggle  to  assure  and  to 
protect  itself,  advances  from  one  ill  deed  to  another  until  the  edifice  of  bloody  crimes 
topples  headlong  with  a  crash.  If  we  follow  up  these  two  phases  of  the  drama,  we 
clearly  enough  perceive  that  Macbeth  had  for  a  long  time  fostered  his  ambition  with 
the  thought  of  his  possible  possession  of  the  throne,  although  the  bloody  path  to  it 
may  have  seemed  to  him  far  distant.  Moreover,  a  heavy  dream  *  of  the  murder  of 
the  king  had  lately  caused  him  much  anxiety. 

In  the  first  scene  of  the  last  act  Shakespeare  shows  us  how  heavy  b  the  weight 
of  an  unexpiated  crime,  and  what  a  failure  follows  every  human  soul  who  enters 
into  an  alliance  with  the  powers  of  darkness.  Lady  Macbeth  seemed  to  be  so 
steeled  against  all  assaults  of  an  evil  conscience,  and^eemed  to  wield  so  complete 
a  power  over  herself  and  her  bad  actions,  that  she  might  have  bid  defiance  to  all 
Hell.  But  over  against  all  her  attempts  of  a  proportionate  power  in  evil-doing 
stands  the  saying  of  the  Apostle  in  its  full  force :  '  Be  not  deceived ;  God  is  not 
mocked.' 

H.  Frezherr  v.  Friesen  {Jahrbuch  der  deutschen  Shakespeare-GeseUschaft^  p. 
224,  1869) :  Whether,  as  Mrs  Siddons  thought.  Lady  Macbeth,  according  to  her 
Celtic  nature,  is  to  be  conceived  of  as  a  blonde,  or,  as  others  have  been  inclined 
to  think,  as  slender  and  graceful,  appears  to  me  of  little  importance ;  I  have  repeat- 
edly found  that  when  the  part  is  well  performed,  one  is  indifferent  to  much  in  the 
personal  appearance  of  the  performer.  Only  I  cannot  imagine  either  Macbeth  or 
Lady  Macbeth  as  at  all  advanced  in  1^.  That  he  himself  has  not  yet  entered  upon 
full  manhood  is  evident  from  many  particulars  in  his  rOle.  But,  above  all  things,  I 
consider  the  wonderful  interest,  which  the  whole  man  inspires,  not  at  all  in  accord- 
ance with  a  ripe  age,  although  there  is  nothing  less  likely  than  the  idea  that  he  was 
a  youth.  But  if  Macbeth  stands,  as  I  suppose,  at  that  period  of  life  when  the  sud- 
den outbreak  of  the  most  violent  and  dangerous  passions  is  most  probable,  then 
Lady  Macbeth  may  be  naturally  regarded  as  having  not  yet  reached  the  position  of  a 
matron  ;  and  I  am  confident  that  the  earlier  custom  of  plajring  this  part  rather  in  the 

*  Our  excellent  Pastor  is  here  misled  by  Tieck's  translation,  who  renders  *My 
thought  whose  murder  yet  is  but  fantastical '  by  *  Mein  traum,  dess  Mord  nur  noch 
ein  Himgespinst.' — ^Ed. 


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GERMAN  CRITICISMS  455 

style  of  a  lady  in  the  meridian  of  life  has  contributed  not  a  little  to  establish  the 
too  hard  opinion,  in  comparison  with  which  the  representation  of  Lady  Macbeth 
in  a  more  youthful  and  fiery  manner  is  much  more  advantageous  to  the  effect  of  the 
whole  drama. .  .  . 

In  order  to  be  still  more  fully  convinced  how  senseless  the  plot  to  murder  the 
king  was,  we  must  bear  in  mind  that  from  the  moment  when  Duncan  named  his 
oldest  son,  Malcolm,  Prince  of  Cumberland,  Macbeth  was  greatly  embittered,  as 
that  was  an  obstacle  between  him  and  his  aim.  Why  does  he  not  think,  when  in 
consultation  with  Lady  Macbeth,  that  he  cannot  reckon  unconditionally  upon  becom- 
ing king  at  Duncan's  death  ?  Schiller  appears  to  have  perceived  the  difficulty,  for 
when  Lady  Macbeth  swears  that  she  could  kill  her  suckling,  he  inserts  fifteen  lines, 
in  the  first  five  of  which  he  makes  Macbeth  bring  forward  this  obstacle,  and  then 
Lady  Macbeth,  referring  to  the  unwillingness  of  the  proud  Thanes  to  be  <  subject  to 
a  weak  boy,'  presents  a  picture  of  the  future,  in  which  Macbeth  must  be  king.  I  do 
not  for  a  moment  doubt  that  Shakespeare  conceived  of  Macbeth  and  Lady  Macbeth 
as  so  drunk  with  passion  that  neither  was  capable  of  appreciating  this  obstacle. 
Certainly  the  whole  picture  of  their  mental  state  is  impaired  by  ascribing  to  them 
any  additional  degree  of  circumspection.  Indeed,  I  am  disposed  to  believe  that  this 
interpolation  of  Schiller's,  as  it  was  manifestly  suggested  by  a  misunderstanding  of 
the  whole  situation,  and  especially  of  the  character  of  Lady  Macbeth,  has  actually 
perpetuated  the  prevailing  misconception  of  this  point. 

But  perhaps  my  idea  is  a  groundless  one  that  both  Macbeth  and  Lady  Macbeth 
were  thus  bereft  of  all  self-possession,  and  of  course  that  their  plot  was  thoughtlessly 
devised  ?  Or  was  it  not  heedless  to  rashness  in  Lady  Macbeth,  as  we  learn  from  her 
own  words,  to  steal  through  the  chambers  of  the  castle  to  place  the  daggers  of  the 
grooms  for  her  husband,  to  look  at  the  sleeping  king,  and  at  a  moment  too  when 
there  were  persons  still  awake  in  the  castle  ?  for  so  it  must  have  been,  as  Banquo 
still  kept  watch,  conversing  with  Macbeth.  Is  this  tlte  way  in  which  a  woman  of  a 
deliberate,  circumspect  character  would  act  ?  Mrs  Jameson  has  portrayed  the  char- 
acter of  Lady  Macbeth  with  exhaustive  power,  but  I  am  free  to  confess  that  I  can- 
not agree  with  her  in  giving  Lady  Macbeth  credit  for  an  uncommon  degree  of  intel- 
ligence. I  see  rather  in  this  rashness  only  a  passionate  power  in  executing  a  fixed 
purpose,  which,  as  is  shown  in  numberless  cases,  sometimes  lends  to  women,  cor- 
poreally weak  as  they  are,  an  heroic  indifference  to  danger,  because  the  self-posses- 
sion to  meet  danger  is  wholly  denied  them.  It  is  here  still  further  to  be  considered 
that  the  execution  of  the  murderous  plot  is  compressed  into  the  briefest  space  of 
time.  If  Macduff  had  knocked  a  few  minutes  earlier  at  the  gate  of  the  castle, 
either  the  accomplishment  of  the  murder  would  have  been  impossible,  or  the 
pair  would  have  been  discovered  as  the  murderers.  How  imprudent,  finally, 
was  the  concerted  signal  with  the  bell  I  It  seems  as  if  the  Poet  aimed  espe- 
cially to  direct  our  attention  to  that,  since  he  puts  in  the  mouth  of  Macbeth  the 
words,  '  Hear  it  not,  Duncan,  for  it  is  the  knell  That  summons  thee  to  heaven 
or  to  hell.' 

As  has  been  intimated  above,  the  confession  of  Lady  Macbeth  that  she  could  not 
murder  the  king  with  her  own  hand  because  in  his  sleep  he  resembled  her  father,  is, 
according  to  my  idea  of  her,  a  proof  that  the  strength  of  will  on  which  she  relied  in 
her  first  conversation  with  her  husband  was  by  no  means  so  entirely  at  her  disposal 
as  she  imagined.  She  enters  trembling,  convulsed  with  the  most  terrible  anguish  ; 
she  starts  at  every  noise,  and  even  her  first  words,  '  That  which  hath  made  them 


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456  APPENDIX 

drunk  hath  made  me  bold :  What  hath  quenched  them  hath  giTen  me  fire/  are  not 
justified  by  her  behavior.  I  am  conTinced  that  this  expression  has  no  other  aim 
than  to  let  us  know  that  she  is  not  what  she  imagines  herself  to  be.  Why,  other- 
wise, is  she  immediately  afterwards  startled  at  the  cry  of  the  owl  ?  .  .  . 

At  the  beginning  of  the  scene  she  is  so  deeply  sunk  in  thought  that  she  is  scarcely 
able  to  utter  a  welcome  to  the  guests,  and  when,  during  Macbeth' s  agitation  and 
the  surprise  of  the  guests,  she  again  finds  her  speech,  I  can  discover  in  what  she 
says  nothing  more  than  a  wild  agony  that  catches  at  the  most  incredible  stories  in 
order  to  anticipate  the  dreaded  interpretation  of  Macbeth' s  behavior.  And  then, 
when  she  descends  to  her  husband,  her  words  may  appear  at  first  sight  hard  and  up- 
braiding, but  they  admit  of  being  uttered  in  no  tone  of  passionate  reproach.  Rather 
must  the  heavy  agony  which  she  is  suffering  everywhere  break  through.  Had  she 
been  of  a  cautious,  cold-blooded  temper,  she  certainly  would  not  have  recalled  the  most 
frightful  particulars  of  the  past  in  the  words,  '  This  is  the  very  painting  of  your  fear : 
This  is  the  air-drawn  dagger,  which  you  said  Led  you  to  Duncan.'  At  this  moment 
she  could  not  easily  have  said  an3rthing  more  abhorrent,  and  these  words  she  utters 
almost  involuntarily  because  that  night  hovers  constantly  before  her  memory.  Had 
she  really  been  resolved  to  lord  it  over  her  husband,  why  is  she  silent  the  moment 
that  she  is  alone  with  him  ?  . .  . 

But  this  is  certain,  that  Shakespeare  in  the  part  of  Lady  Macbeth,  as  in  all  his 
parts,  actually  relied  upon  the  young  actor  to  whom  the  part  might  be  assigned  U> 
carry  out  and  complete  the  representation;  and  therefore  at  the  present  day  it 
becomes  the  special  duty  of  the  actress  in  this  part  not  in  tone,  look,  or  gesture  to 
aggravate  the  abhorrence  which  might  thus  be  excited,  but  to  alleviate  it,  so  that  to 
intelligent  spectators  will  be  presented  not  the  picture  of  a  Northern  Fury,  nor  of  a 
monster,  still  less  of  a  heroine  or  martyr  to  conjugal  love,  but  that  of  a  woman  capa- 
ble of  the  greatest  elevation,  but  seized  mysteriously  by  the  magic  of  Passion,  only 
to  fiUl  the  more  terribly,  and  thus,  in  spite  of  our  honor  at  her  crime,  wringing  from 
us  our  deepest  sympathy. 

{pas  Buck  :  Shakspere  von  Gervinus,  Ein  Wort  fiber  dasselhe^  p.  80.  Leipzig, 
1869) :  It  is  this  belief  in  a  freedom  of  will,  a  freedom  as  enduring  as  life  (far 
removed  from  a  gloomy  scheme  of  predestination),  which  in  Shakespeare's  dramas 
forms  the  elements  of  poesie.  Everything  like  caprice  in  the  arrangement  of  his 
incidents  is  avoided  by  Shakespeare.  He  takes  the  greatest  pains  to  provide,  un- 
abridged up  to  the  last  moment,  a  certain  freedom  of  will  for  all  his  characters,  who, 
while  following  the  path  of  their  tragic  fate,  are  doomed  to  destruction.  None  of 
his  tragic  heroes  are  so  entangled,  up  to  their  last  minute,  by  fate,  accident  or  in- 
trigue, that  no  salvation  remains  to  them.  Even  in  those  very  dramas  where  he 
deals  the  freest  with  Destiny,  or  where  he  purposely  weaves  a  net  of  intrigue,  there 
always  remains  a  gleam  of  salvation  up  to  the  last  moment  before  utter  darkness  of 
soul  makes  sure  the  tragic  end.  This  is  most  noteworthy  in  Macbeth.  The  com- 
pletion of  the  fearful  crime  hangs  in  abeyance  up  to  that  last  instant  when  Macbeth 
is  alarmed  by  some  noise,  and  rushes  forth  again,  in  doubt,  from  Duncan's  chamber ; 
and  even  when  he  and  Lady  Macbeth  are  plunging  into  the  fearful  abyss  of  crime 
the  light  of  grace  and  mercy  ceases  not  to  shine.  It  would  be  superfluous  here  to 
seek  for  theoretical  proofs  of  this,  for  without  such  an  antecedent  all  that  terrible 
struggle  between  bitter  defiance  and  longings  for  repentance,  which  so  wrings  our 
soul  in  the  subsequent  scenes,  would  be  meaningless  or  at  least  un-tragic 


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GERMAN  CRITICISMS  457 

In  the  Jahrbuch  der  Deutichtn  Shakespeare- Gesellschaft  for  1870,  vol.  vi,  pp. 
19-82,  Mr  Gericke  has  a  long  essay,  in  which  he  stotes  the  fact  that  while  Macbeth 
is  undoubtedly  one  of  the  grandest  and  most  attractive  of  Shakespeare's  tragedies  for 
the  closet,  yet  for  the  stage  it  is  one  of  the  least  popular,  and  has  never  had  a  suc- 
cessful run  at  any  German  theatre  (except  at  Meiningen  under  Bodenstedt's  super- 
vision), and  he  endeavors  to  explain  this  lack  of  popular  appreciation  by  the  defects 
of  the  mUe  en  schie^  by  the  rapid  movement  of  the  number  of  short  scenes  (which  he 
suggests  should  be  smoothed  over  by  the  aid  of  music),  and  by  the  neglect  on  the 
part  of  stage-managers  to  attend,  with  the  utmost  artistic  nicety,  to  the  decorations. 
Many  of  Mr  Gericke' s  suggestions  are  ingenious,  but  are  hardly  appropriate  in  a 
volume  designed  for  a  public  with  whom  this  tragedy  has  always  been,  on  the  stage, 
one  of  the  most  popular  of  Shakespeare's  dramas.  All  of  Mr  Gericke* s  remarks 
which  tend  to  elucidate  the  aesthetic  meaning  of  the  text  will  be  found  at  their  appro- 
priate places.  His  stage-directions  at  the  beginning  of  Act  II.  are  hardly  more  than 
a  modification  of  Capell's. 

F.  A.  Leo  (xii,  p.  174) :  We  exhaust  all  the  sensational  epithets  at  our  command 
in  painting  in  bright  colors  the  terrible,  tigerish  nature  of  Lady  Macbeth.  She  has 
been  styled  the  intellectual  originator  of  the  murder ;  the  evil  spirit  goading  her 
husband  to  the  crime — and,  after  all,  she  is  nothing  of  the  kind;  she  is  of  a  proud, 
ardent  nature,  a  brave,  consistent.  Joying  woman^that  derives  her  courageous  consist- 
ency from  the  depths  of  her  affection,  and  after  the  first  step  in  crime,  sinks  under  the 
burden  of  guilt  heaped  upon  her  soul.  . .  . 

She  is  a  proud,  a  loving  wife,  absorbed  in  her  husband's  life  and  pursuits,  eager 
to  sacrifice  herself  utterly  for  the  furtherance  of  his  ambition  and  for  the  increase  of 
his  greatness.  And  it  is  clear  from  her  apostrophe,  *  Come,  ye  spirits,'  etc.,  that  she 
acts  in  entire  consciousness  that  the  path  over  which  she  is  about  to  stagger  at  her 
husband's  side  will  lead  her  farther  and  farther  astray  from  the  peaceful  pastures  of 
a  pure  conscience.  .  .  . 

If  I  have  succeeded  in  portraying  Lady  Macbeth  such  as  /  imagine  her,  she  will 
be  seen  to  be  a  passionate,  great-hearted,  heroic  woman,  a  victim  to  her  own  affec- 
tion ;  and  that  affection  squandered  upon  an  ambitious,  vacillating,  and  bloodthirsty 
man.  How  much  inferior  is  his  love  to  hers  is  evident  from  his  cruel  words,  *  She 
should  have  died  hereafter !' 

But  he  lives  and  rages  on,  like  a  Berserker  of  old,  destroying  in  his  tyrannous 
hate  whatsoever  stands  in  his  path.  In  view  of  all  the  circumstances,  the  conclusion 
to  which  we  come  may  be  expressed,  in  my  opinion,  in  the  following,  perhaps  rather 
commonplace  summary:  Macbeth' s  is  a  nature  predestined  to  murder,  not  needing 
the  influence  of  his  wife  to  direct  him  to  the  path  of  crime,  along  which  at  first  she 
leads  him.  The  wife,  on  the  other  hand,  at  the  side  of  a  noble,  honourable  hus- 
band always  faithful  to  the  right,  would  have  been  a  pure  and  innocent  woman,  dif- 
fusing happiness  around  her  domestic  circle,  in  spite  of  some  asperities  in  her  temper. 

E.  KOlbing  {Englische  Studien,  xix  Band,  2  heft,  p.  300,  1894)  has  collected  a 
number  of  passages  from  Macbeth  and  the  works  of  Bjrron  in  which  the  same 
words  occur.  The  article  is  designed  to  demonstrate  in  how  great  a  degree  Byron 
was  influenced  by  his  knowledge  of  Shakespeare's  tragedy.— Ed.  iL 


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458  APPENDIX 

FRENCH  CRITICISMS 

PHiLARfrrs  Chasles  (p.  219):  One  admirable  trait  in  Shakespeare  is  that, 
'while  scarcely  permitting  us  to  perceive  the  supernatural  beings  which  he  introduces 
into  his  plays,  he  never  employs  them  as  passive  agents,  mere  secondary  and  useful 
resources.  The  generality  of  authors,  when  wielding  the  sceptre  of  magic,  assert 
the  independence  of  nonsense  and  the  abuse  of  a  vast  power.  In  their  hands,  appa- 
ritions are  no^more  than  scene-shifters,  whose  province  is  to  amuse  the  audience  by 
the  display  of  unexpected  terrors.  But  as  soon  as  the  supernatural  world  appears  in 
the  works  of  the  great  Poet,  it  is,  on  the  contrary,  in  order  to  sway  the  destiny  of 
unfortunate  mortals  and  hover  over  the  whole  work.  Thus  in  Macbeth  the  main 
spring  of  the  action  is  the  witches.  In  their  caverns,  amid  their  dances  to  the 
accompaniment  of  thunder,  are  plotted  the  bloody  revolutions  of  Scotland.  Every- 
thing in  these  two  dramas  of  Hamlet  and  Macbeth  is  prepared  from  the  very  core. 
If  Hamlet,  by  reason  of  his  metaphysical  tendency,  approaches  more  nearly  to  the 
mystic  and  dreamy  style  of  the  German  school,  Macbeth  has  more  affinity  than  any 
other  of  Shakespeare's  works  with  the  ancient  scheme  of  fatalism.  Profoundly  sad 
are  these  works,  where  Destiny  is  revealed  in  all  its  rigor,  where  the  happiness  and 
the  virtue  of  man,  nay,  even  the  strength  of  his  intellect,  betray  their  mournful 
weakness ;  and  although  marvellous  creations  appear,  phantoms  summoned  from  the 
bosom  of  the  future,  and  spectres  driven  forth  from  the  realms  of  the  dead,  yet  are 
they  not  fantastic  dramas,  they  are  tragedies,  serious  and  sublime. 

On  the  other  hand,  a  large  number  of  Shakespeare's  dramas,  wherein  neither 
angels,  ghosts,  nor  evil  spirits  appear,  are  genuine  caprices  or  fantastic,  bizarre  tales. 
Designated,  it  is  none  too  easy  to  tell  why,  under  the  ridiculous  title  of  comedies, 
these  works  are,  after  all,  only  romanesque  novels,  controlled  by  the  laws  of  the 
drama,  and  rarely  by  those  of  probability.  In  order  to  understand  them,  we  must 
lay  aside  the  memories  of  Greece  and  of  Rome.  It  is  to  the  literature  of  Christian 
Europe  from  the  twelfth  to  the  sixteenth  century  that  these  dramas  belong.  Their 
scope  is  a  game  of  chance,  a  painful  struggle  of  man  against  his  own  caprices,  and 
the  infinite  variety  of  events  and  contrasts  which  control  human  destiny.  Shake- 
speare did  not  create  this  scope  ;  he  found  it  already  in  the  literature  and  traditions 
of  the  Middle  Ages. 

Albert  Lacroix  (p.  i8o)  :  If  we  pass  on  now  to  Macbeth^  which  followed  in 
1784,  a  year  only  after  the  imitation  of  King  Lear^  we  cannot  avoid  passing  a  much 
severer  judgment  upon  Ducis. 

After  reading  his  tragedy  we  ask  in  astonishment  what  such  a  work  can  mean  ? 
It  is  but  a  succession  of  tableaux,  a  collection  of  scenes  more  or  less  dramatic,  and 
we  seek  in  vain  for  a  dominant  idea  or  for  character.  It  is  so  cold,  empty,  and  dis- 
jointed that,  in  spite  of  the  efforts  to  produce  tragic  eflfects,  we  remain  unmoved. 
The  weakness  of  Ducis  is  evident ;  his  feebleness  is  apparent  in  ^ite  of  all  the 
resources  of  his  original  presented. 

Shall  we  reveal  the  sole  aim  of  Ducis  ?  We  need  only  turn  to  the  notice  at  the 
beginning  of  the  piece  :  <  I  have  tried  to  bear  the  audience  to  the  utmost  limits  of 
tragic  terror  by  artfully  interspersing  what  would  enable  them  to  endure  it* 

We  purposely  italicise  these  characteristic  words.  The  art  employed  consisted  in 
^expunging*  from  Shakespeare  everything  that  did  not  exactly  suit  Ducis,  or  that  he 
found  unfit  for  the  proprieties  of  the  French  stage  ;  and,  still  further,  and  mainly,  in 
<  adding  to  the  matter.'    *  The  reader  will  perceive  what  belongs  to  me.'    With  what 


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FRENCH  CRITICISMS  459 

naive  honesty  does  poor  Ducis  attempt  to  redaim  his  ewn  in  this  tragedy !  The 
pretension  forsooth  is  no  less  bold  than  strange.  To  add  to  the  creations  of  Shake- 
speare, and  boast  of  it  withal  1  He  had  far  better,  on  the  contrary,  have  retained 
these  same  *  considerable  excisions '  which  he  ventured  to  make.  And,  after  having 
thus  mutilated  Shakespeare,  how  could  he  exclaim  in  the  same  preface,  that  he  was 
himself  *  the  offspring  of  the  English  poet'? 

The  whole  tragedy,  in  Ducis,  turns  solely  upon  the  murder  of  Duncan  by  Mac- 
beth and  his  wife ;  the  ambition  of  the  murderer  attains  its  aim ;  but  the  son  of 
Duncan  has  been  educated,  under  an  assumed  name,  by  a  Highlander,  who  comes 
to  claim  the  throne  for  the  young  prince ;  and  Macbeth,  Macbeth  the  assassin,  Mac- 
beth the  ambitious,  rushes,  like  a  child  or  like  a  fool,  to  offer  him  this  throne  which 
he  had  acquired  by  crime  ;  he  avows  his  treason  and  kills  himself ;  there  is  nothing 
but  cowardice  in  the  fellow.  .  .  . 

It  is  superfluous  to  repeat  that  Ducis  has  reproduced  no  single  genuine  or  lofly 
trait  of  Macbeth' s ;  he  weakened  what  appeared  to  him  too  bold.  Thus  the  appear- 
ance of  the  Witches  to  Macbeth,  suppressed  during  the  course  of  the  action,  is  nar- 
rated only ;  and  when,  by  way  of  variety,  Ducis  shows  us  *  three  sorceresses,'  he 
omits  the  predictions  they  address  to  the  hero.  They  repeat  six  verses  and  disappear, 
and  the  author,  not  perceiving  that  they  are  intended  to  be  of  vital  importance  to  the 
piece,  by  representing,  the  fatality  which  allures  and  impels  Macbeth,  and  that,  as 
such,  they  control  the  drama,  has  but  one  purpose  in  allowing  us  a  glimpse  of  them, 
namely,  to  compose  a  <  scene  which  may  perchance  serve  to  augment  the  tenor  of 
the  plot.' 

A.  M&ziftRES  (p.  302) :  All  these  events,  happening  within  the  space  of  seven- 
teen years,  are  compressed  in  Shakespeare's  play  into  the  narrow  limits  of  the  drama. 
He  represents  to  us  the  three  successive  stages  in  the  life  of  Macbeth, — ^his  crime, 
his  prosperity,  and  his  punishment.  What  the  Greeks  would  have  developed  in  a 
trilogy,  as  in  OresUs,  for  example,  to  which  Macbeth  has  been  more  than  once  com- 
pared, is  here  confined  to  a  single  drama.  We  need  be  in  nowise  surprised  at  the 
multiplicity  of  events  unfolded  in  this  play,  knowing  the  freedom  of  the  English 
dramatists  in  this  respect.  Yet  can  we  find  in  it  no  element  foreign  to  the  action. 
Every  circumstance  contributes  towards  the  dino&ment;  and  we  cannot  fail  to  admire 
the  powerful  art  with  which  Shakespeare  has  maintained  the  unity  amid  the  number- 
less catastrophes  of  the  piece. 

This  unity  results  from  the  developement  of  a  single  character.  Macbeth  fills  the 
play.  Ever3rthing  refers  to  him.  Present  or  absent,  he  never  ceases  to  occupy  our 
attention,  and  nothing  happens  that  does  not  bear  upon  his  destiny.  When  the 
Scottish  lords  discuss  the  unfortunate  condition  of  their  country,  Macbeth  is  the  sub- 
ject of  their  discourse,  and  it  is  to  him,  without  naming  him,  that  they  attribute  all 
their  woes.  When  the  assassins  present  themselves  at  the  castle  of  Macduff  to  mur- 
der his  children,  it  is  Macbeth  who  has  sent  them.  When  the  Witches  assemble 
on  the  heath,  it  is  to  breathe  their  cruel  thoughts  into  the  soul  of  Macbeth.  When 
Hecate  appears  among  them,  to  hasten  the  work  of  crime,  it  is  to  lure  Macbeth  to 
his  destruction.  This  character  binds  in  one  all  portions  of  the  drama.  If  we  seek 
for  unity,  not  in  the  developement  of  a  single  event,  but  in  the  complete  representa- 
tion of  the  feelings  and  of  the  actions  of  one  person,  we  shall  find  that  Shakespeare 
has  observed  it  in  no  other  play  more  closely  than  in  this.  Wherefore,  many  critics 
consider  Macbeth  as  his  chef-d^  ttuvre. 


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460  APPENDIX 

It  is,  in  fact,  a  powerful  psychological  study.  Shakespeare  depicts  a  state  of 
mind  not  only  novel,  but  highly  dramatic.  He  has  given  us  hardened  villainsy 
before,  in  his  other  pieces.  But  here  he  unveils  the  process  by  which  the  thought  of 
crime  penetrates  a  virtuous  soul,  the  destruction  it  causes  as  soon  as  it  gains  lodge- 
ment there,  and  lo  what  extremities  it  drags  him  who  has  not  had  strength  enough 
to  repel  it  on  its  first  appearance.  Macbeth  is  not  wicked  like  lago,  or  Edmund  in 
Lear,  He  even  begins  well.  He  has  defended  his  country  and  his  king  most  zeal- 
ously, and  covered  himself  with  glory  on  two  battle-fields.  His  comrades  in  arms 
accord  him  ungrudging  praise,  and  Duncan  knows  not  how  to  recompense  his 
deserts.  But  this  brave  soldier  bears  within  him  the  germ  of  ambition  ;  and,  with- 
out as  yet  knowing  the  height  of  his  aspirations,  without  even  defining  to  himself 
his  vague  desires,  he  awakes  to  a  simultaneous  consciousness  of  his  own  power  and 
the  temptation  to  make  trial  of  it. 

This  temptation  assails  him  under  a  supernatural  guise.  Shakespeare,  who  deals 
with  questions  of  morality  like  a  poet,  casts  into  a  poetic  mould  these  ambitious 
yearnings  of  Macbeth.  The  effect  produced  on  him  by  the  witches  arises  less  from 
their  real  power  than  from  his  stkte  of  mind.  When  they  salute  him  as  Thane  of 
Cawdor  and  promise  him  the  title  of  king,  they  respond  to  his  secret  preoccupation. 
From  that  moment  there  is  no  more  repose  for  him.  The  apparitions  revealed  to 
him  what  was  passing  in  his  mind,  and  clearly  defined  the  vague  hope  concealed  in 
the  darkest  recess  of  his  thoughts.  No  sooner  is  the  prophecy  uttered  than  Mac- 
beth becomes  a  criminal ;  he  has  no  strength  to  repel  temptation.  His  crime  is 
personal  and  voluntary ;  the  meeting  with  the  weird  sisters  is  only  the  occasion  of 
it,  and  not  the  cause.  The  Poet  discloses  to  us,  in  reality,  that  the  influence  which 
the  witches  exert  depends  upon  the  character  of  those  whom  they  accost.  While 
they  fill  the  soul  of  Macbeth  with  uneasiness,  because  he  is  naturally  inclined  to 
ambition,  they  leave  unruffled  the  serenity  of  Banquo,  although  they  announce  to 
him  that  his  children  are  to  wear  the  crown.  Their  influence  extends  only  to  minds 
predisposed  to  corruption.  They  represent  the  physical  teage  of  temptation,  influ- 
encing some  minds  and  leaving  untarnished  the  virtue  of  others.  Their  interview 
with  Macbeth  provokes  the  ontbrealf  of  his  criminal  desires.  It  is  the  prelude  to 
the  tragedy. .  . . 

We  find  exemplified  in  every  tragedy  of  Shakespeare  some  dominant  passion, 
whose  workings  the  Poet  depicts,  and  from  which  he  deduces  a  moral  lesson.  Here 
he  has  painted  Ambition,  laying  the  strongest  colors  on  the  canvas.  Macbeth  is  the 
type  of  Ambition,  just  as  he  has  made  Othello  the  type  of  Jealousy.  Had  he  been 
better  acquainted  with  the  Greeks,  or  had  he  needed  to  imitate  any  model  to  express 
energetic  sentiments,  we  might  be  tempted  to  say  that  this  piece  was  inspired  by  the 
strong  soul  of  iCschylus.  Its  characters  are  as  rude,  its  manners  as  baibarous,  its 
style  is  as  vigorous  and  full  of  poetry,  as  in  the  old  Grecian  tragedies.  There  is  no 
trace  of  the  artificial  rhetoric  which  disfigures  Romeo  and  Juliet,  In  the  space  of 
nine  years,  from  1596  to  1605,  the  possible  date  of  Macbeth^  the  Poet  threw  aside 
that  false  style  and  rose  to  the  noblest  conceptions  of  art. 

The  use  he  makes  of  the  Supernatural  is  a  proof  of  the  new  force  of  his  genius. 
Dramatic  action  must  be  regarded  from  a  lofty  point  of  view  before  we  can  dare 
mingle  with  it  an  epic  element  rarely  found  disconnected  from  mythical  subjects. 
Not  to  lose  sight  of  this  work-a-day  world,  to  keep  up,  as  is  the  duty  of  the  drama- 
tist, the  rAle  of  observer,  and  all  the  while  to  pierce  with  the  eyes  of  the  imagination 
the  darkness  that  shrouds  the  invisible  world,  to  bring  into  play  the  most  trenchant 


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FRENCH  CRITICISMS  461 

logic  even  while  accepting  all  the  absurdities  of  popular  fictions ;  such  are  the  diffi> 
culties  that  encountered  Shakespeare,  and  over  which  he  rose  triumphant  when  he 
summoned  into  being  the  Witches  of  Macbeth,  A  few  years  earlier  he  would  have 
shrunk  from  the  task. 

He  reconciles  dramatic  poetry  here  with  epic  by  connecting  the  supernatural  ele- 
ment with  the  moral  aim  of  the  piece.  We  have  already  remarked  that  the  witches 
are  in  perfect  harmony  with  the  character  of  Macbeth.  They  wield  no  influence  over 
him  in  opposition  to  his  will ;  on  the  contrary,  they  only  flatter  his  instincts  and 
embody  the  mental  temptation  that  possesses  hioL  They  never  exercise  the  irre- 
sistible influence  of  ancient  fatalism,  which  forces  even  the  innocent  to  become  crim- 
inal ;  they  impel  to  crime  him  only  who  is  already  inclined  to  it.  They  never  repre- 
sent a  blind  fatality,  but  the  fate  that  we  mould  for  ourselves  by  our  own  actions. 
When  Macbeth  listens  to  them,  it  is  the  voice,  not  of  strangers,  but  of  his  own 
ambition,  which  speaks.  .  . . 

If  the  contemporaries  of  Shakeq)eare  believed  in  witches,  they  also  believed  in 
spectres,  and  ghosts  permitted  to  quit  their  abode  of  darkness  to  revisit  this  upper 
world.  But  the  Poet  introduces  spirits  of  a  difilerent  sort  in  HamUt  and  Macbeth 
when  he  resusciutes  Banquo,  and  the  king  of  Denmark.  Are  we  to  believe,  as  has 
been  asserted,  that  these  shadows  are  mere  phantoms  of  the  brain,  appearing  only  to 
men  of  vivid  imagination  ?  Undoubtedly  Banquo  shows  himself  only  to  Macbeth, 
and  remains  invisible  to  the  guests  at  table ;  and  Gertrude  does  not  see  the  spirit  of 
her  dead  husband  at  the  moment  he  is  visible  to  their  son.  But  the  king's  ghost 
walked  in  sight  of  the  sentries  on  the  ramparts  of  Elsinore,  before  accosting  Hamlet 
So  far  is  it  from  the  Poet's  intention  to  leave  in  the  vague  realm  of  dreams  the  phan- 
toms he  evokes  that  he  is  careful  to  clothe  them  with  garments  and  with  all  the 
external  peculiarities  of  life ;  he  gives  gashes  to  one,  and  to  the  other  his  very 
armor,  his  sable-silvered  beard,  his  majesty,  and  measured  speech.  Herein  lies  the 
originality  of  these  apparitions.  Possessing  in  truth  only  a  conventional  existence, 
the  magic  wand  of  the  Foft  that  invoked  them  has  bestowed  on  them  an  appearance 
of  living  reality.^  They  play  the  same  part  that  the  traditional  dream  filled  in  our 
classic  tragedy,  but  they  play  it  with  all  the  advantage  of  action  over  recital.  In- 
stead, like  Athalie,  of  beholding  an  imaginary  vision,  Macbeth  and  Hamlet  see 
with  their  bodily  eyes,  the  one  his  victims,  the  other  his  father,  and  these  ghosts  act 
more  powerfully  upon  them  than  any  mere  dream  possibly  could.  Shakespeare,  far 
bolder  than  our  i)oets,  brings  before  the  very  eyes  of  the  spectator  those  supernatural 
figures  which  our  stage  contents  itself  with  depicting  only  to  the  fancy,  without  pro- 
ducing them  to  the  sight.  ... 

But,  however  diversely  the  character  of  Lady  Macbeth  has  been  treated  on  the 
stage,  no  English  actress  has  ever  conceived  the  idea  of  represeiiiting  her  as  the 
virtuous  heroine  that  the  romantic  Germans  have  pronounced  her, — cruel  from  love 
for  her  husband  and  devotion  to  the  glory  of  her  house.  This  is  one  of  those 
bixarre  ideas  bom  of  the  theory  of  art  for  the  sake  of  art ;  and  of  the  confusion  of 
the  fair  and  the  foul,  of  the  good  and  the  bad,  which  excited  the  wrath  of  Goethe 
against  the  critics  of  his  country. 

Lamartine  (p.  235) :  It  is  as  a  moralist  that  Shakespeare  excels ;  no  one  can 
doubt  this  after  a  careful  study  of  his  works,  which,  though  containing  some  pas- 
sages of  questionable  taste,  cannot  fail  to  elevate  the  mind  by  the  purity  of  the 
morals  they  inculcate.     There  breathes  through  them  so  strong  a  belief  in  virtue,  so 


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462  APPENDIX 

steady  an  adherence  to  good  principles,  united  to  such  a  vigorous  tone  of  honour,  as 
testifies  to  the  author's  excellence  as  a  moralist,  nay,  as  a  Christian.  It  is  most 
noteworthy  that  the  tragic  paganism  of  the  modem  drama  disappeared  with  Shake- 
speare, and  that  if  his  plays  are  criminal  in  their  issues,  their  logic  is  invariably  and 
inflexibly  orthodox. ...  It  is  the  prospective  and  retrospective  representation  of  Mac- 
beth's  remorse  that  constitutes  the  element  of  horror  in  the  play.  Almost  as  much 
pity  is  felt  for  the  murderer  as  for  his  victim.  The  true  title  of  the  tragedy  might  be, 
crime,  remorse,  and  expiation.  Lady  Macbeth  alone  appears  to  stand  outside  of  the 
pale  of  morality,  but  her  life  ends  before  the  expiatory  death  of  her  husband,  whose 
daring  villainy,  incapable  of  plotting  or  of  enduring  the  crime,  is  unable  to  submit 
to  its  punishment.  All  the  great  crimes  in  Shakespeare  are  inspired  by  wicked 
women  ;  men  may  execute,  but  cannot  conceive  them.  The  creature  of  sentiment  is 
more  depraved  than  the  man  of  crime.  The  imagination  of  woman  dallies  more 
easily  with  crime  than  the  hand  of  man  is  raised  against  his  victim.  We  feel  that  in 
committing  the  murder  Macbeth  succumbed  to  a  strength  of  depravity  superior  to 
his  own.     This  strength  of  depravity  is  the  ardent  imagination  of  his  wife.  .  .  . 

Such  is  Macbeth  !  It  is  Crime  !  It  is  Remorse  !  It  is  the  weakness  of  a  strong 
man  opposed  to  the  seductions  of  a  perverted  and  passionate  woman  !  Above  all, 
it  is  the  immediate  expiation  of  crime  by  the  secret  vengeance  of  God  !  Herein  lies 
the  invincible  morality  of  Shakespeare.     The  Poet  is  in  hannony  with  God. 

Darmesteter  (p.  164):  Of  all  Shakespeare's  plajrs,  Macbeth  is  the  most  popular 
in  France.  No  other  has  supplied  our  every-day  literature  with  more  life-like  char- 
acters or  more  hackneyed  phrases.  Macbeth,  Lady  Macbeth,  Banquo  are  for  us  in 
France  quite  as  real  as  any  characters  of  our  own  national  theatre ;  their  meaning 
is  as  clear  and  striking,  and  the  Banquet  of  Macbeth,  the  Ghost  of  Banquo,  the 
'  damned  spot '  of  Lady  Macbeth  are  become  familiar  in  every-day  speech.  This 
especial  popularity  of  Macbeth  is  due  to  its  rigourous  unity,  startling  clearness,  and 
to  its  enthralling  logic,  in  this  last  respect  it  is  the  most  purely  clcusic  of  Shake- 
speare's plays.  This  popularity  is  shown  by  the  astonishing  number  of  French 
translations  in  verse  which  Macbeth  has  called  forth. 

The  best  two  are  the  literal  translation  of  Jules  Lacrotx  (1S40),  and  the  partially 
literal  one  of  ^milb  Deschamps  ( 1844).  The  former,  I  fear,  hardly  merits  the 
high  reputation  which  it  has  acquired.  A  few  verses  well  conceived  here  and  there 
•precisely  rendering  Shakespeare's  verse'  are  scarcely  sufficient  to  efface  a  feeling 
of  irritation  aroused  by  the  sight  of  the  master's  thought  alternately  diluted  and 
colourless,  or  choked  and  mutilated  in  the  hemistiches  of  a  versification  weak  and 
obscure.  Deschamps,  having  greater  liberty,  has  been  more  successful,  and  his  very 
freedom  causes  at  times  a  translation  more  literal  than  servile.  But  neither  Des- 
champs nor  Laooix  have  rendered,  in  the  smallest  degree,  that  restrained  force  and 
brilliancy  of  passion  which,  and  not  single  isolated  features,  make  up  Shake- 
speare. . .  . 

In  spite  of  its  imperfections,  the  translation  of  Lacroix,  adapted  to  the  stage  and 
produced  at  the  Odeon  in  February,  1863,  was  one  of  the  great  successes  of  that 
epoch.  Shakespeare  had  one  hundred  consecutive  performances,  which  had  proba- 
bly never  happened  to  him  in  England. — Ed.  ii. 


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CHARACTER  OF  MACBETH  463 

CHARACTER  OF  MACBETH 

Thomas  Whately  :  The  first  thought  of  acceding  to  the  throne  is  suggested, 
and  success  in  the  attempt  is  promised,  to  Macbeth  by  the  witches ;  he  is  therefore 
represented  as  a  man  whose  natural  temper  would  have  deterred  him  from  such  a 
design  if  he  had  not  been  immediately  tempted  and  strongly  impelled  to  it.  (p.  29. ) 

A  distinction  [between  Richard  ///.  and  Macbeth']  is  made  in  the  article  of  cour- 
age, though  both  are  possessed  of  it  even  to  an  eminent  degree ;  but  in  Richard  it 
is  intrepidity,  and  in  Macbeth  no  more  than  resolution :  in  him  it  proceeds  from 
exertion,  not  from  nature ;  in  enterprise  he  betrays  a  degree  of  fear,  though  he  is 
able,  when  occasion  requires,  to  stifle  and  subdue  it.  When  he  and  his  wife  are 
concerting  the  murder,  his  doubt,  *  If  we  should  fail,'  is  a  difficulty  raised  by  appre- 
hension ;  and  as  soon  as  that  is  removed  by  the  contrivance  of  Lady  Macbeth,  he 
runs  with  violence  into  the  other  extreme  of  confidence.  His  question :  *  Will  it 
not  be  recciv*d,*  etc.,  proceeds  from  that  extravagance  with  which  a  delivery  from 
apprehension  and  doubt  is  always  accompanied.  Then  summoning  all  his  fortitude, 
he  proceeds  to  the  bloody  business  without  any  further  recoils.  But  a  certain  degree 
of  restlessness  and  anxiety  still  continues,  such  as  is  constantly  felt  by  a  man  not 
naturally  very  bold,  worked  up  to  a  momentous  achievement.  His  imagination 
dwells  entirely  on  the  circumstances  of  horror  which  surround  him ;  the  vision  of 
the  dagger;  the  darkness  and  the  stillness  of  the  night,  etc.  A  resolution  thus 
forced  cannot  hold  longer  than  the  iomiediate  occasion  for  it :  the  moment  after  that 
is  accomplished  for  which  it  was  necessary,  his  thoughts  take  the  contrary  turn,  and 
he  cries  out  in  agony  and  despair.  He  refuses  to  return  to  the  chamber  and  com- 
plete his  work.  His  disordered  senses  deceive  him ;  he  owns  that  '  every  noise 
appals  him.*  He  listens  when  nothing  stirs  ;  he  mistakes  the  sounds  he  does  hear  ; 
he  is  so  confused  as  not  to  distinguish  whence  the  knocking  proceeds.  She,  who  is 
more  calm,  knows  that  it  is  at  the  south  entry  ;  she  gives  clear  and  distinct  answers 
to  all  his  incoherent  questions,  but  he  returns  none  to  that  which  she  puts  to  him. 
All  his  answers  to  the  trivial  questions  of  Lenox  and  Macduff  are  evidently  given  by 
a  man  thinking  of  something  else  ;  and  by  taking  a  tincture  from  the  subject  of  his 
attention  they  become  equivocal. 

Macbeth  commits  subsequent  murders  with  less  agitation  than  that  of  Duncan, 
but  this  is  no  inconsistency  in  his  character ;  on  the  contrary,  it  confirms  the  princi- 
ples upon  which  it  is  formed ;  for,  besides  his  being  hardened  to  the  deeds  of  death, 
he  is  impelled  by  other  motives  than  those  which  instigated  him  to  assassinate  his 
sovereign.  In  the  one  he  sought  to  gratify  his  ambition  ;  the  rest  are  for  his  security  ; 
and  he  gets  rid  of  fear  by  guilt,  which,  to  a  mind  so  constituted,  may  be  the  less 
uneasy  sensation  of  the  two.  The  anxiety  which  prompts  him  to  the  destruction  of 
Banquo  arises  entirely  from  apprehension.  For  though  one  principal  reason  of  his 
jealousy  was  the  prophecy  of  the  Witches  in  favour  of  Banquo*  s  issue,  yet  here 
starts  forth  another  quite  consistent  with  a  temper  not  quite  free  from  timidity.  He 
is  afraid  of  him  personally ;  that  fear  is  founded  on  the  superior  courage  of  the 
other,  and  he  feels  himself  under  an  awe  before  him ;  a  situation  which  a  dauntless 
spirit  can  never  get  into.  So  great  are  these  terrors  that  he  betrays  them  to  the 
murderers.  As  the  murder  is  for  his  own  security,  the  same  apprehensions  which 
checked  him  in  his  designs  upon  Duncan,  impel  him  to  this  upon  Banquo. 

Macbeth  is  always  shaken  upon  great,  and  frequently  alarmed  upon  trivial,  occa- 
sions.    Upon  meeting  the  Witches,  he  is  agitated  much  more  than  Banquo,  who 


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464  APPENDIX 

speaks  to  them  first,  and,  the  moment  he  sees  them,  asks  them  several  particular  and 
pertinent  questions.  But  Macbeth,  though  he  has  had  time  to  re-collect  himself,  only 
repeats  the  same  inquiry  shortly,  and  bids  them  <  Speak,  if  you  can : — ^What  are 
you  ?'  Which  parts  may  appear  to  be  injudiciously  distributed ;  Macbeth  being  the 
principal  personage  in  the  play,  and  most  immediately  concerned  in  this  particular 
scene,  and  it  being  to  him  that  the  Witches  first  address  themselves.  But  the  diflfer- 
ence  in  their  characters  accounts  for  such  a  distribution ;  Banquo  being  perfectly 
calm,  and  Macbeth  a  little  ruffled  by  the  adventure.*  Banquo' s  contemptuous  defi- 
ance of  the  Witches  seemed  so  bold  to  Macbeth  that  he  long  after  mentions  it  as  an 
instance  of  his  dauntless  spirit,  when  he  recollects  that  he  '  chid  the  sisters.'  (pp. 
7&-78.) 

Macbeth  has  an  acquired,  though  not  a  constitutional,  courage,  which  is  equal  to 
all  ordinary  occasions ;  and  if  it  fails  him  upon  those  which  are  extraordinary,  it  is, 
however,  so  well  formed  as  to  be  easily  resumed  as  soon  as  the  shock  is  over.  But 
his  idea  never  rises  above  manliness  of  character,  and  he  continually  asserts  hft  right 
to  tliat  character ;  which  he  would  not  do  if  he  did  not  take  to  himself  a  merit  in 
supporting  it  See  I,  vii,  54.  Upon  the  first  appearance  of  Banquo's  ghost.  Lady 
Macbeth  endeavors  to  recover  him  from  his  tenor  by  summoning  this  consideration 
to  his  view,  <  Are  you  a  man?' — '  Aye,  and  a  bold  one,'  etc.  He  puts  in  the  same 
claim  again,  upon  the  ghost's  rising  again,  and  says,  '  What  man  dare,  I  dare,'  etc., 
and  on  its  disappearing  finally,  he  says,  '  I  am  a  man  again.'  And  even  at  the  last, 
when  he  finds  that  the  prophecy  in  which  he  had  confided  has  deceived  him  by  its 
equivocation,  he  says  that '  it  hath  oow'd  my  better  part  of  man.'  In  all  which  pas- 
sages he  is  apparently  shaken  out  of  that  character  to  which  he  had  formed  himself, 
but  for  which  he  relied  only  on  exertion  of  courage,  without  supposing  insensibility 
to  fear. 

Macbeth  wants  no  disguise  of  his  natural  disposition,  for  i^is  not^d  ;  be  does 
not  afiect  more  piety  than  he  has  :  on  the  contrary,  a  part  of  his  distress  arises  from 
a  real  sense  of  religion,  which  makes  him  regret  that  he  could  not  join  the  cham- 
berlains in  prayer  for  God's  blessing,  and  bewail  that  he  has  '  given  his  eternal  jewel 
to  the  common  enemy  of  man.'  He  continually  reproaches  himself  for  his  deeds ; 
no  use  can  harden  him :  confidence  cannot  silence,  and  even  despair  cannot  stifle, 
the  cries  of  his  conscience.  By  the  first  murder  he  put  <  rancours  in  the  vessel  of  his 
peace';  and  of  the  last  he  owns  to  Macduff,  '  My  soul  is  too  much  charg'd  With 
blood  of  thine  already.' 

Against  Banquo  he  acts  with  more  determination,  for  the  reasons  which  have  been 
given :  and  yet  he  most  unnecessarily  acquaints  the  murderers  with  the  reasons  of 
his  conduct ;  and  even  informs  them  of  the  behaviour  he  proposes  to  observe  after- 
wards, see  III,  i,  142-147  ;  which  particularity  and  explanation  to  men  who  did  not 
desire  it ;  the  confidence  he  places  in  those  who  could  only  abuse  it ;  and  the  very 
needless  caution  of  secrecy  implied  in  this  speech  are  so  many  symptoms  of  a  feeble 
mind ;  which  again  appears,  when,  after  they  had  undertaken  the  business,  he  bids 
them  '  resolve  themselves  apart ' ;  and  thereby  leaves  them  an  opportunity  to  retract, 
if  they  had  not  been  more  determined  than  he  is,  who  supposes  time  to  be  requisite 
for  settling  such  resolutions.  His  sending  a  third  murderer  to  join  the  others,  just 
at  the  moment  of  action,  and  without  notice,  is  a  further  proof  of  the  same  imbecility. 


*  Another  instance  of  an  effect  produced  by  a  distribution  of  the  parts  is  in  II, 
iii,  144-152.     [See  note  thereon  by  Whately. — Ed.  ii.] 


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CHARACTER  OF  MACBETH^KEMBLE  465 

Besides  the  proofs  which  have  been  given  of  these  weaknesses  in  his  character, 
through  the  whole  conduct  of  his  designs  against  Duncan  and  Banquo,  another  may 
be  drawn  from  his  attempt  upon  Macduff,  whom  he  first  sends  for  without  acquaint- 
ing Lady  Macbeth  of  his  intention,  then  betrays  the  secret,  by  asking  her  after  the 
company  have  risen  from  the  banquet,  <  How  say'st  thou,  that  Macduff  denies  his 
person  At  our  great  bidding  ?'  *  Did  you  send  to  him,  sir  ?*  *  I  hear  it  by  the  way  : 
but  I  will  send.'  The  time  of  making  this  enquiry  when  it  has  no  relation  to  what 
has  just  passed  otherwise  than  as  his  apprehensions  might  connect  it ;  the  addressing 
of  the  question  to  her,  who,  as  appears  from  what  she  says,  knew  nothing  of  the 
matter,— and  his  awkward  attempt  then  to  disguise  it,  are  strong  evidences  of  the 
disorder  of  his  mind. 

Immediately  on  the  appearance  of  Whately's  Remarks^  etc.,  in  1785,  John  Fhiup 
Kemblb  published  an  Annuer  to  them.  This  Answer  was  revised  and  republished 
in  181 7;  in  it  the  author  undertakes  to  refute  what  he  considers  <  the  villifying  impu- 
tation laid  on  Macbeth' s  nature'  by  Whately.  A  large  portion  of  Kemble's  argu- 
ment is  drawn  from  the  description  of  Macbeth' s  valour  in  the  fight  with  Norway's 
King,  in  the  first  few  scenes,  and  in  most  of  what  he  says  there  can  be  little  doubt 
that  Whately  would  have  agreed  with  him.  The  contest  between  the  two  critics  is 
to  a  great  extent  merely  verbal.  <  This  apparent  dissent '  (says  Archbishop  Whately 
in  the  Preface  to  the  Third  Edition  of  his  uncle's  Remarks)  '  seems  to  have  arisen 
from  a  misapprehension  of  the  critic's  meaning. ...  Mr  Whately  merely  denies  to 
Macbeth  that  particular  kind  of  courage  which  characterises  Richard  III.  But 
every  one  must  admit  that  Macbeth,  as  described  in  the  following  pages,  is  such 
a  character  that  every  general  would  congratulate  himself  in  having  under  his 
command  an  army  composed  of  men  exactly  (in  respect  of  courage)  resembling 
hhn.' 

Kemble  sums  up  his  Essay  as  follows :  That  Shakespeare  has  not  put  into  any 
mouth  the  slightest  insinuation  against  the  personal  courage  of  Macbeth  is  in  itself  a 
decisive  proof  that  he  never  meant  his  nature  should  be  liable  to  so  base  a  reproach. 
His  deadliest  enemies,  they  who  have  suffered  most  from  his  oppression  and  cruelty, 
in  the  deepest  expressions  of  their  detestation  of  his  person  and  triumph  over  his 
fallen  condition,  are  never  allowed  by  the  Poet  to  utter  a  syllable  in  derogation  from 
his  known  character  of  intrepidity.  Some,  we  see,  ascribe  his  actions  to  madness; 
but  then,  it  is  a  valiant  distraction :  some  call  him  tyrant^  but  then  he  is  a  confident 
tyrant  AH  know  his  character  too  well  to  upbraid  him  with  cowardice.  The 
appeals  which  Macbeth  makes  to  his  own  conscious  valour  for  support  in  all  his 
extremities  are  conclusive  proofs  that  Shakespeare  means  him  to  be  esteemed  a  man 
of  indisputable  spirit ;  in  the  mouth  of  one  whom  we  know  to  be  a  braggart,  these 
self-confident  expressions  would  degenerate  into  mere  farce,  and  provoke  only  our 
ridicule  and  laughter.  In  the  performance  on  the  stage,  the  valour  of  the  tyrant, 
hateful  as  he  is,  invariably  commands  the  admiration  of  every  spectator  of  the  play, 
rude  or  learned.  And,  indeed,  were  not  the  horror  excited  by  his  crimes  qualified 
by  the  delight  we  receive  from  our  esteem  for  his  personal  courage,  the  representa- 
tion of  this  tragedy  would  be  insupportable.  Macbeth,  unable  to  bear  the  reproach 
of  cowardice  from  a  woman, — a  woman,  too,  who  holds  the  complete  sway  of  his 
affections  and  his  reason, — in  one  sentence  vindicates  to  himself  the  dignity  of  true 
courage,  and  unfolds  the  whole  nature  of  the  character  we  are  to  expect  from  him : 
*  I  dare  do  all  that  may  become  a  man ;  Who  dares  do  more,  is  none.' 
30 


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466  APPENDIX 

Hazutt  {^Characters  of  Shakespeare's  Plays,  p.  23):  Macbeth  (geneimlly 
speaking)  is  done  upon  a  stronger  and  more  systematic  principle  of  contrast  than 
any  other  of  Shakespeare's  plays.  It  moves  upon  the  verge  of  an  abyss  and  is  a 
constant  struggle  between  life  and  death.  The  action  is  desperate  and  the  reaction 
is  dreadful.  It  is  a  huddling  together  of  fierce  extremes,  a  war  of  opposite  natures 
which  of  them  shall  destroy  the  other.  There  is  nothing  but  what  has  a  violent  end 
or  violent  beginnings.  The  lights  and  shades  are  laid  on  with  a  detennined  hand ; 
the  transitions  from  triumph  to  despair,  from  the  height  of  terror  to  the  repose  of 
death,  are  sudden  and  startling ;  every  passion  brings  in  its  fellow-contrary,  and  the 
thoughts  pitch  and  jostle  against  each  other  as  in  the  dark.  The  whole  play  is  an 
unruly  chaos  of  strange  and  forbidden  things,  where  the  ground  rocks  under  our 
feet.  Shakespeare's  genius  here  took  its  full  swing*  and  trod  upon  the  farthest 
bounds  of  nature  and  passion.  This  circumstance  will  account  for  the  abruptness 
and  violent  antitheses  of  the  style,  the  throes,  and  labour  which  run  through  the 
expression,  and  from  defects  will  turn  them  into  beauties.  <  So  fair  and  foul  a  day,' 
etc  *  Such  welcome  and  unwelcome  news  together.*  <  Men's  lives  are  like  the 
flowers  in  their  caps,  d3ring  or  ere  they  sicken.'  *  Look  like  the  innocent  flower,  but 
be  the  serpent  under  it.'  The  scene  before  the  castle-gate  follows  the  appearance 
of  the  Witches  on  the  heath,  and  is  followed  by  a  midnight  murder.  Duncan  is 
cut  ofi*  betimes  by  treason  leagued  with  witchcraft,  and  Macdufi*  is  ripped  untimely 
from  his  mother's  womb  to  avenge  his  death.  Macbeth,  after  the  death  of  Banquo, 
wishes  for  his  presence  in  extravagant  terms,  *  To  all,  and  him,  we  thirst,'  and  when 
his  ghost  appears,  cries  out,  'Avaunt  and  quit  my  sight,'  and  being  gone,  he  is 
<  himself  again.' ...  In  Lady  Macbeth's  speech,  <  Had  he  not  resembled  my  father  as 
he  slept,  I  had  done 't,'  there  is  murder  and  filial  piety  together,  and  in  urging  him 
to  fulfil  his  vengeance  against  the  defenceless  king,  her  thoughts  spare  the  blood 
neither  of  infants  nor  old  age.  The  description  of  the  Witches  is  full  of  the  same 
contradictory  principle  ;  they  *  rejoice  when  good  kings  bleed,*  ♦  they  are  neither  of 
the  earth  nor  the  air,  but  both  ;  '  they  should  be  women,  but  their  beards  forbid  it ' ; 
they  take  all  the  pains  possible  to  lead  Macbeth  on  to  the  height  of  his  ambition, 
only  to  betray  him  in  deeper  consequence,  and  after  showing  him  all  the  pomp  of 
their  art,  discover  their  malignant  delight  in  his  disappointed  hopes  by  that  bitter 
taunt,  *  Why  stands  Macbeth  thus  amazedly  ?'  We  might  multiply  such  instances 
everywhere.  .  .  . 

We  can  conceive  a  common  actor  to  play  Richard  III.  tolerably  well ;  we  can 
conceive  no  one  to  play  Macbeth  properly,  or  to  look  like  a  man  that  had  encoun- 
tered the  Weird  Sisters.  All  the  actors  that  we  have  ever  seen  appear  as  if  they 
had  encountered  them  on  the  boards  of  Drury-lane  or  G>vent-garden,  but  not  on 
the  heath  at  Fores,  and  as  if  they  did  not  believe  what  they  had  seen.  The  Witches 
of  Macbeth  are  ridiculous  on  the  modern  stage,  and  we  doubt  if  the  furies  of  .^^Eschy- 
lus  would  be  more  respected.  The  progress  of  manners  and  knowledge  has  an 
influence  on  the  stage,  and  will  in  time  perhaps  destroy  both  tragedy  and  comedy. 

BUCKNILL  (p.  7) :  Evidently  Macbeth  is  a  man  of  sanguine  nervous  temperament, 
of  large  capacity,  and  ready  susceptibility.  The  high  energy  and  courage  which  guide 
his  sword  in  the  battles  of  his  country  are  qualities  of  nerve  force  which  future  cir- 
cumstances will  direct  to  good  or  evil  purposes.     Circumstances  arise  soliciting  to 

*  Is  it  not  strange  that  Hazlitt  should  have  forgotten  that  this  line  is  none  of 
Shakespeare*  s  ?— Ed. 


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CHARACTER  OF  MACBETH-^ROSE  467 

evil ;  <  supernatural  soliciting/  the  force  of  which,  in  these  anti- spiritualist  days,  it 
requires  an  almost  unattainable  flight  of  the  imagination  to  get  a  glimpse  of.  It  must 
be  remembered  that  the  drama  brings  Macbeth  face  to  face  with  the  Supernatural. 
What  would  be  the  effect  upon  a  man  of  nervous  sensibility  of  such  appearances 
as  the  Weird  Sisters  ?  Surely  most  profound.  We  may  disbelieve  in  any  manifesta- 
tions of  the  supernatural,  but  we  cannot  but  believe  that  were  their  occurrence  possi- 
ble, they  would  profoundly  affect  the  mind.  Humboldt  says  that  the  effect  of  the 
first  earthquake  shock  is  most  bewildering,  upsetting  one  of  the  strongest  articles 
of  material  faith,  namely,  the  fixedness  of  the  earth.  Any  supernatural  appearance 
must  have  this  effect  of  shaking  the  foundations  of  the  mind  in  an  infinitely  greater 
degree.  Indeed,  we  so  fully  feel  that  any  glimpse  into  the  spirit-world  would  effect 
in  ourselves  a  profound  mental  revulsion,  that  we  readily  extend  to  Macbeth  a  more 
indulgent  opinion  of  his  great  crimes  than  we  should  have  been  able  to  do  had  he 
been  led  on  to  their  commission  by  the  temptations  of  earthly  incident  alone.  .  .  . 

To  the  Christian  moralist  Macbeth's  guilt  is  so  dark  that  its  degree  cannot  be 
estimated,  as  there  are  no  shades  in  black.  But  to  the  mental  physiologist,  to  whom 
nerve  rather  than  conscience,  the  fiinction  of  the  brain  rather  than  the  power  of  the 
will,  is  an  object  of  study,  it  is  impossible  to  omit  from  calculation  the  influences 
of  the  supernatural  event,  which  is  not  only  the  starting-point  of  the  action,  but  the 
remote  cause  of  the  mental  phenomena. 

Edward  Rose  {Sudden  Emotion  in  Shakespeare s  Characters,  New  Sh.  Soc. 
Trans,  t  1880-82,  p.  6) :  Very  like  and  very  unlike  to  Hamlet  is  Macbelh—a  man  of 
a  compound,  one  might  say  of  a  double,  nature.  There  is  much  of  the  same  intellect, 
though  it  is  less  varied  and  more  direct,  isLt  more  influenced  by  keen  ambition  and 
far  less  appreciative  of  the  beauty  and  power  of  virtue ;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  the 
fact  that  Macbeth  is  a  brilliant  general  shows  that  be  must  have  very  strong  practi- 
cal sense.  Moreover,  he  is  really  not  morally  scrupulous  to  any  notable  extent ;  he 
is  only  cautious.  He  appears  to  us  as  a  hesitating  man,  but  this  is  merely  because 
we  see  him  in  a  very  difficult  position,  when  any  sensible  man  should  hesitate.  The 
reward  of  the  deed  he  contemplates  is  a  magnificent  one,  and  he  is  forcibly  urged  to 
that  deed  by  the  one  person  in  the  whole  world  whom  he  loves  and  trusts,  who 
happens  to  be  a  person  of  enormous  strength  of  will ;  were  it  not  for  this,  he  sees 
the  dangers  of  the  enterprise  so  clearly  that  he  would  almost  certainly  abandon  it 
But  for  Lady  Macbeth,  Macbeth  would  have  been  sensible  enough  not  to  have  mur- 
dered Duncan  at  all.  Let  me  note  in  passing  that  we  ought  not  to  make  too  much 
of  Macbeth's  tendency  to  see  witches  and  ghosts  :  it  proves  very  little  with  regard  to 
his  character.  Shakespeare*  s  ghosts  and  witches  were  real  objective  beings,  who 
were  actually  seen  and  heard  by  many  people  of  widely  different  characters — Ham- 
let, Horatio,  Marcellus,  Macbeth,  Banquo,  Richard  the  Third,  Brutus,  and  others. 
But  to  Macbeth  himself.  In  the  first  Act  he  is  surprised  by  the  supernatural  intelli- 
gence that  he  is  to  be  Thane  of  Cawdor  and  King,  and  the  surprise  is  soon  after 

^repeated  when  he  learns  that  half  the  news  is  true.  His  breath  is  taken  away  for  a 
moment — ^he  *  seems  rapt ' — but  shortly  after  he  criticises,  with  intense  thought,  the 
position  and  his  own  mind.  There  is  not,  it  is  true,  the  rush  of  ideas  which,  with 
Hamlet,  follows  the  ghostly  revelation  :  but  then  the  cause  for  emotion  is  not  nearly 
so  strong,  he  is  not  alone,  and  his  intellectual  nature,  though  like  Hamlet*  s,  is  more 
practical  and  more  concentrated.     But  in  the  second  Act  he  has  a  cause  for  emotion 

J»x  stronger  than  any  of  Hamlet's,  and  the  result  is  most  remarkable.     He,  a  brave 


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468  APPENDIX 

and  famous  soldier,  has  just  foully  murdered  a  man— an  old  man,  his  guest,  hia 
trusting  and  generous  master.  His  is  not  the  unmixed  intellectual  character— 
he  does  feel  his  position,  and  not  merely  see  it :  and  his  moral  nature  is  so  deeply 
moved  that  he  loses  all  self-control  and  neariy  ruins  all.  The  moment  he  has 
killed  Duncan  he  shouts,  'Who's  there?  What  bo !'— the  very  worst  thing  he 
could  possibly  do.  But  then — ^we  have  immediately  a  marvellous  psychological 
study:  Macbeth's  moral  nature  stunned  and  helpless,  while  his  intellect — after, 
as  usual,  a  momentaiy  shock  and  pause — is  working  at  a  tremendous  pace. 
Here  is  the  scene.  [Here  follows  Act  II,  scene  ii,  from  'My  husband,'  1. 
19,  to  'Chief  nourisher  in  life's  feast,*  1.  51.]  To  make  a  man  who  has  just 
committed  a  terrible  murder  talk  in  this  strained  way,  playing  with  words,  quib- 
bling on  the  (act  that  he  has  three  names,  which  represent  but  one  person,  and 
giving  seven  distinct  and  elabofate  metaphors  for  sleep,  seems  at  first  as  if  it  must 
be  the  work  of  a  very  bad  poet,  trying  to  be  conventional  in  the  wrong  place.  But 
I  think  all  critics  will  acknowledge  that  it  is  a  most  wonderful  example  of  the  excited 
intellect  running  away,  the  will  being  powerless  to  stop  it — and  a  most  exact  proof 
of  Macbeth' s  double  character,  half-way  between  the  mere  man  of  thought,  like 
Hamlet,  and  the  ideal  man  of  action,  like  Othello.  But,  like  Hamlet,  and  not  like 
Othello,  Macbeth  quickly  masters  his  emotions,  though  at  first  (in  the  scene  widi 
Macdufi*  and  Lenox)  only  just  sufficiently  not  to  betray  himself ;  he  can  only  foree 
out  a  few  brief  sentences — '  Good  morrow,  both,'  <  Not  yet,'  and  so  on — though 
even  among  these  one  is  a  striking  reflection :  <  The  labor  we  delight  in  physics 
pain.'  But,  as  soon  as  the  opportunity  for  violent  action,  and  the  dear  perception 
oi  one  needful  thing  to  be  done,  awake  him,  his  intellect  rises  to  the  fullest  height 
of  the  trial :  the  thoughts  flow  as  fiist  as  ever,  but  now  he  can  control  and  brilliantly 
utilise  them.  Returning  from  the  slaughter  of  the  grooms,  he  at  once  begins  to 
declaim:  'Had  I  but  died  an  hour  before  this  chance,'  etc,  [II,  iii,  113-117]. 
He  is  asked  why  he  killed  the  grooms ;  his  excuse  is  admirable  and  perfect:  'Who 
can  be  wise,  amazed,  temperate,  and  furious,'  etc.,  [II,  iii,  133-143]* 

In  the  third  Act,  Macbeth*s  scene  with  the  Ghost  of  Banquo  does  not  prove  very 
much — ^the  most  noticeable  point  in  it  is  perhaps  the  rapidity  with  which  he  recovers 
from  his  intense  emotion,  the  almost  purely  intellectual  character  of  his  remarks 
when  the  Ghost  vanishes.  Only  Shakespeare  would  have  given  to  a  man  in  such  a 
position  such  lines  as :  '  I'  the  olden  time  Ere  homane  statute  purged  the  gentle 
weal';  though  Macbeth,  unlike  Hamlet,  is  too  much  moved  to  watch  his  speech, 
and  lets  slip  the  allusion  to  his  crime :  '  This  is  more  strange  than  such  a  murder  is.' 
When  in  the  last  Act  he  hears  of  his  wifeV  death,  the  news  is  apparently  no  great 
surprise  to  him ;  its  only  evident  effect  is  to  stimulate  his  intellect  to  reflections  even 
for  him  unusually  fine  :  *  Life's  a  poor  player,'  etc.  Finally,  Macdufi'' s  declaration 
that  he  '  is  not  of  woman  bom '  only  interrupts  for  a  moment  the  rushing  excitement 
of  the  battle — this  is  only  the  last  of  a  series  of  terrible  surprises,  and  he  is  past 
feeling  even  it  very  deeply.  His  keen  mind  tells  him  that  to  die  bravely,  fighting 
against  all  hope,  is  the  wisest  course,  and  this  he  does.  —Ed.  ii. 

R.  G.  MouLTON  (New  Sh.  Soc.  Trans.^  1880-86,  p.  571):  Macbeth  is  the  per- 
fect type  of  the  man  of  action,  so  far  as  such  perfection  is  possible  where  there  has 
been  no  culture  of  the  life  within.  His  practical  nature,  as  the  part  of  him  most 
highly  developed,  will  be,  when  he  surrenders  himself  to  evil,  the  seat  of  his  sus- 
ceptibility to  crime.     But  he  will  be  powerfully  affected  by  his  lack  of  the  inner 


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CHARACTER  OF  MACBETH-'MOULTON  469 

cultivation.  On  the  one  band,  his  practical  efifectiveness  will  be  hindered  by  want 
of  the  self-discipline  needed  for  periods  of  indecision  and  suspense ;  Macbeth,  who 
b  always  equal  to  a  moment  of  action,  fails  ipT  self-conflict.  On  the  other  hand, 
nature  has  bound  the  individual  to  the  morals  of  his  kind ;  it  is  possible  for  him  to 
shake  off  these  bonds,  but  this  would  need  a  self-mastery  impossible  to  one  untrained 
in  the  life  of  the  soul.  Consequently,  Macbeth  finds  that  he  has  resisted  his  nature 
in  one  direction  only  to  succumb  in  another ;  inherited  notions  of  higher  beings  and 
of  law  with  more  than  earthly  sanction,  which  in  other  men  take  the  form  of  religion, 
appear  in  Macbeth  as  implicit  confidence  in  the  supernatural,  ^^e  would  <  jump  the 
liife  to  come/  yet  rests  his  hope  of  salvation  on  a  witch's  apparition.  As  a  man  who 
has  not  learned  his  letters  may  yet  be  taught  by  a  picture-book,  so  Macbeth' s  imag- 
ination serves  to  him  as  a  pictorial  conscience.  Here  we  have  three  threads  which 
we  may  follow  through  the  development  of  Macbeth' s  character:  first,  we  may  see 
his  practical  nature  passing  through  every  stage  of  moral  degenerac^  nifOr^Vi  we 
may  watch  the  flaw  in  his  powers,  impatience  of  suspense,  growing  from  a  weakness 
to  the  dominant  force  of  his  nature ;  in  the  third  place,  we  shall  see  how,  as  the  rest 
of  his  nature  hardens,  he  is  only  giving  more  scope  to  his  imagination  and  his  sus- 
ceptibility to  the  supernatural,  as  the  channel  by  which  outraged  nature  asserts 
itself.  In  the  conversation  with  Lady  Macbeth  [in  I,  vil]  allusion  is  nude  to  a 
treasonable  discussion,  which  from  the  context  would  seem  to  have  taken  place 
before  the  commencement  of  the  play,  <  Nor  time,  nor  place  Did  then  adhere,  and 
yet  you  would  make  both,'  [60,  61].  Scanty  as  is  this  picture,  yet,  so  far  as  it 
goes,  it  agrees  with  all  we  know  of  Macbeth.  He  is  dwelling  only  on  practical  consid- 
erations of  time  and  place.  With  the  temptation  a  thing  of  such  vague  futurity, 
indecision  is  not  likely  to  have  any  serious  effect ;  yet  even  here  we  note  a  touch  of 
impatience :  *  and  yet  you  would  make  both.' 

At  the  opening  of  the  play  temptation  advances  nearer,  and  approaches  through 
the  medium  of  the  witches.  . . .  First  his  inclination  is  conquered :  <  would  they  had 
stayed  !'  Then  his  reason  is  affected,  and  he  so  far  yields  as  to  argue :  '  This  super- 
natural soliciting  Cannot  be  ill,'  etc.,  [I,  iii,  146  et  seq.].  At  this  point  the  tempta- 
tion has  reached  his  susceptible  imagination,  and  the  horrid  image  unfixes  his  hair 
and  makes  his  seated  heart  knock  at  his  ribs.  But  at  present  Macbeth  retains 
"strength  enough  not  only  to  master  temptation,  but — what  is  harder  for  him — to 
endure  suspense :  '  If  chance  will  have  me  king,  Why  chance  may  crown  me,'  [I, 
iii,  160,  161].  In  the  next  scene  temptation  has  made  a  further  advance,  and 
attacked  his  practical  sense ;  for  simultaneously  the  proclamation  of  an  heir  appar- 
ent removes  his  hopes  of  chance  succession,  and  the  announcement  of  the  king's 
visit  places  before  him  opportunity.  In  an  instant  he  gives  way  and  accepts 
the  crime,  yet  in  words  showing  that  imagination  is  still  strong  enough  to  make 
crime  difficult  to  him.  [I,  iv,  62-65.]  ^  further  stage  of  development  occupies 
the  scenes  which  intervene  between  this  and  Duncan's  murder.  Macbeth,  whom  we 
saw  resolute,  appears  racked  with  doubt ;  but  this  arises  from  the  difference  there  is 
between  a  crime  conceived  in  the  abstract,  and  the  same  crime  in  all  its  details, 
which  bring  it  home  especially  to  a  practical  mind  such  as  Macbeth' s.  ...  In  the 
famous  soliloquy  and  in  the  scene  which  follows,  the  notable  point  is  the  prominence 
of  practical  considerations  in  Macbeth' s  musings.  [See  note  by  Moulton  I,  vii,  5.] 
. . .  Returning  from  the  murder,  one  moment's  suspense — while  he  *  stood  and 
heard '  two  who  had  apparently  been  wakened — gave  full  scope  for  reaction  to  make 
itself  felt  through  his  imagination.    And  the  imagination  which  in  a  former  scene 


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470  APPENDIX 

he  could  not  stop  to  analyse  now  reaches  so  near  to  the  line  which  separates  sub- 
jective and  objective,  that  Lady  Mad>eth  can  hardly  tell  whether  he  is  speaking  of 
strong  fancies  or  audible  voices. 

We  have  next  to  study  Macbeth  facing  the  discovery  of  his  guilt.  At  first  where 
all  is  bustle  and  activity  it  is  comparatively  easy  to  Macbeth' s  practical  genius. 
Yet  even  here  the  suspense  of  a  single  moment  proves  more  than  he  can  face,  and 
he  cannot  restrain  himself  from  slaying  the  grooms,  and  so  marring  the  well-laid 
plan.  But  more  of  him  is  seen  in  the  prolonged  resistance  to  the  gathering  evidences 
of  crime,  the  period  which  culminates  in  the  murder  of  Banquo,  to  remove  a  dreaded 
witness. .  .  .  Suspense  has  undermined  his  judgment  and  betrays  him  to  this  crime,  ^ 
— so  obviously  dangerous  that  he  dares  not  entrust  the  secret  to  the  sounder  judg- 
ment of  his  wife.  And  if  suspense  has  thus  become  more  powerful  over  his  sensi- 
bilities, so  has  crime  increased  its  hold  upon  his  practical  nature. . . .  Again,  in  pro- 
portion as  the  rest  of  his  nature  has  hardened,  in  like  proportion  has  Macbeth  in- 
creased his  susceptibilities  to  supernatural  imaginings.  That  Shakespeare  intends 
the  Ghost  of  Banquo  as  an  illusion  of  Macbeth' s  imagination  may  be  discovered  by 
a  simple  test,  namely,  that  the  spectre  is  invisible  to  all  except  Macbeth.  Yet  to 
him  it  is  more  terrible  than  any  foe  of  flesh  and  blood. . . .  When  a  second  time  the 
vision  appears  he  accepts  it  as  implicitly  as  before.  All  this  measures  the  power  the 
supernatural  has  won  over  Macbeth :  'when  we  last  saw  him  struggling  with  his 
conscience  his  imaginings  hung  doubtfully  between  reality  and  illusion,  this  appa- 
rition is  now  more  real  than  the  life  around  him.  From  the  murder  of  Banquo  the 
descent  is  rapid.  Suspense  passes  beyond  a  settled  disease,  and  grows  to  a  panic 
He  had  before  wrought  his  nature  to  commit  crime  with  ease:  now  slaughter 
becomes  an  end  in  itself  [IV,  iii,  7-9],  and  in  time  a  mania  [V,  ii,  18,  19].  And 
now  his  whole  nature  is  swallowed  up  in  the  supernatural.  All  other  susceptibility 
is  cased  over  with  callousness.  The  man  who  had  too  much  of  the  milk  of  human 
kindness  receives  the  message  of  his  wife's  death  with  the  words :  <  She  should  have 
died  hereafter.'  [See  Moulton's  note,  I,  v,  17.]  Even  imagination  in  its  ordinary 
operations  has  ceased  to  be  felt  [V.  v,  13-19].  But  to  compensate  for  the  loss  of 
other  sensibility  he  has  now  complete  trust  in  the  beings  of  unholy  knowledge :  he 
voluntarily  seeks  them ;  he  forces  his  way  into  the  future,  and  feels  by  anticipation 
the  failure  of  all  his  hopes ;  and  finally  he  hurries  into  the  £Use  confidence  which 
is  to  gain  the  impetus  for  his  shock  of  ruin. — ^£d.  ii. 

Sir  Henry  Irving  {Character  of  Macbeth)  :  Shakespeare  has  in  his  text  given 
Macbeth  as  one  of  the  most  bloody  minded,  hypocritical  villains  in  all  his  long 
gallery  of  portraits  of  men  instinct  with  the  virtues  and  vices  of  their  kind.  It  is  in 
the  very  text  that,  before  the  opening  of  the  play,  Macbeth  had  not  only  thought  of 
murdering  Duncan,  but  had  broached  the  subject  to  his  wife,  and  that  this  vague 
possibility  became  a  resolute  intention,  under  stress  of  unexpected  developments ; 
that,  although  Macbeth  played  with  the  subject,  and  even  cultivated  assiduondy  a 
keen  sense  of  the  horrors  of  his  crimes,  his  resolution  never  really  slackened. . .  . 

[Macbeth]  was  a  poet  with  his  brain  and  a  villain  with  his  heart,  and  the  mere 
appreciation  and  enjoyment  of  his  own  wickedness  gave  irony  to  his  grim  humor 
and  zest  to  his  crime.  He  loved  throughout  to  paint  himself  and  his  deeds  in  the 
blackest  pigments  and  to  bring  to  the  exercise  of  his  wickedness  the  conscious 
deliberation  of  an  intellectual  voluptuary.  All  through  the  play  his  blackest  deeds 
are  heralded  by  high  thoughts,  told  in  the  most  glorious  word-painting,  so  that  after 


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CHARACTER  OF  LADY  MACBETH—STEEVENS      471 

a  little  the  reader  or  the  hearer  comes  to  anderstand  that  the  excellence  of  the. 
poetic  thought  is  but  a  suggestion  of  the  measure  of  the  wickedness  that  is  to  follow. 
Of  Macbeth*  s  bravery  there  can  be  no  doubt  whatever,  either  historically  or  in  the 
play.  .  . .  Indeed,  Shakespeare  insists  throughout  on  this  great  manly  quality,  and  at 
the  very  outset  of  the  tragedy  puts  into  the  mouths  of  other  characters  speeches 
couching  their  declaration  in  poetic  form.  It  is  to  his  moral  qualities  which  I  refer 
when  I  dub  him  villain.  He  bears  witness  himself  at  the  close  of  Act  III.,  when 
he  announces  his  fixed  intent  on  a  general  career  of  selfish  crime,  and  this  to  the 
wife  whose  hands  have  touched  the  crown,  and  whose  heart  has  by  now  felt  the 
vanity  of  the  empty  circlet. 

How  any  student,  whether  he  be  of  the  stage  or  not,  can  take  those  lines, '  Strange 
things  I  have  in  head,  that  will  to  hand.  Which  must  be  acted,  ere  they  may  be  scanned,* 
and,  reading  them  in  any  light  he  may,  can  torture  out  a  meaning  of  Macbeth* s 
native  nobility  or  honor,  I  am  truly  at  a  loss  to  conceive.  Grapes  do  not  grow  on 
thorns,  or  figs  on  thistles,  and  how  anyone  can  believe  that  a  wish  for  and  an  intent 
to  murder — and  for  mere  gain,  though  that  gain  be  the  hastening  to  a  crown— can 
find  a  lodgment  in  a  noble  breast,  I  know  not  Let  it  be  sufficient  that  Macbeth — 
hypocrite,  traitor,  and  regicide — threw  over  his  crimes  the  glamour  of  his  own  poetic 
self-torturing  thought.  He  was  a  Celt,  and  in  every  phase  of  his  life  his  Celtic 
fervor  was  manifest.  It  is  not  needed  that  we  who  are  students  of  an  author's  mean- 
ing should  make  so  little  of  him  as  to  lose  his  main  purpose  in  the  misty  beauty  of 
his  poetic  words. ...  A  poetic  mind  on  which  the  presages  and  suggestions  of  super- 
natural things  could  work ;  a  nature  sensitive  to  intellectual  emotion,  so  that  one 
can  imagine  him  even  in  his  contemplation  of  coming  crimes  to  weep  for  the  pain 
of  the  destined  victim;  self-torturing,  self-examining,  playing  with  conscience  so 
that  action  and  reaction  of  poetic  thought  might  send  emotional  waves  through  the 
brain  while  the  resolution  was  as  firmly  fixed  as  steel  and  the  heart  as  cold  as  ice ;  a 
poet  supreme  in  the  power  of  words,  with  vivid  imagination  and  quick  sympathy  of 
intellect;  a  villain  cold-blooded,  selfish,  and  remorseless,  with  a  true  villain's  nerve 
and  callousness  when  braced  to  evil  work  and  the  physical  heroism  of  those  who  are 
bom  to  kill :  a  moral  nature  with  only  sufficient  weakness  to  quake  momentarily 
before  superstitious  terrors — the  man  of  sensibility  and  not  the  man  of  feeling. 
Such,  I  believe,  was  the  mighty  dramatic  character  which  Shakespeare  gave  to  the 
world  in  Macbeth. — Ed.  ii. 


CHARACTER  OF  LADY  MACBETH 

Steevens  (note  on  I,  v,  60)  :  Shakespeare  has  supported  the  character  of  Lady 
Macbeth  by  repeated  efforts,  and  never  omits  an  opportunity  of  adding  a  trait  of 
ferocity,  or  a  mark  of  the  want  of  human  feelings,  to  this  monster  of  his  own  crea- 
tioh.  The  softer  passions  are  more  obliterated  in  her  than  in  her  husband,  in  pro- 
portion as  her  ambition  is  greater.  She  meets  him  here  on  his  arrival  from  an 
expedition  of  danger  with  such  a  salutation  as  would  have  become  one  of  his  friends 
or  vassals ;  a  salutation  apparently  fitted  mther  to  raise  his  thoughts  to  a  level  with 
her  own  purposes  than  to  testify  her  joy  at  his  return  or  manifest  an  attachment  to 
his  person ;  nor  does  any  sentiment  expressive  of  love  or  softness  fall  from  her 
throughout  the  play.  While  Macbeth  himself,  amidst  the  horrors  of  his  guilt,  still 
retains  a  character  less  fiend-like  than  that  of  his  queen,  talks  to  her  with  a  degree 


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472  APPENDIX 

of  tenderness,  and  pours  his  complaints  and  fears  into  her  bosom,  accompanied  with 
terms  of  endearment 

COLBRIDGB  (i,  246} :  Lady  Macbeth,  like  all  in  Shakespeare,  is  a  dass  indiTid- 
nalized  :^-of  high  rank,  left  much  alone,  and  feeding  herself  with  day-dreams  tA 
ambition,  she  mistakes  the  courage  of  fantasy  for  the  power  of  bearing  the  conse- 
quences of  the  realities  of  guilt.  Hers  is  the  mock  fortitude  of  a  mind  deluded  by 
ambition ;  she  shames  her  husband  with  a  superhuman  audadty  of  fancy  which  she 
cannot  support,  but  sinks  in  the  season  of  remorse,  and  dies  in  suicidal  agony.  Her 
speech:  'Come,  all  you  spirits  That  tend  on  mortal  thoughts,'  etc.,  is  that  of  one 
who  had  habitually  familiarized  her  imagination  to  dreadful  conceptions,  and  was 
trying  to  do  so  still  more.  Her  invocations  and  requisitions  are  all  the  false  efforts 
of  a  mind  accustomed  only  hitherto  to  the  shadows  of  the  imagination,  yivid  enough 
to  throw  the  every-day  substances  of  life  into  shadow,  but  never  as  yet  brought  into 
direct  contact  with  their  own  correspondent  realities.  She  evinces  no  womanly  life, 
no  wifely  joy  at  the  return  of  her  husband,  no  pleased  terror  at  the  thought  of  past 
dangers,  whilst  Macbeth  bursts  forth  naturally, — '  My  dearest  love,* — and  shrinks 
from  the  boldness  with  which  she  presents  his  own  thoughts  to  him.  With  consum- 
mate art  she  at  first  uses  as  incentives  the  very  circumstances,  Duncan's  coming  to 
their  house,  etc.,  which  Macbeth' 8  conscience  would  most  probably  have  adduced  to 
her  as  motives  of  abhorrence  or  repulsion. 

Mrs  Sidxx>NS  (^Remarks  on  the  Character  of  Lady  Maebeth'  in  Campbell's  Life 
of  Mrs  SiddoHSy  vol.  ii,  p.  10) :  In  this  astonishing  creature  one  sees  a  woman  in 
whose  bosom  the  passion  of  ambition  has  almost  obliterated  all  the  characteristics 
of  human  nature,  in  whose  composition  are  associated  all  the  subjugating  powers 
of  intellect  and  all  the  charms  and  graces  of  personal  beauty.  You  will  probably 
not  agree  with  me  as  to  the  character  of  that  beauty ;  yet,  perhaps,  this  difference 
of  opinion  will  be  entirely  attributable  to  the  difficulty  of  your  imagination  disengag- 
ing itself  from  that  idea  of  the  person  of  her  representative  which  you  have  been  so 
long  accustomed  to  contemplate.  According  to  my  notion,  it  is  of  that  character 
which  I  believe  is  generally  allowed  to  be  most  captivating  to  the  other  sex,— fair, 
feminine,  nay,  perhaps,  even  fragile,— '  Fair  as  the  forms  that,  wove  in  Fancy's 
loom.  Float  in  light  visions  round  the  poet's  head.'  Such  a  combination  only, 
respectable  in  energy  and  strength  of  mind,  and  captivating  in  feminine  loveliness, 
could  have  composed  a  charm  of  such  potency  as  to  fascinate  the  mind  of  a  hero 
so  dauntless,  a  character  so  amiable,  so  honourable  as  Macbeth ;— to  seduce  him 
to  brave  all  the  dangers  of  the  present  and  all  the  terrors  of  a  future  world; 
and  we  are  constrained,  even  whilst  we  abhor  his  crimes,  to  pity  the  infatuated 
victim  of  such  a  thraldom.  His  letters,  which  have  informed  her  of  the  predic- 
tions of  those  preternatural  beings  who  accosted  him  on  the  heath,  have  lighted 
up  into  daring  and  desperate  determinations  all  those  pernicious  slumbering  fires 
which  the  enemy  of  man  is  ever  watchful  to  awaken  in  the  bosoms  of  his  unwary  vic- 
tims. To  his  direful  suggestions  she  is  so  far  from  offering  the  least  opposition,  as 
not  only  to  yield  up  her  soul  to  them,  but  moreover  to  invoke  the  sightless  ministers 
of  remorseless  cruelty  to  extinguish  in  her  breast  all  those  compunctious  visitings  of 
nature  which  otherwise  might  have  been  mercifully  interposed  to  counteract,  and 
perhaps  eventually  to  overcome,  their  unholy  instigations.  But  having  impiously 
delivered  herself  up  to  the  excitements  of  hell,  the  pitifulness  of  heaven  itself  is 


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CHARACTER  OF  LADY  MACBETH-SID  DONS        473 

withdnwn  from  her,  and  she  is  abandoned  to  the  guidance  of  the  demons  whom  she 
has  invoked. 

Here  I  cannot  resist  a  little  digression,  to  observe  how  sweetly  contrasted  with 
the  conduct  of  this  splendid  fiend  is  that  of  the  noble  single-minded  Banqiio.  He, 
when  under  the  same  species  of  temptation,  having  been  alarmed,  as  it  appears,  bj 
some  wicked  suggestions  of  the  Weird  Sisters^  in  his  last  night^s  dream,  puts  up  an 
earnest  prayer  to  heaven  to  have  these  cursed  thoughts  restrained  in  him,  <  which 
nature  gives  way  to  in  repose,*  Yes,  even  as  to  that  time  when  he  is  not  accountable 
either  for  their  access  or  continuance,  he  remembers  the  precept,  <  Keep  thy  heart 
with  all  diligence  ;  for  out  of  it  are  the  issues  of  life.' 

To  return  to  the  subject  Lady  Macbeth,  thus  adorned  with  every  fascination  of 
mind  and  person,  enters  for  the  first  time,  reading  a  part  of  one  of  these  portentous 
letteis  fiom  her  husband.  [I,  v,  2-14.]  Vaulting  ambition  and  intrepid  daring  rekin- 
dle in  a  moment  all  the  splendours  of  her  dark  blue  eyes.  . .  .  Shortly,  Macbeth  ap- 
pears. He  announces  the  King's  approach ;  and  she,  insensible  it  should  seem  to 
all  the  perils  which  he  has  encountered  in  battle,  and  to  all  the  happiness  of  his  safe 
return  to  her, — ^for  not  one  kind  word  of  greeting  or  congratulation  does  she  offer, — 
is  so  entirely  swallowed  up  by  the  horrible  design,  which  has  probably  been  sug- 
gested to  her  by  his  letters,  as  to  have  entirely  foigotien  both  the  one  and  the  other 
It  is  very  remarkable  that  Macbeth  is  frequent  in  expressions  of  tenderness  to  his 
wife,  while  she  never  betrays  one  symptom  of  affection  towards  him,  till,  in  the  fiery 
furnace  of  affliction,  her  iron  heart  is  melted  down  to  softness.  For  the  present  she 
flies  to  welcome  the  venerable,  gracious  Duncan,  with  such  a  show  of  eagerness  as 
if  allegiance  in  her  bosom  sat  crowned  with  devotion  and  gratitude. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  Macbeth,  in  the  first  instance,  suggested  the  design 
of  assassinating  the  King,  and  it  is  probable  that  he  has  invited  his  gracious  sov- 
ereign to  his  castle  in  order  more  speedily  and  expeditiously  to  realize  those 
thoughts,  '  whose  murder^  though  but  yet  fantastical^  so  shook  his  single  state  of 
man,*  Yet,  on  the  arrival  of  Duncan,  his  naturally  benevolent  and  good  feelings 
resume  their  wonted  power,  [and  after  rehearsing  the  arguments  against  the  commis- 
sion of  the  crime]  he  wisely  determines  to  proceed  no  further  in  the  business.  But 
now  behold,  his  evil  genius,  his  grave-chann,  appears,  and  by  the  force  of  her  revil- 
ings,  her  contemptuous  taunts,  and,  above  all,  by  her  opprobrious  aspersion  of  cow- 
ardice, chases  [away  the  feelings  of]  loyalty,  and  pity,  and  gratitude,  which  but  a 
moment  before  had  taken  full  possession  of  his  mind. 

Even  here  [I,  vii,  63-68],  horrific  as  she  is,  she  shows  herself  made  by  ambi- 
tion, but  not  by  nature,  a  perfectly  savage  creature.  The  very  use  of  such  a  tender 
allusion  in  the  midst  of  her  dreadful  language,  persuades  one  unequivocally  that  she 
has  really  felt  the  maternal  yearnings  of  a  mother  towards  her  babe,  and  that  she 
considered  this  action  the  most  enormous  that  ever  required  the  strength  of  human 
nerves  for  its  perpetration.  Her  language  to  Macbeth  is  the  most  potently  eloquent 
that  guilt  could  use.  It  is  only  in  soliloquy  that  she  invokes  the  powers  of  hell  to 
unsex  her.  To  her  husband  she  avows,  and  the  naturalness  of  her  language  makes 
us  believe  her,  that  she  had  felt  the  instinct  of  filial  as  well  as  maternal  love.  But 
^e  makes  her  very  virtues  the  means  of  a  taunt  to  her  lord. . .  . 

The  Second  Act. — It  is  the  dead  of  night  The  gracious  Duncan,  shut  up  in 
measureless  content,  reposes  sweetly. . . .  The  daring  fiend,  whose  pernicious  potions 
have  stupefied  the  attendants,  and  who  even  laid  their  daggers  ready, — her  own 
Bpixity  as  it  seems,  exalted  by  the  power  of  wine, — now  enters  the  gallery  in  eager 


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474  APPENDIX 

expectation  of  the  results  of  her  diabolical  diligence.  In  the  tremendous  suspense 
of  these  moments,  while  she  recollects  her  habitual  humanity,  one  trait  of  tender 
feeling  is  expressed,  *  Had  he  not  resembled  my  father  as  he  slept,  I  had  done  'L' 
Her  humanity  vanishes,  however,  in  the  same  instant  [For  when  her  husband 
refuses  to  return  to  the  chamber  to  replace  the  daggers]  instantaneously  the  solitary 
particle  of  her  human  feeling  is  swallowed  up  in  her  remorseless  ambition,  and, 
wrenching  the  daggers  from  the  feeble  grasp  of  her  husband,  she  finishes  the  act 
which  the  <  infirm  of  purpose '  had  not  courage  to  complete.  .  . . 

The  Third  Act. — The  golden  round  of  royalty  now  crowns  her  brow,  and  royal 
robes  enfold  her  form  ;  but  the  peace  that  passeth  all  understanding  is  lost  to  her  for 
ever,  and  the  worm  that  never  dies  already  gnaws  her  heart  [III,  ii,  8-zi].  Under 
the  impression  of  her  present  wretchedness,  I,  from  this  moment,  have  always  as- 
sumed the  dejection  of  countenance  and  manners  which  I  thought  accordant  to  such 
a  state  of  mind ;  and,  though  the  author  of  this  sublime  composition  has  not,  it 
must  be  acknowledged,  given  any  direction  whatever  to  authorise  this  assumption, 
yet  I  venture  to  hope  that  he  would  not  have  disapproved  of  it.  It  is  evident, 
indeed,  by  her  conduct  in  the  scene  which  succeeds  this  mournful  soliloquy,  that  she 
is  no  longer  the  presumptuous,  the  determined  creature  that  she  was  before  the  assas- 
sination of  the  king ;  for  instance,  on  the  approach  of  her  husband  we  behold,  for 
the  first  time,  strikmg  indications  of  sensibility,  nay,  tenderness  and  sympathy  ;  and 
I  think  this  conduct  is  nobly  followed  up  by  her  during  the  whole  of  their  subse- 
quent intercourse.  It  is  evident,  I  think,  that  the  sad  and  new  experience  of  afflic- 
tion has  subdued  the  insolence  of  her  pride  and  the  violence  of  her  will,  for  she 
now  comes  to  seek  him  out,  that  she  may,  at  least,  participate  his  misery.  She 
knows,  by  her  own  woeful  experience,  the  torment  which  he  undergoes,  and  endeavors 
to  alleviate  his  sufferings  by  the  following  inefficient  reasonings :  [III,  ii,  13-17]. 
Far  from  her  former  habits  of  reproach  and  contemptuous  taunting,  you  perceive 
that  she  now  listens  to  his  complaints  with  sympathizing  feelings ;  and  so  far  from 
adding  to  the  weight  of  his  affliction  the  burthen  of  her  own,  she  endeavors  to  con- 
ceal it  from  him  with  the  most  delicate  and  unremitting  attention.  . .  .  All  her 
thoughts  are  now  directed  to  divert  his  from  those  sorriest  fancies  by  turning  them 
to  the  approaching  banquet. . . .  Yes,  smothering  her  sufferings  in  the  deepest  recesses 
of  her  own  wretched  bosom,  we  cannot  but  perceive  that  she  devotes  herself  entirely 
to  the  effort  of  supporting  him. 

Let  it  be  here  recollected,  as  some  palliation  of  her  former  very  different  deport- 
ment, that  she  had,  probably,  from  childhood  commanded  all  around  her  with  a  high 
hand  ;  had  uninterruptedly,  perhaps,  in  that  splendid  station  enjoyed  all  that  wealth, 
all  that  nature  had  to  bestow ;  that  she  had,  possibly,  no  directors,  no  controllers, 
and  that  in  womanhood  her  fascinated  lord  had  never  once  opposed  her  inclinations. 
But  now  her  new-bom  relentings,  under  the  rod  of  chastisement,  prompt  her  to 
make  palpable  efforts  in  order  to  support  the  spirits  of  her  weaker,  and,  I^must  say, 
more  selfish,  husband.  . .  . 

The  Banquet. — Surrounded  by  their  Court,  in  all  the  apparent  ease  and  self- 
complacency  of  which  their  wretched  souls  are  destitute,  they  are  now  seated  at  the 
royal  banquet ;  and  although,  through  the  greater  part  of  this  scene.  Lady  Macbeth 
affects  to  resume  her  wonted  domination  over  her  husband,  yet,  notwithstanding  all 
this  self-control,  her  mind  must  even  then  be  agonized  by  the  complicated  pangs  of 
terror  and  remorse.  For  what  imagination  can  conceive  her  tremors  lest  at  every 
succeeding  moment  Macbeth,  in  his  distraction,  may  confirm  those  suspicions,  but  ill- 


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CHARACTER  OF  LADY  MACBETH^SIDDONS       475 

concealed  under  the  loyal  looks  and  cordial  manners  of  their  facile  courtiers,  when, 
with  smothered  terror,  yet  domineering  indignation,  she  exclaims,  upon  his  agitation 
at  the  ghost  of  Banquo,  'Are  you  a  man?'  [Ill,  iv,  77-86].  Dying  with  fear,  yet 
assuming  the  utmost  composure,  she  returns  to  her  stately  canopy,  and  with  trembling 
nerves,  having  tottered  up  the  steps  to  her  throne,  that  bad  eminence,  she  entertains 
her  wondering  guests  with  frightful  smiles,  with  over-acted  attention,  and  with  fitful 
gradousness ;  painfully,  yet  incessantly,  labouring  to  divert  their  attention  from  her 
husband.  Whilst  writhing  thus  under  her  internal  agonies,  her  restless  and  terrify- 
ing glances  towards  Macbeth,  in  spite  of  all  her  efforts  to  suppress  them,  have  thrown 
the  whole  table  into  amazement ;  and  the  murderer  then  suddenly  breaks  up  the 
assembly  by  the  confession  of  his  horrors :  [III,  iv,  136-142]. 

What  imitation,  in  such  circumstances  as  these,  would  ever  satisfy  the  demands 
of  expectation  ?  The  terror,  the  remorse,  the  hypocrisy  of  this  astonishing  being, 
flitting  in  frightful  succession  over  her  countenance,  and  actuating  her  agitated  ges- 
tures with  her  varying  emotions,  present,  perhaps,  one  of  the  greatest  difficulties  of 
the  scenic  art,  and  cause  her  representative  no  less  to  tremble  for  the  suffrage  of  her 
private  study  than  for  its  public  effect 

It  is  now  the  time  to  inform  you  of  an  idea  which  I  have  conceived  of  Lady  Mac- 
beth's  character,  which  perhaps  will  appear  as  fanciful  as  that  which  I  have  adopted 
respecting  the  style  of  her  beauty ;  and  in  order  to  justify  this  idea,  I  must  carry 
you  back  to  the  scene  immediately  preceding  the  banquet,  in  which  you  will  recol- 
lect the  following  dialogue  :  [III,  ii,  45-66].  Now  it  is  not  possible  that  she  should 
hear  all  these  ambiguous  hints  about  Banquo  without  being  too  well  awar«  that  a 
sudden,  lamentable  fate  awaits  him.  Yet  so  far  from  offering  any  opposition  to 
Macbeth' s  murderous  designs,  she  even  hints,  I  think,  at  the  facility,  if  not  the  expe- 
diency, of  destroying  both  Banquo  and  [Fleance]  when  she  observes  that  *i«  them 
Natures  copy  is  not  eteme,^  Having,  therefore,  now  filled  the  measure  of  her  crimes, 
I  have  imagined  that  the  last  appearance  of  Banquo' s  ghost  became  no  less  visible  to 
her  eyes  than  it  became  to  those  of  her  husband.  Yes,  the  spirit  of  the  noble  Ban- 
quo  has  smilingly  filled  up,  even  to  overflowing,  and  now  commends  to  her  own  lips 
the  ingredients  of  her  poisoned  chalice. 

The  Fifth  Act. — Behold  her  now,  with  wasted  form,  with  wan  and  haggard 
countenance,  her  starry  eyes  glazed  with  the  ever-burning  fever  of  remorse,  and  on 
their  lids  the  shadows  of  death.  Her  ever-restless  spirit  wanders  in  troubled  dreams 
about  her  dismal  apartment ;  and,  whether  waking  or  asleep,  the  smell  of  innocent 
blood  incessantly  haunts  her  imagination  :  *  Here's  the  smell  of  blood  still.  All  the 
perfumes  of  Arabia  will  not  sweeten  This  little  hand.'  How  beautifully  contrasted 
is  this  exclamation  with  the  bolder  image  of  Macbeth,  in  expressing  the  same  feel- 
ing :  'Will  all  great  Neptune's  ocean  wash  the  blood  Qean  from  this  hand ?'  And 
how  appropriately  either  sex  illustrates  the  same  idea  ! 

During  this  appalling  scene,  which,  to  my  sense,  is  the  most  so  of  them  all,  the 
wretched  creature,  in  imagination,  acts  over  again  the  accumulated  horrors  of  her 
whole  conduct.  These  dreadful  images,  accompanied  with  the  agitations  they  have 
induced,  have  obviously  accelerated  her  untimely  end  ;  for  in  a  few  moments  tidings 
of  her  death  are  brought  to  her  unhappy  husband.  It  is  conjectured  that  she  died 
by  her  own  hand.  Too  certain  it  is,  that  she  dies  and  makes  no  sign.  I  have 
now  to  account  to  you  for  the  weakness  which  I  have  ascribed  to  Macbeth. . . . 
Please  to  observe  that  he  (I  must  think  pusillanimously,  when  I  compare  his  con- 
duct with  her  forbearance)  has  been  continually  pouring  out  his  miseries  to  his  wife. 


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476  APPENDIX 

His  heart  has  therefore  been  eased,  from  time  to  time,  by  unloadixig  its  weight  of 
woe;  while  she,  on  the  contrary,  has  perseyeringly  endured  in  silence  the  uttermost 
anguish  of  a  wounded  spirit. .  • .  Her  feminine  nature,  her  delicate  structure,  it  is  too 
evident,  are  soon  overwhelmed  by  the  enormous  pressure  of  her  crimes.  Yet  it  will 
be  granted  that  she  gives  proofs  of  a  naturally  higher  toned  mind  than  that  of  Mac- 
beth. The  different  physical  powers  of  the  two  sexes  are  finely  delineated  in  the 
different  effects  which  their  mutual  crimes  produce.  Her  frailer  frame,  and  keener 
feelings  have  now  sunk  under  the  struggle — ^his  robust  and  less  sensitive  constitu- 
tion has  not  only  resisted  it,  but  bears  him  on  to  deeper  wickedness,  and  to  experi- 
ence the  fatal  fecundity  of  crime. . . . 

In  one  point  of  view,  at  least,  this  guilty  pair  extort  from  us,  in  spite  of  ourselves, 
a  certain  respect  and  approbation.  Their  grandeur  of  character  sustains  them  both 
above  recrimination  (the  despicable  accustomed  resort  of  vulgar  minds)  in  adversity : 
for  the  wretched  husband,  though  almost  impelled  into  this  gulf  of  destruction  by 
the  instigations  of  his  wife,  feels  no  abatement  of  his  love  for  her,  while  she,  on  her 
part,  appears  to  have  known  no  tenderness  for  him,  till,  with  a  heart  bleeding  at 
every  pore,  she  beholds  in  him  the  miserable  victim  of  their  mutual  ambition.  Un- 
like the  first  frail  pair  in  Paradise,  they  spent  not  the  fruitless  hours  in  mutual  accu- 
sation. 

[Mrs  Siddons,  on  p.  35,  gives  the  following  account  of  the  first  time  that  she 
had  to  play  Lady  Macbeth  :] 

It  was  my  custom  to  study  my  characters  at  night,  when  all  the  domestic  cares 
and  business  of  the  day  were  over.  On  the  night  preceding  that  in  which  I  was  to 
appear  in  this  part  for  the  first  time,  I  shut  myself  up,  as  usual,  when  all  the  family 
were  retired,  and  commenced  my  study  of  Lady  Macbeth.  As  the  character  is  very 
short,  I  thought  I  should  soon  accomplish  it.  Being  then  only  twenty  years  of  age, 
I  believed,  as  many  others  do  believe,  that  little  more  was  necessary  than  to  get  the 
words  into  my  head ;  for  the  necessity  of  discrimination  and  the  development  of 
character,  at  that  time  of  my  life,  had  scarcely  entered  into  my  imagination.  But,  to 
proceed.  I  went  on  with  tolerable  composure,  in  the  silence  of  the  night  (a  night  I 
can  never  forget),  till  I  came  to  the  assassination  scene,  when  the  horrors  of  the 
scene  rose  to  a  degree  that  made  it  impossible  for  me  to  get  farther.  I  snatched  up 
my  candle  and  hurried  out  of  the  room  in  a  paroxysm  of  terror.  My  dress  was  of 
silk,  and  the  rustling  of  it,  as  I  ascended  the  stairs  to  go  to  bed,  seemed  to  my  panic- 
struck  fancy  like  the  movement  of  a  spectre  pursuing  me.  At  last  I  reached  my 
chamber,  where  I  found  my  husband  fast  asleep.  I  dapt  my  candlestick  down  upon 
the  table,  without  the  power  of  putting  the  candle  out,  and  threw  myself  on  my  bed, 
without  daring  to  stay  even  to  take  off  my  clothes.  At  peep  of  day  I  rose  to  resume 
my  task ;  but  so  little  did  I  know  of  my  part  when  I  appeared  in  it,  at  night,  that 
my  shame  and  confusion  cured  me  of  procrastinating  my  business  for  the  remainder 
of  my  life. 

About  six  years  afterwards  I  was  called  upon  to  act  the  same  character  in  London. 
By  this  time  I  had  perceived  the  difficulty  of  assuming  a  personage  with  whom  no 
one  feeling  of  conunon  general  nature  was  congenial  or  assistant.  One's  own  heart 
could  prompt  one  to  express,  with  some  degree  of  truth,  the  sentiments  of  a  mother, 
a  daughter,  a  wife,  a  lover,  a  sister,  etc.,  but  to  adopt  this  character  must  be  an 
effort  of  the  judgement  alone. 

Therefore,  it  was  with  the  utmost  diffidence,  nay,  terror,  that  I  undertook  it,  and 
with  the  additional  fear  of  Mrs  Pritchard's  reputation  in  it  before  my  eyes.    The 


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CHARACTER  OF  LADY  MACBETH-^JAMESON       477 

dreaded  first  night  at  length  arrived,  when,  just  as  I  had  finished  my  toilette,  and 
was  pondering  with  fearfnlness  my  first  appearance  in  the  grand,  fiendish  part,  comes 
Mr  Sheridan,  knocking  at  my  door,  and  insisting,  in  spite  of  all  my  entreaties  not  to 
be  interrupted  at  this  to  me  tremendous  moment,  to  be  admitted.  He  would  not  be 
denied  admittance,  for  he  protested  he  must  speak  to  me  on  a  circumstance  which 
so  deeply  concerned  my  own  interest  that  it  was  of  the  most  serious  nature.  Well, 
after  much  squabbling,  I  was  compelled  to  admit  him,  that  I  might  dismiss  him  the 
sooner,  and  compose  myself  before  the  play  began.  But,  what  was  my  distress  and 
astonishment  when  I  found  that  he  wanted  me,  even  at  this  moment  of  anxiety  and 
terror,  to  adopt  another  mode  of  acting  the  sleeping  scene.  He  told  me  he  had  heard 
with  the  greatest  surprise  and  concern  that  I  meant  to  act  it  without  holding  the 
candle  in  my  hand ;  and,  when  I  urged  the  impracticability  of  washing  out  that 
<  damned  spot '  with  the  vehemence  that  was  certainly  implied  by  both  her  own 
words  and  by  those  of  her  gentlewoman,  he  insisted  that  if  I  did  put  the  candle  out 
of  my  hand,  it  would  be  thought  a  presumptuous  innovation,  as  Mrs  Pritchard  had 
always  retained  it  in  hers.  My  mind,  however,  Was  made  up,  and  it  was  then 
too  late  to  make  me  alter  it ;  for  I  was  too  agitated  to  adopt  another  method.  My 
deference  for  Mr  Sheridan's  taste  and  judgement  was,  however,  so  great,  that,  had 
he  proposed  the  alteration  whilst  it  was  possible  for  me  to  change  my  own  plan,  I 
should  have  yielded  to  his  suggestion  ;  though  even  then  it  would  have  been  against 
my  own  opinion  and  my  observation  of  the  accuracy  with  which  somnambulists 
perform  all  the  acts  of  waking  persons.  The  scene,  of  course,  was  acted  as  I  had 
myself  conceived  it,  and  the  innovation,  as  Mr  Sheridan  called  it,  was  received  with 
approbation.  Mr  Sheridan  himself  came  to  me,  after  the  play,  and  most  ingenuously 
congratulated  me  on  my  obstinacy.  When  he  was  gone  out  of  the  room  I  began  to 
undress  ;  and  while  standing  up  before  my  glass,  and  taking  off  my  mantle,  a  divert- 
ing circumstance  occurred  to  chase  away  the  feelings  of  this  anxious  night ;  for  while 
I  was  repeating,  and  endeavoring  to  call  to  mind  the  appropriate  tone  and  action  to 
the  following  words,  '  Here's  the  smell  of  blood  still  !*  my  dresser  innocently  ex- 
claimed, '  Dear  me,  ma'am,  how  very  hysterical  you  are  to-night ;  I  protest  and 
vow,  ma'am,  it  was  not  blood ,  but  rose-pink  and  water ;  for  I  saw  the  property-man 
mix  it  up,  with  my  own  eyes.* 

Mrs  Jameson  (ii,  p.  320) ;  The  very  passages  in  which  Lady  Macbeth  dis- 
plays the  most  savage  and  relentless  determination  are  so  worded  as  to  fill  the 
mind  with  the  idea  of  sex,  and  place  the  woman  before  us  in  all  her  dearest 
attributes,  at  once  softening  and  refining  the  honor  and  rendering  it  more  intense. 
Thus  when  she  reproaches  her  husband  for  his  weakness :  <  From  this  time  such 
I  account  thy  love.*  Again,  *  Come  to  my  woman* s -breasts  And  take  my  milk  for 
gall,*  etc.  'I  have  given  suck,  and  know  how  tender  *tis  To  love  the  babe  that 
milks  me,'  etc.  And  lastly,  in  the  moment  of  extremest  terror  comes  that  unex- 
pected touch  of  feeling,  so  startling,  yet  so  wonderfully  true  to  nature,  <  Had  he 
not  resembled  my  father,'  etc.  Thus  in  one  of  Weber's  or  Beethooven's  grand 
symphonies,  some  unexpected  soft  minor  chord  or  passage  will  steal  on  the  ear, 
heard  amid  the  magnificent  crash  of  harmony,  making  the  blood  pause  and  filling 
the  eyes  with  unbidden  tears. 

It  is  particularly  observable  that  in  Lady  Macbeth's  concentrated,  strong-nerved 
ambition,  the  ruling  passion  of  her  mind,  there  is  yet  a  touch  of  womanhood  :  she 
is  ambitious  less  for  herself  than  for  her  husband.     It  is  fair  to  think  this,  because 


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478     .  APPENDIX 

we  have  no  reason  to  draw  any  other  inference  either  from  her  words  or  her  actions. 
In  her  famous  soliloquy,  after  reading  her  husband's  letter,  she  does  not  once  refer 
to  herself.  It  is  of  him  she  thinks  :  she  wishes  to  see  her  husband  on  the  throne, 
and  to  place  the  sceptre  within  his  grasp.  The  strength  of  her  affection  adds 
strength  to  her  ambition.  Although  in  the  old  story  of  Boethius  we  are  told  that 
the  wife  of  Macbeth  <  burned  with  unquenchable  desire  to  bear  the  name  of  queen,' 
yet  in  the  aspect  under  which  Shakespeare  has  represented  the  character  to  us,  the 
selfish  part  of  this  ambition  is  kept  out  of  sight.  We  must  remark  also,  that  in 
Lady  Macbeth' s  reflections  on  her  husband*s  character,  and  on  that  milkiness  of 
nature  which  she  fears  *  may  impede  him  from  the  golden  round,'  there  is  no  indi- 
cation of  female  scorn  :  there  is  exceeding  pride,  but  no  egotism,  in  the  sentiment  or 
the  expression  ;  no  want  of  wifely  or  womanly  respect  and  love  for  him^  but,  on  the 
^ntrary,  a  sort  of  unconsciousness  of  her  own  mental  superiority,  which  she  betrays 
rather  than  asserts,  as  interesting  in  itself  as  it  is  most  admirably  conceived  and 
delineated.  Nor  is  there  anything  vulgar  in  her  ambition  ;  as  the  strength  of  her 
affections  lends  to  it  something  profound  and  concentrated,  so  her  splendid  imag- 
ination invests  the  object  of  her  desire  with  its  own  radiance.  We  cannot  trace  in 
her  grand  and  capacious  mind  that  it  is  the  mere  baubles  and  trappings  of  royalty 
which  dazzle  and  allure  her :  hers  is  the  sin  of  the  *  star-bright  apostate,'  and  she 
plunges  with  her  husband  into  the  abyss  of  guilt  to  procure  for  *  all  their  days  and 
nights  sole  sovereign  sway  and  masterdom.'  She  revels,  she  luxuriates,  in  her 
dream  of  power.  She  reaches  at  the  golden  diadem  which  is  to  sear  her  brain  ;  she 
perils  life  and  soul  for  its  attainment,  with  an  enthusiasm  as  perfect,  a  faith  as  set- 
tled, as  that  of  the  martyr  who  sees  at  the  stake  heaven  and  its  crowns  of  gloiy 
opening  upon  him.  .  .  . 
^_^  She  is  nowhere  represented  as  urging  [Macbeth]  on  to  new  crimes ;  so  far  from 

it  that  when  he  darkly  hints  his  purposed  assassination  of  Banquo,  and  she  inquires 
his  meaning,  he  replies,  *  Be  innocent  of  the  knowledge,  dearest  chuck.  Till  thou 
approve  the  deed.'  The  same  may  be  said  of  the  destruction  of  Macduff's  family. 
Every  one  must  perceive  how  our  detestation  of  the  woman  had  been  increased,  if 
she  had  been  placed  before  us  as  suggesting  and  abetting  those  additional  cruelties 
into  which  Macbeth  is  hurried  by  his  mental  cowardice. 

If  my  feeling  of  Lady  Macbeth' s  character  be  just  to  the  conception  of  the  Poet, 
then  she  is  one  who  could  steel  herself  to  the  commission  of  a  crime  from  necessity 
and  expediency,  and  be  daringly  wicked  for  a  great  end,  but  not  likely  to  perpetrate 
gratuitous  murders  from  any  vague  or  selfish  fears.  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  the 
perfect  confidence  existing  between  herself  and  Macbeth  could  possibly  leave  her  in 
ignorance  of  his  actions  or  designs :  that  heart-broken  and  shuddering  allusion  to 
the  murder  of  Lady  Macduff  (in  the  sleeping  scene)  proves  the  contrary.  But  she 
is  nowhere  brought  before  us  in  immediate  connexion  with  these  horrors,  and  we  are 
spared  any  flagrant  proof  of  her  participation  in  them.  .  .  . 

Another  thing  has  always  struck  me.  During  the  supper  scene, .  . .  her  indig- 
nant rebuke  [to  her  husband],  her  low  whispered  remonstrance,  the  sarcastic  empha- 
sis with  which  she  combats  his  sick  fancies,  and  endeavors  to  recall  him  to  himself, 
have  an  intenseness,  a  severity,  a  bitterness,  which  makes  the  blood  creep.  Yet, 
when  the  guests  are  dismissed,  and  they  are  left  alone,  she  says  no  more,  and  not  a 
syllable  of  reproach  or  scorn  escapes  her :  a  few  words  in  submissive  reply  to  his 
questions,  and  an  entreaty  to  seek  repose,  are  all  she  permits  herself  to  utter.  There 
is  a  touch  of  pathos  and  of  tenderness  in  this  silence  which  has  always  affected  me 


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CHARACTER  OF  LADY  MACBETH^JAMESON ^      479 

beyond  expression  ;  it  is  one  of  the  most  masterly  and  most  beautiful  traits  of  char- 
acter in  the  whole  play. 

Lastly,  it  is  clear  that  in  a  mind  constituted  like  that  of  Lady  Macbeth  conscience 
must  wake  some  time  or  other,  and  bring  with  it  remorse  closed  by  despair,  and 
despair  by  death.  This  great  moral  retribution  was  to  be  displayed  to  us— but  how  ? 
Lady  Macbeth  is  not  a  woman  to  start  at  shadows ;  she  mocks  at  air-drawn  daggers ; 
she  sees  no  imagined  spectres  rise  from  the  tomb  to  appall  or  accuse  her.  The 
towering  bravery  of  her  mind  disdains  the  visionary  terrors  which  haunt  her  weaker 
husband.  We  know,  or  rather  feel,  that  she  who  could  give  a  voice  to  the  most 
direful  intent,  and  call  on  the  spirits  that  wait  on  moral  thoughts  to  *  unsex  her,'  and 
*stop  up  all  access  and  passage  of  remorse,' — to  that  remorse  would  have  given  nor 
tongue  nor  sound  ;  and  that  rather  than  have  uttered  a  complaint  she  would  have 
held  her  breath  and  died.  To  have  given  her  a  confidant,  though  in  the  partner  of 
her  guilt,  would  have  been  a  degrading  resource,  and  have  disappointed  and  enfee- 
bled all  our  previous  impressions  of  her  character ;  yet  justice  is  to  be  done,  and  we 
are  to  be  made  acquainted  with  that  which  the  woman  herself  would  have  suffered  a 
thousand  deaths  rather  than  have  betrayed.  In  the  sleeping  scene  we  have  a  glimpse 
into  that  inward  hell :  the  seared  brain  and  broken  heart  are  laid  bare  before  us  in 
the  helplessness  of  slumber.  By  a  judgement  the  most  sublime  ever  imagined,  yet 
the  most  unforced,  natural  and  inevitable,  the  sleep  of  her  who  murdered  sleep  is 
no  longer  repose,  but  a  condensation  of  resistless  horrors  which  the  prostrate  intel- 
lect and  the  powerless  will  can  neither  baffle  nor  repel.  We  shudder  and  are  satis- 
fied ;  yet  our  human  sympathies  are  again  touched ;  we  rather  sigh  over  the  ruin 
than  exult  in  it ;  and  after  watching  her  through  this  wonderful  scene  with  a  sort  of 
fascination,  we  dismiss  the  unconscious,  helpless,  despair-stricken  murderess  with  a 
feeling  which  Lady  Macbeth,  in  her  waking  strength,  with  all  her  awe-commanding 
powers  about  her,  could  never  have  excited. 

It  is  here  especially  we  perceive  that  sweetness  of  nature  which  in  Shakespeare 
went  hand  in  hand  with  his  astonishing  powers.  He  never  confounds  that  line  of 
demarcation  which  eternally  separates  good  from  evil,  yet  he  never  places  evil  before 
us  without  exciting  in  some  way  a  consciousness  of  the  opposite  good  which  shall 
balance  and  relieve  it.  .  . . 

What  would  not  the  firmness,  the  self-command,  the  enthusiasm,  the  intel- 
lect, the  ardent  affections  of  this  woman  have  performed,  if  properly  directed  ?  but 
the  object  being  unworthy  of  the  effort,  the  end  is  disappointment,  despair,  and 
death. 

The  power  of  religion  could  alone  have  controlled  such  a  mind  ;  but  it  is  the  mis- 
ery of  a  very  proud,  strong,  and  gifted  spirit,  without  sense  of  religion,  that  instead 
of  looking  upward  to  find  a  superior,  it  looks  around  and  sees  all  things  as  subject 
to  itself.  Lady  Macbeth  is  placed  in  a  dark,  ig^norant,  iron  age  ;  her  powerful  intel- 
lect is  slighdy  tinged  with  its  credulity  and  superstitions,  but  she  has  no  religious 
feeling  to  restrain  the  force  of  will.  She  is  a  stem  fatalist  in  principle  and  action, — 
'What  is  done,  is  done,'  and  would  be  done  over  again  under  the  same  circum- 
stances ;  her  remorse  is  without  repentance  or  any  reference  to  an  offended  Deity ;  it 
arises  from  the  pang  of  a  wounded  conscience,  the  recoil  of  the  violated  feelings  of 
nature  ;  it  is  the  horror  of  the  past,  not  the  terror  of  the  future ;  the  torture  of  self- 
condemnation,  not  the  fear  of  judgement ;  it  is  strong  as  her  soul,  deep  as  her  guilt, 
fatal  as  her  resolve,  and  terrible  as  her  crime. 

If  it  should  be  objected  to  this  view  of  Lady  Macbeth 's  character,  that  it  engages 


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48o  APPENDIX 

our  sjmspathies  in  behalf  of  a  peirerted  being,— «nd  that  to  leare  her  so  strong  a 
power  upon  our  feelings  in  the  midst  of  such  supreme  wickedness,  involves  a  moral 
wrong,  I  can  only  reply  in  the  words  of  Dr  Channing,  that  <  in  this  and  the  like 
cases  our  interest  fastens  on  what  is  not  evil  in  the  character, — ^that  there  is  some- 
thing kindling  and  ennobling  in  the  consciousness,  however  awakened,  of  the  energy 
which  resides  in  mind  :  and  many  a  virtuous  man  has  borrowed  new  strength  from 
the  force,  constancy,  and  dauntless  courage  of  evil  agents.' 

This  is  true ;  and  might  he  not  have  added,  that  many  a  powerful  and  gifted 
spirit  has  leamt  humility  and  self-government  from  beholding  how  Car  the  energy 
which  resides  in  mind  may  be  degraded  and  perverted? 

Campbell  (ii,  p.  6) :  I  regard  Macbeth^  upon  the  whole,  as  the  greatest  treasure 
of  our  dramatic  literature.  We  may  look  as  Britons  at  Greek  sculpture,  and  at 
Italian  paintings,  with  a  humble  consciousness  that  our  native  art  has  never  reached 
their  perfection ;  but  in  the  drama  we  can  confront  iEschylus  himself  with  Shake- 
speare ;  and  of  all  modern  theatres,  ours  alone  can  compete  with  the  Greek  in  the 
unborrowed  nativeness  and  sublimity  of  its  superstition.  In  the  grandeur  of  tragedy 
Macbeth  has  no  parallel,  till  we  go  back  to  the  Prometheus  and  the  Furies  of  the 
Attic  stage.  I  could  even  produce,  if  it  were  not  digressing  too  far  from  my  subject, 
innumerable  instances  of  striking  similarity  between  the  metaphorical  mintage  of 
Shakespeare's  and  of  iEschylus's  style, — a  similarity,  both  in  beauty  and  in  the  fault 
of  excess,  that,  unless  the  contrary  had  been  proved,  would  lead  me  to  suspect  our 
great  dramatist  to  have  been  a  studious  Greek  scholar.  But  their  resemblance  arose 
only  from  the  consanguinity  of  nature. 

In  one  respect,  the  tragedy  of  Macbeth  always  reminds  me  of  iCschylus's  poetry. 
It  has  scenes  and  conceptions  absolutely  too  bold  for  representation.  What  stage 
could  do  justice  to  iSschylus,  when  the  Titan  Prometheus  makes  his  appeal  to  the 
elements;  and  when  the  hammer  is  heard  in  the  Sc3rthian  Desert  that  rivets  his 
chains  ?  Or  when  the  Ghost  of  Qytemnestra  rushes  into  Apollo's  temple,  and  rouses 
the  sleeping  Furies  ?  I  wish  to  imagine  these  scenes :  I  should  be  sorry  to  see  the 
acting  of  them  attempted. 

In  like  manner,  there  are  parts  of  Macbeth  which  I  delight  to  read  much  more 
than  to  see  in  the  theatre.  When  the  dram  of  the  Scottish  army  is  heard  on  the  wild 
heath,  and  when  I  fancy  it  advancing,  with  its  bowmen  in  front,  and  its  spears  and 
banners  in  the  distance,  I  am  always  disappointed  with  Macbeth' s  entrance,  at  the 
head  of  a  few  kilted  actors.  I  strongly  suspect  that  the  appearance  of  the  Weird 
Sisters  is  too  wild  and  poetical  for  the  possibility  of  its  being  ever  duly  acted  in  a 
theatre.  Even  with  the  exquisite  music  of  Locke,  the  orgies  of  the  Witches  at  their 
boiling  cauldron  is  a  burlesque  and  revolting  exhibition.  Could  any  stage  contriv- 
ance make  it  seem  sublime  ?  No  !  I  think  it  defies  theatrical  art  to  render  it  half 
so  welcome  as  when  we  read  it  by  the  mere  light  of  our  own  imaginations.  Never- 
theless, I  feel  no  inconsistency  in  reverting  from  these  remarks  to  my  first  assertion 
that,  all  in  all,  Macbeth  is  our  greatest  possession  in  dramatic  poetry.  It  was  restored 
to  our  Theatre  by  Garrick,  with  much  fewer  alterations  than  have  generally  muti- 
lated the  plays  of  Shakespeare.  For  two-thirds  of  a  century,  before  Garrick' s  time, 
Macbeth  had  been  worse  than  banished  from  the  stage :  for  it  had  been  acted  with 
D' Avenant's  alterations,  in  which  every  original  beauty  was  either  awkwardly  dis- 
guised or  arbitrarily  omitted.  Yet  so  ignorant  were  Englishmen  that  The  Tatter 
quotes  Shakespeare's  Mcubeth  from  D' Avenant's  alteration  of  it ;  and  when  Quin 


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CHARACTER  OF  LADY MACBETH^CAMPBELL      48 1 

heard  of  Garrick's  intention  to  restore  the  original,  he  asked  in  astonishment,  <  Have 
I  not  all  this  time  been  acting  Shakespeare's  play  ?'  . .  . 

In  a  general  view,  I  agree  with  both  of  the  fair  advocates  (Mrs  Siddons  and  Mrs 
Jameson )  of  Lady  Macbeth,  that  the  language  of  preceding  critics  was  rather  un- 
measured when  they  describe  her  as  *  thoroughly  hateful^  invartably  savage,  and 
purely  demoniac.*  It  is  true  that  the  ungentlemanly  epithet  '  fiend-like '  is  applied 
to  her  by  Shakespeare  himself,  but  then  he  puts  it  into  the  mouth  of  King  Malcolm, 
who  might  naturally  be  incensed. 

Lady  Macbeth  is  not  thoroughly  hateful,  for  she  is  not  a  virago,  not  an  adulteress, 
not  impelled  by  revenge.  On  the  contrary,  she  expresses  no  feeling  of  personal  ma- 
lignity towards  any  human  being  in  the  whole  course  of  her  part.  Shakespeare  could 
have  easily  displayed  her  crimes  in  a  more  commonplace  and  accountable  light  by 
assigning  some  feudal  grudge  as  a  mixed  motive  of  her  cruelty  to  Duncan  ;  but  he 
makes  her  a  murderess  in  cold  blood,  and  from  the  sole  motive  of  ambitionj|well 
knowing  that  if  he  had  broken  up  the  inhuman  serenity  of  her  remorselessness 
by  the  ruffling  of  anger  he  would  have  vulgarized  the  features  of  the  splendid 
Titaness. 

By  this  entire  absence  of  petty  vice  and  personal  virulence,  and  by  concentrating 
all  the  springs  of  her  conduct  into  the  one  determined  feeling  of  ambition,  the  mighty 
Poet  has  given  her  character  a  statue-like  simplicity,  which,  though  cold,  is  spirit- 
stirring  from  the  wonder  it  excites,  and  which  is  imposing,  although  its  respecta- 
bility consists,  as  far  as  the  heart  is  concerned,  in  merely  negative  decencies.     How 
many  villains  walk  the  world  in  credit  to  their  graves  from  the  mere  fulfilment  of 
these  negative  decencies  I     Had  Lady  Macbeth  been  able  to  smother  her  husband's 
babblings  she  might  have  been  one  of  them. 
^        Shakespeare  makes  her  a  great  character  by  calming  down  all  the  pettiness  of 
*>  vice  and  by  giving  her  only  one  raling  passion,  which,  though  criminal,  has  at  least 
t  a  lofty  object,  corresponding  with  the  firmness  of  her  will  and  the  force  of  her  intel- 
,  lect.     The  object  of  her  ambition  was  a  crown,  which,  in  the  days  in  which  we 
I  suppose  her  to  have  lived,  was  a  miniature  symbol  of  divinity.     Under  the  full  im- 
pression of  her  intellectual  powers,  and  with  a  certain  allowance  which  we  make 
for  the  illusion  of  sorcery,  the  imagination  suggests  to  us  something  like  a  half- 
apology  for  her  ambition.     Though  I  can  vaguely  imagine  the  supernatural  agency 
of  the  spiritual  world,  yet  I  know  so  littie  precisely  about  fiends  or  demons  that  I 
cannot  pretend  to  estimate  the  relation  of  their  natures  to  that  of  Shakespeare's  hero- 

Iine.  But,  as  a  human  being.  Lady  Macbeth  is  too  intellectual  to  be  thoroughly 
hateful.  Moreover,  I  hold  it  no  parodox  to  say  that  the  strong  idea  which  Shake- 
speare conveys  to  us  of  her  intelligence  is  heightened  by  its  contrast  with  that  partial 
shade  which  is  thrown  over  it  by  her  sinful  will  giving  way  to  superstitious  influ- 
ences. At  times  she  is  deceived,  we  should  say,  prosaically  speaking,  by  the  infatu- 
ation of  her  own  wickedness,  or  poetically  speaking,  by  the  agency  of  infernal 
tempters ;  otherwise  she  could  not  have  imagined  for  a  moment  that  she  could  palm 
upon  the  world  the  chamberlains  of  Duncan  for  his  real  murderers.  Yet  her  mind, 
under  the  approach  of  this  portentous  and  unnatural  eclipse,  in  spite  of  its  black 
illusions,  has  light  enough  remaining  to  show  us  a  reading  of  Macbeth' s  character, 
such  as  Lord  Bacon  could  not  have  given  to  us  more  philosophically  or  in  fewer 
words. 

All  this,  however,  only  proves  Lady  Macbeth  to  be  a  character  of  brilliant  under- 
standing, lofty  determination,  and  negative  decency.     That  the  Poet  meant  us  to 
31 


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482  APPENDIX 

conceive  her  more  than  a  piece  of  aagust  atrocity,  or  to  leave  a  tacit  understanding 
of  her  being  naturally  amiable,  I  make  bold  to  doubt.  Mrs  Siddons,  disposed  by 
her  own  nature  to  take  the  most  softened  view  of  her  heroine,  discovers,  in  her  con- 
duct towards  Macbeth,  a  dutiful  and  unselfish  tenderness,  which  I  own  is  far  from 
striking  me.  '  Lady  Macbeth,'  she  says,  *  seeks  out  Macbeth  that  she  may  at  least 
participate  in  his  wretchedness.'  But  is  that  her  real  motive  ?  No ;  Lady  Macbeth 
in  that  scene  seems  to  me  to  have  no  other  object  than  their  common  preservation. 
She  finds  that  h^  is  shunning  society,  and  is  giving  himself  up  to  *  his  sorry  Guides.' 
Her  trying  to  snatch  him  from  these  is  a  matter  of  policy — a  proof  of  her  sagacity, 
and  not  of  her  social  sensibility.  At  least,  insensitive  as  we  have  seen  her  to  the 
slightest  joy  at  the  return  of  her  husband,  it  seems  unnecessary  to  ascribe  to  her  any 
new-sprung  tenderness,  when  self-interest  sufiicienfly  accounts  for  her  conduct. 

Both  of  her  fair  advocates  lay  much  stress  on  her  abstaining  from  vituperation 
towakds  Macbeth,  when  she  exhorts  him  to  retire  to  rest  after  the  banquet  But 
rhere  I  must  own  that  I  can  see  no  proof  of  her  positive  tenderness.  Repose  was 
Necessary  to  Macbeth' s  recovery.  Their  joint  fate  was  hanging  by  a  hair ;  and  she 
knew  that  a  breath  of  her  reproach,  by  inflaming  him  to  madness,  would  break  that 
hair,  and  plunge  them  both  into  exposure  and  ruin.  Common  sense  is  always 
respectable ;  and  here  it  is  joined  with  command  of  temper  and  matrimonial  faith. 
But  still  her  object  includes  her  own  preservation  ;  and  we  have  no  proof*  of  her 
alleged  tenderness  and  sensibility. 

If  Lady  Macbeth' s  male  critics  have  dismissed  her  with  ungallant  haste  and 
harshness,  I  think  the  eloquent  authoress  of  the  Charcuteristics  of  fVomen  has  tried 
rather  too  elaborately  to  prove  her  positive  virtues  by  speculations  which,  to  say  the 
least  of  them,  if  they  be  true,  are  not  certain.  She  goes  beyond  Mrs  Siddons's  tol- 
eration of  the  heroine ;  and,  getting  absolutely  in  love  wit4  her,  exclaims,  *  What 
would  not  the  firmness,  the  self-command,  the  ardent  affections  of  this  woman  have 
performed  if  properly  directed !'  Why,  her  firmness  and  self-command  are  very 
evident ;  but  as  to  her  ardent  affections,  I  would  ask,  on  what  other  object  on  earth 
she  bestows  them  except  the  crown  of  Scotland  ?  We  are  told,  however,  that  her 
husband  loves  her,  and  that  therefore  she  could  not  be  naturally  bad.  But,  in  the 
first  place,  though  we  are  not  directly  told  so,  we  may  be  fairly  allowed  to  imagine 
her  a  very  beautiful  woman ;  and,  with  beauty  and  superior  intellect,  it  is  easy  to 
conceive  her  managing  and  making  herself  necessary  to  Macbeth,  a  man  compara- 
tively weak,  and,  as  we  see,  facile  to  wickedness.  There  are  instances  of  atrodoos 
women  having  swayed  the  hearts  of  more  amiable  men.  What  debars  me  from 
imagining  that  Lady  Macbeth  had  obtained  this  conjugal  ascendency  by  anything 
amiable  in  her  nature  is  that  she  elidts  Macbeth' s  warmest  admiration  in  the  utter- 
ance of  atrodous  feelings ;  at  least  such  I  consider  those  expressions  to  be  which 
precede  his  saying  to  her,  *  Bring  forth  men-children  only.' 

But  here  I  am  again  at  issue  with  [Mrs  Jameson],  who  reads  in  those  very  expres- 
sions, that  strike  me  as  proofs  of  atrodty,  distinct  evidence  of  Lady  MacdetA's 
amiabif  character  :  since  she  dedares  that  she  had  known  what  it  was  to  have  loved 
the  offspring  she  suckled.  The  majority  of  she-wolves,  I  conceive,  would  make  the 
same  declaration,  if  they  could  speak,  though  they  would  probably  omit  the  addition 
about  dashing  out  the  suckling's  brains.  Again,  she  is  amiably  unable  to  murder 
the  sleeping  king,  because,  to  use  Mrs  Jameson's  words,  <  he  brings  to  her  the  dear 
and  venerable  image  of  her  father.'  Yes ;  but  she  can  send  in  her  husband  to  do  it  for 
her.     Did  Shakespeare  intend  us  to  believe  this  murderess  naturally  compassionate  ? 


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CHARACTER  OF  LADY  MACBETH— MAG  INN        483 

It  seems  to  me,  also,  to  be  far  from  self-evident  that  Lady  Macbeth  is  not  nat- 
urally  cruel,  because  she  calls  on  all  the  demons  of  human  thought  to  unsex  her ;  or 
because  she  dies  of  what  her  apologist  calls  remorse.  If  by  that  word  we  mean 
true  contrition,  Shakespeare  gives  no  proof  of  her  having  shown  such  a  feeling. 
Her  death  is  mysterious,  and  we  generally  attribute  it  to  despair  and  suicide.  Even 
her  terrible  and  thrice-repeated  sob  of  agony,  in  the  sleep-walking  scene,  shows  a 
conscience  haunted  indeed  by  terrors,  but  not  penitent ;  for  she  still  adheres  to  her 
godless  old  ground  of  comfort,  that  '  Banquo  is  in  his  grave.' 

She  dies — she  is  swept  away  darkly  from  before  us  to  her  great  account  I  say 
that  we  have  a  tragic  satisfaction  in  her  death :  and  though  I  grant  that  we  do  not 
exult  over  her  fate,  yet  I  find  no  argument,  in  this  circumstance,  against  her  natural 
enormity.  To  see  a  fellow-creature,  a  beautiful  woman,  with  a  bright,  bold  intellect, 
thus  summoned  to  her  destiny,  creates  a  religious  feeling  too  profound  for  ex- 
ultation. 

In  this  terribly  swift  succession  of  her  punishment  to  her  crimes,  lies  one  of  (he 
master-traits  of  skill  by  which  Shakespeare  contrives  to  make  us  blend  an  awfiil 
feeling,  somewhat  akin  to  pity,  with  our  satisfaction  at  her  death. 

Still  I  am  persuaded  that  Shakespeare  never  meant  her  for  anything  better  than  a 
character  of  superb  depravity,  and  a  being,  with  all  her  decorum  and  force  of  mind, 
naturally  cold  and  remorseless.  When  Mrs  Jameson  asks  us,  what  might  not  re- 
ligion have  made  of  such  a  character?  she  puts  a  question  that  will  equally  apply  to 
every  other  enormous  criminal ;  for  the  worst  heart  that  ever  beat  in  a  human  breast 
would  be  at  once  rectified  if  you  could  impress  it  with  a  genuine  religious  faith. 
But  if  Shakespeare  intended  us  to  believe  Lady  Macbeth*s  nature  a  soil  peculiarly 
adapted  for  the  growth  of  religion,  he  has  chosen  a  way  very  unlike  his  own  wisdom 
in  portraying  her,  for  he  exhibits  her  as  a  practical  infidel  in  a  simple  age :  and  he 
makes  her  words  sum  up  all  the  essense  of  that  unnatural  irreligion  which  cannot 
spring  up  to  the  head  without  having  its  root  in  a  callous  heart  She  holds  that '  The 
sleeping  and  the  dead  Are  but  as  pictures.'  And  that,  « Things  without  all  remedy 
Should  be  without  regard.*  There  is  something  hideous  in  the  very  strength  of  her 
mind  that  can  dive  down,  like  a  wounded  monster,  to  such  depths  of  consolation. 

She  is  a  splended  picture  of  evil,  nevertheless—a  sort  of  sister  of  Milton's  Luci- 
fer; and,  like  him,  we  surely  imagine  her  externally  majestic  and  beautiful.  Mrs 
Siddons's  idea  of  her  having  been  a  delicate  and  blonde  beauty  seems  to  me  to  be  a 
pure  caprice.  The  public  would  have  ill  exchanged  such  a  representative  of  Ladj 
Macbeth  for  the  dark  locks  and  the  eagle  eyes  of  Mrs  Siddons. 

Maginn  (p.  184) :  By  Malcolm  Lady  Macbeth  is  stigmatized  as  the  'fiend-like 
queen.'  Except  her  share  in  the  murder  of  Duncan, — which  is,  however,  quite 
suflBcient  to  justify  the  epithet  in  the  mouth  of  his  son, — she  does  nothing  in  the  play 
to  deserve  the  title ;  and  for  her  crime  she  has  been  sufficiently  punished  by  a  life 
of  disaster  and  remorse.  She  is  not  the  tempter  of  Macbeth.  It  does  not  require 
much  philosophy  to  pronounce  that  there  were  no  such  beings  as  the  Weird  Sisters ; 
or  that  the  voice  that  told  the  Thane  of  Glamis  that  he  was  to  be  King  of  Scotland 
was  that  of  his  own  ambition.  In  his  own  bosom  was  brewed  the  hell-broth,  potent 
to  call  up  visions  counselling  tyranny  and  blood ;  and  its  ingredients  were  his  own 
evil  passions  and  criminal  hopes.  Macbeth  himself  only  believes  as  much  of  the 
predictions  of  the  witches  as  he  desires.  The  same  prophets  who  foretold  his  eleva- 
tion to  the  throne  foretold  also  that  the  progeny  of  Banquo  would  reign ;  and  yet. 


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484  APPENDIX 

after  the  completion  of  the  prophecy  so  far  as  he  is  himself  coacemed,  he  endeaTors 
to  mar  the  other  part  by  the  murder  of  Fleance.  The  Weird  Sisters  are  to  him  no 
more  than  the  Evil  Spirit  which,  in  Fauit^  tortures  Margaret  at  her  prayers.  They 
are  but  the  personified  suggestions  of  his  mind.  She,  the  wife  of  his  bosom,  knows 
the  direction  of  his  thoughts ;  and  bound  to  him  in  love,  exerts  every  energy,  and 
sacrifices  every  feeling,  to  minister  to  his  hopes  and  aspirations.  This  is  her  sin, 
and  no  more.  He  retains,  in  all  his  guilt  and  crime,  a  fond  feeling  for  his  wife. 
Even  when  meditating  slaughter,  and  dreaming  of  blood,  he  addresses  soft  words 
of  conjugal  endearment ;  he  calls  her  *  dearest  chuck  *  while  devising  assassinations, 
with  the  foreknowledge  of  which  he  is  unwilling  to  sully  her  mind.  Selfish  in 
ambition,  selfish  in  fear,  his  character  presents  no  point  of  attraction  but  this 
one  merit  Shakespeare  gives  us  no  hint  as  to  her  personal  charms,  except  when 
he  makes  her  describe  her  hand  as  *  little.'  We  may  be  sure  that  there  were 
few  'more  thoroughbred  or  fairer  fingers'  in  the  land  of  Scotland  than  those  of 
its  queen,  whose  bearing  in  public  towards  Duncan,  Banquo,  and  the  nobles  is 
marked  by  elegance  and  majesty ;  and,  in  private,  by  affectionate  anxiety  for  her 
sanguinary  lord*  He  duly  appreciated  her  feelings,  but  it  is  a  pity  that  such  a  woman^ 
should  have  been  united  to  such  a  man.  If  she  had  been  less  strong  of  purpose,  less  / 
worthy  of  confidence,  he  would  not  have  disclosed  to  her  his  ambitious  designs ;  less^ 
resolute  and  prompt  of  thought  and  action,  she  would  not  have  been  called  on  tO| 
share  his  guilt ;  less  sensitive  or  more  hardened,  she  would  not  have  suffered  it  to 
prey  forever  like  a  vulture  upon  her  heart.  She  affords,  as  I  consider  it,  only  another 
instance  of  what  women  will  be  brought  to  by  a  love  which  listens  to  no  considera- 
tions, which  disregards  all  else  beside,  when  the  interests,  the  wishes,  the  happiness, 
the  honour,  or  even  the  passions,  caprices,  and  failings  of  the  beloved  object  are  con- 
cerned ;  and  if  the  world,  in  a  compassionate  mood,  will  gently  scan  the  softer 
errors  of  sister-woman,  may  we  not  claim  a  kindly  construing  for  the  motives  which 
plunged  into  the  Aceldama  of  this  blood-washed  tragedy  the  sorely-urged  and 
broken-hearted  Lady  Macbeth? 

BucKNlLL  (p.  44)  :  What  was  Lady  Macbeth's  form  and  temperament?  In 
Maclise's  great  painting,  of  the  banquet  scene,  she  is  represented  as  a  woman  of 
large  and  coarse  development:  a  Scandinavian  Amazon,  the  muscles  of  whose 
brawny  arms  could  only  have  been  developed  to  their  great  size  by  hard  and 
frequent  use ;  a  woman  of  whose  fists  her  husband  might  well  be  afraid. .  .  .  Was 
Lady  Macbeth  such  a  being?  Did  the  fierce  fire  of  her  soul  animate  the  epicene 
J)ulk  of  a  virago  ?  Never !  Lady  Macbeth  was  a  lady,  beautiful  and  delicate,  whose 
one  vivid  passion  proves  that  her  organization  was  instinct  with  nerve-force,  unop- 
pressed  by  weight  of  flesh.  Probably  she  was  small ;  for  it  is  the  smaller  sort  of 
women  whose  emotional  fire  is  the  most  fierce,  and  she  herself  bears  unconscious 
testimony  to  the  fact  that  her  hand  was  little.  .  .  .  Although  she  manifests  no  feel- 
ing towards  Macbeth  beyond  the  regard  which  ambition  makes  her  yield,  it  is  dear 
that  he  entertains  for  her  the  personal  love  which  a  beautiful  woman  would  exdte. 
. .  .  Moreover,  the  effect  of  remorse  upon  her  own  health  proves  the  preponderance 
of  nerve  in  her  organization.  Could  the  Lady  Macbeth  of  Maclise,  and  of  othen 
who  have  painted  this  lady,  have  been  capable  of  the  fire  and  force  of  her  character 
in  the  commission  of  her  crimes,  the  remembrance  of  them  would  scarcely  have  dis- 
turbed the  quiet  of  her  after  years.  We  figure  Lady  Macbeth  to  have  been  a  tawny 
or  brown  blonde  Rachel,  with  more  beauty,  with  gray  and  cruel  eyes,  but  with  the 


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CHARACTER  OF  LADY  MACBETH— LADY  MARTIN    485 

same  slight,  dry  configaration  and  constitution,  instinct  with  determined  nerve-power. 
[In  a  foot-note,  Dr  Bucknill  states  that  when  he  wrote  the  above  he  was  not  aware 
that  Mrs  Siddons  held  a  similar  opinion  as  to  Lady  Macbeth' s  personal  appearance. 
—Ed.] 

Mrs  F.  a.  Kemble  {Every  Saturday^  22  Feb.,  1868):  Nothing  indeed  can  be 
more  wonderfully  perfect  than  Shakespeare's  delineation  of  the  evil  nature  of  these 
two  human  souls, — the  evil  strength  of  the  one,  and  the  evil  weakness  of  the  other. 
In  admirable  harmony  with  the  conception  of  both  characters  is  the  absence  in  the 
case  of  Lady  Macbeth  of  all  the  grotesquely  terrible  supernatural  machinery  by 
which  the  imagination  of  Macbeth  is  assailed  and  daunted.  She  reads  of  her  hus- 
band's encounter  with  the  witches  and  of  the  fulfilment  of  their  first  prophecy ;  and 
yet  while  the  men  who  encounter  them  (Banquo  as  much  as  Macbeth)  are  struck  and 
fascinated  by  the  wild  quaintness  of  their  weird  figures, — with  the  description  of 
which  it  is  evident  Macbeth  has  opened  his  letter  to  her, — her  mind  does  not  dwell 
for  a  moment  on  these  '  weak  ministers '  of  the  great  power  of  evil.  The  metaphys- 
ical conception  of  the  influence  to  which  she  dedicates  herself  is  pure  freethinking 
compared  with  the  superstitions  of  her  times ;  and  we  cannot  imagine  her  sweeping 
into  the  cavern  where  Hecate's  juggleries  are  played  without  feeling  that  these  petty 
devils  would  shrink  away  appalled  from  the  presence  of  the  awfiil  wonum  who  had 
made  her  bosom  the  throne  of  those  'murdering  ministers  who  wait  on  nature's 
mischief.'  . .  . 

The  nature  of  Lady  Macbeth,  even  when  prostrated  in  sleep  before  the  supreme 
Avenger,  is  incapable  of  any  solitary  spasm  of  moral  anguish  or  hopeful  spasm  of 
mental  horror.  The  irreparable  is  still  to  her  the  undeplorable.  Never,  even  in  her 
dreams,  does  any  gracious  sorrow  smite  from  her  stony  heart  the  blessed  tears  that 
wash  away  sin.  The  dreary  but  undismayed  desolation  in  which  her  spirit  abides 
forever  is  quite  other  than  that  darkness  which  the  soul  acknowledges,  and  whence  it 
may  yet  behold  the  breaking  of  a  dawn  shining  far  off  from  round  the  mercy-seat — 
Ed.  ii. 

Lady  Martin  (p.  232) :  If  we  throw  our  minds  into  the  circumstances  of  the 
time,  we  can  understand  the  wife  who  would  adventure  so  much  for  so  great  a  prize, 
though  we  may  not  sympathize  with  her.  Deeds  of  violence  were  common ;  suc- 
cession in  the  direct  line  was  often  disturbed  by  the  doctrine  that  'might  was  right'; 
the  moral  sense  was  not  over  nice  when  a  great  stake  was  to  be  played  for.  Retribu- 
tion might  come,  or  it  might  not ;  the  triumph  for  the  moment  was  everything,  and  what 
we  should  rightly  call  murder,  often  passed  in  common  estimation  for  an  act  of  valour. 
Lady  Macbeth  had  been  brought  up  amid  such  scenes,  and  one  murder  more  seemed 
little  to  her.  But  she  did  not  know  what  it  was  to  be  personally  implicated  in  mur- 
der, nor  foresee  the  Nemesis  that  would  pursue  her  waking,  and  fill  her  dreams  with 
visions  of  the  old  man's  blood  slowly  trickling ^own  before  her  eyes.  Think,  too, 
of  her  agony  of  anxiety,  on  the  early  morning  just  after  the  murder,  lest  her  husband 
in  his  wild  ravings  should  betray  himself ;  and  of  the  torture  she  endured  while,  no 
less  to  her  amazement  than  her  horror,  he  recites  to  Malcolm  and  Donalbain,  with 
fearful  minuteness  of  detail,  how  he  found  Duncan  lying  gashed  and  goary  in  his 
chamber  1  She  had  faced  that  sight  without  blenching,  when  it  was  essential  to 
replace  the  daggers,  and  even  to  '  smear  the  sleepy  grooms  with  blood ' ;  but  to  have 
the  whole  scene  thus  vividly  brought  again  before  her  was  too  great  a  strain  upon 


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486  APPENDIX 

her  nerves.  No  wonder  that  she  faints.  It  was  not  Macbeth  alone,  as  we  soon  see, 
whose  sleep  was  haunted  by  the  affliction  of  terrible  dreams.  She  says  nothing  of 
them,  for  hers  was  the  braver,  more  self-sustained  nature  of  the  two ;  but  I  always 
felt  an  involuntary  shudder  creep  over  me  when,  in  the  scene  before  the  banquet 
scene,  he  mentions  them  as  afflicting  himself  [III,  ii,  24].  He  has  no  thought  of 
what  she,  too,  is  suffering ;  but  that  a  change  has  come  over  her  by  this  time  is  very 
clearly  indicated  by  her  wor^s  at  the  banning  of  this  same  scene  :  <  Nought's  had, 
all's  spent.  Where  our  desire  is  got  without  content :  'Tis  safer  to  be  that  which  we 
destroy  Than  by  destruction  dwell  in  doubtful  joy'  (III,  ii,  8-1 1)>  words  which 
must  never  be  lost  sight  of,  pointing  as  they  do  to  the  beginning  of  that  mental 
unrest  brought  on  by  the  recurrence  of  images  and  thoughts  which  will  not  'die 
with  them  they  think  on,'  and  which  culminate  in  the  'slumbery  agitation'  of  the 
troubled  nights  that  were  quickly  followed  by  her  death,  of  which,  in  the  sleep- 
walking scene,  we  have  a  glimpse.  [See  also  note  by  Wilson  on  this  same  passage. 
—Ed.  ii.] 

Symons  (p.  24)  :  The  'note,'  as  it  may  be  called,  of  Macbeth  is  the  weakness/ 
of  a  bold  mind,  a  vigorous  body ;  that  of  Lady  Macbeth  is  the  strength  of  a  finely-  f 
strung  but  perfectly  determined  nature.  She  dominates  her  husband  by  the  persist-  / 
ence  of  an  irresistible  will ;  she  herself,  her  woman's  weaknes,  is  alike  dominated  | 
by  the  same  compelling  force.  Let  the  effect  on  her  of  the  witches'  prediction  be  con-  / 
trasted  with  the  effect  on  Macbeth.  In  Macbeth  there  is  a  mental  conflict,  an  attempt, 
however  feeble,  to  make  a  stand  against  the  temptation.  But  the  prayer  of  his  wife  b  not 
for  power  to  resist,  but  for  power  to  cany  out  the  deed.  The  same  ambitions  that  were 
slumbering  in  him  are  in  her  stirred  by  the  same  spark  into  life.  The  flame  runs 
through  her  and  possesses  her  in  an  instant,  and  from  the  thought  to  its  realization 
is  but  a  step.  Like  all  women,  she  is  practical,  swift  from  starting-point  to  goal, 
imperious  in  disregard  of  hindrances  that  may  lie  in  the  way.  But  she  is  resolute, 
also,  with  a  determination  which  knows  no  limits ;  imaginative,  too  (imagination 
being  to  her  in  the  place  of  virtue),  and  it  is  this  she  fears,  and  it  is  this  that  wrecks 
her.  Her  prayer  to  the  spirits  that  tend  on  mortal  thoughts  shows  by  no  means  a 
mind  steeled  to  compunction.  Why  should  she  cry:  *  Stop  up  the  access  and 
passage  to  remorse  !'  if  hers  were  a  mind  in  which  no  visitings  of  pity  had  to  be 
dreaded?  Her  language  is  fervid,  sensitive,  and  betrays  with  her  first  words  the 
imagination  which  is  her  capacity  for  suffering.  She  is  a  woman  who  can  be  <  mag> 
nificent  in  sin,'  but  who  has  none  of  the  callousness  which  makes  the  comfort  of  the 
criminal ;  not  one  of  the  poisonous  women  of  the  Renaissance,  who  smiled  oon^>la- 
cently  after  an  assassination,  but  a  woman  of  the  North,  in  which  sin  is  its  own 
< first  revenge.'  She  can  do  the  deed  and  she  can  do  it  triumphantly;  she  can 
even  think  her  prayer  has  been  answered,  but  the  horror  of  the  thing  will  change 
her  soul,  and  at  night,  when  the  will  that  supported  her  indomitable  mind  by  day 
slumbers  with  the  overtaxed  body,  her  imagination  (the  soul  she  has  in  her  for  her 
tortuie)  will  awake  and  cry  at  last  aloud.  On  the  night  of  the  murder  it  is  Macbeth 
who  falters ;  it  is  he  who  wishes  that  the  deed  might  be  undone,  she  who  says  to 
him :  <  These  deeds  must  not  be  thought  After  these  ways ;  so,  it  will  make  us 
mad';  but  to  Macbeth  (despite  the  'terrible  dreams')  time  dulls  the  remembrance 
from  ite  first  intensity  ;  he  has  not  the  fineness  of  nature  that  gives  the  power  of 
suffering  to  his  wife.  Guilt  changes  both,  but  him  it  degrades.  Hers  is  not  a 
nature  that  can  live  in  degradation.     To  her  no  degradation  is  possible.     Her  sin 


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CHARACTER  OF  LADY  MACS ETH'-SYMONS         487 

was  deliberate  ;  she  marched  straight  to  her  end ;  and  the  means  were  mortal,  not 
alone  to  the  man  who  died,  but  to  her.  Macbeth  could  as  little  comprehend  the 
depth  of  her  suflfering  as  she  his  hesitancy  in  a  determined  action.  It  is  this  fineness 
of  nature,  this  OTerpossession  by  imagination,  which  renders  her  interesting,  elevat- 
ing her  punishment  into  a  sphere  beyond  the  comprehension  of  a  vulgar  criminal. 
In  that  terrible  second  Scene  of  Act  II.,  perhaps  the  most  awe-inspiring  scene  that 
Shakespeare  ever  wrote,  the  splendid  qualities  of  Lady  Macbeth  are  seen  in  their 
clearest  light.  She  has  taken  wine  to  make  her  bold,  but  there  is  an  exaltation  in 
her  brain  beyond  anything  that  wine  could  give.  Her  calmness  is  indeed  unnatural, 
overstrained,  by  no  means  so  composed  as  she  would  have  her  husband  think.  But 
having  determined  on  her  purpose  there  is  with  her  no  returning,  no  thought  of 
return.  It  is  with  a  burst  of  real  anger,  of  angry  contempt,  that  she  cries,  *  Give  me 
the  da^^ers !'  and  her  exaltation  upholds  her  as  she  goes  back  and  laces  the  dead  man 
and  the  sleeping  witnesses.  She  can  even,  as  she  returns,  hear  calmly  the  knock- 
ing which  speaks  so  audibly  to  the  heart  of  Macbeth ;  taking  measures  for  their 
safety  if  anyone  should  enter.  She  can  even  look  resolutely  at  her  bloody  hands, 
and  I  imagine  she  half  believes  her  own  cynical  words  when  she  says :  *  A  little 
water  clears  us  of  this  deed :  How  easy  is  it  then  I'  Her  will,  her  high  nature  (per- 
verted, but  not  subdued),  her  steeled  sensitiveness,  the  intoxication  of  crime  and  of 
wine,  sustain  her  in  a  forced  calmness  which  she  herself  little  suspecU  will  ever  fail 
her.  How  soon  it  does  fail,  or  rather  how  soon  the  body  takes  revenge  upon  the 
soul,  is  seen  next  morning,  when,  after  overacting  her  part  in  the  words,  '  What,  in 
our  house  ?'  she  falls  in  a  swoon  by  no  means  counterfeit,  we  may  be  sure,  though 
Macbeth,  by  his  disregard  of  it,  seems  to  think  so.  After  this  we  see  her  but  rarely. 
A  touch  of  the  deepest  melancholy  ('Nought's  had,  all's  spent')  marks  the  few 
words  spoken  to  herself  as  she  waits  for  Macbeth  on  the  night  which  is,  though  un- 
known to  her,  to  be  fatal  to  Banquo.  No  sooner  has  Macbeth  entered  than  she 
greets  him  in  the  old  resolute_  spirit ;  and  again  on  the  night  of  the  banquet  she  is, 
as  ever,  full  of  bitter  scorn  and  contempt  for  the  betraying  weakness  of  her  husband, 
prompt  to  cover  his  confusion  with  a  plausible  tale  to  the  guests.  She  is  still  mis- 
tress of  herself,  and  only  the  weariness  of  the  few  words  she  utters  after  the  guests 
are  gone,  only  the  absence  of  the  reproaches  we  are  expecting,  betray  the  change 
that  is  coming  over  her.  One  sees  a  trace  of  lassitude,  that  is  all.  From  this  point 
Lady  Macbeth  drops  out  of  the  play,  until,  in  the  fifth  act,  we  see  her  for  the  last 
time.  Even  now  it  is  the  body  rather  than  the  soul  that  has  given  way.  What 
haunts  her  is  the  smell  and  sight  of  the  blood,  the  physical  disgust  of  the  thing. 
<  All  the  perfumes  of  Arabia  will  not  sweeten  this  little  hand  !'  One  hears  the  self- 
pitying  note  with  which  she  says  the  words.  Even  now,  even  when  unconscious, 
her  scorn  still  bites  at  the  feebleness  of  her  husband.  The  will  in  this  shattered 
body  is  yet  unbroken.  There  is  no  repentance,  no  regret,  only  the  intolerable  vivid- 
ness of  accusing  memory ;  the  sight,  the  smell,  ever  present  to  her  eyes  and  nostrils. 
It  has  been  thought  that  the  words  <  Hell  is  murky !' — the  only  sign,  if  sign  it  be,  of 
fear  at  the  thought  of  the  life  to  come — are  probably  spoken  in  mocking  echo  of  her 
husband.  Even  if  not,  they  are  a  passing  shudder.  It  is  enough  for  her  that  her 
hands  still  keep  the  sensation  of  the  blood  upon  them.  The  imagination  which 
stands  to  her  in  the  place  of  virtue  has  brought  in  its  revenge,  and  for  her  too  there 
is  left  only  the  release  of  death.  She  dies,  not  of  remorse  at  her  guilt,  but  because 
she  has  miscalculated  her  power  of  resistance  to  the  scourge  of  an  over-acute  imag- 
ination.— Ed.  ii. 


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488  APPENDIX 

WAS  SHAKESPEARE  EVER  IN  SCOTLAND? 

Malonb  (vol.  ii,  p.  416,  ed.  1821}  :  Guthrie  asserts  in  his  History  of  Scotland  that 
King  James,  '  to  prove  how  thoroughly  he  was  emancipated  from  the  tutelage  of 
his  clergy,  desired  Queen  Elizabeth,  in  the  year  1599,  to  send  him  a  company  of 
English  comedians.  She  complied,  and  James  gave  them  a  license  to  act  in  his 
capital  and  in  his  court.  I  have  great  reason  to  think,'  adds  the  historian,  *  that  the 
immortal  Shakespeare  was  of  the  number.'  If  Guthrie  had  any  ground  for  this 
assertion,  why  was  it  not  stated?  It  is  extremely  improbable  that  Shakespeare 
should  have  left  London  at  this  period.  In  1599  his  Henry  V.  was  produced,  and 
without  doubt  acted  with  great  applause. 

CoLUER  {Annals  of  the  Stage^  vol.  i,  p.  344,  1831)  says  that  *  it  has  been  sup- 
posed by  some  that  Shakespeare  was  a  member  of  this  company  [that  arrived  in 
Edinburgh  in  I599]f  and  that  he  even  took  his  description  of  Macbeth' s  castle  £rom 
local  observation.  No  evidence  can  be  produced  either  way,  excepting  Malone's 
conjuncture '  in  reference  to  the  production  of  Henry  V,  in  that  year. 

Knight  (Biography^  etc.,  p.  415,  1843,  and  also  Ihid,^  p.  420,  1865)  endeavors 
to  prove  that  Shakespeare  did  visit  Scotland,  but  not  in  the  year  mentioned  by 
Guthrie.  The  latter  *  evidently  founded  his  statement  upon  a  passage  in  Spottis- 
wood's  History  of  the  Church  of  Scotland^*  in  which  the  appearance  of  the  company 
of  English  comedians  is  put  <  in  the  end  of  the  year'  [1599].  That  this  could  not 
have  been  Shakespeare's  company  Knight  finds  *  decisive  evidence'  'in  the  Regis- 
ters of  the  Privy  Council  and  the  Office  Books  of  the  Treasurers  of  the  Chamber,' 
wherein  it  is  stated  that  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  servants  perfonned  before  Queen 
« Elizabeth  on  the  26th  of  December,  1599.  But  in  Sir  John  Sinclair's  Statistical 
Account  of  Scotland  there  is  a  description  of  the  parish  of  Perth,  by  the  Jlev  James 
Scott,  in  which  the  latter  says  that  it  appears  from  the  old  records  that  a  company 
of  players  were  in  Perth  in  1589,  and,  after  alluding  to  Guthrie's  statement,  adds  that 
'  if  they  were  English  actors  who  visited  Perth  in  that  year,  Shakespeare  might  be 
one  of  them.'  These  conjectures,  however,  of  Guthrie  and  Scott  are  manifestly 
loose  and  untenable,  and  have  never  been  seriously  regarded  by  English  commenta- 
tors. <  Collier  does  not  notice  a  subsequent  visit  of  a  company  of  English  players  to 
Scotland  as  detailed  in  a  local  history  published  in  London  in  1818 — the  Annals  of 
Aberdeen^  by  William  Kennedy.  This  writer  does  not  print  the  document  on  which 
he  founds  his  statements ;  but  his  narrative  is  so  circumstantial  as  to  leave  little 
doubt  that  the  company  of  players  to  which  Shakespeare  belonged  visited  Aberdeen 
in  z6oi. 

'  We  may  distinctly  state  that  as  £&r  as  any  public  or  private  record  informs  us, 
there  is  no  circumstance  to  show  that  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  company  was  not  in 
Scotland  in  the  autumn  of  1601.  It  is  a  curious  fact  that  even  three  months  later,  at 
the  Christmas  of  that  year,  there  is  no  record  that  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  company 
performed  before  Queen  Elizabeth.  The  Office- Book  of  the  Treasurer  of  the  Cham- 
ber records  no  performance  between  Shrove  Tuesday,  the  3d  of  March,  1601,  and 
St.  Stephen's  Day,  the  26th  of  December,  1602.  [Richard  Manningham's  note- 
book, however,  shows]  that  Shakspere's  company  was  in  London  at  the  beginning 
of  1602.  If  it  can  be  shown  that  the  company  to  which  Shakspere  belonged  was 
performing  in  Scotland  in  October,  1601,  there  is  every  probability  that  Shakspere 


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IVAS  SHAKESPEARE  EVER  IN  SCOTLAND?         489 

himself  was  not  absent  He  buried  his  father  at  Stratford  on  the  8th  of  September 
of  that  year.  The  smnmer  season  of  the  Globe  would  be  ended  ;  the  winter  season 
at  the  Blackfriars  not  b^;un.  He  had  a  laige  interest  as  a  shareholder  in  his  com- 
pany ;  he  is  supposed  to  have  been  the  owner  of  its  properties  or  stage  equipments. 
His  duty  would  call  him  to  Scotland*  The  journey  and  the  sojourn  there  would 
present  some  relief  to  the  gloomy  thoughts  which  the  events  of  1601  must  have  cast 
upon  him.' 

Mr  Knight,  taking  Shakespeare's  sojourn  in  Scotland  as  being  thus  proved,  main- 
tains that  there  are  many  points  of  resemblance  between  Macbeth  and  the  *  Earle  of 
Gowrie's  Conspirade,'  which  happened  only  fourteen  months  before,  and  over  which 
Scotland  was  still  profoundly  moved. 

In  the  second  place,  Mr  Knight  sustains  his  theory  by  Shakespeare's  topograph* 
ical  knowledge.  Holinshed  represents  the  meeting  of  the  Witches  with  Macbeth  and 
Banquo  as  in  the  midst  of  a  '  laund,'  which  presents  the  idea  of  a  pleasant  and  fertile 
meadow  among  trees.  The  Poet  chose  his  scene  with  greater  art,  and  with  greater 
topographical  accuracy  in  describing  it  as  *  a  blasted  heath.'  The  countiy  around 
Fores  is  wild  moorland,  no  more  dreary  piece  is  to  be  found  in  all  Scotland.  <  There 
is  something  startling  to  a  stranger  in  seeing  the  solitary  figure  of  the  peat-digger,  or 
rush-gatherer,  moving  amidst  the  waste  in  the  sunshine  of  a  calm  autunm  day  ;  but 
the  desolation  of  the  scene  in  stormy  weather,  or  when  the  twilight  fogs  are  trailing 
over  the  pathless  heath,  or  settling  down  upon  the  pools,  must  be  indescribable.' 

The  chroniclers  furnish  Shakespeare  with  no  notion  of  the  particular  character  of 
the  castle  of  Inverness.  His  exquisite  description  of  it  in  the  conversation  between 
Duncan  and  Banquo  is  unquestionably  an  effort  of  the  highest  art,  but  it  is  also 
founded  in  reality.  (See  On  the  Site  of  Macbeth^ s  Castle  at  Inverness^  by  John 
Anderson,  Esq.  Transactions  of  the  Society  of  Scottish  Antiquaries^  iii,  28  Jan., 
1828.) 

In  the -third  place,  Shakespeare's  pronunciation,  Dunsinine,  is  adduced  as  a 
proof  of  his  presence  near  the  locality.  '  We  are  informed  by  a  gentleman  who  is 
devoted  to  the  study  of  Scotch  antiquities  that  there  is  every  reason  to  believe  that 
Dunsinlme  was  the  ancient  pronunciation,  and  that  Shakspere  was  consequently  right 
in  making  Dunsfnane  the  exception  to  his  ordinary  accentuation  of  the  word.' 

Fourthly,  and  lastly,  Mr  Knight  discovers  what  he  considers  urmiistakeable  signs 
of  similarity  between  the  rife,  Scotch,  traditionary  witchcraft  and  the  Weird  Sisters, 
and  Hecate ;  and  adduces  from  the  numberless  trials  of  witches  at  that  very  time 
many  points  of  resemblance. 

When  it  is  stated  that  the  foregoing  paragraphs  have  been  condensed  from  twenty- 
three  of  Mr  Knight's  royal  octavo  pages,  the  reader  will  see  that  but  scant  justice  is 
done  to  an  ailment  to  whose  advocate  we  must  certainly  accord  zeal  and  research, 
however  much  we  may  disagree  with  his  drift 

W.  W.  Lloyd  :  It  is  by  no  means  improbable  that  Shakespeare  may  have  visited 
Scotland ;  his  fellow-actors  were  certainly  there, . .  .  but  there  is  nothing  in  the  play 
that  requires  to  be  thus  accounted  for ;  assuredly  there  is  no  indication  that  the  Poet 
was  more  familiar  with  Scotland  thap  with  Republican  Rome. 

Collier  {Life  of  William  Shakespeare^  i,  p.  164,  ed.  ii.):  Our  chief  reason 
for  thinking  it  unlikely  that  Shakespeare  would  have  accompanied  his  fellows  to 
Scotland,  at  all  events  between  October,  1599,  and  December,  1601,  is  that,  as  the 


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490  APPENDIX 

principal  writer  for  the  company  to  which  he  was  attached,  he  could  not  well  have 
been  spared ;  and  because  we  have  good  ground  for  believing  that  about  that  period 
he  must  have  been  unusually  busy  in  the  composition  of  plays.  No  fewer  than  five 
dramas  seem,  as  far  as  evidence,  positive  or  conjectural,  can  be  obtained,  to  belong 
to  the  interval  between  1598  and  1602  ;  and  the  proof  appears  to  us  tolerably  con- 
clusive that  Henry  K,  Twelfth  Nigkty  and  HamUt  were  written  respectively  in  1599, 
1600,  and  1 601.  Besides,  as  far  as  we  are  able  to  decide  such  a  point,  the  company 
to  which  our  great  dramatist  belonged  continued  to  perform  in  London ;  for,  although 
a  detachment  under  Laurence  Fletcher  may  have  been  sent  to  Scotland,  the  main 
body  of  the  association,  called  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  players,  exhibited  at  court  at 
the  usual  seasons  in  1599,  1600,  and  1601.  Therefore  if  Shakespeare  visited  Scot- 
land at  all,  we  think  it  must  have  been  at  an  eariier  period,  and  there  was  undoubt- 
edly ample  time  between  the  years  1589  and  1599  for  him  to  have  done  so.  Never- 
theless, we  have  no  tidings  that  any  English  actors  were  in  any  part  of  Scotland 
during  those  ten  years. 

Dyce  {Life  of  Shakespeare^  i,  p.  82,  ed.  ii.)  :  We  have  no  evidence  that  Shake- 
speare ever  visited  Scotland,  either  along  with  Laurence  Fletcher,or  ten  years  earlier 
as  one  of  an  English  company,  styled  *  her  Majesty's  players,'  who  are  known  to  have 
peifonned  at  Edinburgh  in  1589. 

Anonymous  {ComhUl  Maga,^  Feb.  1889) :  That  Laurence  Fletcher's  name 
heads  the  list  of  the  players  to  whom  the  royal  license  was  given  in  1603,  appears 
to  be  the  very  reason  for  Shakespeare's  absence  at  Aberdeen,  for  assuredly  he  would 
have  been  selected  for  the  high  honor  before  Fletcher,  whose  name  does  not  occur 
before  the  player's  list  of  Shakespeare's  company.  That  Fletcher,  from  his  previous 
connection  with  King  James,  was  chiefly  instrumental  in  obtaining  the  license  we 
may  well  believe,  and  was  very  welcome  to  the  Globe  Company ;  but  such  a  play- 
loving  king  must  have  heard  of  Shakespeare's  reputation  as  a  dramatist  and  manager 
in  great  favor  at  his  cousin's  court,  and  had  Shakespeare  gone  to  Scotland  he  would 
have  been  more  highly  honored  than  Laurence  Fletcher,  whom  we  only  know  as  a 
fellow-actor,  and  who  never  wrote  a  line,  at  least  of  any  permanent  value. 

But  the  real  stumbling-block  in  the  way  of  the  Scotch  tour  is  the  delay  in  giving 
effect  to  these  supposed  Scotch  gleanings.  Macbeth  is  not  mentioned  as  having  been 
publicly  performed  till  1610,  whilst  we  hear  of  Hamlet^  Othello^  Measure  for  Meas- 
ure as  acted  before  King  James  in  1603-04*  Why,  with  this  exciting  incentive  of 
the  accession  of  a  Scotch  king  directly  descended  from  Banquo,  was  Shakespeare  so 
late  in  the  day  in  adding  his  psean  of  welcome  ?  Ben  Jonson  and  others  devised 
masques  and  fulsome  addresses,  almost  amounting  to  profanity  in  their  extravagance 
of  flattery,  during  the  long  triumphal  progress  of  the  new  king ;  but  Shakespeare  is 
silent,  though  specially  sent  for  to  entertain  the  king  at  Wilton  and  Hampton  Court. 
We  know  he  performed  six  pieces  at  the  former,  and  yet,  with  such  a  keen  eye  to 
business  as  he  undoubtedly  had,  he  refrains  from  producing  the  pointed  compliments 
in  the  subject  of  Macbeth^  and  the  introduction  of  witches  before  the  royal  author  of 
Datnonologia,  On  the  contrary,  he  brings  before  him  the  stem  rebuke  of  Hamlet 
against  the  heavy  drinking  then  prevalent  at  court,  and  boldly  says :  '  Let  the  candied 
tongue  lick  absurd  pomp,'  etc.  If  any  other  proof  were  wanting  of  his  unrecorded 
Scotch  tour,  we  can  almost  trace  out  an  alibu  For  in  July,  1601,  his  father  died  at 
Stratford,  and  we  may  rest  assured  that  such  a  dutiful  and  faithful  son  would  not  be 


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IVAS  SHAKESPEARE  EVER  IN  SCOTLAND  f         491 

absent  from  his  obsequies,  he  who  took  so  much  thought  of  having  the  <  passing 
bell '  rung  for  his  brother  Gilbert.  Then  there  would  be  business  affairs  to  settle, 
and  the  eTer-increasing  Stratford  investments  to  occupy  him,  and  in  the  following 
Christmas  revels  he  is  bringing  out  Twelfth  Night  before  Queen  Elizabeth,  so  there 
is  scarce  time  for  a  Scottish  trip  in  the  interim,  before  the  days  of  tourist  tickets  or 
even  of  Stag^e  coaches.  As  we  suspect,  Stratford  and  its  homely  ties  barred  the  way 
northwards ;  he  could  not  resist  spending  the  little  spare  time  with  his  family,  so  long 
unavoidably  separated  from  him  during  his  London  career.  He  considered  himself 
a  traveller,  and  revelled  in  mountain  scenery — 

'  Full  many  a  glorious  morning  have  I  seen 
Flatter  the  mountain  tops  with  sov'ran  eye.' 

Yet  these  experiences  may  have  been  gained  in  Wales  beside  his  favorite  MilfonL 
Had  he  been  to  Scotland  he  would  have  learned  that  Glammis  was  pronounced 
GlSmes,  and  Dunsinane  Dunslnnan.  Though  his  company  did  go  on  tours  throughout 
Bngland  and  Wales,  it  was  against  their  interest  to  do  so;  <  their  profit  and  reputa- 
tion '  suffered.  <  How  chances  it  they  travel  ?'  inquires  Hamlet  of  the  tragedians  of 
the  city.  Certainly  a  long  absence  in  Scotland  would  not  have  paid  them  either  in 
finance  or  repute.  Though  he  lifts  no  eulogy  of  the  late  queen,  before  whom  he  had 
played  so  lately,  possibly  his  loyal  ardor  was  checked  by  the  memory  of  Essex  and 
his  friend  Pembroke's  wrongs ;  at  the  same  time  Shakespeare  raises  no  indecorous 
incense  of  adoration  before  the  rising  sun  of  James ;  others  are  before  him  even  in 
catching  up  the  subject  of  the  Stuart  descent  from  Banquo,  and  this  is  noteworthy 
because  it  brings  the  Macbeth  tale  to  the  front,  and  in  all  probability  suggested  it  to 
Shakespeare,  as  Dr  Farmer  and  Malone  have  asserted.  In  1605,  King  James  makes 
his  first  visit  to  Oxford,  and  is  bored  to  death  with  classical  addresses,  ovations, 
plays,  etc.,  that  he  falls  to  sleep  and  snores  in  the  middle  of  them,  but  at  one  orig- 
inal masque  he  wakes  up,  and  we  read  '  the  kinge  did  very  much  applaud  the  con- 
ceit thereof.'  At  St.  John's  Gate  there  met  him  three  students  dressed  as  'weird 
sisters,'  representing  the  great  Unionist  principle  which  England  has  been  so  agitated 
to  defend  in  our  own  time,  viz.:  England,  Scotland,  and  Ireland.  These  'Sibylls' 
recited  an  *  all  hail !'  both  in  Latin  and  English.  [See  Source  of  the  Plot^  pp.  397, 
398.] 

Now  where  was  Shakespeare  ?  Why  was  he  not  to  the  fore  with  his  Scotch 
experiences  of  1601  ?  We  turn  to  our  signpost  of  known  data,  and  find  he  was, 
as  usual,  at  Stratford  in  the  July  of  1605,  completing  his  large  purchase  of  the  lease 
of  a  moiety  of  the  town  tithes.  Now  Oxford  was  one  of  his  halting  places  in  his 
numerous  journeys  to  and  fro,  where  he  put  up  with  his  good  friends  the  D'Ave- 
nants  at  the  Crown,  and  we  learn  that  on  his  return  route  to  town  in  October  of  that 
year  he  gave  several  performances  before  the  Mayor  and  corporation  of  that  town. 
Being  well-known  and  very  popular,  he  would  have  heard  of  all  the  great  doings  of 
August,  and  how  much  the  king,  queen,  and  young  Prince  Charles,  just  arrived  from 
the  ancient  royal  Scotch  city  of  Dunfermline,  were  pleased  with  the  masque  of  the 
three  Sibylls,  and  allusions  to  their  illustrious  progenitor  Banquo,  which  would  have 
sent  him-  to  Holinshed's  Chronicles^  whence  the  idea  had  evidently  been  taken. 
There  he  would  have  found  the  groundwork  for  his  plot.  Shortly  afterwards  he 
showed  his  gratitude  to  the  king  for  past  favors  by  producing  the  resulting  play, 
possibly  in  the  following  March,  before  the  court,  on  which  occasion,  doubtless,  he 


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492  APPENDIX 

received  the  friendly  letter  indited  in  the  sovereign's  own  hand,  of  whidi,  alas !  no 
record  has  been  kept;  it  is  irretrievably  lost,  together  with  all  the  $hakeq>eaxe 
manuscripts. — Ed.  ii. 

ACTORS 

The  following  extract  is  from  Gerard  Langbaine's  Account  of  the  English 
Dramatick  Poets,  etc.,  1 69 1,  the  earliest  catalogue  of  the  English  Stage  that  <is  to 
be  implicitly  relied  on  for  its  fidelity':  * Mackbeth^  a  Tragedy ;  which  was  reviVd 
by  the  Dukes  Company,  and  re-printed  with  Alterations,  and  New  Songs,  4°.  Lomd. 
1674.  /The  Play  is  founded  on  the  History  of  Scotland,  The  Reader  may  consult 
these  Writers  for  the  Story :  viz.  Hector  Boetius,  Buchanan,  Du  chesne,  HoUings- 
head,  etc.  The  same  Story  is  succinctly  related  in  Verse  in  HeyTvood's  Hierarchy 
of  Angels,  B.  I,  p.  508,  and  in  Prose  in  Heylin's  Coanography,  Book  I,  in  the  Hist 
of  Brittain,  where  he  may  read  the  Story  at  large.*/  At  the  Acting  of  this  Tragedy, 
on  the  Stage,  I  saw  a  real  one  acted  in  the  Pit ;  I  mean  the  Death  of  Mr.  Scroop, 
who  received  his  death's  wound  from  the  late  Sir  Thomas  Armstrong,  and  died 
presenUy  after  he  was  remov'd  to  a  House  opposite  to  the  Theatre,  in  DorsH- 
Garden,' 

William  Archer  and  Robert  Lowe  {^Eng.  Illus,  Maga,,  Dec  1888):  The 
stage  history  of  Macbeth  begins  with  the  Restoration. . . .  After  the  reopening  <rf  the 
theatres  it  was  not  long  suffered  to  be  idle.  On  November  5,  1664,  Pepys  writes : 
« To  the  Duke's  House  [Lincoln's  Inn  Fields],  to  see  Macbeth,  a  pretty  good  play, 
but  admirably  acted.'  Again,  on  December  28,  1666,  he  notes:  *To  the  Duke's 
House,  and  there  saw  Macbeth  most  excellently  acted,  and  a  most  excellent  play  for 
variety.'  .  .  .  Only  ten  days  later  (January  7,  1667)  Pepys  once  more  took  his  way  to 
the  Duke's  House,  'and  saw  Macbeth,  which,  though  I  saw  it  lately,  yet  appears  a 
most  excellent  play  in  all  respects,  but  especially  in  divertisement,  though  it  be  a 
deep  tragedy  ;  which  is  a  strange  perfection  in  a  tragedy,  it  being  most  proper  here 
and  suitable.'  In  the  following  year,  October  16,  1667,  he  again  saw  this  most 
excellent  play,  and  *  was  vexed  to  see  Young  (who  is  but  a  bad  actor  at  best)  act 
Macbeth  in  the  room  of  Betterton,  who,  poor  man  1  is  sick.'  ...  It  is  generally  sup- 
posed that  on  the  occasions  mentioned  by  Pepys'  Macbeth  was  played  in  its  original 
shape ;  indeed,  Genest  explicitly  says  so  ;  but  this  we  are  inclined  to  question.  In 
1 67 1  the  Duke's  Company  moved  from  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields  to  the  new  theatre  in 
Dorset  Garden  ;  and  among  the  earliest  plays  performed  at  that  house  Downes,  in 
his  Roscius  Anglicanus,  mentions  *The  Tragedy  of  Macbeth,  alter' d  by  Sir  William 
Davenant;  being  drest  in  all  its  Finery,  as  new  Cloath's,  new  Scenes,  il/achines,  as 
fl3rings  for  the  Witches ;  with  all  the  Singing  and  Dancing  in  it :  The  first  com- 
pos'd  by  Mt,  Lock,  the  other  by  Mr.  Channell  and  Mr,  Joseph  Priest ;  it  being  all 
Excellently  perform' d,  being  in  the  nature  of  an  Opera,  it  Recompenc'd  double  the 
Expence ;  it  proves  still  a  lasting  Play.'  It  has  usually  been  assumed  that  the  per- 
formance mentioned  by  Downes  was  the  first  production  of  D'Avenanf  s  alteration, 
and  that  the  original  text  was  presented  at  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields.  The  assumption 
seems,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  hasty.  Downes  adds  to  the  pan^raph  just  quoted  the 
fdlowing :  « Note,  That  this  Tragedy,  King  Lear  and  the  Tempest,  were  Acted  in 

*  Heylin's  <  story  at  large'  stands  word  for  word  in  The  Argument  to  D'Avenant's 
Version. — ^Ed. 


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ACTORSr^GARRICK  493 

LincoMs' Inn- Fields:  Lear  being  Acted  exactly  as  Mx,  Shakespear  Wrote  it;  as 
likewise  the  Tempest^  altered  by  Sir  William  Dovenant  and  Mr.  £>ryden,  before 
'twas  made  into  an  Opera.'  The  statement  that  JCirtg- Lear  was  acted  from  the 
original  text  seems  to  imply  that  the  other  two  were  not.  Moreover  the  *  variety ' 
and  the  '  divertisement '  admired  by  Pepys  suggest  D'Avenant's  play  with  its  sing- 
ing Witches,  interpolated  from  Middleton.  Finally,  there  is  nothing  in  Downes's 
original  statement  to  imply  that  D'Avenant's  version  was  then  played  for  the  first 
time  four  years  after  his  death.  It  is  much  more  probable  that  D'Avenant  wreaked 
his  adaptive  fury  on  the  play  soon  after  the  Restoration,  and  that  his  version  held 
the  stage  from  the  first,  being  merely  revived  with  unprecedented  splendour  and 
completeness,  and  perhaps  with  original  <  divertisements '  in  the  new  theatre. .  . . 
Garrick  acted  Macbeth  for  the  first  time  at  Drury  Lane,  January  7,  1744.  He 
announced  his  intention  of  restoring  Shakespeare's  text,  and  did  so  in  the  main. 
Locke's  music,  however,  he  retained,  and  wrote  a  dying  speech  for  Macbeth  [see  V, 
viii,  42].  This  arrangement  of  the  play,  with  scenes  from  Middleton' s  fVilcA  and 
with  music  and  dancing,  held  the  stage  for  at  least  a  hundred  years,  for  it  was  not 
until  Phelps,  at  Saddler's  Wells  in  1847,  banished  both  the  singing  witches  and  all 
of  Locke's  music  and  gave  the  play  practically  as  it  is  presented  to-day.  Charles 
Kean,  in  his  spectacular  production  of  Macbeth  at  the  Princess's  Theatre,  London, 
in  1852,  restored  the  scenes  of  Garrrick's  version  ;  this  appears  to  have  been  the  last 
occasion,  though,  on  which  they  were  used,  and  with  the  elder  Booth  and  Macready, 
in  his  later  performances,  both  Garrick  and  Locke  were  completely  discarded. — 
Ed.  ii. 

[For  a  more  detailed  account  of  the  various  casts  of  characters  and  actors  in 
y Macbeth f  see  artide  in  English  Illustrated  Maga,  quoted  above. — ^Ed.  ii.] 

FlTZGRRALD  (U,  69) :  It  was  remarked  [of  Garrick]  that  he  threw  a  certain 
dejected  air  over  the  whole  [part  of  Macbeth],  instead  of  the  daring  and  intrepidity, 
and  perhaps  cant  and  bluster,  of  the  older  conception.  It  was  fiiU  of  long  pauses, 
'  heart  heavings,'  piteous  looks,  with  <  a  slack  carriage  of  body.'  This  shows  how 
delicate  and  refined  was  his  colouring  of  a  part.  Thus,  *  Prithee,  peace,  I  dare  do 
all  that  may  become  a  man,'  was  spoken  in  the  same  dejected  key. ...  He  was  one 
night  playing  [Macbeth],  and  when  he  said  to  the  murderer  in  the  banquet  scene, 
'  There  is  blood  upon  thy  face,'  the  other,  as  he  acknowledged  himself,  was  so 
thrown  off  his  guard  by  the  intensity  of  the  look  and  earnestness  of  the  manner  that 
he  put  his  hand  up,  with  a  start,  and  said :  '  Is  there,  by  God  ?'  thinking  he  had 
broken  a  blood-vessel. 

Long  after,  when  Garrick  was  at  a  little  Italian  court,  and  the  Duke  asked  for 
a  specimen  of  his  powers,  he  threw  himself  into  the  attitude  of  Macbeth  looking  at 
the  visionary  da^^er.  The  horror  and  vivid  sense  of  real  seeing^  marked  in  his 
wonderful  face,  perfectly  conveyed  the  meaning  of  the  whole  situation  to  the  foreign 
company  who  were  present  In  the  scene  after  the  murder  his  acting  could  not  be 
surpassed.  Even  the  description  causes  a  thrill.  His  distraction  and  agonising 
honors  were  set  off  by  his  wife's  calmness  and  confidence.  The  beginning  of  the 
scene  after  the  murder  was  conducted  in  terrifying  whispers.  Their  looks  and 
actions  supplied  the  place  of  words.  The  Poet  here  only  gives  an  outline  to  the 
consummate  actor :  <  I  have  done  the  deed  :  Didst  thou  not  hear  a  noise  ?  When  ? 
Did  not  you  speak  ?'  . . .  The  dark  colouring  given  to  these  abrupt  speeches  makes 
the  scene  awful  and  tremendous  to  the  auditors.     The  expression  of  despair  and 


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494  APPENDIX 

agony  and  honor,  as  Gaxrick  looked  at  his  bloody  hands,  was  long  remembered. 
His  face  seemed  to  grow  whiter  eveiy  instant.  So,  too,  when  the  sadden  knocking 
at  the  door  came,  his  disorder  and  confusion  and  hopeless  grief,  and  his  reply,  *  'lis 
\nc\  a  rough  night,'  was  in  a  tone  of  affected  unconcern,  under  which  could  be  dis- 
covered fear  and  misery.  These  were  exquisite  strokes  altogether  new  to  the  audi- 
ence. ...  In  his  behaviour  to  the  ghost  he  was,  on  the  first  nights,  too  subdued  and 
faint  when  he  said,  '  Avaunt,  and  quit  my  sight !' — still  cairying  out  his  idea  of  Mac- 
beth being  utterly  oppressed  and  overcome  by  the  sense  of  his  guilt.  But  an  anony- 
mous critic  pointed  out  to  him  that  Macbeth  was  not  a  coward ;  and  with  that  good 
sense  and  modesty  which  always  distinguished  him  he  adopted  the  advice. .  . .  The 
whole  play  was  thought  by  the  players  to  give  but  a  feeble  opening  for  any  acting. 
Garrick,  when  they  were  discussing  the  matter,  said  he  should  have  veiy  poor  gilts 
indeed  if  he  was  not  able  to  keep  up  the  audience's  attention  '  to  the  very  last  sylla- 
ble of  so  animated  a  character.' — £d.  ii. 

FtETCHSR  (p.  X90) :  The  fact  of  the  thorough  identification  of  Mrs  Siddons 
with  the  character  of  Lady  Macbeth  in  the  public  mind,  as  mentioned  by  Campbell, 
makes  it  incumbent  upon  us  to  show  the  divergence  of  her  embodiment  of  the  character 
from  Shakespeare's  delineation  of  it,  both  from  the  d priori  evidence  afforded  by  her 
own  account  of  how  she  endeavored  to  play  it,  and  also  from  the  most  authentic 
traditions  as  to  her  actual  expression  of  the  part.  In  doing  this  we  must  limit  our 
examination  of  that  great  performance  to  demonstrating :  first,  the  fallacious  impres- 
sion given  in  general  of  the  moral  relation  subsisting  between  Lady  Macbeth  and 
her  husband  ;  and  secondly,  her  like  erroneous  interpreting  of  the  relation  between 
the  lady's  own  conscience  and  the  great  criminal  act  to  which  she  is  accessary.  All 
accounts  of  Mrs  Siddons's  acting  in  the  earlier  scenes  concur  in  assuring  us  that  she 
did  most  effectively  represent  the  heroine  as  she  endeavored  to  represent  her — as  a 
woman  inherently  selfish  and  imperious — ^not  devoted  to  the  wish  and  purpose  of 
her  husband,  but  remorselessly  determined  to  work  him  to  the  fulfilment  of  her  own. 
The  three  passages  which  most  prominently  develope  this  conception  are — that  in 
which  Lady  Macbeth  takes  upon  herself  the  execution  of  the  murderous  enterprise ; 
that  where  she  banishes  Macbeth' s  apprehension  by  the  odium  of  her  taunts,  and 
his  fears  of  retribution  by  suggesting  the  expedient  of  casting  suspicion  on  the  sleep- 
ing attendants ;  and,  finally,  that  in  which  she  endeavors  to  calm  his  agitation  after 
the  murder.  BoADBN  {Memoirs  of  Mrs  Siddons,  ii,  136)  says,  in  describing  her  first 
performance  of  Lady  Macbeth  in  London,  that  she  delivered  the  speech,  *  Oh,  never 
Shall  sun  that  morrow  see,'  etc.  [I,  v,  69-79],  '^^  ^^^h  a  manner  that  'Macbeth 
(Smith)  sank  under  her  at  once,  and  she  quitted  the  scene  with  an  effect  which 
cannot  be  described ' — that  is,  she  assumed  the  tone  and  air,  not  of  earnest  entreaty, 
which  alone  Shakespeare's  heroine  could  have  employed  on  this  occasion,  but  of 
imperious  injunction;  so  that  Macbeth' s  representative,  instead  of  complacently 
acquiescing,  as  Shakespeare's  conception  requires,  seemed  to  yield  to  her  will  in 
pure  helplessness.  So,  again,  in  the  scene  where  the  Lady  overcomes  her  hus- 
band's apprehensive  shrinking  from  the  actual  deed,  the  same  theatrical  historian 
informs  us :  '  This  really  beautiful  and  interesting  actress  did  not  at  all  shrink  firom 
standing  before  us  the  true  and  perfect  image  of  the  greatest  of  all  natural  and  moral 
depravations — a  fiend-like  woman.*  Here,  again,  we  trace  the  tones  and  gestures, 
not  of  vehement  expostulation,  but  of  overbearing  dictation ;  not  of  earnest  appeal 
to  her  husband's  capability  of  being  constant  to  his  own  purpose,  but  of  ruthless  and 


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ACTORS^SIDDONS  495 

scornful  determination  to  drive  him  on  to  the  execution  of  hers.  And  once  more,  to 
reach  the  climax  of  this  false  interpretation,  how  intensely  effective  do  we  find  the 
actress's  expression  to  have  been  of  her  mistaken  conception  that  Lady  Macbeth,  all 
this  while,  regards  her  husband  with  sincere  contempt.  '  Upon  her  return  from  the 
chamber  of  slaughter,'  says  Boaden,  <  after  gilding  the  faces  of  the  grooms,  from  the 
peculiar  character  of  her  lip  she  gave  an  expression  of  contempt  more  striking  than 
any  she  had  hitherto  displayed.' 

The  general  character  of  this  part  of  her  performance  is  summed  up  to  the  like 
effect  by  a  writer  in  Blackufood^s  Magatine  for  June,  1843,  P-  T'o  [see  notes  on  I,  v,  2, 
and  V,  i,  20],  who  assures  us  that,  in  the  murder  scene»  'her  acting  was  that  of  a 
triumphant  fiend.'  But  Shakespeare  exhibits  the  heroine  as  anything  but  triumphant 
in  the  perpetration  of  the  deed,  her  husband's  ruminations  upon  which  draw  from 
her  an  anticipation  of  that  remorseful  distraction  which  is  destined  to  destroy  her. 
Lady  Macbeth  is  remote  from  that  bitterness  of  contempt  which  Mrs  Siddons  expressed 
with  such  intensity,  but  which  policy  no  less  than  feeling  must  have  banished  from 
Shakespeare's  heroine  while  she  felt  her  very  self-preservation  to  depend  upon  her 
calming  the  nervous  agitation  of  her  husband.  Shakespeare,  in  short,  from  the 
very  commencement  of  Lady  Macbeth' s  share  in  the  action,  has  exhibited  in  her — 
not  that  <  satute-like  simplicity '  of  motive  for  which  Gmipbell  contends  [see  Appen- 
dix: Character  of  Lady  Macbeth\  and  which  Mrs  Siddons  strove  to  render — ^but  a 
continual  struggle,  between  her  compunction  for  the  criminal  act  and  her  devotion  to 
her  husband's  ambitious  purpose.  This  conscious  struggle  should  give  to  the  open- 
ing invocation,  '  Come  you  spirits  That  tend  on  mortal  thoughts,'  etc  [I,  v,  45],  a 
tremulous  anxiety,  as  well  as  earnestness  of  expression,  very  different  from  what  we 
find  recorded  respecting  this  part  of  Mrs  Siddons's  performance.  '  When  the  actress,* 
says  Boaden,  '  came  to  the  passage,  '*  Wherever  in  your  sightless  substances  You 
wait  on  nature's  mischief,"  the  elevation  of  her  brows,  the  fiiU  orbs  of  sight,  the 
raised  shoulders,  and  the  hollowed  hands,  seemed  all  to  endeavor  to  explore  what 
yet  were  pronounced  no  possible  objects  of  vision.  Till  then,  I  am  quite  sure,  a 
figure  so  terrible  had  never  bent  over  the  pit  of  a  theatre/  In  all  this  we  perceive 
the  gesture  of  one,  not  imploring  the  spirits  of  murder  as  Shakespeare's  heroine 
does,  but  commandite  them,  according  to  Mrs  Siddons's  conception.  TTu  action, 
in  short,  is  not  suited  to  the  word.  The  same  must  be  said  of  her  performance  of  the 
great  sleep-walking  scene,  though  regarded  as  Mrs  Siddons's  grandest  triumph  in 
this  part.  Here,  of  all  other  passages  in  this  personation,  the  actress's  looking  and 
speaking  the  impassive  heroine  of  antique  tragedy  was  out  of  place.  A  somnambu- 
list from  the  workings  of  a  troubled  conscience  is  a  thing  peculiar  to  the  romantic 
drama,  and  impossible  in  the  classic.  A  person  such  as  Mrs  Siddons  represented 
Lady  Macbeth  to  be  would  have  been  quite  incapable  of  that '  slumbry  agitation '  in 
which  we  behold  Shakespeare's  heroine.  As  little  could  the  latter  have  maintained 
the  statue-like  solemnity  with  which  the  actress  glided  over  the  stage  in  this  awfrd 
scene.  Shakespeare's  Lady  Macbeth,  so  £ur  from  presenting  in  this  final  passage 
anything  of  the  <  unconquerable  will '  of  a  classic  heroine,  is,  in  her  incoherent 
retrospection,  the  merely  passive  victim  of  remorse  and  of  despair — ^helplessly  trem- 
ulous and  shuddering. . . .  They  who  cite  Mrs  Siddons's  Lady  Macbeth  as  exhibiting 
the  highest  development  of  her  histrionic  powers  are  periiectly  right ;  but  when  they 
speak  of  it  as  transcendently  proving  her  fitness  for  interpreting  Shakespeare,  they 
are  as  decidedly  wrong.  It  is  not  a  statue-like  simplicity  that  makes  the  essence 
of  Shakespearian  character,  but  a  picturesque  complexity,  to  which  Mrs  Siddons's 


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496  APPENDIX 

tnassive  person  and  sculptured  genius  were  essentially  repugnant  Her  genius, 
indeed,  has  been  well  described  as  nUher  epic  than  dramatic.  Justice  to  Mrs  Sid- 
dons  and  justice  to  Shakespeare  alike  demand  that  this  should  be  clearly  and  uni- 
versally understood.  The  best  homage  to  genius  like  hers,  as  to  genius  like  his, 
must  be  to  appreciate  it,  not  only  adequately,  but  truly, — Ed.  ii. 

Macready  (p.  481) :  Plymouth,  April  26th  [7^^/].— Acted  Macbeth  in  my 
▼ery  best  manner,  positively  improving  several  passages,  but  sustaining  the  character 
in  a  most  satisfactory  manner.  ...  I  have  improved  Macbeth.  The  general  tone  of 
the  character  was  lofty,  manly,  or,  indeed,  as  it  should  be,  heroic,  that  of  one  living 
to  command.  The  whole  view  of  the  character  was  constantly  in  sight :  the  grief,  the 
care,  the  doubt  was  not  that  of  a  weak  person,  but  of  a  strong  mind  and  of  a  strong 
man.  The  manner  of  executing  the  command  to  the  witches,  and  the  effect  upon 
myself  of  their  vanishing  was  justly  hit  off— I  marked  the  cause.  The  energy  was 
more  dackened — ^the  great  secret.  A  novel  effect  I  thought  good,  of  restlessness  and 
an  uneasy  effort  to  appear  unembarrassed  before  Banquo,  previous  to  the  murder.  The 
banquet  was  improved  in'  its  forced  hilarity  of  tone ;  the  scene  with  the  physician 
very  much  so.  It  was  one  of  the  most  successful  pexformances  of  Macbeth  I  ever 
saw.— Ed.  ii. 

lADY  Martin  (p.  250) :  After  the  dose  of  the  Drury  Lane  season  in  June  I 
acted  a  short  engagement  in  Dublin  with  Mr  Macready.  Macbeth  was  one  of  his 
favourite  parts,  and  to  oblige  the  manager,  Mr  Calcraft,  I  promised  to  attempt  Lady 
Macbeth ;  but  in  the  busy  work  of  each  day,  up  to  the  close  of  the  London  season,  I 
had  had  no  time  to  give  the  character  any  real  thought  or  preparation. ...  I  have  no 
remembrance  of  what  the  critics  said.  But  Mr  Macready  told  me  that  my  banquet  and 
sleep-walking  scenes  were  the  best.  In  the  latter  he  said  I  gave  the  idea  of  sleep 
disturbed  by  fearful  dreams,  but  still  it  was  sleep.  It  was  to  be  seen  even  in  my  walk, 
which  was  heavy  and  unelastic,  marking  the  distinction — too  often  overlook^ — be- 
tween the  muffled  voice  and  seeming  mechanical  motion  of  the  somnambulist,  and 
the  wandering  mind  and  quick  fitful  gestures  of  a  maniac,  whose  very  violence 
would  wake  her  from  the  deepest  sleep — a  criticism  I  never  forgot,  always  endeav- 
oring afterwards  to  work  upon  the  some  principle,  which  had  come  to  me  then  by 
instinct  [See,  in  this  connection,  Pfeil,  V,  i,  20.]  Another  remark -oC  his  about 
the  sleep-walking  scene  I  remember.  He  said :  *  Oh,  my  child,  where  di^  you  get 
that  long-drawn  sigh  7  What  can  you  know  of  such  misery  as  that  sigh  speaks  of?' 
He  also  said  that  my  first  scene  was  very  promising,  especially  the  solSoquy,  also 
my  reception  of  Duncan,  but  that  my  after  scenes  with  him  were  very  tatne  I  had 
altogether  failed  in  *  chastising  with  the  valour  of  my  tongue.' : .  .To  the  last  time 
of  my  performing  the  character  I  retained  my  dread  'of  it,  and  to  such  a  degree  that 
when  I  was  obliged  to  act  it  in  the  coursto  of  my  engagements  (a6  others  did  not 
seem  to  dislike  seeing  me  in  the  character  so  much  as  I  disliked  acting  it),  I  inva- 
riably took  this  play  first  so  as  not  to  have  if  hanging  over  my  headj  )ftnd  thus 
deared  my  mind  for  my  greater  favourites.  Not  that,  in  the  end,  I  disliked  the 
character  as  a  whole.  I  had  no  misgivings  after  reaching  the  Third  Act,  but  the  first 
two  always  filled  me  with  shrinking  horror. — ^Ed.  ii. 

Ibid.  {Letter  from  W.  Carlbton  to  Dr  Stokes:  Appendix,  p.  402):  The 
first  thing  that  b^an  gradually  to  creep  upon  me  last  night  was  an  unaccountable 


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A  CTORS—IR  VING  497 

yet  irresistible  sense  of  propriety  in  Miss  Faucit's  management  of  the  character  [of 
Lady  Macbeth].  This  aigued,  you  will  tell  me,  neither  more  nor  less  than  the  force 
of  tnith.  Perhaps  it  is  so  ;  but,  be  it  what  it  may,  it  soon  gained  upon  me  so  power- 
fully that  I  began  to  feel  that  I  had  never  seen  Lady  Macbeth's  trae  character  before. 
I  said  to  myself :  This  woman,  it  seems  to  me,  is  simply  urging  her  husband  forward 
through  her  lore  for  him,  which  prompts  her  to  wish  for  the  gratification  of  his  am- 
bition, to  commit  a  murder.  This,  it  would  appear,  is  her  sole  object,  and  in  working 
it  out  she  is  naturally  pursuing  a  terrible  course,  and  one  of  singular  difficulty.  She 
perceives  that  he  has  scruples ;  and  it  is  necessary  she  should  work  upon  him  so  iax 
as  that  he  should  commit  the  crime,  but  at  the  same  time  prevent  him  from  feel- 
ing revolted  at  the  contemplation  of  it ;  and  this  she  affects  by  a  sanguinary  sophistry 
that  altogether  hardens  his  heart.  But  this  closes  her  lessons  of  cruelty  to  him.  In 
such  a  case  it  is  not  necessary  that  she  should  label  herself  as  a  murderess,  and  wan- 
tonly parade  that  inhuman  ferocity  by  which  she  has  hitherto  been  distinguished. 
Her  office  of  temptress  ceases  with  the  murder,  and  the  gratification  of  what  she  had 
considered  her  husband's  ambition.  This,  as  I  felt  it,  is  the  distinction  which  Miss 
Faucit  draws, — the  great  discovery  she  has  made.  It  unquestionably  adds  new  ele- 
ments to  the  character,  and  not  only  rescues  it  from  the  terrible  and  revolting  monot- 
ony in  which  it  has  heretofore  appeared,  but  keeps  it  within  the  category  of  humanity, 
and  gives  a  beautiful  and  significant  moral  to  the  closing  scenes  of  the  queen's  life. 

Indeed,  the  character  from  this  forward  is  represented  by  Miss  Faucit  with  won- 
derful discrimination  and  truth.  I  felt  this  strongly,  for  I  had  never  before  observed 
the  harmony  between  her  acting  and  the  language  of  Shakespeare.  In  this,  however, 
I  have  only  laboured,  with  the  public,  under  the  disadvantage  of  being  misled  by 
the  authority  of  Mrs  Siddons  as  to  the  true  estimate  of  Lady  Macbeth's  character ; 
and  I  do  not  know  a  greater  triumph  than  that  achieved  by  the  fair  and  great  reformer 
of  bringing  us  back  to  Shakespeare  and  to  truth. — Ed.  ii. 

F.  Wedmore  {Academy,  2  Oct  1875) :  Mr  Irving  is  stronger  in  the  scene  with 
Lady  Macbeth,  after  the  assassination  of  Duncan,  than  anywhere  else  in  the  play ; 
and  it  is  here  that  his  conception  is  clearly  shown  to  us — that  whatever  qualities, 
even  of  valour,  belonged  to  Macbeth  the  soldier,  these  are  crushed  in  the  Macbeth 
who  < murdered  sleep.'  The  crime  removed  the  source  of  valour-confidence:  it 
removed  the  source  of  strength-rest :  *  Glamis  hath  murdered  sleep,  and  therefore 
Cawdor  Shall  sleep  no  more — Macbeth  shall  sleep  no  more  !'  That  is  the  beginning 
of  hopelessness,  and  it  brings  with  it  decay.  Macbeth's  new  course  is  the  death  of 
an  ideal.  An  ideal  is  no  longer  possible.  Macbeth,  with  his  past  services  and  his 
old  thoughts  of  *  things  forgotten,'  sinks,  perforce,  into  the  lowest  materialism.  And 
the  key-note  of  all  the  rest  is  struck  in  one  line — delivered  by  Mr  Irving  with  sig- 
nificant emphasis  :  'For  my  own  good  all  causes  shall  give  way.'  The  first  crime 
was  like  the  letting  out  of  water.  After  it,  crimes  are  counted  and  noticed  no 
more.  .  .  .  But  Mr  Irving' s  Macbeth,  as  he  becomes  unscrupulous  and  reckless, 
becomes  also  abject :  drawing  almost  his  only  support  from  the  superstition  of  the 
prophecies — he  has,  after  all,  no  nee<l  to  fear  in  the  last  resort  until  Bimam  Wood 
shall  come  to  Dunsinane,  and  until  he  be  confronted  witli  one  *not  of  woman 
bom.'  And  in  the  Fifth  Act,  the  gathering  despair,  the  concentrating  misery  is  most 
skilfully  indicated.  . .  .  Here  the  actor  ends  worthily  what  he  began  in  the  splendid 
and  significant  details  of  the  Second  Act — began,  that  is  to  say,  in  a  murder  scene 
admirably  pregnant,  powerful,  luminous.  And  what  one  finds  so  good  in  his  Fifth 
32 


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498  APPENDIX 

Act,  is  not  only  the  gradations  of  abjectnesss  and  horror,  as  evil  news  follow  on  erfl 
news,  bat  the  self-control  that  has  long  deserted  him,  gathered  together  at  last ;  and 
the  end,  whatever  the  end  may  be,  accepted  with  some  return  of  the  old  coorage, 
only  more  reckless  and  wild ;  for  it  is  the  last  chance,  and  a  poor  one. ...  Mr 
Irving' 8  fight  with  Macduff  illustrates  quite  perfectly,  in  its  savage  and  hopeless 
wildness,  the  last  temper  of  Macbeth. — £d.  ii. 

R.  L.  Stevenson  (Academy ,  15  April,  1876) :  Salvini  sees  nothing  great  in  Mac- 
beth beyond  the  royalty  of  muscle  and  that  courage  which  comes  of  strong  and  copi> 
ous  circulation,  llie  moral  smallness  of  the  man  is  insisted  on  from  the  first  in  the 
shudder  of  uncontrollable  jealousy  with  which  he  sees  Duncan  embracing  Banqoo. 
He  may  have  some  northern  poetry  of  speech,  but  he  has  not  much  logical  under- 
standing. In  his  dealings  with  the  supernatural  powers  he  is  like  a  savage  with  his 
fetish,  trusting  them  beyond  bounds  while  all  goes  well,  and  whenever  he  is  crossed 
casting  them  aside  and  calling  '  fate  into  the  list'  For  his  wife  he  is  little  more  than 
an  agent,  a  frame  of  blood  and  sinew  for  her  fiery  spirit  to  command.  The  nature 
of  his  relations  towards  her  is  rendered  with  a  most  precise  and  delicate  touch.  He 
always  yields  to  the  woman's  fiisdnation  ;  and  yet  his  caresses  (and  we  know  how 
much  meaning  Salvini  can  give  to  a  caress)  are  singularly  hard  and  unloving.  Some- 
times he  lays  his  hand  on  her  as  he  might  on  anyone  who  happened  to  be  nearest  to 
him  at  a  moment  of  excitement  Love  has  fallen  out  of  this  marriage,  by  the  way, 
and  left  a  curious  friendship.  Only  once — when  she  b  showing  hersdf  so  little  a 
woman  and  so  much  a  high-^irited  man— only  once  is  he  very  deeply  stirred  towards 
her ;  and  that  finds  expression  in  the  strange  and  horrible  transport  of  admiration — 
doubly  strange  and  horrible  on  Salvini's  lips — '  Bring  forth  men  children  only !' 

The  murder  scene,  as  was  to  be  expected,  pleased  the  audience  best  Mad>eth's 
voice,  in  the  talk  with  his  wife,  was  a  thing  not  to  be  forgotten  ;  and  when  he  ^>oke 
of  his  hangman's  hands  he  seemed  to  have  blood  in  his  utterance.  Never  for  a  mo- 
ment, even  in  the  very  article  of  the  murder,  does  he  possess  his  own  soul.  He  is  a 
man  on  wires.  From  first  to  last  it  is  an  exhibition  of  hideous  cowardice.  For,  after 
all,  it  is  not  here,  but  in  broad  daylight,  with  the  exhilaration  of  conflict  where  he  can 
assure  himself  at  every  blow  he  has  the  longest  sword  and  the  heaviest  hand,  that  this 
man's  physical  bravery  can  keep  him  up ;  he  is  an  unwieldy  ship  and  needs  plenty 
of  way  on  before  he  will  steer.  In  the  banquet  scene,  while  the  first  murderer  gives 
account  of  what  he  has  done,  there  comes  a  flash  of  truculent  joy  at  the  '  twenty 
trenched  gashes  on  Banquo's  head.'  Thus  Macbeth  makes  welcome  to  his  imagina- 
tion those  very  details  of  physical  horror  which  are  so  soon  to  turn  sour  in  him. . . . 

The  Fifth  Act  is  Salvini's  finest  moment  throughout  the  play.  From  the  first  mo- 
ment he  steps  upon  the  stage  3rou  can  see  that  this  character  is  a  creation  to  the  fullest 
meaning  of  the  phrase ;  for  the  man  before  you  is  a  type  you  know  well  already.  He 
arrives  with  Banquo  on  the  heath,  fair  and  red-bearded,  sparing  of  gesture,  full  of  pride 
and  the  animal  sense  of  well-being,  and  satisfied  after  the  battle  like  a  beast  who 
has  eaten  his  fill.  But  in  the  Fifth  Act  there  is  a  change.  This  is  still  the  big  buriy, 
fleshly,  handsome-looking  Thane ;  here  is  still  the  same  face  which  in  the  cariicr 
acts  could  be  superficially  good-humoured  and  sometimes  royally  courteous.  But 
now  the  atmosphere  of  blood,  which  pervades  the  whole  tragedy,  has  entered  into 
the  man  and  subdued  him  to  its  own  nature  ;  and  an  indescribable  degradation,  a 
slackness  and  pufiiness  has  overtaken  his  whole  features. ...  A  contained  fury  and 
disgust  possesses  him.     He  taunts  the  messenger  and  the  doctor  as  people  would 


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ACTORSr-ROSSI^BOOTH  499 

taunt  their  mortal  enemies. . . .  When  the  news  of  Lady  Macbeth' s  death  is  brought 
him,  he  is  staggered  and  falls  into  a  seat ;  but  somehow  it  is  not  anything  that  we 
could  call  grief  that  he  displays.  The  speech  that  follows,  given  with  a  tragic,  cyn- 
icism in  erery  word,  is  a  dirge  not  so  much  for  her  as  for  himself.  .  .  . 

The  whole  performance  is  so  full  of  gusto  and  a  headlong  unity  ;  the  personality 
of  Macbeth  is  so  sharp  and  powerful ;  and  within  these  somewhat  narrow  limits 
there  is  so  much  play  and  saliency  that,  so  far  as  concerns  Salvini  himself,  a  great 
success  seems  indubitable.  . .  .  There  is  a  difficulty  easy  to  reform,  which  somewhat 
interfered  with  the  success  of  the  performance.  At  the  end  of  the  incantation  scene 
the  Italian  translator  has  made  Macbeth  fall  insensible  upon  the  stage.  This  is  a 
change  of  questionable  propriety  from  a  psychological  point  of  view  ;  while  in  point 
of  view  of  effect  it  leaves  the  stage  for  some  moments  empty  of  all  business.  To 
remedy  this  a  bevy  of  green  ballet-girls  came  forth  and  pointed  their  toes  about  the 
prostrate  king.  A  dance  by  High  Church  curates,  or  a  hornpipe  by  Mr.  T.  P.  Cooke 
would  not  be  more  out  of  the  key.  ...  It  is,  I  am  told,  the  Italian  tradition.  With 
the  total  disappearance  of  these  damsels  and,  if  possible,  with  some  compression 
of  those  scenes  in  which  Salvini  does  not  appear,  and  the  spectator  is  left  at  the 
mercy  of  Macduffs  and  Duncans,  we  should  be  better  able  to  enjoy  an  admirable 
work  of  dramatic  art.  [Reprinted  in  Stevenson's  Collected  Works— 3TI«//p  Edition^ 
vol.  zxii,  p.  211.] — Ed.  ii. 

MOY  Thomas  {Acctdemy^  13  May,  1876)  :  If  there  is  aught  that  strikes  the  mind 
as  new  in  Signor  Rossi's  performance  of  Macbeth  it  is  perhaps  his  indications  of  an 
active  imagination,  which  renders  him  more  quick  to  picture  details  of  a  scene  of 
horror  than  his  wife,  who  goes  direct  and  fearlessly  on.  This  no  doubt  finds  not 
only  warrant  in  the  text,  but  is  necessay  to  a  full  understanding  of  the  words  and 
acts  of  the  Scottish  usurper.  These,  however,  are  more  questions  for  the  curious 
than  for  an  audience  who  are  prompt  enough  to  feel  the  beauties  of  a  performance — 
to  be  stirred  by  real  intensity  and  by  genuine  appeals  to  the  imaginative  faculty.  In 
all  this  Signor  Rossi's  acting  seems  often  wanting.  The  most  imaginative  portion 
of  his  performance  was  perhaps  in  the  dagger  scene ;  a  very  fine  point  being  made 
of  a  long  pause  before  the  utterance  of  the  famous  soliloquy,  while  the  eyes  are  fixed 
on  air,  or  wandering,  as  if  following  the  movements  of  the  shadowy  weapon.  When 
he  draws  the  curtain  of  the  door  leading  to  Duncan's  chamber,  his  horror  of  advanc- 
ing and  frequent  faltering  upon  the  step  of  the  threshold  indicated  with  picturesque 
effect  his  mental  struggles.  The  scene  with  the  ghost  of  Banquo  was  in  itself  pow- 
eriul,  though  injured  by  the  notion  of  making  Macbeth  approach  the  spectre  as 
closely  as  a  mesmeric  professor  in  the  act  of  operating  upon  a  patient.  The  idea 
of  making  Macbeth  as  so  startled  at  tripping  over  his  robe  that  he  casts  sword  and 
crown  upon  the  ground,  and  makes  his  exit  pointing  at  them  with  horror  and  loath- 
ing, wore  a  rather  paltry  air  of  ingenuity.  Signor  Rossi  seemed  hardly  to  feel  the 
true  spirit  of  the  touching  passages  in  the  last  act — the  lines  beginning,  *  I  have 
lived  long  enough,'  being  delivered  by  him  with  an  amount  of  action  and  vehemence 
out  of  keeping  with  the  meditative  vein  of  the  occasion.  The  final  struggle  with 
Macduff  indicated  the  weakness  and  vacillation  of  a  spirit  subdued  by  a  sense  of 
overwhelming  fate,  and  was  so  far  in  harmony  with  the  text — Ed.  ii. 

Winter  (p.  189)  :  Booth's  embodiment  of  Macbeth  underwent  various  changes, 
aU  for  the  better,  as  he  advanced  in  experience.     At  first  he  gave  great  prominence 


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5CX)  APPENDIX 

to  the  martial  aspect  of  the  part.  He  was  the  soldier  and  his  combat  at  the  dose 
was  superb  in  its  malignant  frenzy.  Later  he  gave  great  prominence  to  the  torn, 
convulsed,  tempest-haunted  state  of  the  helpless  human  being.  His  utterance  of  tlie 
contention  of  good  and  evil  in  Macbeth' s  soul  was  intensely  real  and  profoundly 
eloquent — so  that  it  revealed  a  sufferer  and  not  simply  a  miscreant — and  thus  it  came 
home  to  the  heart  with  a  sense  of  actual  and  corrosive  agony.  His  personality  in 
the  scene  of  the  king's  murder  had  the  grandeur  of  colossal  wickedness — a  grandeur 
impossible  except  to  a  great  imagination  greatly  excited — so  that  the  terrible  strain 
of  suspense  was  completely  sustained  and  the  requisite  illusion  preserved  unbroken. 
He  denoted  the  haunted  condition  of  Macbeth's  mind  with  absolute  fidelity  to  Shake- 
speare, especially  in  his  delivery  of  those  illuminative  speeches  that  are  so  richly 
freighted  with  weird  and  spectral  imagery — ^the  seeling  night,  the  rooky  wood,  the 
winds  that  fight  against  the  churches,  and  all  those  other  felicities  of  language  with 
which  the  Poet  has  so  well  revealed  the  spirit  of  his  conception.  The  mournful 
beauty  of  Booth's  voice  was  never  more  touching  than  in  his  delivery  of  the  won- 
derful words  upon  the  fitful  fever  of  life  ;  and  certainly  the  power  of  his  action  to 
manifest  the  human  soul  and  to  portray  the  ever-changing  torrents  that  sweep  over 
it,  was  never  more  significant  than  in  the  scene  with  the  imagined  ghost  of  Banquo. 
Booth  omitted  the  actual  figure  of  the  *  blood-boltered '  victim  and  gazed  only  on 
the  empty  chair ;  but  the  spectator  saw  a  spectre  in  it,  from  the  effect  of  that  appall- 
ing vacancy  upon  that  haunted  and  broken  man.  The  cave  scene  was  always 
tedious,  and  probably  there  is  more  of  Middleton  in  it  than  there  is  of  Shakespeare. 
Booth  did  not  use  the  music,  whether  by  Locke  or  Leveridge. 

The  high  view  of  the  character  was  the  one  that  Booth  finally  presented.  The 
impersonation  was  strong  and  beautiful,  alike  for  truth  of  ideal  and  freedom  and 
vigour  of  execution.  Those  observers  who  watched  the  growth  of  Booth's  artistic 
achievements  saw  that  his  Macbeth  was  much  more  robust  and  massive  in  later  than 
former  years — when  yet  the  tragedian  was  uncertain  in  his  ideal  of  the  character, 
and  therefore  vague  in  his  treatment  of  it.  .  . .  While  making  Macbeth  a  brawny 
person,  however,  he  not  the  less  wreathed  him  with  a  mystical  haunted  atmosphere, 
and,  by  giving  strong  emphasis  to  the  humanity  that  is  woven  with  the  wickedness, 
revealed  the  depths  of  terrible  sufferings  upon  which  the  character  is  built.  At  such 
points  as  '  Now  o'er  the  one  half  world '  and  '  Methought  I  heard  a  voice  cry  *'  sleep 
no  more  "  '  Booth  attained  to  a  tragic  power  of  tone,  a  thrilling  vibration  and  wild 
excitement,  not  to  be  described ;  while  his  illumination  of  the  character,  by  means 
of  the  pathos  which  he  employed  throughout  the  sequel  of  the  murder  scene,  was 
deeply  impressive.  In  the  banquet  scene  his  sustained  frenzy  and  delirious  passion 
before  the  imagined  spectre,  unseen  by  all  eyes  other  than  his  own,  imparted  terrific 
reality  to  an  invisible  horror,  and  were  in  the  highest  degree  imaginative  and  pow- 
erful. ...  An  eloquent  instant  was  the  pause  after  <  Abide  within,  I'll  call  upon  you 
straight'  [III,  i,  i68] — a  pause  in  which  repentence  and  helpless  human  agony  were 
seen,  for  one  heart-rending  moment,  in  conflict  with  the  demon  that  impels  his 
victim  to  yet  deeper  deeps  of  crime  and  misery.  Booth's  eloquent  delivery  of  the 
blank- verse  was  full,  resonant,  melodious,  sustained,  and  the  verse  was  made  to  seem 
the  language  of  nature  without  ever  being  degraded  to  the  colloquial  level  of  prose 
and  common  life.  His  listeners  heard  from  his  lips  the  perfect  music  of  the  English 
tongue. — Ed.  ii. 


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COSTUME— KNIGHT  501 

COSTUME 

[Ths  following  passages  are  from  a  theatrical  publication,  whereof  the  title-page 
is  as  follows :  The  TheatriceU  Register,  Containing  Candid  and  Impartial  Strict- 
ures on  the  Various  Performance  at  the  Theatre- Roy al^  Yorh,  interspersed  with 
Occasional  Remarks  by  Oblong  Correspondents,  Volume  the  First,  At  the  top  of 
the  page  is  the  date,  1788,  and  ander  March  lOth  of  that  year  is  given  a  cast  of 
Macbeth  as  it  was  presented.  After  a  summary  of  the  Tragedy  occur  the  following 
'Remarks  on  the  Dresses':  *  All  show  and  parade  in  dressing  for  a  play,  without 
attention  to  character,  is,  in  our  opinion,  absurdity  in  the  highest  degree,  and  that, 
in  the  eye  of  propriety,  every  Perfonner  is  impeachable  who  neglects  this  part,  this 
material  part  of  his  profession.  Perhaps  the  reader  will  condemn  us  for  tautology 
in  this  particular;  but  say,  was  it  not  truly  laughable  and  ridiculous  to  see  the  three 
Singing  Witches  in  such  becoming,  nay,  engaging  attire  ?  [Be  it  remembered  that 
these  were  D'Avenant's,  not  Shakespeare's,  witches.]  The  only  excuse  we  can 
advance  for  this  downright  absurdity  is,  that  they  were  afraid  to  use  any  diguise 
lest  it  should  detriment  their  complexions  ;  surely  such  Witches  as  they  represented 
might  well  pass  for  Women  of  beauty;  instead  of  alarming  the  audience  with  their 
appearance,  they  were  much  better  calculated  to  captivate  them. .  . . 

*  Can  there  be  anything  more  outri  than  to  see  two  fine  powdered  beaux,  with  silk 
stockings,  on  a  barren  heath  ?  Yet  this  was  the  case  with  Banquo  and  Rosse,  Mctc^ 
</m^  should  not  have  used  powder  in  his  hair ;  for  tho'  it  may  add  to  the  com- 
plexion, yet  it  diminishes  that  propriety  which  ought  to  be  the  leading  consideration 
of  every  Performer.  The  dresses  were  all  elegant,  and  the  Manager  is  entitled  to 
compliment,  as  he  spares  no  expense  in  this  article  ;  but,  when  we  except  his  garb, 
there  was  not  one  perfectly  as  it  ought  to  have  been.' — Ed.  ii. 

Knight  :  *  It  would  be  too  much,  perhaps,  to  affirm,'  says  Skene,  in  The  High- 
landers of  Scotland f  *  that  the  dress  as  at  present  worn,  in  all  its  minute  details,  is 
ancient ;  but  it  is  very  certain  that  it  is  compounded  of  three  varieties  in  the  form  of 
dress  which  were  separately  worn  by  the  Highlanders  of  the  seventeenth  century, 
and  that  each  of  these  may  be  traced  back  to  the  remotest  antiquity.'  These  are : 
First,  The  belted  plaid ;  Second,  The  short  coat  or  jacket ;  Third,  The  truis.  With 
each  of  these,  or  at  any  rate  with  the  first  two,  was  worn,  from  the  earliest  periods 
to  the  seventeenth  century,  the  long-sleeved,  saffron-stained  shirt,  of  Irish  origin, 
called  Leni-croich.  .  .  .  With  regard  to  another  hotly  disputed  point  of  Scottish  cos- 
tume, the  colours  of  the  chequered  cloth,  commonly  called  tartan  and  plaid  (neither 
of  which  names,  however,  originally  signified  its  variegated  appearance,  the  former 
being  merely  the  name  of  the  woollen  stuff  of  which  it  was  made,  and  the  latter  that 
of  the  garment  into  which  it  was  shaped),  the  most  general  belief  is,  that  the  dis- 
tinction of  the  clans  by  a  peculiar  pattern  is  of  comparatively  a  recent  date ;  but 
those  who  deny  'a  coat  of  many  colours'  to  the  ancient  Scottish  Highlander 
altogether,  must  as  unceremoniously  strip  the  Celtic  Briton  or  Belgic  Gaul  of  his 
tunic  '  flowered  with  various  colours  in  divisions,'  in  which  he  has  been  specifically 
arrayed  by  Diodorus  Siculus.  The  chequered  cloth  was  termed  in  Celtic,  breacan, 
and  the  Highlanders,  we  are  informed  by  Mr  Logan,  in  his  History  of  the  Gail,  give 
it  also  the  poetical  appellation  of  cath-dath^  signifying  <the  strife,'  or  *war  of 
colours.'  In  Major's  time  (15 1 2)  the  plaids,  or  cloaks,  of  the  higher  classes  alone 
were  variegated.    The  common  people  appear  to  have  worn  them  generally  of  a 


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504  APPENDIX 

crtpe  de  Chine  were  at  the  shoulders,  a  gold  coronet  on  her  forehead,  and  her  attbnm 
hair  fell  loosely  over  her  shoulders. — Ed.  ii. 

Miss  Celia  Logan,  in  a  letter  to  the  New  York  World,  states  that :  <  Miss  Dar- 
ling, at  Waldron's  benefit,  lately  held  at  the  Grand  Opera  House,  gave  the  sleep- 
walking scene  from  Macbeth^  appearing  in  her  bare  feet,  and,'  Miss  Logan  continues, 
<  as  for  the  correctness  of  the  idea,  there  can  be  no  dispute,  inasmuch  as  Lady  Macbeth 
rises  from  bed  in  a  sonmambulistic  sleep,  and  in  that  condition  would  hardly  be  likely 
to  put  on  her  shoes  and  stockings.  Indeed,  there  were  no  manufactured  stockings  in 
those  days.  A  strip  of  cloth  or  woollen  stuff  was  wrapped  around  the  feet  and  up  to 
the  knees  and  held  in  place  by  strings  or  straps  laced  like  our  shoestrings.  Actors 
of  a  generation  ago  always  wore  such  leggings  when  personating  Macbeth.' 

Retszch,  in  his  Outlines^  represents  Lady  Macbeth,  in  the  sleep-walking  scene, 
dad  in  a  long  flowing  gown,  her  hair  upon  her  shoulders,  and  her  feet  bare.— Ed.  ii. 


TIME  ANALYSIS 


P.  A.  Daniel  (New  Sh.  Soc.  Trans.,  1877-79,  p.  201)  :  Day  i.  Act  I,  sc  i. 
The  Witches.  They  propose  to  meet  with  Macbeth  after  the  battle,  <  upon  the  heath,' 
'  ere  the  set  of  sun.' 

Act  I,  sc.  ii.  'Alarum  within.'  We  are,  then,  supposed  to  be  within  ear-shot  of 
the  battle.  Duncan  meets  a  bleeding  Serjeant  who  brings  news  of  the  fight . . .  Ross 
and  Angus  enter.  They  come  from  Fife,  and  Ross  announces  the  victory  over  Nor- 
way and  Cawdor,  Duncan  commissions  Ross  to  pronounce  the  death  of  Cawdor  and 
to  greet  Macbeth  with  his  title. 

Where  is  this  scene  laid  ?  Modem  editors  say  at  Forres.  I  presume  because  in 
the  next  scene  Macbeth  [Banquo?],  who  is  on  his  way  to  the  king,  asks,  'How  far 
is 't  called  to  Forres?'     Forres  is,  then,  within  ear-shot  of  Fife. 

Act  I,  sc.  iii.  The  Witches  meet  with  Macbeth  and  Banquo  upon  the  <  blasted 
heath.'  Time  near  sunset,  it  is  to  be  presumed,  as  agreed  on  in  sc.  i. . . .  And  here 
we  must  end  the  first  day  of  the  action. 

Day  2.  Act  I,  sc.  iv.  Forres,  on  the  following  morning.  Macbeth  and  Banquo 
make  their  appearance  and  are  welcomed  by  the  king. 

Duncan  determines  that  he  will  hence  to  Inverness  ;  and  Macbeth  departs. 

Act  I,  sc  V.  Macbeth's  castle  at  Inverness.  Lady  Blacbeth  reads  a  letter  from 
her  husband.  This  letter  must  have  been  written  and  despatched  at  some  tune 
between  scenes  iii.  and  iv.    Macbeth  arrives. 

Act  I,  sc  vi.  The  king  is  welcomed  by  Lady  Macbeth.  He  has  had  a  'day's 
hard  journey'  (vii,  73).  The  scene  is  headed  with  the  stage-direction,  '  Hautboys 
and  torches^',  probably  caught  from  the  next  scene,  which  is  headed  with  a  like 
direction. 

Act  I,  sc.  vii.  Macbeth  hesitates  at  the  great  crime  he  and  his  wife  had  agxeed  to 
commit.  . . .  The  king  has  almost  supp'd  when  Lady  Macbeth  comes  to  her  husband. 

Day  3.  Act  II,  sc  i.  Past  midnight.  Banquo  mentions  that  he  '  dreamt  last 
night  of  the  three  weird  sisters.'  This  last  night  must  be  supposed  between  scenes 
iii.  and  iv.  of  Act  I. :  there  is  no  other  place  where  it  could  come  in. 

They  part,  and  Macbeth  proceeds  to  commit  the  murder. 


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TIME  ANALYSIS  50$ 

Act  II,  sc.  ii.  The  same.  Lady  Macbeth  is  waiting  for  the  fatal  news.  Macbeth 
re-enters  . . .;  he  has  done  the  deed.  .  .  .  Knocking  is  heard  within.     They  retire. 

Act  II,  sc.  iii.  The  Porter  admits  Macduff  and  Lenox.  It  is  yet  early  morning, 
but  they  have  command  to  call  timely  on  the  king.  Macduff  re-enters  with  the  news 
of  the  marder  . . .  and  raises  the  house.  .  .  .  All  now  retire  . . .  save  Malcolm  and 
Donalbain,  who  resolve  on  flight 

Act  II,  sc.  iv.  Later  in  the  day  Ross  and  an  old  man  discuss  the  events  of  the 
past  night.  Macbeth  has  been  chosen  king  and  gone  to  Scone  to  be  invested. 
Ross  determines  to  go  thither,  but  Macduff .  . .  will  to  Fife. 

Day  4.  Act  III,  sc.  i.~iv.  Macbeth  is  now  established  on  the  throne.  In  these 
scenes  the  murder  of  Banquo  is  plotted  and  effected,  and  his  ghost  appears  at  the 
banquet.  The  night  is  almost  at  odds  with  morning  when  these  scenes  end,  and 
Macbeth  determines  that  he  will  to-morrow ...  to  the  weird  sisters. 

Act  III,  sc.  V.  During  the  same  day  Hecate  meets  the  witches  and  apprises  them 
of  Macbeth' s  purposed  visit. 

Between  Acts  II.  and  III.  the  long  and  dismal  period  of  Macbeth' s  reign  de- 
scribed or  referred  to  in  Act  III,  sc.  vi.  Act  IV,  sc.  ii.  and  iii,  and  elsewhere  in  the 
play,  must  have  elapsed.  Macbeth  himself  refers  to  it  where,  in  Act  III,  sc.  iv, 
speaking  of  his  thanes,  he  says :  'There's  not  a  one  of  them  but  in  his  house  I 
keep  a  servant  fee'd.'  And  again :  <  I  am  in  blood  Stepp*d  in  so  iar,'  etc.  [Ill, 
iv,  167-169].  Yet  almost  in  the  same  breath  he  says :  *  My  strange  and  self-abuse 
Is  the  initiate  fear,  that  wants  hard  use :  We  art  yet  hut  young  indeed^  And  the 
first  words  with  which  Banquo  opens  this  Act — 'Thou  hast  it  now,'  etc. — would 
lead  us  to  suppose  that  a  few  days  at  the  utmost  can  have  passed  since  the  coro- 
nation at  Scone ;  in  the  same  scene,  however,  we  learn  that  Malcolm  and  Donal- 
bain are  bestowed  in  England  and  in  Ireland.  Some  little  time  must  have  elapsed 
before  this  news  could  have  reached  Macbeth.  Professor  Wilson  suggests  a  week  or 
two  for  this  interval.  Mr  Paton  would  allow  three  weeks.  Note  in  sc.  iv,  quoted 
from  above,  Macbeth' s  reference  to  Macduff: 

^Mac,  How  say'st  thou  that  Macduff  denies  his  person 
At  our  great  bidding  ? 

Lady  M.  Did  you  send  to  him,  sir  ? 

M€u,  I  hear  it  by  the  way :  But  I  will  send.* 

It  is  clear,  then,  that  up  to  this  time  Macbeth  has  not  sent  to  Macduff. 

(Act  III,  sc.  vi.  It  is  impossible  to  fix  the  time  of  this  scene.  In  it  <  Lenox 
and  another  Lord '  discuss  the  position  of  af&irs.  The  murder  of  Banquo  and  the 
flight  of  Fleance  are  known  to  Lenox,  and  he  knows  that  Macduff  lives  in  disgrace 
because  he  was  not  at  the  feast,  but  that  is  the  extent  of  his  knowledge.  The  other 
Lord  informs  him  that  Macbeth  did  send  to  Macduff,  and  that  Macduff  has  fled  to 
England  to  join  Malcolm.  And  that  thereupon  Macbeth  <  prepares  for  some  attempt 
of  war.  *  All  this  supposes  the  lapse,  at  the  very  least,  of  a  day  or  two  since  the 
night  of  Macbeth' s  banquet ;  but  in  the  next  scene  to  this  we  find  we  have  only 
arrived  at  the  early  morning  following  the  banquet,  up  to  which  time  the  murder  of 
Banquo  could  •not  have  been  known ;  nor  had  Macbeth  sent  to  Macduff,  nor  was 
the  flight  of  the  latter  known.  The  scene,  in  fact,  is  an  impossibility  in  any  scheme 
of  time,  and  I  am  compelled  therefore  to  place  it  in  parentheses. ) 

Day  5«  Act  IV,  sc.  i.  The  witches'  cave  on  the  morning  following  the  ban- 
quet   It  seems  evident  that  Macbeth  cannot  yet  have  sent  to  Macduff;  for  news  is 


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506  APPENDIX 

now  brought  him  that  Macduff  has  anticipated  his  puipose  and  has  fled  to  England. 
Lenox  tells  him  this  news,  and  Lenox  himself  has  apparently  but  just  received  it 
from  the  *  two  or  three '  horsemen  who  bring  it ;  yet  Lenox  was  informed  of  this 
and  more  in  the  preceding  scene  by  the  other  Lord ;  he  was  even  inf(»med  of  Mac- 
duff's flight  which  he,  Macbeth,  now  in  this  scene,  hears  of  for  the  first  time.  On 
hearing  of  Macduff's  flight,  the  tyrant  resolves  immediately  to  surprise  his  castle. 

Day  6.  Act  IV,  sc.  ii.  Lady  Macduff  and  her  children  are  savagely  murdered. 
We  may  possibly  suppose  for  this  scene  a  separate  day,  as  I  have  marked  it. .  . .  The 
general  breathless  haste  of  the  play  is,  I  think,  against  any  such  interval  between 
Macbeth' s  purpose  and  its  execution  as  that  assigned  by  Paton  or  Professor  Wilson ; 
the  utmost  I  can  allow  is,  that  it  takes  place  on  the  day  following  sc.  i.  of  Act  IV. 

An  intervaly  for  Ross  to  carry  the  news  of  Lady  Macduff's  murder  to  her  hus- 
band in  England. 

Day  7.  Act  IV,  sc  iii.  We  find  Malcolm  and  Macduff.  The  latter  has  not  long 
arrived.  Ross  joins  them  with  the  dreadful  news.  At  his  departure  from  Scodand 
*  there  ran  a  rumour  Of  many  worthy  fellows  that  were  out'  In  this  scene  in  par- 
ticular is  to  be  observed  the  suggestion  of  a  long  period  of  desolation  for  Scotland 
from  the  coronation  of  Macbeth  to  the  flight  of  Macduff;  a  period,  however,  whidi 
the  action  of  the  play  rigorously  compresses  into  two  or  three  weeks  at  the  utmost 

Act  V,  sc.  i.  At  Dunsinane  Lady  Macbeth  walks  in  her  sleep.  '  Since  his  maj- 
esty went  into  the  field'  this  has  been  customary  with  her;  but  the  Doctor  has 
watched  two  nights,  and  till  now  has  seen  nothing.  The  time  of  tliis  scene  may  be 
supposed  the  night  of  Day  7.  The  mention  of  Macbeth's  being  in  the  field  must 
refer  to  his  expedition  against  the  rebels. . .  .  Ross,  in  the  preceding  scene,  says  that 
he  had  seen  '  the  tyrant's  power  a-foot' 

An  interval,     Malcolm  returns  to  Scodand  with  the  English  forces. 

Day  8.  Act  V,  sc.  ii.  The  Scotch  Thanes  who  have  revolted  from  Macbeth, 
march  to  Biroam  to  join  with  the  English  power  led  by  Malcolm,  which  we  learn  is 
now  near  at  hand.  We  also  learn  that  Macbeth  is  back  in  Dunsinane,  which  he 
<  strongly  fortifies ' ;  it  is  clear,  therefore,  that  a  considerable  period  must  be  supposed 
between  scenes  i.  and  ii.  of  Act  V. 

Act  V,  iii.  In  Dunsinane  Macbeth  prepares  for  his  opponents. 

We  may  fairly  allow  one  day  for  these  two  scenes ;  although  no  special  note  of 
time  is  to  be  observed  from  here  to  the  end  of  the  play  :  they  may  be  supposed  to 
end  the  last '  interval '  and  serve  as  an  introduction  to 

Day  9  and  last.  Sc.  iv.  The  Scotch  and  English  forces  join,  and  march  to 
Dunsinane  screened  with  the  branches  cut  in  Bimam  wood. 

Sc.  V.  In  Dunsinane.  The  death  of  the  Queen  is  announced.  Bimam  wood  is 
seen  to  move  and  Macbeth  sallies  out  to  meet  his  foes. 

Sc.  vi.  The  combined  forces  under  Malcolm  airive  before  the  casde  and  throw 
down  their  leafy  screens. 

Sc.  vii.  and  viii.  (one  scene  only  in  Folio).  The  batde  in  which  Macbeth  is 
slain,  and  Malcolm  restored  to  his  father's  throne. 

Time  of  the  Play,  nine  days  represented  on  the  stage,  and  intervals. 

Day  I.  Act  I,  sc.  i.  to  iii. 
"    2.  Act  I,  sc  iv.  to  vii. 
**    3.  Act  II,  sc.  i.  to  iv. 

An  iniitvalf  say  a  couple  of  weeks. 


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D'AVENANT'S  VERSION  507 

Day  4.  Act  III,  sc.  i.  to  v. 

[Act  III,  sc  vi,  an  impossible  time.] 
««    5.  Act.  IV,  sc.  i. 

[No  interral  is  here  required.] 
"    6.  Act  IV,  sc.  ii. 

An  intervaL     Ross's  journey  to  England. 
««    7.  Act  IV,  sc.  iii.  Act  V,  sc.  i. 

An  interval,    Malcolm's  return  to  Scotland. 
"    8.  Act  V,  sc.  ii.  and  iii. 
"    9.  Act  V,  sc.  iv.  to  viii. 

Cowden-Clarks  :  Macbeth' s  mention  of  himself  as  being  now  in  the  autumn 
of  life,  and  his  anticipation  of  the  period  when  he  shall  be  old,  is  one  of  those 
touches  of  long  time  systematically  thrown  in  at  intervals,  to  convey  the  effect  of  a 
sufficiently  elapsed  period  for  the  reign  of  the  usurper  since  his  murder  of  the  pre- 
ceding king,  Duncan.  It  is  interesting  to  trace  in  how  artistic  (according  to  his  own 
system  of  art)  a  mode  Shakespeare  has  achieved  this  indication  of  dramatic  time  from 
the  epoch  when  it  is  stated  that  Macbeth  is  <gone  to  Scone  to  be  invested'  with 
royalty.  There  is  mention  of  *  our  bloody  cousins  are  bestowed  in  England  and  in 
Ireland ' ;  the  dread  of  '  Banquo's  issue '  succeeding  to  the  throne ;  his  assassination ; 
Macduff's  flight  to  the  English  court,  that  he  may  obtain  succour  to  rescue  his 
*  suffering  country ' ;  the  scene  in  England,  with  the  eloquent  description  of  Scot- 
land's miseries,  as  of  a  long-standing  course  of  wrong  and  suffering ;  the  words, 
<  She  has  light  by  her  continually  *  and  <  It  is  an  accustomed  action  with  her  to  seem 
thus  washing  her  hands,'  thrown  in  during  the  sleep-walking  scene,  so  as  to  pro- 
duce the  impression  of  a  protracted  period  in  Lady  Macbeth' s  condition  of  nightly 
disquiet;  and  now  there  is  introduced  this  allusion  to  Macbeth's  having  advanced  in 
years. 


D'AVENANT'S  VERSION 

In  Notes  ^  Queries^  X889,  F.  A.  Marshall  started  a  discussion  on  the  Flay- 
er's Quartos  of  D'Avenant's  Macbeth — 1673  and  1674.  On  the  23  March,  1889, 
Br.  Nicholson  called  attention  to  the  fact  that  <to  Furnxss  is  due  the  discov- 
ery that,  with  the  exception  of  the  witch  songs,  '<  the  edition  of  1673  is  a  reprint 
of  the  First  Folio."  He  places  it  [see  Pre/cue  to  this  volume]  in  a  category  wholly 
distinct  from  those  of  1674,  etc'  Nicholson  thus  continues:  'The  vital  difference 
between  the  1673  and  1674  Macbeth  is  not  yet  generally  understood.  They  are  not 
editions  of  one  play — 1673  is  Shakespeare's  Macbeth^  1674  is  a  roly-polied  Macbeth, 
As  to  this  1673  Macbeth  the  conclusions  that  I  came  to  were,  I  think,  these :  (a)  That 
the  new  songs  were  in  all  probability,  though  not  certainly,  by  D' Avenant.  (b)  That 
the  text  was  copied  from  F,;  such  blunders  as  « gallowgrosses "  and  "Thunders" 
were  repeated  throughout,  though  F,  and  F,  had  in  the  meanwhile  been  issued,  (c)  In 
especial  that  the  gross  displacements  in  the  metrical  lines  were  slavishly  followed,  a 
fact  I  note  separately  because  it  of  itself  proves  that  neither  D' Avenant  nor  any  even 
near  him  in  ability  or  poetic  knowledge  or  sense  could  have  had  a  hand  in  it.  (d) 
That  though  F,  was  thus  slavishly  followed  in  its  blunders  there  was  a  goodly 
number  of  verbal  alterations,  and  some  phrasal  ones  of  two  or  three  words  each — 
variations  due  no  doubt  sometimes  to  the  printer,  but  sometimes  to  a  would-be 


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5o8  APPENDIX 

▼arier  of  mediocre  power.  So  Deir  as  I  remember  the  only  noteworthy  change  was 
the  addition  of  '<  now  "  to  the  previously  unmetiical  line,  *<  The  cur  |  tain'd  sleep : 
[now]  witch  |  craft  ce  |  lebrates"  (II,  51),  which  is — meojudicio — the  best  reading 
hitherto  proposed,  and  mine,  of  "  while,''  I  have  in  consequence  withdrawn.  Nor  are 
these  trifling  variations  such  as  would  justify  the  title-page  words,  <*  With  all  the 
Alterations,  Amendments,  Additions,"  nor  does  this  1673  edition  claim  this  in  its 
title-page.  It  runs  thus :  <'  Macbeth :  |  A  |  Tragedy.  |  Acted  |  At  the  |  DUKES- 
Theatrs  I  Device  |  London,  |  Printed  for  fVtltiam  Cademan  at  the  Popn-  \  Head 
in  the  New  Exchange^  in  the  |  Strand,  1673."  The  editor  of  D'Avenant's  col- 
lected works,  1874,  gave,  by  some  mistake,  the  title-page  not  of  the  1673,  but  of  the 
1695  edition.* — Ed.  ii. 

In  the  following  reprint  of  D'Avenant's  Version  all  lines  are  omitted  wherein 
the  F,  is  followed. 

In  the  First  Scene  of  the  First  Act,  D'Avenant  retains,  of  the  original  text,  the 
first  nine  lines  substantially,  and  then  proceeds : 

To  us  fair  weather's  foul,  and  foul  is  fair  / 

Come  hover  through  the  foggy,  filthy  Air [Ex.  flying. 

Enter  King,  Malcolm,  Donalbine  and  Lenox,  with  Attendants 
meeting  Seyton  wounded. 

King,  What  aged  num  is  that  /  if  we  may  guess 
His  message  by  his  looks.  He  can  relate  the 
Issue  of  the  Battle  I 

Male.  This  is  the  valiant  Seytm, 
Eleven  lines,  9-19,  as  in  F,. 

Whom  Fortune  with  her  smiles  oblig'd  a- while ; 
But  brave  Macbeth  (who  well  deserves  that  name) 
Did  with  his  frowns  put  all  her  smiles  to  flight : 
And  Cut  his  passage  to  the  Rebels  person  .* 
Then  having  Conquer*  d  him  with  single  force. 
He  fixt  his  Head  upon  our  Battlements. 

King,  O  valiant  Cousin  !     Worthy  Gentleman  I 

Seyton,  But  then  this  Day-break  of  our  Victory 
Serv'd  but  to  light  us  into  other  Dangers 
That  spring  from  whence  our  hopes  did  seem  to  rise  ; 
Produc'd  our  hazard :  for  no  sooner  had 
Eight  lines,  36-43,  as  in  F,. 

As  flames  are  heightened  by  access  of  fuel. 
So  did  their  valours  gather  strength,  l^y  having 
Fresh  Foes  on  whom  to  exerdse  their  Swords : 
Whose  thunder  still  did  drown  the  dying  groans 
Of  those  they  slew,  which  else  had  been  so  great, 
Th'  had  frighted  all  the  rest  into  Retreat 
My  spirits  faint :  I  would  relate  the  wounds 
Which  their  Swords  made ;  but  my  own  silence  me. 

King,  So  well  thy  wounds  become  thee  as  thy  words : 
Th'  are  full  of  Honour  both  :  Go  get  him  Surgeons-—  \Ex.  Cap.  andAtt. 
Enter  Macduff. 


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D'AVENANT'S  VERSION  509 

But,  who  comes  there  ? 
Mak.  If  oble  Macduf  I 

Ten  lines,  56-65,  as  in  F,. 

Till  brave  Macbeth  oppos'd  his  bloody  rage. 

And  checked  his  haughty  spirits,  after  which 

His  Army  fled :  Thus  shallow  streams  may  flow 

Forward  with  violence  a-while  ;  but  when 

They  are  oppos'd,  as  fast  run  back  agen. 
Twelve  lines,  70-81,  as  in  F,.     No  change  of  scene  marked. 

Thunder  and  Lightening. 

Enter  three  Witches  flying. 
Then  follow  eighty-eight  lines,  I,  iii,  3-90,  as  in  F„  except  the  following  changes : 

And  then  from  every  port  they  blow 

From  all  the  points  that  Sea-men  know. — 11.  18,  19. 
Also 

My  charms  shall  his  repose  forbid. — ^1.  24. 
Also  before  1.  42. 

Macb.  Command  they  make  a  halt  upon  the  Heath. 
****** 
D' Avenant  then  continues : 

Or  have  we  tasted  some  infectious  Herb 

That  captivates  our  Reason  ? 
Three  lines,  93-95,  as  in  F,, 

Banq,  Just  to  that  very  tune  !  who's  here  ? 
Enter  Macduff, 
Seven  lines,  98-104,  as  in  F,. 

Not  starting  at  the  Images  of  Death 

Made  by  your  self :  each  Messenger  which  came 

Being  loaden  with  the  praises  of  your  Valour ; 

Seem'd  proud  to  speak  your  Glories  to  the  King ; 

Who,  for  an  earnest  of  a  greater  Honour 

Bad  me,  from  him,  to  call  you  Thane  of  Cawdor  \ 

In  which  Addition,  Hail,  most  Noble  Thane  1 
Seventeen  lines,  1 18-134,  as  in  F,. 

Banq,  If  all  be  true,  • 

You  have  a  Title  to  a  Crown,  as  well 

As  to  the  Thane  of  Cawdor,     It  seems  strange ; 

But  many  times  to  win  us  to  our  harm. 

The  Instruments  of  darkness  tell  us  truths. 

And  tempt  us  with  low  trifles,  that  they  may 

Betray  us  in  the  things  of  high  concern. 
Macb,  Th'  have  told  me  truth  as  to  the  name  of  Cawdor^       \aside. 

That  may  be  prologue  to  the  name  of  King. 

Less  Titles  shouM  the  greater  still  fore-run, 

The  morning  Star  doth  usher  in  the  Sun. 


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5IO  APPENDIX 

This  strange  prediction  in  as  strange  a  manner 
Delivered :  neither  can  be  good  nor  ill, 
If  ill ;  'twou'd  give  no  earnest  of  success, 
Beginning  in  a  truth :  I'm  Thane  of  Cawdor ; 
If  good  ?  why  am  I  then  perplext  with  doubt  ? 
My  future  bliss  causes  my  present  fears, 
Fortune,  methinks,  which  rains  down  Honour  on  me, 
Seems  to  rain  bloud  too :  Duncan  does  appear 
Qowded  by  my  increasing  Glories :  but 
These  are  but  dreams. 
Four  lines,  159-162,  as  in  F,. 

Banq,  His  Honours  are  surprizes,  and  resemble 
New  Garments,  which  but  seldom  fit  men  well, 
Unless  by  help  of  use. 

Meub,  Come,  what  come  may ; 
Fktience  and  time  run  through  the  roughest  day. 

Banq,  Worthy  Macbeth  \  we  wait  upon  your  leisure. 

Mcub,  I  was  reflecting  upon  past  transactions ; 
Worthy  Macduff;  your  pains  are registred 
Where  every  day  I  turn  the  leaf  to  read  them. 
Let's  hasten  to  the  King :  we'll  think  upon 
These  accidents  at  more  convenient  time. 
When  w'have  maturely  weigh'd  them,  we'll  impart 
Our  mutual  judgments  to  each  others  breasts. 

Banq,  Let  it  be  so. 

Macb,  Till  then,  enough.     Come  Friends Exeunt, 

No  change  of  scene. 

Enter  King^  Lenox,  Malcolme,  Donalbine,  Attendants 

King,  Is  execution  done  on  Cawdor  yet? 
Or  are  they  not  retum'd,  who  were  imploy'd 
In  doing  it  ? 
Twenty-eight  lines,  I,  iv,  6-33,  as  in  F,. 

Children  and  Servants ;  and  when  we  expose 
Our  dearest  lives  to  save  your  Interest, 
We  do  but  what  we  ought 
Eighteen  lines,  36-53,  as  in  F,. 

On  all  deservers.     Now  we'll  hasten  hence 
To  Envemeis  :  we'll  be  your  guest,  Macbeth^ 
And  there  contract  a  greater  debt  than  that 
Which  I  already  owe  you. 

Afacb,  That  Honour,  Sir, 
Out-speaks  the  best  expression  of  my  thanks : 
I'll  be  my  self  the  Harbinger,  and  bless 
My  wife  with  the  glad  news  of  3rour  approach. 
I  humbly  take  my  leave.  C  Macbeth  going  out,  stopSy  and  speaks 

King,  My  worthy  Cawdor! .  .     t  whilst  the  King  talks  with  Banq,  etc 
Four  lines,  60-63,  •*  in  F,. 


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D'AVENANT'S  VERSION  t^\\ 

The  strange  Idea  of  a  bloudy  act 
Does  into  doubt  all  my  resolves  distract 
My  eye  shall  at  my  band  conniye,  the  Sun 

Himself  should  wink  when  such  a  deed  is  done.  .  . .  \Exit. 

King.  True,  Noble  Banquo,  he  is  full  of  worth  ; 

Four  lines,  67-70,  as  in  F,.     No  change  of  scene  marked. 

Enter  Lady  Macbeth,  and  Lady  Macduff.     Lady  Macbeth 
having  a  Letter  in  her  hand. 

La.  Macb.  Madam,  I  have  ob.serv'd  since  you  came  hither. 
You  have  been  still  disconsolate.     Pray  tell  me. 
Are  you  in  perfect  health  ? 

La,  Macd.  Alas  I  how  can  I  ? 
My  Lord,  when  Honour  call'd  him  to  the  War, 
Took  with  him  half  of  my  divided  soul. 

Which  lodging  in  his  bosom,  lik'd  so  well 
The  place,  that  'tis  not  yei  return' d. 

La.  Macb.  Methinks 
That  should  not  disorder  you :  for,  no  doubt 
The  brave  Macduff  left  half  his  soul  behind  him. 
To  make  up  the  defect  of  yours. 

La.  Macd.  Alas  I 
The  part  transplanted  from  his  breast  to  mine, 
(As  'twere  by  sympathy)  still  bore  a  share 
In  all  the  hazards  which  the  other  half 
Incurred,  and  filPd  my  bosom  up  with  fears. 

Za.  Macb.  Those  fears,  methinks,  should  cease  now  he  is  safe. 

La.  Macd.  Ah,  Madam,  dangers  which  have  long  prevailed 
Upon  the  fancy ;  even  when  they  are  dead 
Live  in  the  memory  a- while. 

La.  Macb.  Although  his  safety  has  not  power  enough  to  put 
Your  doubts  to  flight,  yet  the  bright  glories  which 
He  gain'd  in  Battel  might  dispel  those  Clowds. 

La.  Macd.  The  world  mistakes  the  glories  gained  in  war. 
Thinking  their  Lustre  true :  alas,  they  are 
But  Comets,  Vapours  !  by  some  men  exhaPd 
From  others  bloud,  and  kindl'd  in  the  Region 
Of  popular  applause,  in  which  they  live 
A-while ;  then  vanish :  and  the  very  breath 
Which  first  inflam'd  them,  blows  them  out  agen. 

La.  Macb.  I  willingly  would  read  this  Letter ;  but 
Her  presence  hinders  me  ;  I  must  divert  her. 
If  you  are  ill,  repose  may  do  you  good ; 
Y'had  best  retire  ;  and  try  if  you  can  sleep. 

Z.  Macd.  My  doubtful  thoughts  too  long  have  kept  me  waking, 
Madam/  I'll  take  your  Counsel. .  .  .  [Ex.  La.  Macd, 

Z.  Macb.  Now  I  have  leisure,  peruse  this  Letter. 
His  last  brought  some  imperfect  news  of  things 
Which  in  the  shape  of  women  greeted  him 


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512  APPENDIX 

In  a  stnmge  manner.     This  perhaps  may  give 

More  full  intelligence.  \She  reads. 

Twenty  lines,  I,  ▼,  3-22,  as  in  F,. 

Oh  how  irregular  are  thy  desires  ? 

Thou  willingly,  Great  Glamis,  would* st  enjoy 

The  end  without  the  means  /    Oh  haste  thee  hither, 
Two  lines,  27,  28,  as  in  F,. 

Thy  too  effeminate  desires  of  that 

Which  supernatural  assistance  seems 

To  Crown  thee  with.     What  may  be  your  news  ? 
Enter  Servant. 
Ten  lines,  33-42,  as  in  F,. 

There  wou*d  be  musick  in  a  Raven's  voice, 

Which  should  but  croke  the  Entrance  of  the  King 

Under  my  Battlements.     Come  all  you  spirits 
Five  lines,  45-49,  as  in  F,. 

That  no  relapses  into  mercy  may 

Shake  my  design,  nor  make  it  fall  before 

'Tis  ripened  to  effect :  you  murthering  spirits, 

(Where  ere  in  sightless  substances  you  wait 

On  Natures  mischief )  come,  and  fill  my  breasts 

With  gall  instead  of  milk  :  make  haste  dark  night, 

And  hide  me  in  a  smoak  as  black  as  Hell 
Two  lines,  57,  58,  as  in  F,. 

To  cry,  hold/  hold/ 

Enter  Macbeth. 

Great  Glamis!  worthy  Cawdor! 
Eighteen  lines,  61-78,  as  in  F,. 

Give  soveraign  Command :  we  will  with-draw. 

And  talk  on't  further :  Let  your  looks  be  clear. 

Your  change  of  Countenance  does  betoken  fear.  [^Exeunt. 

No  change  of  scene  marked. 

Enter  King^  Malcolme,  Donalbine,  Banquo,  Lenox, 
Macduff,  Attendants. 
Eight  lines.  I,  vi,  5-12,  as  in  F,. 

Buttrice,  nor  place  of  vantage ;  but  this  Bird 

Has  made  his  pendant  bed  and  cradle  where 

He  breeds  and  haunts.     I  have  observed  the  Air, 

'Tis  delicate. 

Enter  Lady  Macbeth. 
King   See,  see  our  honoured  Hostess, 

By  loving  us,  some  persons  cause  our  trouble ; 

Which  still  we  thank  as  love  :  herein  I  teach 

You  how  you  should  bid  us  welcome  for  jrour  pains, 

And  thank  you  for  your  trouble. 
La,  Afacb,  All  our  services 


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D'AVENANT'S  VERSION  513 

Id  every  point  twice  done,  would  prove  but  poor 

And  single  gratitude,  if  weighed  with  these 

Obliging  honours  which 

Your  Majesty  confers  upon  our  house ; 

For  dignities  of  old  and  later  date 

(Being  too  poor  to  pay)  we  must  be  still 

Your  humble  debtors. 
Macd,  Madam,  we  are  all  joyntly,  to  night,  your  trouble ; 

But  I  am  your  trespasser  upon  another  score 

My  wife,  I  understand,  has  in  my  absence 

Retired  to  you. 
Z.  Macb.  I  must  thank  her  :  for  whilst  she  came  to  me 

Seeking  a  Cure  for  her  own  solitude. 

She  brought  a  remedy  to  mine :  her  fears 

For  you,  have  somewhat  indisposed  her,  Sir, 

She's  now  with-drawn,  to  try  if  she  can  sleep  / 

When  she  shall  wake,  I  doubt  not  but  your  presence 

Will  perfectly  restore  her  health. 
Thirteen  lines,  2S-40,  as  in  F,.     No  change  of  scene  marked. 
Enter  Macbeth. 
Macb,  If  it  were  well  when  done ;  then  it  were  well 

It  were  done  quickly ;  if  his  Death  might  be 

Without  the  Death  of  nature  in  my  self, 

And  killing  my  own  rest ;  it  wou'd  suffice ; 

But  deeds  of  this  complexion  still  return 

To  plague  the  doer,  and  destroy  his  peace ; 

Yet  let  me  think ;  he's  here  in  double  trust 
Five  lines,  I,  vii,  17-ai,  as  in  F,. 

So  clear  in  his  great  Office ;  that  his  Vertnes, 

Like  Angels,  plead  against  so  black  a  deed ; 

Vaulting  Ambition  !  thou  o're-Ieap'st  thy  self 

To  fall  upon  another :  now,  what  news  ? 
Enter  Z.  Macbeth. 
Seventeen  lines,  34-50,  as  in  F,. 

You  dare  not  venture  on  the  thing  you  wish : 

But  still  wou'd  be  in  tame  expectance  of  it 
Macb,  I  prithee  peace  :  I  dare  do  all  that  may 

Become  a  man ;  he  who  dares  more,  is  none. 
Twenty-four  lines,  55-78,  as  in  F,. 

What  cannot  you  and  I  perform  upon 

His  spungy  Officers?  we'll  make  them  bear 

The  guilt  of  our  black  Deed. 
Two  lines,  84,  85,  as  in  F,. 

Nothing  but  males :  but  yet  when  we  have  mark'd 

Those  of  his  Chamber  (whilst  they  are  a-sleep) 

With  DuncatCs  blond,  and  us'd  their  very  daggers ; 

I  fear  it  will  not  be,  with  ease,  believ'd 

33 


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514  APPENDIX 

That  they  have  don't 
Four  lines,  93-96,  as  in  F,. 

ACT,   II.     SCENE,  L 
Enter  Banqno  and  Fleame. 
Four  lines,  4-7,  as  in  F,. 

Flea,  I  take't 'tis  late.  Sir,  [Ex.  FUam 

Bang,  An  heavy  summons  lies  like  lead  upon  me ; 
Nature  wou'd  have  me  sleep,  and  yet  I  fain  wou'd  wake: 
Merciful  powers  restrain  me  in  these  cursed  thoughts 
That  thus  disturb  my  rest. 

Enter  Macbeth  and  Servant. 
Who's  there  ?    Macbeth,  a  friend. 
Two  lines,  19,  20,  as  in  F,. 

He  to  your  servants  has  been  bountiful. 
And  with  this  Diamond  he  greets  your  wife 
By  the  obliging  name  of  most  kind  Hostess. 

Afacb.  The  King  taking  us  anprepar'd,  restrain' d  our  power 
Of  serving  him ;  which  else  should  have  wrought  more  free. 
Banq.     All's  well. 
Four  lines,  2S-31,  as  in  F,. 

We'll  spend  it  in  some  wood  upon  that  business. 
Bang,  At  your  kindest  leisure. 
Macb,  li  when  the  Prophesie  begins  to  look  like  truth 
Fourteen  lines,  37-50,  as  in  F,. 

Proceeding  from  the  brain,  opprest  with  heat. 
My  eyes  are  made  the  fools  of  th' other  senses; 
Or  else  worth  all  the  rest :  I  see  thee  still. 
And  on  thy  blade  are  stains  of  reeking  bloud. 
It  is  the  bloudy  business  that  thus 
Informs  my  eye-sight ;  now,  to  half  the  world 
Nature  seems  dead,  and  wicked  dreams  infect 
The  health  of  sleep ;  now  witchcraft  celebrates 
Pale  Heccate's  Offerings  ;  now  murder  is 
Alarm'd  by  his  nights  Centinel :  the  wolf. 
Whose  howling  seems  the  watch- word  to  the  dead.* 
But  whilst  I  talk,  he  lives :  hark,  I  am  summon' d; 
O  Duncan^  hear  it  not,  for  'tis  a  bell 

That  rings  my  Coronation,  and  thy  Knell.  [Exit, 

No  change  of  scene  marked. 

Enter  Lady, 
Two  lines,  II,  ii,  3,  4,  as  in  F,. 

Heark ;  oh,  it  was  the  Owl  that  shriek'd ; 

The  fatal  Bell-man  that  oft  bids  good  night 

To  dying  men,  he  is  about  it ;  the  doors  are  open. 

And  whilst  the  surfeited  Grooms  neglect  their  chaiges  for  sleep. 

Nature  and  death  are  now  contending  in  them. 


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D'AVENANT'S  VERSION  515 

Enter  Macbeth. 

Macb.  Who's  there? 

La.  Macb,  Alas,  I  am  afraid  they  are  awak'd. 
And  'tis  not  done ;  the  attempt  without  the  deed 
Would  mine  us.     I  laid  the  daggers  ready, 
Seven  lines,  16-21,  as  in  F,. 

Macb.  When? 

La.  Macb.  Now. 

Macb.  Who  lies  i*th'  Anti-chamber? 

La.  Macb.  Donalbain. 

Macb.  This  is  a  dismal  sight. 

La.  Macb.  A  foolish  thought  to  say  a  dismal  sight 

Macb.  There  is  one  did  laugh  as  he  securely  slept. 
And  one  cry'd  Murder,  that  they  wak'd  each  other. 

Thirty-three  lines,  33-65,  as  in  F, ;  except  1.  39 : 
Silenc'd  with  fear  I  could  not  say  Amen. 
Also  11.  44,  45  : 
These  deeds  shou'd  be  forgot  as  soon  as  done 
Lest  they  distract  the  doer. 
Also  1.  4S : 

Sleep  that  locks  up  the  senses  from  their  care ; 
Also  1.65: 

What  then  with  looking  on  it  shall  I  do  ? 
Line  66  is  omitted. 

That  fears  a  painted  Devil :  with  his  bloud 
I'll  stain  the  faces  of  the  Grooms ;  by  that 

It  will  appear  their  guilt.  [Ex.  La.  Macbeth 

[Knock  within. 
Macb.  What  knocking's  that? 
How  is't  with  me,  when  every  noise  a£Brights  me? 
What  hands  are  here/  can  the  Sea  afford 
Water  enough  to  wash  away  the  stains  / 
No,  they  would  sooner  add  a  tincture  to 
The  Sea,  and  turn  the  green  into  a  red. 
Enter  Lady  Macbeth. 
La.  Macb.  My  hands  are  of  your  colour ;  but  I  scorn 
To  wear  an  heart  so  white.    Heark,  [Knock. 

I  hear  a  knocking  at  the  Gate :  to  your  Chamber ; 
Five  lines,  83-87,  as  in  F,. 

Macb.  Disguis'd  in  blood,  I  scarce  can  find  my  way. 
Wake  Duncan  with  this  knocking,  wou'd  thou  could' st.  [Exit. 

Enter  Lenox  and  Macbeth'i  Servant. 
Lenox.  You  sleep  soundly,  that  so  much  knocking 
Could  not  wake  you. 
Serv.  Labour  by  day  causes  rest  by  night 
Enter  yiBxAjiS. 


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5l6  APPENDIX 

Len,  Set  iht'^ohXt  Macduff, 
Good  morrow,  my  Lord,  have  you  observ*d 
How  great  a  mist  does  now  possess  the  air ; 
It  makes  me  doubt  whether*  t  be  day  or  night. 

Macd.  Rising  this  morning  early,  I  went  to  look  out  of  my 
Window,  and  I  cou'd  scarce  see  farther  than  my  breath : 
The  darkness  of  the  night  brought  but  few  objects 
To  our  eyes,  but  too  many  to  our  ears. 
Strange  claps  and  creekings  of  the  doors  were  heard ; 
The  Screech' Owl  with  his  screams,  seem'd  to  foretell 
Some  deed  more  black  than  night. 

Enter  Macbeth. 
Six  lines,  44-49,  as  in  F,. 

The  labour  we  delight  in,  gives ; 
That  door  will  bring  you  to  him. 
Seven  lines,  56-62,  as  in  F,. 

Strange  screams  of  death,  which  seem'd  to  prophesie 
More  strange  events,  filPd  divers. 
Some  say  the  Earth  shook. 

Afacb,  'Twas  a  rough  night. 

Lei!t,  My  young  remembrance  cannot  recollect  its  fellow. 
Enter  Macduff 

Macd,  Oh  honor/  horror.^  horror! 
Which  no  heart  can  conceive,  nor  tongue  can  utter. 

^^^'  i  What's  the  matter? 
Len,     I 

Afacd.  Horror  has  done  its  worst : 

Most  sacrilegious  murder  has  broke  open 

Eleven  lines,  80-90,  as  in  F, ;  except  lines  85, 86 : 

. . .  and  behold  a  sight 

Enough  to  turn  spectators  into  stone. 

And  look  on  Death  it  self;  up,  up,  an<^8ee. 

As  from  your  Graves,  rise  up,  and  walk  like  spirits 

To  countenance  this  horror ;  ring  the  bell.  [Beli  rings. 

Enter  Lady  Macbeth. 

La.  Macb.  What's  the  business,  that  at  this  dead  of  night 

You  alar*m  us  from  our  rest  ? 

Macd.  O,  Madam/ 

Twenty-six  lines,  xoi-126,  as  in  F, ;  except  1. 114 : 

There's  nothing  in  it  worth  a  good  man's  care 

Also  11.  116, 117  omitted. 

Upon  their  pillows.    Why  was  the  life  of  one. 

So  much  above  the  best  of  men,  entrusted 

To  the  hands  of  two,  so  much  below 

The  worst  of  beasts. 

Macb,  Then  I  repent  me  I  so  rashly  kill'd  'em. 

Afacd,  Why  did  3rou  so  ? 


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D'AVENANT'S  VERSION  517 

Macb.  Who  can  be  prudent  and  amaz'd  together 
Two  Imes,  133, 134,  as  in  F,. 

Out-ran  my  pausing  reason :  I  saw  Duncan, 
Whose  gaping  wounds  look'd  like  a  breach  in  nature* 
Where  mine  enter'd  there.     I  saw  the  murtherers 
Steep'd  in  the  colours  of  their  trade ;  their  Daggers 
Being  yet  unwip'd,  seem'd  to  own  the  deed. 
And  call  for  vengeance  ;  who  could  then  refrain, 
That  had  an  heart  to  love ;  and  in  that  heart 
Courage  to  manifest  his  affection. 

Za,  Macb.  Oh,  oh,  oh.  IFaints, 

Macd.  Look  to  the  Lady. 

Mai,  Why  are  we  silent  now,  that  have  so  laige 
An  argument  for  sorrow  ? 

Donai.  What  should  be  spoken  here,  where  our  fate  may  rush 
Suddenly  upon  us,  and  as  if  it  lay 
Hid  in  some  comer ;  make  our  death  succeed 
The  mine  of  our  Father  e're  we  are  aware. 

Macd.  I  find  this  place  too  publick  for  tme  sorrow  .* 
Let  us  retire,  and  mourn :  but  first 
Guarded  by  Vertue,  I*m  resolved  to  find 
The  utmost  of  this  business. 

Bang,  And  I. 

Macb,  And  all. 
Let  all  of  us  take  manly  resolution ; 
And  two  hours  hence  meet  together  in  the  Hall 
To  question  this  most  bloudy  fact 

Bang,  We  shall  be  ready,  Sir,  \^Ex,  all  but  Male,  dr»  Dmalb, 

Male.  What  will  you  do? 
Let's  not  consort  with  them : 
To  shew  an  unfelt-sorrow,  is  an  office 
Which  false  men  do  with  ease. 
I'll  to  England. 

Donal,  To  Ireland  I'm  resoWd  to  steer  my  course ; 
Our  separated  fortune  may  protect  our  persons 
Where  we  are :  Daggers  lie  hid  under  men's  smiles. 
And  the  nearer  some  men  are  allied  to  our  bloud. 
The  more,  I  fear,  they  seek  to  shed  it. 
Three  lines,  176-178,  as  in  F,. 

And  use  no  ceremony  in  taking  leave  of  any.  [Exeunt, 

SCENE  the  fourth. 
Enter  Lenox  and  Seaton. 

Seaton,  I  can  remember  well. 
Within  the  compass  of  which  time  I've  seen 
Hours  dreadful,  and  things  strange :  but  this  one  night 
Has  made  that  knowledge  void. 

Len,  Thou  seest  the  Heavens,  as  troubled  with  mans  act, 
Threatened  this  bloudy  day  :  by  th'hour  'tis  day. 


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5l8  APPENDIX 

And  yet  dark  night  does  cover  all  the  skie, 
As  if  it  had  quite  blotted  ont  the  San. 
Is't  nights  predominance,  or  the  daies  shame 
Makes  darkness  thus  usurp  the  place  of  light 
Four  lines,  14-17,  as  in  F,. 

Len.  And  Duncat^s  Horses,  which  before  were  tame. 
Did  on  a  sudden  change  their  gentle  natures. 
And  became  wild ;  they  broke  out  of  their  Stables 
As  if  they  would  make  war  with  mankind. 
Twelve  lines,  24-35,  as  in  F,. 

Len,  Unnatural  still. 
Could  their  ambition  prompt  them  to  destroy 
The  means  of  their  own  life. 

Macd.  Yon  arc  free  to  judge 
Of  their  deportment  as  you  please ;  but  most 
Men  think  e'm  guilty. 

Lm,  Then  'tis  most  like  the  Soveraignty  will  fidl 
Upon  Macbeth. 
Seven  lines,  42-48,  as  in  F,. 

Macd.  Do,  Cousin,  I'll  to  Fyfex 
My  wife  and  children  frighted  at  the  Alar'm 
Of  this  sad  news,  have  thither  led  the  way. 
And  I'll  follow  them :  may  the  King  you  go 
To  see  invested,  prove  as  great  and  good 
As  Duncan  was ;  but  I'm  in  doubt  of  it 
New  Robes  ne're  as  the  old  so  easie  sit  [Exami, 

SCENE\  AnHeaih. 
Enter  Lady  Macduff,  Maid^  and  Servant. 

Im.  Macd.  Art  sure  this  is  the  place  my  Lord  appointed 
Us  to  meet  him  ? 

Serv.  This  is  the  entrance  o'th'  Heath ;  and  here 
He  order'd  me  to  attend  him  with  the  Chariot 

La.  Macd.  How  fondly  did  my  Lord  conceive  that  we 
Should  shun  the  place  of  danger  by  our  flight 
From  Evemess  f    The  darkness  of  the  day 
Makes  the  Heath  seem  the  gloomy  walks  of  death. 
We  are  in  danger  still ;  they  who  dare  here 
Trust  Providence,  may  trust  it  any  where. 

Mttidn  But  this  place.  Madam,  is  more  free  from  terror : 
Last  night  methoughts  I  heard  a  dismal  noise 
Of  shrieks  and  groanings  in  the  air. 

La,  Macd.  'Tis  true,  this  is  a  place  of  greater  silence ; 
Not  so  much  troubled  with  the  groans  of  those 
That  die  ;  nor  with  the  out-cries  of  the  living. 

Maid.  Yes,  I  have  heard  stories,  how  some  men 
Have  in  such  lonely  places  been  afiiighted 
V^th  dreadful  shapes  and  noises.  [Macdt^  hoBows. 


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D'AVENANT'S  VERSION  519 

La,  Afacd,  But  heark,  my  Lord  sare  hollows ; 
'Tis  he ;  answer  him  quickly. 

Serv.  Illo,  ho,  ho,  ho. 

Enter  Macduff. 

La,  Macd,  Now  I  begin  to  see  him :  are  you  a  foot. 
My  Lord? 

Macd.  Knowing  the  way  to  be  both  short  and  easie» 
And  that  the  Chariot  did  attend  me  here, 
I  have  adyentur'd.     Where  are  our  children  ? 

La,  Macd,  They  are  securely  sleeping  in  the  Chariot 
First  Song  by  WUckes, 

1  Witch,  Speak,  Sister,  speak ;  is  the  deed  done  ? 

2  Witch,  Long  ago,  long  ago : 
Above  twelve  glasses  since  have  run. 

3  Witch,  111  deeds  are  seldom  slow  ; 
Nor  single :  following  crimes  on  former  wait 
The  worst  of  creatures  fastest  propagate. 
Many  more  murders  must  this  one  ensue. 
As  if  in  death  were  propagation  too. 

2  Witch,  He  will. 
I  Witch,  He  shall. 

3  Witch,  He  must  spill  much  more  bloud 
And  become  worse,  to  make  his  Title  good. 

1  VVitch.  Now  let's  dance. 

2  Witch,  Agreed. 

3  Witch,  Agreed. 

4  Witch.  Agreed. 

Chorus.  We  shou'd  rejoyce  when  good  Kings  bleed. 
When  cattel  die,  about  we  go, 
What  then,  when  Monarchs  perish,  should  we  do  ? 
Macd,  What  can  this  be? 

La,  Macd.  This  is  most  strange :  but  why  seem  you  affiraid  ? 
Can  you  be  capable  of  fears,  who  have 
So  often  caus'd  it  in  your  enemies  f 

Macd,  It  was  an  hellish  Song :  I  cannot  dread 
Ought  that  is  mortal ;  but  this  is  something  more. 
Second  Song. 
Let's  have  a  dance  upon  the  Heath ; 
We  gain  more  life  by  Duncan^  s  death. 
Sometimes  like  brinded  Cats  we  shew. 
Having  no  musick  but  our  mew. 
Sometimes  we  dance  in  some  old  mill. 
Upon  the  hopper,  stones,  and  wheel. 
To  some  old  saw,  or  Bardish  Rhime, 
Where  still  the  Mill-clack  does  keep  time. 
Sometimes  about  an  hollow  tree, 
A  round,  a  round,  a  round  dance  we. 
Thither  the  chirping  Cricket  comes, 
And  Beetle,  singing  drowsie  hams. 


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S20  APPENDIX 

Sometimes  we  dance  o're  Fens  and  Furs, 
To  howls  of  woWes,  and  barks  of  curs. 
And  when  with  none  of  those  we  meet. 
We  dance  to  th'  ecchoes  of  our  feeL 
At  the  night-Raven's  dismal  voice. 
Whilst  others  tremble,  we  rejoyce ; 
And  nimbly,  nimbly  dance  we  still 
To  th'  ecchoes  from  an  hollow  HilL 
Maed,  I  am  glad  you  are  not  affinid. 
La*  Macd^  I  would  not  willingly  to  fear  submit  .* 
None  can  fear  ill,  but  those  that  merit  it. 

Macd,  Am  I  made  bold  by  her  ?  how  strong  a  guard 
Is  innocence  ?  if  any  one  would  be 
Reputed  valiant,  let  him  leam  of  you ; 

Vertue  both  courage  is,  and  safety  too.  [A  dance  cftriUkeu 

Enter  two  Witches. 
Macd.  These  seem  foul  spirits ;  I'll  speak  to  e'm. 
If  you  can  any  thing  by  more  than  nature  know ; 
You  may  in  those  prodigious  times  fore-tell 
Some  ill  we  may  avoid. 

1  VVitch,  Saving  thy  bloud  will  cause  it  to  be  shed ; 

2  VVUch,  He'll  bleed  by  thee,  by  whom  thou  first  hast  bled. 

3  VVitck.  Thy  wife  shall  shunning  danger,  dangers  find. 

And  fatal  be,  to  whom  she  most  is  kind.  [Ex.  witcJka. 

La.  Macd,  Why  are  you  alter'd.  Sir?  be  not  so  thoughtfuL 
The  Messengers  of  Darkness  never  spake 
To  men,  but  to  deceive  them. 

Mtud.  Their  words  seem  to  fore-tell  some  dire  predictions. 

L.  Macd.  He  that  believes  ill  news  from  such  as  these. 
Deserves  to  find  it  true.     Their  words  are  like 
Their  shape ;  nothing  but  fiction. 
Let's  hasten  to  our  journey. 

Macd.  I'll  take  your  counsel ;  for  to  permit 
Such  thoughts  upon  our  memories  to  dwell. 
Will  make  our  minds  the  Registers  of  Hell.  [Exeunt  omnes. 

ACT,  IIL     SCENE,   /. 
Enter  Banquo. 
Four  lines,  3-6,  as  in  F,. 

Of  many  Kings ;  they  told  thee  truth. 

Why,  since  their  promise  was  made  good  to  thee, 

May  they  not  be  my  Oracles  as  well. 

Enter  Macbeth,  Lenox,  and  Attendants. 
Macb.  Here's  our  chief  Guest,  if  he  had  been  forgotten. 
It  had  been  want  of  musick  to  our  Feast 
To  night  we  hold  a  solemn  supper,  Sir ; 
And  all  request  3rour  presence. 

Bang.  Your  Majesty  layes  your  command  on  me, 
To  which  my  duty  is  to  obey. 


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D'AVENANT'S  VERSION  521 

Twenty-siz  lines,  25-50,  as  in  F, ;  except  1. 32 :  'Twixt  this  and  supper.  (Omitted.) 
The  more  welcome ;  we  will  our  selves  withdraw, 
And  be  alone  till  supper.  [Exeunt  Lords,, 

Macduff  departed  frowningly,  perhaps 
He  is  grown  jealous ;  he  and  Banquo  must 
Embrace  the  same  fate. 
Do  those  men  attend  our  pleasure  ? 

Serv,  They  do  ;  and  wait  without 

Macb,  Bring  them  before  us.  [Ex.  Servant. 

I  am  no  King  till  I  am  safely  so. 
My  fears  stick  deep  in  Banquds  successors ; 
Eighteen  lines  60-77,  as  in  F, ;  except  11.  67, 68 : 

...  as  it  is  said  Mark  Anthonies  was  by  Caesar.     (Omitted. ) 
Rather  than  so,  I  will  attempt  yet  further. 
And  blot  out,  by  their  bloud,  what  e're 
Is  written  of  them  in  the  book  of  Fate. 

Enter  Servant,  and  two  Murtherers. 
Three  lines,  86-89,  as  in  F,. 

Afacb.  And  have  3rou  since  considered  what  I  told  you  ? 
How  it  was  Banquo,  who  in  former  times 
Held  you  so  much  in  slavery ; 
Whilst  you  were  guided  to  suspect  my  innocence. 
This  I  made  good  to  you  in  your  last  conference ; 
How  3rou  were  bom  in  hand ;  how  crost : 
The  Instruments,  who  wrought  with  theuL 

2  Mur.  You  made  it  known  to  us. 

Macb.  I  did  so ;  and  now  let  me  reason  with  you : 
Do  you  find  your  patience  so  predominant 
In  your  nature. 

As  tamely  to  remit  those  injuries  ? 
Are  you  so  GospelPd  to  pray  for  this  good  man. 
Thirteen  lines,  X08-120,  as  in  F,. 

According  to  the  gift  which  bounteous  Nature 
Hath  bestow' d  on  him  ;  and  so  of  men. 
Now,  if  you  have  a  station  in  the  list. 
Nor  i'th'  worst  rank  of  manhood ;  say^t. 
And  I  will  put  that  business  in  your  bosoms, 
Which,  if  performed,  will  rid  you  of  your  enemy. 
And  will  endear  you  to  the  love  of  us. 

2  Mur.  I  am  one.  My  Liege, 
Ten  lines,  130-139,  as  in  F,. 

Macb,  So  b  he  mine ;  and  though  I  could 
With  open  power  take  him  from  my  sight, 
And  bid  my  will  avouch  it :  yet  I  must  not ; 
For  certain  friends  that  are  both  his  and  mine ; 
Whose  loves  I  may  not  hazard  ;  would  ill 
Resent  a  publick  process :  and  thence  it  is 


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522  APPENDIX 

That  I  do  your  assistmnce  crave,  to  mask 
The  business  from  the  oommon  eye. 

2  Mur,  We  shall,  my  Lord,  perfona  what  you  command  as. 
Four  lines,  153-156,  as  in  F,. 

For  it  must  be  done  to  night : 

And  something  from  the  Palace ;  alwaies  remember*  d. 
That  you  keep  secrecy  with  the  prescribed  Father. 
FUaHy  his  Son  too,  keeps  him  company ; 
Seven  lines,  162-168,  as  in  F,. 

Now,  Banquoy  if  thy  soul  can  in  her  flight 

Find  Heaven,  thy  happiness  begins  to  night.  [Ex. 

Enter  Macduff,  and  Lady  Macduff. 

Macd.  It  must  be  so.     Great  Duncan- s  bloudy  death 
Can  have  no  other  Author  but  Macbeth, 
His  Dagger  now  is  to  a  Scepter  grown ; 
From  Duncitn^s  Grave  he  has  deriv*d  his  Throne. 

La,  Macd,  Ambition  urg'd  him  to  that  bloudy  deed: 
May  you  be  never  by  Ambition  led : 
Forbid  it  Heav*n,  that  in  revenge  you  shou'd 
Follow  a  Copy  that  is  writ  in  bloud. 

Macd,  From  DunccuCs  Grave,  methinks,  I  hear  a  groan 
That  cairs  a  loud  for  justice. 

La,  Macd,  If  the  Throne 
Was  by  Macbeth  ill  gain'd,  Heavens  may, 
Without  your  Sword,  sufficient  vengeance  pay. 
Usurpers  lives  have  but  a  short  extent. 
Nothing  lives  long  in  a  strange  Element 

Mcud,  My  Countrejrs  dangers  call  for  my  defence 
Against  the  bloudy  Tjrrants  violence. 

L,  Macd.  I  am  aflraid  you  have  some  other  end. 
Than  meerly  Scotland's  freedom  to  defend. 
You'd  raise  your  self,  whilst  you  wou'd  him  dethrone ; 
And  shake  his  Greatness,  to  confirm  your  own. 
That  purpose  will  appear,  when  rightly  scan'd. 
But  usurpation  at  the  second  hand. 
Good  Sir,  recall  your  thoughts. 

Macd.  What  if  I  shou'd 
Assume  the  Scepter  for  my  Countrey's  good  ? 
Is  that  an  usurpation  ?  can  it  be 
Ambition  to  procure  the  liberty 
Of  this  sad  Realm  ;  which  does  by  Treason  bleed  / 
That  which  provokes,  will  justifie  the  deed. 

Lady  Macd,  If  the  Design  should  prosper,  the  Event 
May  make  us  safe,  but  not  jovl  Innocent-: 
For  whilst  to  set  our  fellow  Subjects  free 
From  present  Death,  or  future  Slavery. 
You  wear  a  Crown,  not  by  your  Title  due. 
Defence  in  them,  is  an  Offence  in  you ; 


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D'AVENANT'S  VERSION  523 

That  Deed's  unlawful  though  it  cost  no  Blood, 
In  which  you'l  be  at  best  unjustly  Good. 
You,  by  your  Pitty  which  for  us  you  plead, 
Weave  but  Ambition  of  a  finer  thread. 

Macd,  Ambition  do's  the  height  of  power  affect, 
My  aim  is  not  to  Govern,  but  Protect : 
And  he  is  not  ambitious  that  declares. 
He  nothing  seeks  of  Scepters  but  their  cares. 

Lady  Md.  Can  you  so  patiently  your  self  moles' 
And  lose  your  own,  to  give  your  Countrey  rest ! 
In  Plagues  what  sound  Physician  wou'd  endure 
To  be  infected  for  another's  Cure. 

Macd,  If  by  my  troubles  I  cou'd  yours  release. 
My  Love  wou'd  turn  those  torments  to  my  ease  : 
I  shou'd  at  once  be  sick  and  healthy  too. 
Though  Sickly  in  my  self,  yet  Well  in  you. 

Lady  Md,  But  then  reflect  upon  the  Danger,  Sr. 
Which  3rou  by  your  aspiring  wou'd  incur 
From  Fortunes  Pinade,  you  will  too  late 
Look  down,  when  you  are  giddy  with  your  height : 
Whilst  you  with  Fortune  play  to  win  a  Crown, 
The  Peoples  Stakes  are  greater  than  your  own. 

Macd.  In  hopes  to  have  the  common  Ills  redrest, 
Who  wou'd  not  venture  single  interest 
Enter  Servant. 

Ser,  My  Lord,  a  Gentleman,  just  now  arriv'd 
From  Court,  has  brought  a  Message  from  the  King  : 

Macd,  One  sent  from  him,  can  no  good  Tidings  brii^^  ? 

TjbAj  Md.  What  wou'd  the  Tyrant  have? 

Macd.  Go,  I  will  hear 
The  News,  though  it  a  disnud  Accent  bear ; 
Those  who  expect  and  do  not  fear  their  Doom, 
May  hear  a  Message  though  from  Hell  it  come.  [Exeunt, 

Enter  Macbeth^  s  Lady  and  Servant. 
Four  lines.  III,  ii,  3-6,  as  in  F,. 

Where  our  desire  is  got  without  content, 
Alass,  it  is  not  Gain,  but  punishment  I 
Tis  safer  to  be  that  which  we  destroy, 
Ten  lines,  11-20,  as  in  F,. 

But  let  the  frame  of  all  things  be  disjoynt 
E're  we  will  eat  our  bread  in  fear ;  and  sleep 
In  the  afiUction  of  those  horrid  Dreams 
That  shake  us  mightily !     Better  be  with  him 
Whom  we  to  gain  the  Crown,  have  sent  to  peace. 
Then  on  the  torture  of  the  Mind  to  lye 
Six  lines,  2&-33,  as  in  F, ;  except  1.  30 : 

He,  after  life's  short  feavor,  now  sleeps ;  Well ; 

Leuiy  VLb,  Come  on,  smooth  your  rough  brow : 


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524  APPENDIX 

Be  free  and  merry  with  your  guest  to  night 

Viacb,  I  shall,  and  so  I  pray  be  you  but  still. 
Remember  to  apply  your  self  to  Banquo : 
Present  him  kindness  with  your  Eye  and  Tongue, 
In  how  unsafe  a  posture  are  our  honors 
That  we  must  have  recourse  to  flattery, 
And  make  our  Faces  Vizors  to  our  hearts. 

Lady  M^.  You  must  leave  this. 
Two  lines,  45, 46,  as  in  F,. 

La,  M^.  But  they  are  not  Immortal,  there's  comfort  yet  in  that 
tAacb,  Be  merry  then,  for  e're  the  Bat  has  flown 
His  Cloyster'd  flight ;  e're  to  black  Heccat/s  Summons, 
The  sharp  brow'd  Beetle  with  his  drowsie  hums, 
Has  rung  night's  second  Peal : 
There  shall  bee  done  a  deed  of  dreadful  Note. 

LadylAb,  Whatis't? 

'bHacb,  Be  innocent  of  knowing  it,  my  Dear, 
Till  thou  applaud  the  deed,  come  dismal  Night 
Close  up  the  Eye  of  the  quick  sighted  Day 
With  thy  invisible  and  bloody  hand. 
The  Crow  makes  wing  to  the  thick  shady  Grove, 
Good  things  of  day  grow  dark  and  overcast. 
Whilst  Night's  black  Agent's  to  their  Preys  make  hast. 
Thou  wonder*  St  at  my  Language,  wonder  still. 

Things  ill  begun,  strengthen  themselves  by  ill.  [Exeimt, 

Enter  three  Murtkerers. 

1.  l/Lur.  The  time  is  almost  come. 

The  IVest  yet  glimmers  with  some  streaks  of  day. 
Now  the  benighted  Traveller  spurs  on, 
To  gain  the  timely  Inn. 

2.  Mur.  Hark,  I  hear  Horses,  and  saw  some  body  alight 
At  the  Park  gate. 

3.  Mur,  Then  tis  he;  the  rest 

That  are  expected  are  i'th'  Court  already. 

I.  M«r.  His  Horses  go  about  almost  a  Mile, 
And  men  from  hence  to  th'  Pat/ace  make  it  their  usual  walk.  ^Exe 

Enter  Banquo  and  Flean. 

Banquo^  It  will  be  Rain  to  night 

JFIean,  We  must  make  hast ; 

Banq,  Our  hast  concerns  us  more  then  being  wet. 
The  King  expects  me  at  his  feast  to  night. 
To  which  he  did  invite  me  with  a  kindness. 

Greater  then  he  was  wont  to  express.  [Exettnt, 

Re-enter  Muriherers  with  drawn  Swortls, 

1.  M«r.  Banquo,  thou  little  think' st  what  bloody  feast 
Is  now  preparing  for  thee. 

2.  M«r.  Nor  to  what  shades  the  darkness  of  this  night. 

Shall  lead  thy  wandring  spirit.  [Exeunt  after  Banquo. 

[Classing  of  Swords  is  heard  fi^om  within. 


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D'AVENANT'S  VERSION  525 

Re-enter  YltMi  pursued  by  one  of  the  Murtherers, 
Flean,  Murther,  help,  help,  my  Father's  kill'd.  \Exe.  running, 

SCENE  opem^  a  Banquet  prepaf*  d. 
Enter  Macbeth,  Lady  Macbeth,  Seaton,  Lenox,  Lords^  Attendants, 

Macb,  You  know  your  own  Degrees,  sit  down. 

Seat,  Thanks  to  your  Majesty. 

yiacb.  Our  Self  will  keep  you  company. 
And  Play  the  humble  Host  to  entertain  you : 
Our  Lady  keeps  her  State ;  but  you  shall  have  her  welcome  too. 

Lady  Mb,  Fh>nounoe  it  for  me  Sir,  to  all  our  Friends. 
Enter  first  Murtherer. 

Macb,  Both  sides  are  even  ;  be  free  in  Mirth,  anon 
Wee'l  drink  a  measure  about  the  Table. 
There's  blood  upon  thy  feure. 
Six  lines,  X&-23,  as  in  F, ;  except  1.  19  and  1.  24  omitted. 

Mmt.  Most  Ro3ral  Sir  he  scap'd. 

yiacb.  Then  comes  my  fit  again,  I  had  else  been  Perfect, 
Firm  as  a  Pillar  founded  on  a  Rock ! 
As  unconfin'd  as  the  free  spreading  Air 
But  now  Pm  checked  with  sawcy  Doubts  and  Fears. 
But  Banquds  safe? 

M«r.  Safe  in  a  Ditch  he  lies. 
With  twenty  gaping  wounds  on  his  head. 
The  least  of  which  was  Mortal. 

Macb,  There  the  ground  Serpent  lies;  the  worm  that's  fled 
Hath  Nature,  that  in  time  will  Venom  breed. 
Though  at  present  it  wants  a  Sting,  to  morrow, 
To  morrow  you  shall  hear  further.  [Exit,  Mtfr. 

Lady  Mb,  My  Royal  Lord,  you  spoil  the  Feast, 
The  Sauce  to  Meat  is  chearfulness. 

Enter  the  Ghost  ^Banquo  and  sits  in  Macbeth' s//tir^. 

lUiscb,  Let  good  digestion  wait  on  Appetite, 
And  Health  on  both. 

Len,  May  it  please  your  Highness  to  sit 

'iHacb,  Had  we  but  here  our  Countrys  honor ; 
Were  the  grac'd  person  of  our  Banquo  present, 
Whom  me  may  justly  challenge  for  unkindness. 

Se€Lt,  His  absence  Sir, 
Lays  blame  upon  his  promise ;  please  your  Highness 
To  grace  us  with  your  Company  ? 

VLacb  Yes,  I'le  sit  down.     The  Table's  full 

Len,  Here  is  a  place  reserv'd  Sir : 

Viacb,  Where  Sir? 
Nine  lines,  61-69,  as  in  F, ;  except  Rosses  line  (68)  given  to  Seaton, 
And  hath  been  from  his  youth :  pray  keep  your  Seats, 
The  fit  is  ever  sudden,  if  you  take  notice  of  it. 
You  shall  offend  him,  and  provoke  his  passion 
In  a  moment  he'l  be  well  again. 


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526  APPENDIX 

Are  yon  a  Man  ? 

VLacb,  Ay,  and  a  bold  one ;  that  dare  look  on  that 
Nineteen  lines,  76-94,  as  in  F,. 

VLacb,  Tis  not  the  first  of  Murders ;  blood  was  shed 
E're  humane  Law  decreed  it  for  a  sin. 
Ay,  and  since  Murthers  too  have  been  committed 
Too  terrible  for  the  Ear.     The  times  has  been. 
That  when  the  brains  were  out,  the  man  won'd  dye ; 
And  there  lye  still ;  but  now  they  rise  again 
And  thrust  us  from  our  seats. 

Lady  Md,  Sir,  your  noble  Friends  do  lack  you. 
Ten  lines,  106-115,  as  in  F,. 

Lards,  Our  Duties  are  to  pledge  it.  [M^  GJiast  e/Baaq.  rues  at  his  feet 

Viacb.  Let  the  Earth  hide  thee :  thy  blood  is  cold. 
Thou  hast  no  use  now  of  thy  glaring  Eyes. 

Liuly  Vib,  Think  of  this  good  my  Lords,  but  as  a  thing 
Five  lines,  122-126,  as  in  F,. 

Shall  never  tremble ;  Or  revive  a  while. 

And  dare  me  to  the  Desart  with  thy  Sword, 

If  any  Sinew  shrink,  proclaim  me  then 

The  Baby  of  a  Girl.     Hence  horrible  shadow.  Ex,  Ghost, 

So,  now  I  am  a  man  again  :  pray  you  sit  still. 

Lady  M^.  You  have  disturbed  the  Mirth ; 
Twenty-one  lines,  I35-I55»  as  in  F, ;  except  1.  142 :  Whilst  mine  grew  pale 
with  fear.     Lines  137,  138:  And. .  .wonder?  are  omitted. 
Augures  well  read  in  Languages  of  Birds 
By  yiagpyeSf  Hooks,  and  Dawes,  have  reveal' d 
The  secret  Murther.    How  goes  the  night  ? 

Litdy  Mb,  Almost  at  odds  with  morning,  which  b  which. 

Macb,  Why  did  VLacduffe  after  a  solemn  Invitation, 
Deny  his  presence  at  our  Feast? 

Lady  Vib,  Did  you  send  to  him  Sir? 

VLacb,  I  did ;  But  I'le  send  again, 
Tliere's  not  one  great  Thane  in  all  Scotland, 
But  in  his  house  I  keep  a  Servant, 
He  and  Banquo  must  embrace  the  same  fate. 
I  will  to  morrow  to  the  Weyward  Sisters, 
Five  lines,  165-169,  as  in  F,.     Lines  170, 171,  are  omitted. 
Well  I'le  in 

And  rest ;  if  sleeping  I  repose  can  have. 

When  the  Dead  rise  and  want  it  in  the  Grave.  [Exeumi, 

Enter  Macduffe  and  "Lady  Maodufie. 

Lady  Md,  Are  you  resolv'd  then  to  be  gone? 

Maed,  I  am : 
I  know  my  Answer  cannot  but  inflame 
The  Tyrants  fury  to  pronounce  my  death. 
My  life  will  soon  be  blasted  by  his  breath. 


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D'AVENANT'S  VERSION  527 

Lady  VLd,  But  why  so  far  as  Engl€mdnsa!A  you  fly  ? 

Mtf^</.  The  farthest  part  of  Scotland  is  too  nigh. 

Lady  VLd.  Can  you  leave  me,  your  Daughter  and  young  Son, 
To  perish  by  that  Tempest  which  you  shun, 
^hen  Birds  of  stronger  Wing  are  fled  away. 
The  Ravenous  Kite  do's  on  the  weaker  Frey. 

VLacd,  He  will  not  injure  you,  he  cannot  be 
Possest  with  such  unmanly  cruelty : 
You  will  your  safety  to  your  weakness  owe 
As  Grass  escapes  the  Syth  by  being  low. 
Together  we  shall  be  too  slow  to  fly : 
Single,  we  may  outride  the  Enemy. 
I'le  from  the  English  King  such  Succours  aare. 
As  shall  revenge  the  Dead,  and  Living  save. 
My  greatest  misery  is  to  remove, 
With  all  the  wings  of  haste  from  what  I  love. 

Lady  VLd.  If  to  be  gone  seems  misery  to  you, 
Good  Sir,  let  us  be  miserable  too. 

Viacd.  Your  Sex  which  here  is  your  security, 
"V^l  by  the  toyls  of  flight  your  Danger  be.  [Enter  llUssenger, 

What  fatal  News  do's  bring  thee  out  of  breath  ? 

lAess.  Sir  ^an^^^'s  kill'd. 

VLacd.  Then  I  am  wam'd  of  Death. 
Farewell ;  our  safety.  Us,  a  while  must  sever : 

Lady  VLd,  Fly,  fly,  or  we  may  bid  farewell  for  ever. 

VLacd,  Flying  from  Death,  I  am  to  Life  unkind. 
For  leaving  you,  I  leave  my  Life  behind.  [Exit, 

hady  Md.  Oh  my  dear  Lord,  I  find  now  thou  art  gone, 
I  am  more  Valiant  when  unsafe  alone. 
My  heart  feels  man-hood,  it  does  Death  despise. 
Yet  I  am  still  a  Woman  in  my  eyes. 
And  of  my  Tears  thy  absence  is  the  cause. 

So  falls  the  Dew  when  the  bright  Sun  withdraws.  Exeunt, 

No  change  of  scene  marked.    This  and  the  following  scene  are  transposed. 
Enter  Lenox  and  Seaton. 

Len,  My  former  speeches  have  but  hit  your  thoughts 
Which  can  interpret  further ;  Only  I  say 
Things  have  been  strangely  cany'd. 
Duncan  was  pitti'd,  but  he  first  was  dead. 
And  the  right  Valiant  Banquo  walVd  too  late ; 
Men  must  not  walk  so  late :  who  can  want  Sence 
To  know  how  Monstrous  it  was  in  Nature, 
For  Malcolme  and  DonalbaiUy  to  kill 
Their  Royal  Father ;  horrid  Fact !  how  did 

Two  lines.  III,  vi,  13,  14,  as  in  F,. 

That  were  the  slaves  of  Drunkenness  and  Sleep. 
Was  not  that  nobly  done  ? 
Seat,  Ay,  and  wisely  too : 


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528  APPENDIX 

For  'twou'd  have  anger' d  any  Loyal  heart 
To  hear  the  men  deny  it 

Len.  So  that  I  say  he  has  bom  all  things  well : 
Eight  lines,  19-26,  as  in  F,. 

Seai.  I  hear  that  Makolnu  lives  i'th'  English  Court, 
And  is  received  of  the  most  Pious  Edward^ 
Six  lines,  29-34,  as  in  F,. 

To  finish  what  they  have  so  well  b^un. 
This  report 

Do's  so  Exasperate  the  King,  that  he 
Prepares  for  some  attempt  of  War. 

Len.  Sent  he  to  Macduffe  f 

Seat,  He  did,  his  absolute  Command. 

Lm.  Some  Angel  fly  toth'  English  Court,  and  tell 
His  Message  e're  he  come ;  that  some  quick  blessing. 
To  this  afflicted  Country,  may  arrive 

Whilst  those  that  merit  it,  are  yet  alive.  lExeutU. 

Thunder,  Enler  three  Witches  meeting  Hecat 

1.  Witch,  How,  Hecat ^  you  look  angerly? 
Hecat.  Have  I  not  reason  Beldams  f 

Why  did  you  all  Tiaffick  with  Viacbeth 
'Bout  Riddles  and  affidrs  of  Death, 
And  cal'd  not  me ;  All  you  have  done 
Hath  been  but  for  a  Wejrward  Son : 
Make  some  amends  now :  get  you  gon. 
Three  lines.  III,  v,  18-20,  as  in  F,. 

Dire  business  will  be  wrought  e're  Noon. 
For  on  a  comer  of  the  Moon, 
A  drop  my  Spectacles  have  found, 
I'le  catch  it  e*re  it  come  to  ground. 
And  that  distiPd  shall  yet  e'le  night. 
Raise  from  the  Center  such  a  Spright : 
As  by  the  strength  of  his  Illusion, 
Shall  draw  Meubeth  to  his  Confusion. 

Mttsich  and  Song, 
Heccate^  Heccate,  Heeeate  1  Oh  come  away : 
Hark,  I  am  call'd,  my  little  Spirit  see. 
Sits  in  a  foggy  Cloud,  and  stays  for  me. 

Sing  within.  \yiachme  descends. 

Come  away  Heccate^  Heeeate !  Oh  come  away  : 

Hec.  I  come,  I  come,  with  all  the  speed  I  may. 
With  all  the  speed  I  may. 
Where's  Stadlingl 

2.  Here. 

Hec.  VVherea  Puchlef 

3.  Here,  and  Hopper  too,  and  Helway  too. 
I.  We  want  but  you,  we  want  but  you  : 

Come  away  make  up  the  Count, 


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D'AVENANT'S  VERSION  529 


Hec.  I  will  but  Noint,  and  then  I  mount, 
I  will  but,  <Sr*^. 

1.  Here  comes  down  one  to  fetch  his  due,  a  Kiss, 
A  Cull,  a  sip  of  blood. 

And  why  thou  staist  so  long,  I  muse. 
Since  th'  Air's  so  sweet  and  good. 

2.  O  art  thou  come ;  What  News? 
All  goes  fair  for  our  delight. 

Either  come,  or  else  refuse. 
Now  I'm  furnish' d  for  the  flight 
Now  I  go,  and  now  I  flye, 
Malking  my  sweet  Spirit  and  I. 

3.  O  what  a  dainty  pleasure's  this, 
To  sail  i'th'  Air 

While  the  Vioon  shines  fair ; 

To  Sing,  to  Toy,  to  Dance  and  Kiss, 

Over  Woods,  high  Rocks  and  Mountains ; 

Over  Hills,  and  misty  Fountains : 

Over  Steeples,  Towers,  and  Turrets : 

We  flye  by  night  'mongst  troops  of  Spirits. 

No  Ring  of  Bells  to  our  Ears  sounds. 

No  howles  of  Wolves,  nor  Yelps  of  Hounds; 

No,  nor  the  noise  of  Waters  breach. 

Nor  Cannons  Throats  our  Height  can  reach. 

1.  Come  let's  make  hast  she'll  soon  be  back  again: 

2.  But  whilst  she  moves  through  the  foggy  Air, 
Let's  to  the  Cave  and  our  dire  Charms  prepare. 

Finis  Actus  3. 

ACT  the4/>i.     SCENE  the  IsU 

1.  Witch,  Thrice  the  brinded  Cat  hath  Mew'd, 

2.  Thrice,  and  once  the  Hedge-Pig  whin'd. 
Shutting  his  Eyes  against  the  Wind. 

3.  Harpier  dies,  tis  time,  tis  time. 

1.  Then  round  about  the  Cauldron  go, 
'And  poyson'd  Entrals  throw. 

This  Toad  which  under  Mossy  stone. 
Has  days  and  nights  lain  thirty  one : 
And  swelter'd  Venom  sleeping  got, 
We'l  boyl  in  the  Inchanted  Pot. 

AIL  Double  double,  toyl  and  trouble : 
Fire  bum,  and  Cauldron  bubble. 

2.  The  Fillet  of  a  Fenny  Snake 
Of  Scuttle  Fish  the  vomit  black. 

Four  lines,  IV,  i,  16-19,  as  in  F,. 

Bom  of  a  Ditch  deliver' d  Drab, 
Shall  make  the  Greuel  thick  and  slab. 
Adding  thereto  a  fat  Dutchman's  Chawdron. 
For  the  ingredients  of  our  Cawdron. 
34 


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S30  APPENDIX 

All.  Double,  doable,  &*c, 

2.  I'le  cool  it  with  a  Baboones  blood. 
And  so  the  Charm  is  firm  and  good. 

Enter  Heccate  and  the  other  three  Witches. 
Three  lines,  42-^44,  as  in  F,. 

Like  Elves  and  Fairies  in  a  ring. 

Musieh  and  Song, 

Nee.  Black  Spirits,  and  white. 
Red  Spirits  and  gray ; 
Mingle,  mingle,  mingle, 
Yon  that  mingle  may. 

I.  Witeh.    Tiffin^  Tiffin^  keep  it  stiff  in. 
Fire  drake  Puekey^  make  it  luckey : 
Lyer  Robin,  you  most  bob  in. 

Ch4fr,  A  round,  a  round,  about,  about, 
All  ill  come  running  in,  all  good  keep  out 

I.  Here's  the  blood  of  a  Bat  1 

Hee,  O  put  in  that,  put  in  that. 

3.  Here's  Lizards  brain, 
Hec.  Put  in  a  grain. 

1.  Here's  Juice  of  Toad,  here's  oyl  of  Adder 
That  will  make  the  Charm  grow  madder. 

2.  Put  in  all  these,  'twill  raise  the  stanch ; 

ffec.  Nay  here's  three  ownces  of  a  red-hair'd  Wench. 
Chor.  A  round,  a  round,  &c 

2.  I  by  the  pricking  of  my  Thumbs, 
Know  something  Wicked  this  way  comes. 
Open  Locks,  whoever  knocks. 

^/f/^  Macbeth. 

VLacb.  How  now  you  Secret,  black  and  mid-night  Ha^[S, 
What  are  you  doing  ? 

AIL  A  deed  without  a  name. 

Maeb.  I  conjure  you  by  that  which  you  profess. 
How  e're  you  come  to  know  it,  answer  me. 
Though  you  let  loose  the  ragmg  Winds  to  shake  whole  Towns, 
Though  bladed  Com  be  lodg'd,  and  Trees  blown  down. 
Though  Castles  tumble  on  their  Warders  heads ; 
Though  Palaces  and  towring  Piramids 
Are  swallowed  up  in  Earth-quakes.    Answer  me. 

1.  Speak. 

2.  Pronounce. 

3.  Demand. 

4.  I'le  answer  thee. 

yiaeb.  What  Destinie's  appointed  for  my  Fate  ? 
ITee.  Thou  double  Tkane  and  King ;  beware  yiacduffe : 
Avoiding  him,  yiaebeth  is  safe  enough. 

Viaeb.  What  e're  thou  art  for  thy  kind  Caution,  Thanks. 
Hec.  Be  bold  and  bloody,  and  man's  hatred  scorn. 


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D'AVENANT'S  VERSION  531 

Thou  shalt  be  hann'd  by  none  of  Woman  bom'd. 

lHacb,  Then  live  ^acdyfft ;  what  need  I  fear  thy  power : 
Bat  none  can  be  too  sure,  thou  shalt  not  live. 
Two  ImeSy  loz,  102,  as  in  F,. 

Hec.  Be  Confident,  be  Proud,  and  take  no  care 
Who  wages  War,  or  where  Conspuers  are, 
yiacbeth  shall  like  a  lucky  Monarch  Raign, 
Till  Biman  Wood  shall  come  to  Dunsenain, 

yiacb.  Can  Forrests  move  ?  the  Prophesie  is  good. 
If  I  shall  never  fall  till  the  great  Wood 
Of  Biman  rise ;  thou  may'st  presume  yiacbeth^ 
To  live  out  Natures  Lease,  and  pay  thy  breath 
To  time  and  mortal  Custom.    Yet  my  heart 
Longs  for  more  Knowledge:  Tell  me  if  your  Art 
Extends  so  far :  shall  Bamqut^s  Issue  o're 
This  Kingdom  raign  ? 

AH,  Enquire  no  more. 

YUacb,  I  will  not  be  deny'd    Ha  1  [Cauldron  sinks. 

An  eternal  Curse  £dl  on  you ;  let  me  know 
Why  sinks  that  Cauldron^  and  what  noise  is  this. 

I.  Witch,  Appear.  2.  appear,  3.  appear. 
Wound  through  his  Eyes,  his  harden' d  Heart, 
Like  Shaddows  come,  and  straight  depart. 

\^A  shaddow  of  eight  Kings,  and  Banquo's  Ghost 
after  them  pass  by, 

yLacb.  Thy  Crown  offends  my  sight     A  second  too  like  the  first 
A  third  resembles  him :  a  fourth  too  like  the  former : 
Ye  filthy  Hags,  will  they  succeed 
Each  other  still  till  Dooms-day  ? 
Another  yet ;  a  seventh  ?    I'll  see  no  more : 
And  yet  the  eighth  appears. 
Ha  !  the  bloody  Banguo  smiles  upon  me, 
And  by  his  smiling  on  me,  seems  to  say 
That  they  are  all  Successors  of  his  race 

Hec,  Ay,  Sir,  all  this  is  so:  but  why 
Macbeth,  stand' st  thou  amazedly : 
Come  Sisters,  let  us  chear  his  heart. 
And  shew  the  pleasures  of  our  Art ; 

Twenty-one  lines,  I49-I^>  as  in  F, ;  except  1.  157 :  Accun'd  to  all  Eternity. 
Also  1.  158  omitted;  also  Seyt&n  instead  of  Lenox;  also  1.  164:  Infected  be  the 
earth  in  which  they  sunk. 

Macb,  Time  thou  '  Antidpat'st  all  my  Designes ; 
Our  Purposes  seldom  succeed,  unless 
Our  Deeds  go  with  them. 
My  Thoughts  shall  henceforth  into  Actions  rise^ 
The  Witches  made  me  cruel,  but  not  wise.  [Exeunt, 

Enter  Macduffe's  mfe,  and  Lenox. 
Lady  Md,  I  then  was  frighted  with  the  sad  alarm 


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532 


APPENDIX 

Of  Banquo*s  Death,  when  I  did  coansel  him 
To  fly,  but  now  alas !  I  mach  repent  it, 
What  had  he  done  to  leave  the  Land  ?    Macbeth 
Did  know  him  Innocent 

Ten  lines,  IV,  ii,  4-1 3»  as  in  F,. 

(The  most  diminutive  of  Birds)  will  with 

The  Ravenous  Owl^  fight  stoutly  for  her  young  ones. 

Len,  Your  Husband,  Madam ; 
Is  Noble,  Wise,  Judicious,  and  best  knows 
Five  lines,  22-26,  as  in  F.. 

Each  way,  and  more,  I  take  my  way  of  you : 
Two  lines,  28,  29,  as  in  F,. 

To  what  they  were  before.     Heaven  protect  yoo. 
Lady  Mad.  Farewell  Sir. 

Enter  a  Woman. 
Worn,  Madam,  a  Gentleman  in  haste  desires 
To  speak  with  you. 

Lady  Md.  A  Gentleman,  admit  him.  \)LTk\xs  Seyton. 

Seytan,  Though  I  have  not  the  honour  to  be  known 
To  you.  Yet  I  was  well  acquainted  with 
The  Lord  Macduff  wloidk  brings  me  here  to  tell  you 
There's  danger  near  you,  be  not  found  here. 
Fly  with  your  little  one ;  Heaven  preserve  you, 
I  dare  stay  no  longer.  Exit  SeyUm, 

Six  lines  85-90,  as  in  F,. 

r le  boldly  in,  and  dare  this  new  Alann : 

What  need  they  fear  whom  Innocense  doth  arm  ?  \E7nt. 

(  Enter  Malcolm  and  Macduff,  ^ 
\   The  Scene  Bimam  Wood.    ) 
Macd,  In  these  dose  shades  of  Bimam  Wood  let  us 
Weep  our  sad  Bosoms  empty. 

Malcolm,  You'l  think  my  Fortunes  desperate. 
That  I  dare  meet  you  here  upon  your  summons. 

Macd.  You  should  now 
Take  Arms  to  serve  your  Country.     Each  new  day 
New  Widows  mourn,  new  Orphans  cry,  and  still 
danges  of  sorrow  reach  attentive  Heaven. 

Male,  This  Tirant  whose  foul  Name  blisters  our  Tongues, 
Was  once  thought  honest.     You  have  lov'd  him  well. 
He  has  not  toucht  you  yet. 
f  Macd,  I  am  not  treacherous.  \  *    •    -p 
t  Male.  But  Macbeth  is,  /  As  m    ,. 

And  yet  Macduff  mAy  be  what  I  did  always  think  him, 
Just,  and  good. 

Macd.  Fve  lost  my  hopes. 

Male.  Perhaps  even  there  where  I  did  find  my  doubts ; 
But  let  not  Jealousies  be  your  Dishonours, 


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D'AVENANT^S  VERSION  533 

But  my  own  safeties. 

Macd,  Bleed,  Bleed,  poor  Country. 
Great  Tiranny,  lay  thy  Foundation  sure. 
Villains  are  safe  when  good  men  are  suspected. 
IMe  say  no  more.     Fare  thee  well  young  Prince, 
I  would  not  be  that  Traytor  which  thou  thinkst  me 
For  twice  Macbeths  reward  of  Treachery. 

Male,  Be  not  offended : 
Nine  lines,  IV,  iii,  47-55*  as  in  F,. 

Will  suffer  under  greater  Tiranny 
Than  what  it  suffers  now. 

Macd,  It  cannot  be. 

Male,  Alas  I  find  my  Nature  so  inclined 
To  vice,  that  foul  Macbeth  when  I  shall  rule. 
Will  seem  as  white  as  Snow. 

Macd,  There  cannot  in  all  ransackt  Hell  be  found 
A  Devil  equal  to  Macbeth. 

Male,  I  gprant  him  bloody  false,  deceiptful  malitious, 
And  participating  in  some  sins  too  horrid  to  name ; 
But  there's  no  bottom,  no  depths  in  my  ill  appetite, 
If  such  a  one  be  fit  to  govern,  speak  ? 

Macd,  O  Scotland^  Scotland^  when  shalt  thou  see  day  again  ? 
Since  that  the  truest  Issue  of  thy  Throne, 
Disclaims  his  Virtue  to  avoid  the  Crown  ? 
Your  Royal  Father 
Sixteen  lines,  125-140,  as  in  F,. 

For  strangers  to  my  Nature.     What  I  am  truly 
Is  thine,  and  my  poor  Countreys  to  command. 
The  gracious  Edward  has  lent  us  Seymour^ 
And  ten  thousand  Men.     Why  are  you  silent  ? 

Macd'  Such  welcom  and  unwelcom  things  at  once 
Are  Subjects  for  my  Wonder  not  my  Speech, 
My  grief  and  Joy  contesting  in  my  bosom, 
I  find  that  I  can  scarce  my  tongue  command. 
When  two  Streams  meet  the  Water's  at  a  stand. 

Male,  Assistance  granted  by  that  pious  King 
Must  be  successful,  he  who  by  his  touch. 
Can  cure  our  Bodies  of  a  foul  Disease, 
Can  by  just  force  suddue  a  Traitors  Mind, 
Power  supernatural  is  unconfin'd. 

Macd,  If  his  Compassion  does  on  Men  Diseased 
Effect  such  Cures  ;  What  Wonders  will  he  do. 

When  to  Compassion  he  ads  Justice  too  ?  [Exeunt, 

Enter  Macbeth  and  Seaton, 

Macb,  Seaton^  go  bid  the  Army  March. 

Seat,  The  posture  of  Affairs  requires  your  Presence. 

Macb,  But  the  Indisposition  of  my  Wife 
Detains  me  here. 


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534  APPENDIX 

Seat,  Th'Enemy  is  upon  onr  borders,  Seotiand^s  in  danger. 

Aiacb,  So  is  my  Wife,  and  I  am  doubly  k>. 
I  am  sick  in  her,  and  my  Kingdom  too. 
Seaton. 

Seatan,  Sir. 

Macb,  llie  Spur  of  my  Ambition  prompts  me  to  go 
And  make  my  Kingdom  safe,  but  Love  which  softens  me 
To  pity  her  in  her  distress,  curbs  my  Resolves. 

Seat,  He's  strangely  disordered. 

Macb,  Yet  why  should  Love  since  confined,  deare 
To  controul  Ambition,  for  whose  spreading  hopes 
The  world's  too  narrow,  It  shall  not ;  Great  Fires 
Put  out  the  Less ;  Seatan  go  bid  my  Grooms 
Make  ready ;  He  not  delay  my  going. 

Seat,  I  go. 

Macb.  Stay  Seaton,  stay.  Compassion  calls  me  back. 

Seatan,  He  looks  and  moves  disorderly. 

Macb,  He  not  go  yet  f  Enter  a  Servant, 

Seat,  Weil  Sir.  \  who  whispers  JAwAteiYk 

Macb,  Is  the  Queen  asleep  ? 

Seat,  What  makes  'em  whisper  and  his  countenance  change? 
Perhaps  some  new  design  has  had  ill  success. 

Macb.  Seaton,  Go  see  what  posture  our  Affairs  are  in. 

Seat,  I  shall,  and  give  you  notice  Sir.  [Exit  Seat] 

[Enter  Lady  Macbeth,'] 

Macb,  How  does  my  Gentle  Love  ?    - 

Lady  Mb,  Duncan  is  dead. 

Macb,  No  words  of  that 

Lady  Mb,  And  yet  to  Me  he  Lives. 
His  fiital  Ghost  is  now  my  shadow,  and  porsnes  me 
Where  e're  I  go. 

Macb,  It  cannot  be  My  Dear, 
Your  Fears  have  misinform' d  your  eyes. 

Lady  Mb,  See  there ;  Believe  your  own. 
Why  do  you  follow  Me?  I  did  not  do  it 

Macb,  Methtnks  there's  nothing. 

Lady  Mb,  If  you  have  Valour  force  him  hence. 
Hold,  hold,  he's  gone.     Now  you  look  strangely. 

Macb,  *Tis  the  strange  error  of  your  Eyes. 

Lady  Mb,  But  the  strange  error  of  my  Eyes 
Proceeds  from  the  strange  Action  of  your  Hands. 
Distraction  does  by  fits  possess  my  head, 
Because  a  Crown  unjusdy  covers  it 
I  stand  so  high  that  I  am  giddy  grown. 
A  Mist  does  cover  me,  as  Clouds  the  tops 
Of  Hills.     Let  us  get  down  apace. 

Macb,  If  by  your  high  ascent  you  giddy  grow, 
'Tis  when  you  cast  your  Eyes  on  things  below. 

Lady  Mb.  You  may  in  Peace  resign  the  ill  gain'd  Crown. 


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D'AVENANT'S  VERSION  535 

Why  shoald  you  labour  still  to  be  unjust? 
There  has  been  too  much  Blood  already  spilt 
Make  not  the  Subjects  Victims  to  your  guilt 

Macb,  Can  you  think  that  a  crime,  which  you  did  once 
Provoke  me  to  commit,  had  not  your  breath 
Blown  my  Ambition  up  into  a  Rame 
Duncan  had  yet  been  living. 

Lady  Mb,  You  were  a  Man. 
And  by  the  Charter  of  your  Sex  you  shou'd 
Have  govern' d  me,  there  was  more  crime  in  you 
When  you  obey'd  my  Councels,  then  I  contracted 
By  my  giving  it     Resign  your  Kingdom  now. 
And  with  your  Crown  put  off  your  guilt 

Macb.  Resign  the  Crown,  and  with  it  both  our  Lives. 
I  must  have  better  Councellors. 

Lady  Mb.  What,  your  Witches  ? 
Curse  on  your  Messengers  of  Hell.     Their  Breath 
Infected  first  my  Breast :  See  me  no  more. 
As  King  your  Crown  sits  heavy  on  your  Head, 
But  heavier  on  my  Heart :  I  have  had  too  much 
Of  Kings  already.     See  the  Ghost  again.  [Ghost  appears, 

Macb,  Now  she  relapses. 

Lady  Mb,  Speak  to  him  if  thou  canst. 
Thou  look'st  on  me,  and  shew'st  thy  wounded  breast. 
Shew  it  the  Murderer. 

Macb.  Within  there.  Ho.  [Enter  IVomen, 

Lady  Mb.  Am  I  ta'ne  Prisoner?  then  the  Battle's  lost.    [Exit. 

r  Lady  Macbeth  Ud  out 
\     by  IVomen. 

Macb.  She  does  from  Duncuns  death  to  sickness  grieve. 
And  shall  from  Malcoms  death  her  health  receive. 
When  by  a  Viper  bitten,  nothing's  good 
To  cure  the  venom  but  a  Vipers  blood. 

{Enter  Malcom^  Macduff \  and  Leuox^ 
Meeting  them. 
Thirteen  lines,  IV,  iii,  182-194. 

A  Modem  Extasie :  there  Bells 
Are  always  ringing,  and  no  Man  asks  for  whom ; 
There  good  Mens  lives  expire  e're  they  sicken. 
Twenty-nine  lines,  IV,  iii,  199-227,  as  in  F,;  except  lines  217,  221, 222,  omitted. 
And  1.  226  reads :  Where  no  Mans  ear  should  hear  'em. 

Or  is't  a  grief  due  to  some  single  breast  ? 

Lenx  All  honest  Minds  must  share  in*t ; 
But  the  main  part  pertains  to  you. 
Macd:  If  it  be  mine,  keep  it  not  from  Me. 

Lenx  Let  not  your  ears  condemn  my  tongue  for  ever. 
When  they  shall  possess  them  with  the  heaviest  sound 
That  ever  yet  they  heard. 


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536  APPENDIX 

Macd\  At  once  I  guess,  yet  am  afraid  to  know, 

Lenx  Your  Castle  is  snrpriz'd,  your  Wife  and  Children. 
Savagely  Murder'd :  to  relate  the  Manner, 
Were  to  increase  the  Butchery  of  them. 
By  adding  to  their  fall  the  Death  of  You. 

Male,  Merciful  Heaven  !     Noble  Macduff 
Give  sorrow  words ;  the  grief  that  does  not  speak. 
Whispers  the  o're  charg'd  heart,  and  bids  it  break. 

Macd\  My  Children  too  ? 

Leni  Your  Wife,  and  both  your  Children, 

Macdi  And  I  not  with  them  dead  ?    Both,  both  my  Children 
Did  you  say ;  my  Two  ? 

Len\  I  have  said, 

Macdi  Be  comforted : 
Let's  make  us  Cordials  of  our  great  Revenues, 
To  cure  this  deadly  Grief. 

Macdi  He  has  no  Children,  nor  can  be  feel 
A  fathers  Grief :  Did  you  say  all  my  Children  ? 
Oh  hellish  ravenous  Kite  !  all  three  at  one  swoop  I 

Midr.  Dispute  it  like  a  Man. 

Macdi  I  shaU. 
Six  lines,  260-265,  as  in  F,. 

Not  for  their  own  offences  ;  but  for  thine. 

Malci  Let  this  give  Edges  to  our  Swords ;  let  your  tears 
Become  Oyl  to  our  kindled  Rage. 

Macdi  Oh  I  could  play  the  Woman  with  my  Eyes, 
And  brag  on't  with  my  tongue ;  kind  Heavens  bring  this 
Dire  Friend  of  Scoilandy  and  my  self  face  to  face. 
And  set  him  within  the  reach  of  my  keen  Sword. 
And  if  he  outlives  that  hour,  may  Heaven  forgive 
His  sins,  and  punish  Me  for  his  escape. 

Malci  Let's  hasten  to  the  Army,  since  Macbeth 
Is  ripe  for  fall. 

Macd,  Heaven  give  our  quarrel  but  as  good  success 
As  it  hath  Justice  in't :  Kind  Powers  above 
Grant  Peace  to  us,  whilst  we  take  his  away  ; 
The  Night  is  long  that  never  finds  a  Day.  [Exeunt, 

ACT.  V.     Seen.  I. 
[Enter  Seaton,  and  a  Lady.] 

Lady.  I  have  seen  her  rise  from  her  bed,  throw 
Her  Night-Gown  on  her,  unlock  her  Qoset, 
Take  forth  Paper,  fold  it,  write  upon't,  read  it. 
Afterwards  Seal  it,  and  again  return  to  Bed. 
Yet  all  this  while  in  a  most  fast  sleep. 

Seati  'Tis  strange  she  should  receive  the  Benefit 
Of  sleep,  and  do  the  Effects  of  waking. 
In  this  disorder  what  at  any  time  have 
You  heard  her  say  ? 


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D'AVENANT'S  VERSION  537 

Four  lines,  17-20,  as  in  F,. 

[Enter  Lady  Macbeth.] 
See  here  she  comes :  observe  her,  and  stand  close. 
.     Seat.  You  see  her  eyes  are  open. 

Lady,  Ay,  But  her  Sense  is  shut. 
Fifteen  lines,  28-42,  as  in  F, ;  except  lines  34,  35,  omitted. 

Lady  Mb.  Macduff  had  once  a  Wife ;  where  is  she  now  ? 
Will  these  Hands  n'ere  be  clean  ?     Fy  my  Lx}rd, 
You  spoil  all  with  this  starting:  Yet  here's 
A  smell  of  blood ;  not  all  the  perfumes  of  Arabia 
Will  sweeten  this  little  Hand.    Oh,  Oh,  Oh. 

[Exii. 
Seen.  1 1. 
Enter  Donalbain  and  Flean^  met  by  Lenox, 

Len.  Is  not  that  Donalbain  and  young  Flean^  Banquds  Son. 

Don,  Who  is  this  my  worthy  Friend? 

Len,  I  by  your  presence  feel  my  hopes  full  blown. 
Which  hitherto  have  been  but  in  the  Bud. 
What  happy  gale  has  brought  you  here  to  see 
Your  Fathers  Death  Reveng'd  ? 

Don,  Hearing  of  aid  sent  by  the  English  King, 
To  check  the  Tirants  Insolence  ;  I  am  come 
From  Ireland', 

Flea,  And  I  from  France^  we  are  but  newly  met 

Don.  Where's  my  Brother  ? 

Len,  He  and  the  Good  Macduff  are  with  the  Army 
Behind  the  Wood. 

Don.  What  do's  the  Tyrant  now? 

Len.  He  strongly  Fortifies  in  Dunsinane ; 
Some  say  he  is  Mad,  others  who  Love  him  less. 
Call  it  a  Valiant  Fury  ;  but  what  e're 
The  matter  is,  there  is  a  Civil  War 
Within  his  Bosom  ;  and  he  finds  his  Crown 
Sit  loose  about  him  :  His  Power  grows  less. 
His  Fear  grows  greater  still. 

Don.  Let's  haste  and  meet  my  Brother, 
My  Interest  is  Grafted  into  his. 
And  cannot  Grow  without  it 

Len.  So  may  you  both  Out-grow  unlucky  Chance, 
And  may  the  Tyrant's  Fall  that  Growth  Advance. 

[Exeunt. 
Scene  III. 
Enter  Macbeth,  Seat,  and  Attendants, 

Macb,  Bring  me  no  more  Reports  :  Let  'em  flie  all 
Till  Bymam  Wood  remove  to  Dunsinane 
I  cannot  fear.     What's  the  Boy  Malcome  ?     What 
Are  all  the  English  ?    Are  they  not  of  Women 
Bom  ?    And  fall  such  I  am  Invincible, 


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538  APPENDIX 

Then  flie  false  Thanes^ 

By  your  Revolt  yoa  have  inflam'd  my  Rage, 

And  now  have  Borrowed  English  Blood  to  quench  it. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
Now  Friend,  what  means  thy  change  of  Countenance? 

Mess,  There  are  Ten  Thousand,  Sir, 

Macb.  What,  Ghosts? 

Mess.  No,  Armed  men. 

Macb.  But  such  as  shall  be  Ghosts  e're  it  be  Night 
Art  thou  tum'd  Coward  too,  since  I  made  thee  Captain : 
Go  Blush  away  thy  Paleness,  I  am  sure 
Thy  Hands  are  of  another  Colour ;  thou  hast  Hands 
Of  Blood,  but  Looks  of  Milk. 

{Mess,  The  English  Force  so  please  you—  \  a«  in  F 
Macb.  Take  thy  Face  hence.  i  ** 

He  has  Infected  me  with  Fear 
I  am  sure  to  die  by  none  of  Woman  bom. 
And  yet  the  English  Drums  beat  an  Alarm, 
As  fatal  to  my  Life  as  are  the  Crokes 
Of  Ravens^  when  they  Flutter  about  the  Windows 
Of  departing  men. 

My  Hopes  are  great,  and  yet  me-thinks  I  fear 
My  Subjects  cry  out  Curses  on  my  Name, 
Which  like  a  North- wind  seems  to  blast  my  Hopes : 

Seat.  That  Wind  is  a  contagious  Vapour  exhal*d  from  Blood. 

Enter  Second  Messenger. 
VHiat  News  more? 

2,  Mess.  [All's  confirmed  my  Liege,  that  was  Reported.]     As  in  F^ 

Macb.  And  my  Resolves  in  spite  of  Fate  shall  be  as  firmly. 
Send  out  more  Horse  ;  and  Scour  the  Country  round. 
How  do's  my  Wife? 

Seat.  [Not  so  Sick,  my  Lord,  as  She  is  Troubled 
With  disturbing  Fancies,  that  keep  Her  from  Her  rest]     As  in  F.. 

Macb,  And  I,  me-thinks,  am  Sick  of  her  Disease : 
Seaton  send  out ;  Captain,  the  Thanes  flie  from  thee : 
Wou'd  she  were  well,  I'de  quickly  win  the  Field. 
Stay  Seaton f  stay,  I'le  bear  you  company, 
The  English  cannot  long  maintain  the  Fight ; 
They  come  not  here  to  Kill,  but  to  be  Slain ; 
Send  out  our  Scouts. 

Seat.  Sir,  I  am  gone. 
Aside'\  Not  to  Obey  your  Orders,  but  the  Call  of  Justice. 
IMe  to  the  English  Train  whose  Hopes  are  built 
Upon  their  Cause,  and  not  on  Witches  Prophesies.  [Exit, 

Macb.  Poor  Thanes^  you  vainly  hope  for  Victory : 
You'l  find  Macbeth  Invincible  ;  or  if 
He  can  be  O'recome,  it  must  be  then 
By  Bimam  Oaks,  and  not  by  English-men.  [Exit. 


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D'AVENANT'S  VERSION  539 

Seen.  IV. 

Enter  Malcom,  Donalbain^  SeymoTy  Miuduff^  Lenox^ 

FUatty  Sauidiers, 

Male.  The  Sun  shall  see  us  Drain  the  Tyrants  Blood 
And  Dry  up  Scoilands  Tears :  How  much  we  are 
Oblig'd  to  England^  which  like  a  kind  Neighbour 
lift's  us  up  when  we  were  FalPn  below 
Our  own  Recovery. 

Seym,  What  Wood  is  this  before  us  ? 

Male.  The  Wood  of  Bimam. 

Seym,  Let  every  Souldier  hew  him  down  a  Bough, 
And  bear't  before  him :  By  that  we  may 
Keep  the  number  of  our  Force  undiscover'd 
By  the  Enemy. 

MeUe.  It  shall  be  done.     We  Learn  no  more  then  that 
The  Confident  T3rrant  keeps  still  in  Dunsinane, 
And  will  endure  a  Seige. 
He  is  of  late  grown  Conscious  of  his  Guilt, 
Which  makes  him  make  that  City  his  Place  of  Refuge. 

Maed,  He'l  find  even  there  but  little  Safety ; 
His  very  Subjects  will  against  him  Rise. 
So  Travellers  Flie  to  an  Aged  Bam 
For  Shelter  from  the  Rain ;  when  the  next  Shock 
Of  Wind  throws  Down  that  Roof  upon  their  Heads, 
From  which  they  hop'd  for  Succour. 

Len,  The  wretched  Kernes  which  now  like  Boughs  are  tjr'd, 
To  forc'd  Obedience  ;  will  when  our  Swords 
Have  Cut  those  Bonds,  start  from  Obedience. 

Male,  May  the  Event  make  good  our  Guess  : 

Maed,  It  must,  unless  our  Resolutions  fail 
TheyU  kindle.  Sir,  their  just  Revenge  at  ours : 
Which  double  Flame  will  Singe  the  Wings  of  all 
The  Tyrants  hopes  ;  deprived  of  those  Supports, 
He'l  quickly  Fall. 

Seym,  Let's  all  Retire  to  our  Commands ;  our  Breath 
Spent  in  Discourse  does  but  defer  his  Death, 
And  but  delays  our  Vengeance, 

Maed,  Come  let's  go. 
The  swiftest  hast  is  for  Revenge  too  slow. 

[Exeunt, 
Enter  Macbeth,  and  Souldiers, 

Maeb,  Hang  out  our  Baimers  proudly  o're  the  Wall, 
[The  Cry  is  still,  they  Come :  Our  Castles  Strength 
Will  Laugh  a  Siege  to  Scorn :  Here  let  them  lie]     As  in  F,. 
Till  Famine  eat  them  up :  Had  Seaton  still 
Been  ours,  and  others  who  now  Increase  the  Number 
Of  our  Enemies,  we  might  have  met  'em 
Face  to  face.  [Noise  within. 

What  Noise  is  that? 


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540  APPENDIX 

Ser.  It  seems  the  Cry  of  Women. 

Macb.  I  have  almost  foigot  the  Taste  of  Fears, 
The  time  has  been  that  Dangers  have  been  my  Familiars. 
Wherefore  was  that  Cry  ? 

Ser.  Great,  Sir,  the  Queen  is  Dead. 

Macb.  She  should  have  Di*d  hereafter, 
I  brought  Her  here,  to  see  my  Victims,  not  to  Die. 
To  Morrow,  to  Morrow,  and  to  Morrow, 
Creeps  in  a  stealing  pace  from  Day  to  Day, 

Nine  lines,  V,  v,  25-33,  as  in  F, ;  except  1.  27  :  To  their  eternal  homes.     Out, 
out  that  Candle.] 

Mess,  Let  my  Eyes  speak  what  they  have  seen, 
For  my  Tongue  cannot 

Macb,  Thy  Eyes  speak  Terror,  let  thy  Tongue  expound 
Their  Language,  or  be  for  ever  Dumb. 

Seven  lines,  38-44,  as  in  F,. 

Macb,  If  thou  speakst  False,  I'll  send  thy  Soul 
To  th' other  World  to  meet  with  moving  Woods, 
And  walking  Forrests ; 
There  to  Possess  what  it  but  Dreamt  of  here. 
If  thy  Speech  be  true,  I  care  not  if  thou  doest 
The  same  for  me.     I  now  begin 
Three  lines,  50-52,  as  in  F,. 

Is  on  its  March  this  way  ;  Arm,  Arm. 

Since  thus  a  Wood  do's  in  a  March  appear, 

There  is  no  Flying  hence,  nor  Tarrying  here : 

Methinks  I  now  grow  weary  of  the  Sun, 

And  wish  the  Worlds  great  Glass  of  Life  were  run. 

[Exeunt. 
Scene.  VI. 
Enter  Malcome^  Seymour^  Macduff^  LenoXy  Flean^  Beaton^ 
Donalbaitty  and  their  Army  with  Boughs. 
Male :  Here  we  are  near  enough  ;  throw  down 
Your  Leafie  Skreens 

[And  shew  like  those  3rou  are.     You  worthy  Unde]     As  in  F,. 
Shall  with  my  Brother  and  the  Noble  LettoXy 
March  in  the  Van,  whilst  Valiant  Seymour 
And  my  Self,  make  up  the  Gross  of  the  Army, 
And  follow  you  with  speed. 

Sey,  Fare  well ;  the  Monster  has  forsook  his  hold  and  comes 
To  offer  Battle. 

Macdi  Let  him  come  on  ;  his  Title  now 
Sits  Loose  about  him,  like  a  Giants  Robe 
Upon  a  Dwarfish  Thief. 

Enter  Macbeth, 
Macb,  'Tis  too  Ignoble,  and  too  base  to  Flie ; 
Who's  he  that  is  not  of  a  Woman  Bom, 


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D*AVENANT'S  VERSION  541 

For  snch  a  one  I  am  to  fear,  or  none. 
Enter  Lenox. 

Len,  Kind  Heaven,  I  thank  thee ;  have  I  found  thee  here ; 
Oh  Scotland!  Scotland!  mayst  thou  owe  thy  just 
Revenge  to  this  sharp  Sword,  or  this  blest  Minute. 

Macb.  Retire  fond  Man,  I  wou'd  not  Kill  thee. 
Why  should  Faulcons  prey  on  Flies  ? 
It  is  below  Macbeth  to  Fight  with  Men. 

Len.  But  not  to  Murder  Women. 

Macb.  Lenox,  I  pitty  thee,  thy  Arm's  too  weak. 

Len:  This  Arm  has  hitherto  found  good  Success 
On  your  Ministers  of  Blood,  who  Murder*  d 
Macduffs  Lady,  and  brave  Banquo : 
Art  thou  less  Mortal  then  they  were  ?    Or  more 
Exempt  from  Punishment  ?    Because  thou  most 
Deserv'st  it     Have  at  thy  Life. 

Macbi  Since  then  thou  art  in  Love  with  Death,  I  will 
Vouchsafe  it  thee.  [  They  fighi^  Lenox  falls. 

Thou  art  of  Woman  Bom,  I*m  sure.  [Exit  Macb. 

Len:  Oh  my  dear  Country,  Pardon  me  that  I, 
Do  in  a  Cause  so  great,  so  quickly  Die.  [Dies. 

Enter  Macduff^ 
Three  lines,  V,  vii,  23-25,  as  in  F,. 
I  cannot  Strike 

At  wretched  Slaves,  who  sell  their  Lives  for  Pfty ; 
No,  my  Revenge  shall  seek  a  Nobler  Prey. 
Through  all  the  Paths  of  Death,  I'le  search  him  out : 
Let  me  but  find  him,  Fortune.  [Exit. 

Enter  Malcom,  and  Seymor. 

Sey.  This  way.  Great  Sir,  the  Tyrants  People  Fight 
With  Fear  as  great  as  is  his  Guilt 

Mala  See  who  Lies  here ;  the  Noble  Lenox  slain, 
What  Storm  has  brought  this  Blood  over  our 
Rising  hopes. 

Sey.  Restrain  your  Passion,  Sir,  let's  to  our  Men, 
Those  who  in  Noble  Causes  fall,  deserve 
Our  Pitty,  not  our  Sorrow. 
I  le  bid  some  Body  bear  the  Body  further  hence. 

[Exetmt. 
Enter  Macbeth. 

Macb.  Why  should  I  play  the  Roman  Fool  and  Fall, 
On  my  own  Sword,  while  I  have  living  Foes 
To  Conquer ;  my  Wounds  shew  better  upon  them. 
Enter  Macduff. 
Four  lines,  V,  viii,  6-9,  as  in  F,. 

Macd,  IMe  have  no  Words,  thy  Villanies  are  worse 
Then  ever  yet  were  Punisht  with  a  Curse. 

Macb.  Thou  mayst  as  well  attempt  to  Wound  the  Air, 


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542  APPENDIX 

As  me ;  my  Destiny's  reseiVd  for  some  Immortal  Power^ 
And  I  must  fall  by  Miracle ;  I  cannot  Bleed. 

Macd.  Have  thy  black  Deeds  then  tom'd  thee  to  a  Devil. 

Macb,  Thou  wouldst  but  share  the  Fate  of  Lenox. 

Macd.  Is  Lenox  slain  ?  and  by  a  Hand  that  would  Damn  all  it  kills, 
But  that  their  Cause  preserves  'em. 

Macb  I  have  a  Prophecy  secures  my  Life. 

Macd,  I  have  another  which  tells  me  I  shall  have  his  Blood, 
"Who  first  shed  mine. 

Macb,  None  of  Woman  bom  can  spill  my  Blood. 

Macb,  Then  let  the  Devils  tell  thee,  Macduff 
Was  from  his  Mothers  Womb  untimely  Ript. 

Macb,  Curst  be  that  Tongue  that  tells  me  so, 
And  double  Danm'd  be  they  who  with  a  double  sence 
Make  Promises  to  our  Ears,  and  Break  at  last 
That  Promise  to  our  sight :  I  will  not  Fight  with  thee. 

Macd,  Then  yield  thy  self  a  Prisoner  to  be  Led  about 
The  World,  and  Gaz'd  on  as  a  Monster,  a  Monster 
More  Deform' d  then  ever  Ambition  Fram'd, 
Or  Tynumie  could  shape. 

Macb,  I  scorn  to  Yield.     I  will  in  spite  of  Enchantment 
Fight  with  thee,  though  Bimam  Wood  be  come 
To  DuHsinane : 

And  thou  art  of  no  Woman  Bom,  I'le  try. 
If  by  a  Man  it  be  thy  Fate  to  Die.  f  They  Figkt,     Macbeth 

\  falls.     They  shout  xmtkm, 

Macd,  This  for  my  Royal  Master  Duncan^ 
This  for  my  dearest  Friend  my  Wife, 
This  for  those  Fledges  of  our  Loves,  my  Children. 
Hark  I  hear  a  Noise,  sure  there  are  more  [Shout  within. 

Reserves  to  Conquer. 
I'le  as  a  Trophy  bear  away  his  Sword, 
To  witness  my  Revenge.  [Exit  Macduff, 

Macb,  Farewell  vain  World,  and  what's  most  vain  in  it, 

\Amhition  Dies, 
Enter  Malcolm^  Seymour^  Dtmalbain^  FUan^  Sea- 
ton,  and  Souldiers, 

Male,  I  wish  Macduff  mtxe  safe  Arriv'd,  I  am 
In  doubt  for  him  ;  for  Lenox  I 'me  in  grief. 

Seym,  Consider  Lenox,  Sir,  is  nobly  Slain  : 
They  who  in  Noble  Causes  fall,  deserve 
Our  Pity,  not  our  Sorrow.     Look  where  the  Tyrant  is. 

Seat,  The  Witches,  Sir,  with  all  the  Power  of  Hell, 
Could  not  preserve  him  from  the  Hand  of  Heaven. 
Enter  Macduff -mih  Macbeths  Sword. 

Macd,  Long  Live  Malcolm,  King  of  Scotland,  so  you  are  ; 
And  though  I  should  not  Boast,  that  one 
Whom  Guilt  might  easily  weigh  down,  fell 
By  my  hand ;  yet  here  I  present  you  with 


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MUSIC— CHAPPELL  543 

The  Tyrants  Sword,  to  shew  that  Heaven  appointed 
Me  to  take  Revenge  for  you,  and  all 
That  Suffered  by  bis  Power. 

Male,  Macduff,  we  have  more  Ancient  Records 
Then  this  of  3rour  successful  Courage. 

Macd,  Now  Scotland,  thou  shalt  see  bright  Day  again, 
That  Cloud*s  removed  that  did  Ecdipse  thy  Sun, 
And  Rain  down  Blood  upon  thee :  As  your  Arms 
Did  all  contribute  to  this  Victory  ; 
So  let  your  Voices  all  concur  to  give 
One  joyful  Acclamation. 
L<n^  Live  Malcolm,  King  of  Scotland, 
Four  lines,  7&-81,  as  m  F,. 

Saw  Honoured  with  that  Title :  And  may  they  still  Flourish 

On  your  Families ;  though  like  the  Laurels 

You  have  Won  to  Day ;  they  Spring  from  a  Field  of  Blood. 

Drag  his  Body  hence,  and  let  it  Hang  upon 

A  Pinnacle  in  Dunsinane,  to  shew 

To  shew  to  future  Ages  what  to  those  is  due, 

Who  others  Right,  by  Lawless  Power  pursue. 

Macd,  So  may  kind  Fortune  Crown  your  Raign  with  Peace, 
As  it  has  Crown'd  your  Armies  with  Success ; 
And  may  the  Peoples  Prayers  still  wait  on  you, 
As  all  their  Curses  did  Macbeth  pursue : 
His  Vice  shall  make  your  Virtue  shine  more  Bright, 
As  a  Fair  Day  succeeds  a  Stormy  Night. 

FINIS.    Actus  V. 


MUSIC 

W.  Chappbll  (Grove's  Diet,  of  Music) :  Three  musicians  [Locke,  Ecdes,  and 
Leveridge]  have  composed  music  for  Sir  William  D'Avenant's  additions  to  Shake- 
speare's tragedy  of  Macbeth, . . .  Downes  {Roscius  AngHcanus)  says :  <  The  tragedy 
of  Macbeth,  altered  by  Sir  William  D'Avenant, . . .  with  all  the  singing  and  dancing 
in  it,  the  first  composed  by  Mr  Lock. . .  .' 

Downes  is  the  only  contemporary  authority  who  refers  to  the  authorship,  but  the 
Hon.  Roger  North  remarks,  '  in  music  Matthew  Lock  had  a  robust  vein,'  a  criticism 
peculiarly  applicable  to  the  music  in  Macbeth. 

The  only  reason  that  can  be  assigned  why  modem  musicians  should  have  doubted 
Matthew  Lock's  authorship  is  that  a  manuscript  of  it  exists  in  the  handwriting  of 
Henry  Purcell.    His  autograph  seems  to  have  been  tolerably  well  ascertained. 

[Chappell,  continuing,  shows  by  'the  inexorable  logic  of  dates'  that  Purcell 
could  not  have  been  the  composer  of  a  work  which  appeared  when  he  was  in  his 
fourteenth  year.  For  a  fuller  statement  of  Lock's  claim  to  the  authorship,  see  arti- 
cle in  Grove's  Dictionary,  above  quoted ;  and  for  an  exposition  of  Purcell's  claim, 
see  article  by  W.  H.  Cummxngs  :  Who  Wrote  the  Macbeth  Music  f-^ConcorditL,  27 
Nov.  1875.--ED.  iij 


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544  APPENDIX 

Ei^ON  (p.  336)  :  The  Germans  took  up  the  tragedy  [of  Macbeth']  very  early, 
and  in  1787  J.  F.  Reichardt  set  incidental  music  to  Biirger's  translation.  The 
famous  Spohr  wrote  music  to  the  tragedy,  all  of  which  is  l6st  with  the  exception  of 
the  overture,  and  even  that  is  rarely  heard  at  present.  Weyse  published  some  excel- 
lent incidental  music  to  the  play  some  seventy-five  years  ago.  Some  extremely 
modem  music  to  Macbeth  was  composed  by  the  American  Edgar  S.  Kelley,  but  it 
has  been  seldom  heard  save  at  the  performances  of  the  play  in  San  Francisco  in 
1885.  Very  much  orchestral  music  has  been  written  about  Macbeth,  a  half-dozen 
overtures,  among  them  one  by  Raff  and  one  by  Briill,  and  a  symphonic  poem  by 
Richard  Strauss,  which  is  probably  the  greatest  musical  outcome  of  the  play.  As 
regards  operatic  settings,  one  finds  only  three,  not  one  of  them  of  importance. 
Auguste  Hix  wrote  a  French  version  to  a  libretto  by  Rouget  de  Plsle  (composer 
of  the  'Marseillaise'),  which  was  afterward  translated  into  German.  The  music 
was  by  Hippolyte  Chilard.  ...  It  was  produced  for  the  first  time  at  the  Paris  Op^ra, 
June  29,  1827. .  . .  The  trio  of  Witches  and  several  choruses  were  remarked,  but  the 
opera  failed,  and  was  only  performed  five  times. . .  .  The  libretto  departs  widely 
from  Shakespeare's  tragedy.  Another  setting  was  made  by  Taubert  and  performed 
in  Germany,  which  also  departed  from  the  Shakespearian  path. 

But  the  strangest  alterations  that  Shakespeare  was  obliged  to  submit  to,  on  his 
journey  to  the  operatic  stage,  took  place  in  the  version  composed  by  Verdi,  in 
1847,  before  he  decided  to  follow  Wagner  into  the  domain  of  earnest  librettos. 
Macbeth,  with  a  ballet  introduced,  with  Lady  Macbeth  singing  a  drinking-song, 
with  a  chorus  of  murderers,  with  Macduff  singing  a  liberty  song,  must  have  been 
comical  enough  for  any  Shakespearian,  but  the  Italians  accepted  it  cordially,  and 
the  '  liberty-song '  was  received  with  frenzy,  as  a  protest  against  Austrian  tyranny. — 
Ed.  ii. 

Grove  {Dictionary  of  Music)  gives,  in  addition  to  the  operatic  settings  men- 
tioned by  Elson,  <  The  first  act  of  an  Opera,  Macbeth,  by  vou  Collin,  published  in 
1809  ;  and  sketches  by  Beethoven  for  the  overture  and  first  chorus  therein,  given  by 
Nottebohm  in  Mus,  Wochenhlatt^  1879,  No.  10.' — Ed.  ii. 

[llie  p>assages  from  Shakespeare's  Macbeth  for  which  music  has  been  written, 
and  the  composers  thereof,  will  be  found  in  the  New  Shakspere  Society  Publica- 
tions, Series  viii,  No.  3.  Rofpe,  Handbook  of  Shakespeare  Music,  may  also  be 
consulted  for  a  detailed  account  of  the  same.  The  musical  notation  is,  however, 
not  given  in  either  of  the  above-mentioned  works. — Ed.  ii.] 

Fletcher  (p.  173) :  Lock's  musical  accompaniments  are  not  only  the  master- 
piece of  their  author,  but  one  of  the  most  vigorous  productions  of  native  English 
musical  genius.  Let  them  be  performed  and  enjoyed  anywhere  and  everywhere  but 
in  the  representation  of  the  greatest  tragedy  of  the  world's  great  dramatist,— ^/Sv^ 
which  representation^  let  every  auditor  well  observe,  their  author,  Lock,  did  not  com- 
pose them.  For  D'Avenant's  abominable  travesty  were  they  written,  and  with  that 
they  ought  to  have  been  repudiated  from  the  stage. 


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PLAN  OF  THE  WORK,  Etc. 

In  this  Edition  the  attempt  is  made  to  give,  in  the  shape  of  TEXTUAL  Notes, 
on  the  same  page  with  the  Text,  all  the  Various  Readings  of  Macbeth^  from  the 
Second  Folio  down  to  the  latest  critical  Edition  of  the  play ;  then,  as  Commentary, 
follow  the  Notes  which  the  Editor  has  thought  worthy  of  insertion,  not  only  for  the 
purpose  of  elucidating  the  text,  but  at  times  as  illustrations  of  the  History  of  Shake- 
spearian criticism.  In  the  Appendix  will  be  found  criticisms  and  discussions  which, 
on  the  score  of  length,  could  not  be  conveniently  included  in  the  Commentary. 

LIST  OF  EDITIONS  COLLATED  IN  THE  TEXTUAL  NOTES 


The  Second  Folio 

[FJ..        . 

.  .     1632 

The  Third  Fouo 

[FJ..        . 

..     1664 

The  Fourth  Fouo 

[FJ..        . 

..     1685 

N.  Rowe  (First  Edition) 

[Rowei]    . 

.  .     1709 

N.  Rowe  (Second  Edition) 

[Roweii]   . 

..     1714 

A.  Pope  (First  Edition)         

[Popei]      . 

.         ..     1723 

A.  Pope  (Second  Edition) 

[Popeu]     . 

.         ..     1728 

L.  Theobald  (First  Edition)           

[Theob.  i]  . 

.         ..     1733 

L.  Theobald  (Second  Edition)       

[Theob.  ii] . 

.  .     1740 

Sir  T.  Hanmer          

[Han.]        . 

..     1744 

W.  Warburton          

[Warb.]      . 

..     1747 

E.  Capell        

[Cap.]         . 

.        (?)    1761 

Dr  Johnson 

[Johns]      . 

..     1765 

Johnson  and  Steevbns         

[Var.  »73]   • 

.  .     1773 

Johnson  and  Steevens         

[Var.'78]   . 

..     1778 

Johnson  and  Steevens         

[Var.  '85]  . 

.        ..     1785 

J.  Rann 

[Ran.]        . 

..     1787 

E.  Malone 

.     [Mai.]         . 

..     1790 

Geo.  Steevens 

[Steev.]       . 

..     1793 

Reed's  Steevens        

.     [Van  »03]  . 

.  .     1803 

Reed's  Steevens       

.     [Var. '13]  . 

.  .     181S 

BoswELL's  Malone 

.     [Var.]         . 

.  .     1821 

S.  W.  Singer  (First  Edition) 

[Sing.i]      . 

..     1826 

C.  Knight  (First  Edition) 

.     [Knt  i]       . 

.         (?)  1841 

J.  P.  Collier  (First  Edition) 

.     [Coll.i]      . 

.        ..     1842 

S.  W.  Singer  (Second  Edition)         

.     [Sing,  ii]    . 

..     1856 

A.  Dyce  (First  Edition)          

.     [Dycei]      . 

.        ..     1857 

J.  P.  Collier  (Second  Edition]        

.     [Coll.  ii]     . 

.  .     1858 

H.  Staunton 

.     [Sta.]          . 

.  .     i860 

R.  G.  White  (First  Edition) 

.     [Wh.  i]       . 

..     1861 

Cambridge  (First  Edition,  W.  G.  Clark  and  W.  A 

Wright) 

.     [Cam.  i]      . 

..     1865 

J.  O.  Halliwell  (Folio  Edition) 

.     [Hal.]         . 

.  .     1865 

C.  Knight  (Second  Edition) 

[Knt  ii]      . 

..     1865 

35 

545 

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546 


APPENDIX 


T.  Kkightley [Ktly] 

A.  Dyce  (Second  Edition) [Dyce  ii] 

W.  A.  Wright  (  The  Clarendon  Press  Series)         .  .  [Cla.] 

H.  N.  Hudson  (Second  Edition) [Huds.  ii] 

♦A.  Dyce  (Third  Edition) [Dyce  iii] 

♦J.  P.  Collier  (Third  Edition)        [Coll.  iii] 

*W.J.  RoLFE [Rife] 

*H.  N.  Hudson  {School  Shakespeare)  .  .         .  .  [Huds.  iii] 

*R.  G.  White  (Second  Edition) [Wh.  ii] 

*K.  Deighton  ...  [Dtn] 

*  Cambridge  (Second  Edition,  W.  A.  Wright)      .  .  [Cam.  ii] 


1865 
1866 
1869 
1871 
1875 
1877 
1877 
1879 
1883 
1889 
1891 


W.  Harness .  .         . .        .  .    1830 

Globe  (Clark  and  Wright)  [Glo.]         .  .        .  .     1864 

N.  Delius         [Del.]  Elberfeld,  1869 

Rev.  John  Hunter  (Longman^ s  Series)     .  .        .  .  .  .  .  .        .  .     1870 

C.  E.  MOBERLY  {Rugby  Edition) .  .  London,  1872 

F.  A.  Marshall  {Henry  Irving  Edition)   .  .        .  .  .  .  .  .         .  .     1888 

E.  K.  Chambers  {Arden  Shakespeare)         Boston,  1896 

J.  M.  Manly  {Longman^ s  English  Classics)  .  .         .  .  .  .  London,  1896 

S.  Thurber  {Academy  Series)  .  .  .  .  Boston,  1896 

F.  L.  Pattee  {Silver  Series) "        1897 

L.  A.  Sherman .  .         New  York,  1899 

R.  Mc  Willi  AM  {Swan  Edition)       .  .  London,  1899 

H.  B.  Sprague 1900 

A.  W.  Verity  ( T^e  Pitt  Press  Shakespeare) 190X 

Israel  Gollancz  (  The  Temple  Shakespeare)  n.  d. 

7^  Ariel  Shakespeare      .. ..  ..         ..n.d. 


These  last  sixteen  editions  I  have  not  collated  beyond  referring  to  them  in  dis- 
puted passages,  and  recording,  here  and  there  in  the  Commentary^  the  views  of 
their  editors. 

Within  the  last  twenty-five  years, — indeed,  since  the  appearance,  in  1864,  of 
the  Globe  Edition^ — the  text  of  Shakespeare  is  become  so  settled  that  to  collate, 
word  for  word,  the  text  of  editions  which  have  appeared  within  this  term,  would 
be  a  fruitless  task.  When,  however,  within  recent  years  an  Editor  revises  his  text 
in  a  Second  or  a  Third  Edition,  the  case  is  different ;  it  then  becomes  interesting  to 
mark  the  effect  of  maturer  judgement. 

The  present  Text  is  that  of  the  First  Folio  of  1623.  Every  word,  I  might 
say  almost  every  letter,  has  been  collated  with  the  original. 

In  the  Textual  Notes  the  symbol  Ff  indicates  the  agreement  of  the  Second^ 
Third,  and  Fourth  Folios, 

I  have  not  called  attention  to  every  little  misprint  in  the  Folio.  The  Textual 
Notes  will  show,  if  need  be,  that  they  are  misprints  by  the  agreement  of  all  the 
Editors  in  their  corrections. 

*  Additions  to  Revised  Edition. 


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LIST  OF  BOOKS  547 

Nor  is  notice  taken  of  the  first  Editor  who  adopted  the  modern  spelling,  or  who 
substituted  commas  for  parentheses,  or  changed  ?  to  !. 

The  sign  +  indicates  the  agreement  of  RowE,  Pope,  Theobald,  Hanmer, 
Warburton,  and  Johnson  ;  hereafter  this  symbol  will  include  the  Variorum  of 

'773- 

When  in  the  Textual  Notes  Warburton  precedes  Haniaer,  it  indicates  that 
Hanmer  has  followed  a  suggestion  of  Warburton. 

FURNESS  indicates  that  a  reading  other  than  that  in  the  First  Cambridge  has 
been  followed  in  the  former  edition. 

The  words  et  cet,  after  any  reading  indicate  that  it  is  the  reading  of  all  other 
editions. 

The  words  et  seq.  indicate  the  agreement  of  all  subsequent  editions. 

The  abbreviation  {subs.^  indicates  that  the  reading  is  substantially  given,  and 
that  immaterial  variations  in  spelling,  punctuation,  or  stage-directions  are  disre- 
garded. 

When  Var,  precedes  Steev,  or  MaL  it  includes  the  Variorums  of  1773,  1778,  and 
1785  ;  when  it  follows  Steev,  or  MaL  it  includes  the  Variorums  of  1803,  18 13,  and 
1821. 

An  Emendation  or  Correction  given  in  the  Commentary  is  not  repeated  in  the 
Textual  Notes  unless  it  has  been  adopted  by  an  Editor  in  his  Text ;  nor  is  conj, 
added  in  the  Textual  Notes  to  the  name  of  the  proposer  of  the  conjecture  unless  the 
conjecture  happens  to  be  that  of  an  Editor,  in  which  case  its  omission  would  lead  to 
the  inference  that  such  was  the  reading  of  his  text 

Coll.  MS  refers  to  Collier's  copy  of  the  Second  Folio  bearing  in  its  margin 
manuscript  annotations. 

In  citing  plays  or  quoting  from  them,  the  Acts,  Scenes,  and  Lines  of  the  Globe 
Edition  are  followed,  unless  otherwise  noted.  Of  course,  all  references  to  Macbeth 
refer  to  the  present  text 


LIST  OF  BOOKS 


To  economise  space  in  the  foregoing  pages,  as  a  general  rule  merely  the  name 
of  an  author  has  been  given,  followed,  in  parentheses,  by  the  number  of  volume 
and  page. 

In  the  following  List,  arranged  alphabetically,  enough  of  the  full  titles  is  set 
forth  to  serve  the  purposes  of  either  identification  or  reference. 

Be  it  understood  that  this  List  does  not  include  those  books  which  have  been 
consulted  or  used  in  verifying  references ;  were  these  included  the  list  would  be 
many  times  longer. 

An  asterisk  (*)  marks  the  books  used  in  the  preparation  of  this  revised  edition. 

E.  A.  Abbott:  Shakespearian  Grammar  London,  1870 

*  Prof.  Allen  :  MS  notes  on  Macbeth  1867 

*  Angsluer  et  Montegut  :  Macbeth  Paris,  1889 

Anonymous  :   Variorum  Edition  of  Macbeth London,  1807 

"  ^Mfrr<>/'^ar^M  (Dublin  University  Magazine, 

March)  X865 

*  "  Theatrical  Register         York,  1 788 


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548 


APPENDIX 


Antidotb  against  Melancholy  (Collier's  reprint) 

*  W.  Archer  and  R.  W.  Lowe  :  Macbeth  on  the  Stage  (Eng- 

lish Illustrated  Magazine,  December)        

W.  R.  Arrowsmith  :  Shakespeare s  Editors  and  Commentators 
C.  Badham:  7>jr/^5>l^i^^j^ar^  (Cambridge  Essays) 

"  Criticism  Applied  to  Shakespeare 

S.  Bailey  :  The  Received  Text  of  Shakespeare 

J.  Barbt  :  An  Alvearie 

C.  Bathurst:  Differences  of  Shakespeare s  Versification 

*  T.  S.  Baynes  :  Shakespeare  Studies  and  other  Essays 
Beaumont  and  Fletcher  :  Works  (ed.  Dyce) 

A.  Becket  :  Shakespeare  Himself  Again  

S.  Beisley  :  Shakespeare  s  Garden 

*  H.  Beckhaus  :  Shakespeare s  Macbeth  und  die  Schillersche 

Bearbeitung 

J.  W.  O.  Benda  :  Shakespeare s  Dramatische  Werke 

*  A.  Beljame  :  Macbeth  

*  G.  J.  Bell  :  Notes  on  Mrs,  Siddones  Lady  Macbeth  (Nine- 

teenth Century,  February) 

*  Edwin  Booth  :  Macbeth,  Prompt-book  (ed.  W.  Winter)  .  . 
W.  J.  Birch  :  Inquiry  into  the  Philosophy  and  Religion  of 

Shakespeare 

*  J.  B.  Bittinger  :   Transactions  American  Philological  Asso- 

ciation   

*K.  Blind:   ShcUtespeare s  Schicksalschwestem,    Die  Gegen- 

wart,  26  April 

J.  Boaden  :  Life  of  J.  P,  Kemble         

«  K.  B5RNER  :   Ueber  Shakespeare s  Macbeth 

J.  T.  Brock  ett  :  Glossary  of  North  Country  Words  .  . 
C.  A.  Brown  :  Shakespeare  s  Autobiographical  Poems 

J.  C.  Bucknill:  Mad  Polk  of  Shakespeare 

«J.  Bulloch  :  Studies  on  Text  of  Shakespeare 

G.  N.  BOrger  :  Macbeth  

*  N.  Butler  :  Miscellanies        ,  ,        .  %        

*  R,  BOttner  :  ErUtuterungen  stu  Shakespeare s  Macbeth 

T.  Cabifbell  :  Life  of  Mrs.  Siddons 

Lord  Campbell  :  Legal  Acquirements  of  Shakespeare 

E.  Capell  :  Notes,  etc 

*  Miss  C.  Carmichael  :  Academy,  8  Februaiy 

*  J.  C.  Carr  :  Lord  and  Lady  Macbeth  

W.  Carr  :  Dialect  of  Craven 

R.  Carruthers  and  W.  Chambers  :   Works  of  Shakespeare 
R.  Cartwright  :  New  Readings  in  Shakespeare 

G.  Chalmers  :  Supplemented  Apology,  etc 

*<  Caledonia  

W.  and  R.  Chambers:  Book  of  Days 

V.  E.  P.  Chasles  :  £tudes  sur  Shakespeare 

Chevauer  de  Chatblain  :  Macbeth,  treuluite  en  Vers  Pran- 
cais 


1661 


1888 

London,  186$ 

1856 

1846 

1862 

1580 

1857 

1896 

1843 

181$ 

1864 

OstroTo, 

1889 

Leipzig, 

1825 

Paris, 

1897 

1878 

New  York,  1878 

London, 

1848 

1876 

1879 

(( 

1825 

ttdenscheid. 

1870 

Newcastle, 

1829 

London, 

1838 

4< 

1867 

U 

1878 

Gdttingen, 

1784 

LouisTille, 

1880 

Leipzig, 

n.d. 

London, 

1834 

New  York, 

1859 

London, 

1779 

1879 

1897 

1S28 

1861 

1866 

1799 

1807 

1863 

Puis,  1851 

Lon 

don, 

X862 

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LIST  OF  BOOKS 


549 


Lord  John  Chedworth  :  Notes  on  some  of  the  Obscure  PaS' 

sages  of  Shakespeare  s  Plays            London,  1805 

C.  Cowdbn-Clarks  :  Shakespeare  Characters^  etc "        1863 

P.  W.  Clayden  :  Macbeth  and  Lady  Macbeth  (Fortnightly 

Review,  i  August) 1867 

*  J.  Coleman  :  Gentleman^  s  Magazine ,  March                      .  .  1889 
S.  T.  Coleridge  :  Notes  and  Lectures  upon  Shakespeare      .  .  "        1849 

*'  Seven  Lectures  on  Shakespeare  and  Milton 

(ed.  Collier) "       1856 

J.  P.  Coluer  :  Annals  of  the  Stage "        1831 

«               New  Particulars,  etc "        1836 

«               Notes  and  Emendations          "        1853 

H.  Corson  :  Chaucer's  Legende  of  Goode  Women       .  .         .  .  Boston,  1864 

*  *•           Introduction  to  Shakespeare          "        1889 

R.  Cotgrave  :  Dictionarie  of  the  French  and  English  Tongues  London,  1632 

G.  L.  Craik:  English  of  Shakespeare  (ed.  Rolfe)       .  .        .  .  Boston,  1872 

*  J.  H.  Crawford  :  Good  Words,  June          1893 

W.  S.  Dalgleish  :  Macbeth London,  1869 

P.  A.  Daniel  :  Notes  and  Conjectural  Emendations  .  .         .  .  "        1870 

♦J.  Darhesteter:  Macbeth Paris,  1881 

T.  Davies  :  Dramatic  Miscellanies London,  1 784 

N.  Delius  :  Macbeth Bremen,  1841 

*<            LHe  TiecJesche  Shakspere-kritik Elbeifeld,  1846 

««             Shakespeare- Lexikon         «•         1852 

««             Shakespeare s  DramaHsche  Werke  (ed.  ii.)       .  .  "         1869 

T.  De  Quincey  :  Miscellaneous  Essays           Boston,  1851 

*£.  DowDEN:  Shakespeare,  His  Mind  and  Art         .  .         .  .  London,  1875 

*G.  D*HUGUES,  iWJif<Jrf>4            Paris,  1883 

F.  Douce  :  Illustrations  of  Shakespeare            London,  1 807 

N.  Drake:  Shakespeare  and  His  Times          "        1817 

"            Memorials  of  Shakespeare ••        1828 

P.  DuPORT :  Essais  Littiraire  sur  Shakespeare            .  .         •  .  Pkris,  1828 

A.  Dyce  :  Remarks  on  Collier's  and  Knighfs  Editions         .  •  London,  1844 

"           Few  Notes,  etc "        1853 

"           Strictures  on  Collier's  New  Edition            .  .         .  .  "        1859 

*  J.  F.  T.  Dyer  :  Folk-Lore  of  Shakespeare New  York,  1884 

T.  R.  Eaton:  Shakespeare  and  the  Bible        London,  1858 

T.  Edwards:  Ca#t^)ffx^Crthm/»  (Seventh  Edition)           ..  "       1765 

A.  J.  Ellis  :  Early  English  Pronunciation,  etc        ...  .  "        1869 

*  L.  C.  Elson  :  Shakespeare  in  Music •«        I901 

H.  Elwin  :  Shakespeare  Restored         Norwich,  1853 

*  K.  Elze  :  Notes  on  EliMobethan  Dramatists Halle,  1889 

J.  J.  ESCHBNBURG  :  Shakespeari s  Schauspiele             .  .         .  .  StrassbQrg,  1776 

R.  Farmer:  Essay  on  the  Learning  of  Shakespeare  .  .         .  .  London,  1767 

J.  C.  FiCK  :  Macbeth,  with  German  Notes       Erlangen,  1 81 2 

*  H.  FlETKAU :  Schiller's  Macbeth        Kdnigsberg,  1897 

P.  Fitzgerald  :  Life  of  Garrick         London,  1868 

J.  L.  F.  Flathe  :  Shakespeare  in  seiner  Wirklichkeit           .  .  Ldpxig,  1863 

*  F.  J.  Flbay  :  Shakespearian  Manual           London,  1876 


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5  so  APPENDIX 

*Y,yTuJCii  LifeamlWerkofSkakapeart                      ..  Loodoe,  l8S6 

G.  Fletcher  :  Studies  of  Shakespeare *'        1847 

*  R.  Flbtchee  :   Wiiches  Pharmacopeia          Bdtimoce,  1896 

R.  FORBY :    Vocabulary  of  East  Anglia            Loodoo,  1830 

J.  Flo&IO:  a  World  of  Words «*        1598 

*J.  Ford:   Works  (c<L  Giflford)             "        1869 

£.  Forsyth:   Some  Notes  om  Shakespeare s   Character  attd 

Writiugs          "        1867 

C.  L.  FRANCKE  :  Macbeth  sprachHck  und  sachUch  erlSutert  .  .  Bnumschwdg,  1833 

G.  R.  French  :  Shakespeareama  GenealogUa London,  1869 

F.  Fritzart:  War  Shakespeare  eiu  Christ  f Hdddbeis,  1832 

F.  Friesen  :  Shakespecwe  vou  Gerumus           Ldpdg,  1869 

*  F.  J.  FURNIVALL :  Introduction  to  Leopold  Shakespeare  .  .  Loiidon,  1877 
R.  GSNtE:  Geschichteder  Shakespear' schen  Drasmen  in  Demtseh- 

land Ijopog^  1870 

G.  G.  Gertinus  :  Shakespeare •<        1862 

H.  Giles  :  Human  Life  in  Shakespeare           Boston,  186S 

*  A.  H.  GiLKES :  Electra  and  Macbeth            London,  1880 

St.  M.  Girardim  :  Cours  de  Litterature  DrmmaHque            .  .  Puis,  1&45 

«T.  R.  Goinj>:   7)1/ TVtf^Mit           London,  1868 

*Q,Ctoa\J>x  Corrigenda^  fSa^ "        1884 

}^QmMX»\  Shakespeare  and  Ae  Emblem  Writers  ....  <'  1870 
Z.  Grey  :    Critical^   Historical^   and   Explassatary  Notes  om 

Shakespeare ••        17S4 

UMSGwdrrrms:  Morality  if  Shakespeare^slhvmas.  .  **        IflS 

♦Sir  G.  Grove:  Dictionary  of  MusU •«        1890 

"^  Y^Q^yesi  I  History  of  English  Rhythsns                   ..      '..  «<        1838 

M.  GuiZOT :  (Euvres  compUies  de  Shakespeare  (ed.  to.)        .  .  Puis,  1821 

<*            Shakespeare  et  son  Temps  (NoinreUe  EdttioD)    . .  *•      1869 

*W,  B,  HkLMS:  Notes  and  Essays        London,  1884 

n.  nxLLKM  I  Introduction  to  the  Literature  «f  Europe  **  185S 
•DtLfLKHtLmmaz  Toiermnce  in  Pri^gnant  Women            ..     PWadflpliM,  1891 

J.  E.  HARTniG :  Ornithology  of  Shakespeare London,  1871 

Yi.lUiXLrm  Characters  of  Shakespeare  s  IHays        ....  "        1817 

F.  F.  Heard:  Legal  Acquiremems  of  Skakespeare  Boston,  1865 

«          "             Shakespeare  a  Lawyer "       1883 

B.  Heath  :  A  Reoisal  of  Skakespeare s  Text  London,  176$ 

C.'&xxua.i  AufiatoeUerShmkespemre            Bern,  1865 

n.'Oxs^i  Skake^earesMBdckenundFrmnen  ..     FhOaddplua,  1839 

C&xai\Kxaki  Macbetk           Bonn,  1841 

*  J.  Hemrt  :  jEsteida^  or  CriHeal^  Ex^etical^  and  jEsthetieml 

Xemtarks  on  the  jCneis         Dublin,  1881 

L,  Herrig  :  Macbeth Beriin,  1853 

C  CVlwo^  I  VortrOgeMber  Shakespeare^  tUc  Halberstadt,  1856 

J.  A.  Heraud  :  Skakespeare  s  Inner  Ltfe        London,  1865 

R.  H.  Hhdcks:  Macbeth^  eriamert  und gtwurdigt  Mendtetg,  1846 

L.  HlLSENBSRG :  Shakespeares  Dramatische  Werke   .  .  Leipa^  1836 

«E.  Hnxs:  Ar«tfa6*0Myia,  2  October         1869 

*CW.  HODBLL:  /WrZ«rr,iroLzin,No.2 1901 


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UST  OF  BOOKS 


551 


HouNSHKD :  Chronicles 

*  C.  HOLLYBAND :  French  Dictionary 

F.  H5rn  :  Shakespeare  i  SchauspieU  Erla&tert 

H.  N.  Hudson:  Shakespeare:  His  Life,  Art,  and  Character 
FkANgois-ViCTOR  Hugo  :  (Euvres  computes  de  Shakespeare  .  . 

V.  Hugo  :  William  Shakespeare  

£.  HOlsbman  :  Shakespearcy  sein  Geist  und  seine  Werke 
Joseph  Hunter  :  New  Illustrations  of  Shakespeare   .  . 

"  Few  Words,  etc        

Rev.  John  Hunter  :  Macbeth 

C.  M.  Ingleby  :   The  Shakespeare  Fabrications 

*  Henry  Irving  :  Nineteenth  Century^  April 

*  <'  Macbeth,  as  produced  at  the  Lyceum 

*  "  Character  of  Macbeth  (Lecture  deliTered  at 
Owens  Coll^[e,  Manchester,  ii  December) 

Z.  Jackson  :  Shakespeare's  Genius  Justified 

A.  Jacob  :  Macbeth         

Mrs  Jameson  :  Characteristics  of  Women        

*  M.  Jastrow,  Jr.:  Poet  Lore,  voL  ii.  

*  J.  Jekeu  :  Die  Gesetze  der  Tragbdie  nach  gewiesen  an  Shake- 

spear^s  Macbeth        

F.  Jencken  :  Macbeth 

S.  Jervis  :  Proposed  Emendations,  etc. 

S.  Johnson  :  Miscellaneous  Observations  on  Macbeth  (Works, 

cd.  1825)        

B.  JONSON :  Works  (ed.  Gifford) 

I.  M.  JOST :  Erkldrendes  Wbrterbuch  zu  Shakespear^s  Plays  .  . 

*  J.  J.  JUSSERAND :  Shakespeare  in  France        

»  F.  Kaim  :  Shakespeare s  Macbeth        

P.  Kaufmann  :  Shakespeare's  Dramatische  Werke      .  . 

T.  Keightley  :  Shakespeare  Expositor 

Keller  und  Rapp  :  Shakespeare  s  Dramatische  Werke 
Mrs  F.  a.  Kemble  :  Some  Notes  i^on  the  Characters  in  Mac- 
beth (Macmillan's  Magazine,  May) 
'<  Lady  Macbeth  (Macmillan's  Magazine, 

M.y)  

J.  F.  Kemble  :  Macbeth,  as  represented  on  opening  Drury  Lane 

Theatre,  2ist  of  April        

**  Macbeth  Reconsidered 

«              Macbeth  and  Richard  the  Third 
Kemp's  nine  dates  wonder  (Dyce's  reprint) 

*  B.  G.  Kinnear  :  Cruets  Shakespeariance 

*J.  S.  Knowles:  Lectures  on  Dramatic  Literature  .  . 

*  E.  K5LBING :  Byron  und  Shakespeare s  Macbeth  (Englische 

Studien,  xix,  2  

♦R.  KoppeL:  Shakespeare- Studien        

J.  Korner  :  Shakespeare  s  DramcUische  Werke 

F.  Kreyssxg  :   Vorlesungen  Ober  Shakespeare 

*'  Shakespeare-Fragen 


London, 

1587 

(( 

1593 

Leipzig,  1823 

Boston, 

1872 

Paris, 

1859 

<( 

T864 

Leipzig, 

1856 

London, 

1853 

« 

1853 

« 

1869 

« 

1859 

1877 

« 

1889 

1894 

« 

1819 

Berlin, 

1848 

London, 

1833 

1890 

manstadt, 

1873 

Mainz,  1855 

London, 

i860 

« 

I74S 

(C 

x8i6 

Berlin, 

1840 

London,  1899 

Stuttgart, 

1888 

Berlin, 

1830 

London, 

1867 

Stuttgart,  1843 

X867 
X867 

London,  1786 
1786 
18x7 
1600 
1883 
1843 

1894 

Berlin,  1896 

Wien,  1836 

Berlin,  X862 

"      X871 


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552  APPENDIX 

K.  Lachmann  :  Macbeth            Berlin^  1829 

A.  Lacroix:  HUtoirede  V  Influence  de  Shakespeare  surle  Thi- 

Aire  Franfais            Biuzelles,  1856 

A.  DE  Labcartine  :  Shakespeare  et  son  (Euvres          .  .  Paris,  1865 

C.  Lamb  :  Dramatic  Poets  (e<L  Bohn,  1854) London,  1808 

R.  J.  Lane  :  Charles  Kemble's  Shakspere  Headings     .  .  1870 

G.  Langbaine  :  English  DramaHe  Poets         Oxford,  1691 

B.  Larochb  :  (Euvres  computes  de  Shakespeare  (ed.  ▼.)         . .  Paris,  184a 
*S.  Lee:  Life  of  William  Shakespeare London,  1898 

*  W.  Leighton  :  Robinson* s  Epitome  of  Literature^  15  April  .  .  1879 

T.  Lennig  :  Macbeth  (Penn  Monthly,  May) 1870 

F.  A.  Leo  : '  Shakespeare s  Frauen-Ideale          Halle,  1868 

'<            Macbeth        "      1871 

*  M.  F.  LiBBY :  Some  New  Notes  on  Macbeth Toronto,  1893 

W.  W.  Lloyd  :  Essays  on  Shakespeare London,  1858 

*  T.  R.  LoUNSBURY :  Shakespeare  as  a  Dramatic  Artist        .  .  New  York,  1901 

O.  LUDWIG :  Shakespeare- Studien          Leipzig,  1872 

*G.  Macdonald:  A  Dish  of  Orts        London,  1895 

*  W.  Macready  :  Reminiscences  (ed.  F.  Pollock)        .  .         .  .  1875 
W.  Maginn  :  Shakespeare  Papers          "        x86o 

*  Lady  Martin  :  Some  of  Shakespeare's  Female  Characters  .  .  Edinbuigh,  1891 
J.  M.  Mason  :  Comments  on  the  Last  Edition  of  Shakespeare  London,  1785 

"              Comments  on  the  Plays  of  Beaumont  &*  Fletcher  "        1798 
"              Comments  on  the  Severed  Editions  of  Shake- 

speare <«        1807 

P.  Massinger  :    Works  (ed.  GiflFord) "        1805 

G.yiKSSSM  I  Secret  Drama  of  Shakespeare s  Sonnets  Unfolded  "        1872 
Ad.  Meyer  :   Shakespeare s  Verletzung  der  historischen  und 

natUrlichen  Wahrheit           Schwenn,  1863 

E.  Meyer  :  Shakespeare  s  Dramatische  Werke            .  .         .  .  Hambuig,  1825 
A.  MftziftRES  :  Shakespeare^  ses  CSutfres  et  ses  Critiques         .  .  Paris,  i860 

F.  Michel  :  (Euvres  computes  de  Shakespeare,     Pricidie  de  la 

vie  de  Shakespeare  par  (Thomas  Campbell)           ....  "      1855 

T.  Middleton  :   Works  (ed.  Dyce) London,  1843 

*«               The  Witch "        1778 

C.  MlTCH^L :  Essay  on  the  Character  of  Macbeth  (A  Reply 

to  Fletcher) "        1846 

J.  Mitford  :  Cursory  Notes^  etc.            "        1856 

M.  Max  Moltke  :  Shakespeare s  Dramatische  Werke           .  •  Leipzig,  n.  d. 

J.P.Morris:  Glossary  of  the  Words  and  Phrases  of  Furness  London,  1869 

*  R.  G.  Moulton  :  Shakespeare  as  a  Dramatic  Artist            .  .  Oxford,  1893 
«  J.  MOYES !  Medicine  in  Shakespeare Glasgow,  1896 

*  M.  Mull  :  Macbeth London,      1889 

R.  Nares  :   Glossary  (ed.  Halliwell  and  Wright)        .  .         .  .  «<            1888 

*  G.  Neilson  :  Scottish  Antiquary^  October 1897 

New  Exegesis  of  Shakespeare 1859 

New  Shakespeare  Society  (Transactions)            "         1877-9 

J.  Nichols  :  Literary  Illustrations^  etc.            "             1 817 

•<           Notes  on  Shakespeare         **            x86i 


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LIST  OF  BOOKS 


553 


*  M.  Leigh -Noel,  LMdy  Macbeth         London,      18S4 

Notes  <&•  Queries •*  1873-1901 

*  J.  G.  Orger  :  Notes  on  Shakespear^s  Histories  and  Tragedies  *<             1 890 

E.  Ortlepp  :  Shakespeare  s  Dramatische  Werke        .  .         .  .  Stuttgart,  1838 

*  OxoN :  Analysis  and  Study  of  the  Characters  in  Macbeth   .  .  London,  1886 

*  A.  P.  PATON  :  Few  Notes  on  Macbeth            Edinburgh,  1877 

R.  Patterson  :  Natural  History^  etc London,  1838 

F.  Peck  :  Memoirs  of  Milton *'        1740 

'^%\^Yva\X^  Yvs.^\^G  I  Hard  Knots  in  Shakespeare  {tA,\\.)  "  1886 
M.  Petri  :  Zur  Einflthring  Shakespeare's  in  die  Christliche 

Familie           Hanover,  1868 

*  R.  PiTCAiRN :  Ancient  Criminal  Trials  in  Scotland           .  .  Edinborough,  1822 

J.  R.  PlanchA  :  British  Costume          London,  1846 

K.  L.  POrschke  :   Ueber  Shakespeare!' s  Macbeth          .  .         .  .  KOnigsberg,  1 801 

Lin  Rayne  :  Macbeth^  Arranged  for  Dramatic  Heading      ,  .  1868 

Henry  Reed  :  English  History  and  Poetry London,  1869 

*J.  Rees:  Life  of  Edwin  Forrest         Philadelphia,  1874 

*J.  W.  Redhouse:  Academy^  24  July 1886 

*  Miss  A.  Repplier:  Fireside  Sphinx "             1901 

J.  E.  Riddle  :  Illustrations  of  Aristotle  from  Shakespeare      .  .  Oxford,  1832 

W.  Richardson  :  Essays  on  Shakespearis  DramcUic  Characters  London,  1 797 

J,  KiTSOli :  Femarks  Critical  and  Illustrative,  etc      ..         ..  •*        1 783 

J.  G.  RiTTER  :  Programm  der  Realschuletu  Leer       ....  1871 

*  J.  Forbes-Robertson  :  Macbeth       "        1898 

*  A.  KoTT^t  Handbook  of  Shakespearian  Music  ....  "  1 878 
E.  ROFFE:  Essay  Upon  the  Ghost  Belief  of  Shakespeare  .  .  "  1851 
*Ko&sltaiidiCGtiW}ViJ}x  Side-lights  on  Shakespeare  ..  .,  "  1897 
H.  T.  Rotscher  :  Cyclus  Dramatische  Charaktere     .  .         .  .  '     Berlin,  1844 

'*                 Die  KunstderDramatischen  Darstellung  "      1864 

•*  Shakespeare  in  seinen  hdchsten  Charakter- 

bilden "      1864 

Harry  Rowe:  Macbeth  (Second  Edition) London,  1799 

H.  I.  RUGGLES:  Method  of  Shakespeare           New  York,  1870 

G.  RCmelin  !  Shakespeare- Studien        Stuttgart,  1866 

W.  L.  Rushton  :  Shakespeare  a  Lawyer         London,  1 858 

"                 Shakespeare s  Legal  Maxims          .  .         .  .  «*        1859 

**                  Shakespeare  Illustrated  by  Old  Authors     .  .  "        1867 

"                 Shakespeare s  Testamentary  Language      .  .  "        1869 

"                  Shakespeare  Illustrated  by  the  Lex  Scripta  "        1870 

W.  B.  Rye:  England cu seen  by  Foreigners "        1865 

*  G.  Sarrazin  :   Shakespeare s  Macbeth  und  Kyd's  Spanische 

Tragddie  (Englische  Studien,  xxi,  2)         Berlin,  1895 

A.  W.  Schlegel:  Lectures  (trans,  by  J.  Black)          .  .         .  .  London,  1815 

Schlegel  und  Tieck  :  Shakespeare s  Dramatische  Werke    .  .  Berlin,  1833,  1855 

J.  Schiller  :  Macbeth Leipzig,  1801 

♦R.  Scot  :  Discoverie  of  Witchcraft 1584 

A.  Schwartzkopf  :  Shakespeare  in  seiner  bedeutung  fir  die 

Kirche  in  unserer  Tage        Halle,  1864 

*  Sir  W.  Scott  :  Miscellaneous  Essays            Philadelphia,  1826 


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INDEX 


PAGE 

A=*on 2IO 

Ahvise^  deception 231 

Access,  accent  of 78 

Acheron 254 

Actors  compared  to  shadows    .    .    .  335 

Addition      50 

Adjective  placed  after  noun  ....  242 

«        position  of,  when  relative 

clause  is  understood  .    .  170 

**        used  for  adverb 300 

AdimreA'^Tiforthy  of  wonder    .   .    .  225 

Advantage 327 

Adverb  from  adjective 166 

Adverbs,  transposition  of 222 

Affeer*d 280 

Agents 199 

Alarum'd 122 

Aleppo,  early  mention  of,  as  port    .  32 

Alexandrine  (I,  ii,  40) 22 

<<          apparent  (III,  i,  166)  .  188 

'*          with  six  accents    .   .   .  274 

All-haiPd 69 

All's  too  weak 19 

All-thing 174 

All  to  all 221 

Always  thought 188 

Amphibious  section 115 

And=»(^ 239 

Angerly 233 

Annoyance      309 

Anticipate  =/r^^ii/ 266 

Antique 265 

Apparition  of  dagger 119 

Apparitions  in  IV,  i,  symbolism  of  .  256 

Arbitrate,  indicating  issue     ....  329 

Ax^mtni^  theme  of  discourse     .    .  164 

Armed  Head 256 

Aroint 31 

/f  J  apparently ««  flj  f/     .    .     60,132,170 

**  '^seeing  that 113 


PAGE 

As^towit 320 

Assay 290 

At  a  point 288 

At  quiet 148 

Attempt 129 

Attraction  of  verb  with  two  singular 

nouns 126 

Auger  hole 164 

Augurs 228 

Authorised,  accent  of 218 

Avouch 185 

Babe 99 

Baboon,  accent  of 251 

Baby  of  a  Girl 224 

Banquet 67 

Banquo  and  Fleance,  fictitious  char- 
acters      3 

"       Ghost  of 210 

•*            "        and  Garrick  ...  221 

"            **        and  Kemble     .    .  222 

"        pronunciation  of 3 

Banquo' s  cursed  thoughts     .    .    .    .  114 

Bare-faced » <^M 185 

Bailct  or  mart/et 88 

Battle,  a  division  of  Army    ....  338 

Beard,  the  sign  of  witch 40 

Beast 106 

Bell-man      127 

BeJlona's  bridegroom 27 

Bernhardt' s  costumes  in  Lady  Mac- 
beth    503 

Better,  the 176 

Bimam,  distance  of,  from  Dunsinane  336 

Birthdom 276 

Bladed  com 254 

Blanket  of  the  dark 80 

Blaspheme  ='s/ander 286 

Bleeding,  a  verbal  noun 310 

Blood-boltered 264 

557 


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558 


INDEX 


Bloody,  frequenqr  of 15 

'^kA^^  confident 152 

Bond 198 

Bonfire 148 

Booth  as  Macbeth,  Winter  on  .    .    .  499 

Borne  in  hand 183 

Bosom  interest 30 

Bought =<zr^<>^^ 103 

Brain,  divisions  of 1 1 1 

Breeched 160 

Brinded 244 

Bucknill,  Lady  Macbeth 484 

"         Macbeth 466 

Burger's  Prose  Translation    ....  418 

Campbell,  Lady  Macbeth 480 

"          on  the  Play 400 

Card 34 

Careless 60 

Carleton,  Lady  Martin  as  Lady  Mac- 
beth    496 

Carmichael  on  connection  between 

Witches  and  Nomae 9 

Carr,  on  the  Play 413 

Cast      150 

Cat  in  the  adage 104 

Cats  in  Witchcraft 244 

Cause 311 

Cawdor,  Thane  of 29, 43 

Cere  in  ceremony  a  monosyllable  .    .  210 

Qhaxa^vatk^  to  fight 182 

Chance  of  Goodness 289 

Chasles,  on  the  Play 458 

Chastise,  accent  of 75 

Chawdron 250 

Cheer 316 

Cherubin      99 

Children,  a  trisyllable 294 

Ch6ughs 229 

Clacha  Breath,  judgment  stones   .    .  227 

Qatter 340 

C^aa^y —foreboding 242 

Coigne  of  Vantage 89 

Cold,  a  disyllable 246 

Coleridge,  Lady  Macbeth 472 

'<         on  the  Porter 144 

Colme-kill 171 

Colmes'  inch 29 


PACK 

CoTX!Ams\i<fm=^  social  confusion  ...  153 
Comparison  between  Witches  of  Mid- 

dleton  and  of  Shakespeare   ...  10 

Compt,  in 92 

Compunctious 78 

Conjure,  accent  of 254 

Consent 117 

Construction 61 

Contend 91 

Convey 282 

Conyixict  =^overpotoer    ....   111,290 

Copy 196 

Corporal  for  corporeal 44 

Costume,  Knight  on 501 

**         Planch^  on 502 

"         R.  G.  White  on     ....  502 

Course 339 

**       at  a  feast 135 

Crack  of  Doom 263 

Cracks 23 

Cribbed 209 

Cyme 323 

Dagger,  apparition  of 119 

Dam,  applied  to  ken 298 

Daniel,  on  Duration  of  Action     .    .  504 

Dareful 330 

Dare  me  to  the  Desert 222 

Dares  no  more 105 

Darmesteter,  on  the  Play 462 

Date  of  Play 353 

D*Avenant*s  Version,  Nicholson  on  507 

"                 **       reprint  of  .    .  507 

DtKT^  grievous 310 

De  Quincey,  on  Knocking  ....  138 
Deserve,  see  Discern, 

Despair  for  despair  of 342 

Discern 277 

Disposition 225 

"DispsjAi^  •=  contend 299 

Disseat 316 

Distance 185 

Doff,  metaphorically 295 

Dollars 29 

Double  sure 258 

Doubly  redoubled 2^ 

Dressed 103 

Dudgeon 121 


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INDEX 


559 


Duncan,  real  history  of 395 

<  *      relationship  of,  to  Lady  Mac- 
beth    .    .  67 
*<              "               to  Macbeth  .  21 
"       resemblance    of,   to    Lady 

Macbeth' s  father    .    .    .  X29 

**       time  of  murder  of  ...    .  150 

Dunsinane,  meaning  of 259 

'*         pronunciation  of    .   .   .  259 

*'         use  of,  as  fortress  ...  311 

Dusty  death 334 

Duties 62 

Dwindle 35 

Earnest 49 

Ecstasy I94>  293 

Eight  Kings 262 

Either  as  monosyllable 340 

Elision  of  e  in  the  before  consonant  173 

**       of  J  in  trisyllables    .    .    .    .  136 

•*       of  short  vowel  preceded  by 

long  one,  or  diphthong 153 

Ellipsis  after  is 348 

"       in  latter  of  two  clauses  con- 
nected by  a  relative     .    .  230 

«      in  negative  clauses  (line  221)  295 

Elson,  on  Music 544 

Elwin,  on  dialogue  of  Witches     .    .  14 

English  as  Epicures 314 

Enow  and  enough 273 

Equivocator X47 

Ermites  or  Hermits 91 

Eschenburg's  Prose  Translation  .    .  417 

Eteme      196 

Ethical  Dative 242 

Everything 234 

Evils  as  monosyllable 281 

Expense 348 

Extra  syllable  added  before  a  pause  279 

Face  of  Heaven 276 

Fair  is  foul 13 

Fantastical 41 

Fare,  a  disyllable 286 

Farmer,  on  Oxford  Triumph     .    .    .  396 

Farrow 256 

Ytcrot  ^  look,  countenance 86 

Fear,  with  accusative  •» fear  for    .   .  70 


Fee-grief 295 

Fell  of  Hair 331 

Field,  into  the 302 

Y'AtA^defiled i8l 

Fillet 248 

Final  ^pronounced  as  extra  syllable  166 

Fitzgerald,  on  Garrick*s  costume  .    .  5^3 

Flathe,  on  the  Play 445 

Fleance,  a  fictitious  character   ...  4 

Fletcher,  on  the  Play 401 

Fletcher's  strictures  on  Mrs  Siddons*s 

Lady  Macbeth 494 

Flout 26 

Fool,  applied  to  tears 271 

Fools 334 

For  =  Af  being 287 

•*    ^in  spite  of 272 

Forced 330 

**       metaphor 160 

Forge  quarrels  ....•••..  283 
Forman,  Simon,  on  performance  of 

Macbeth 356 

Foul  and  fair  a  day 39 

Foysons 285 

Fredegunda^  Legend  of  as  basis  of 

moving  wood  incident 399 

Freedom  of  will   of  Characters   in 

Macbeth 456 

Friesen,  on  the  Play 454 

Fumi vail,  on  the  Play 412 

Gallowglasses 17 

Gallowgrosses     •    • 17 

Garnet,  Henry,  trial  of 354 

Garrick  and  Ghost  of  Banquo  ...  221 

"       as  Macbeth 493 

Genius 180 

Gentle  senses,  prolepsis 88 

«      used  proleptically  ...     88,  219 

Gcricke,  on  defects  of  mise  en  seine  .  457 

German  Translations 416 

Germins 2$$ 

Gervinus,  on  the  Play 441 

Ghost  of  Banquo 210,  439 

Ghosts  of  Banquo  and  Duncan  .  .  21 1 
Gilcomgain,  Rebellion  of,  origin  of 

Thane  of  Cawdor  incident    ...  27 

Glamis,  pronunciation 40 


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56o 


INDEX 


PAGB 

Glass,  magical 263 

Go  with  me 200 

God  be  with  you 179 

God-eyld  or  God'ild 90 

Gospcird 183 

Gouts 121 

GT9s:t^^  gracious 216 

Gray-Malkin 12 

Great  grief  silent 296 

Green  one  red 141 

Grimalkin,  see  Gray-Malkin, 

Grooms 128 

Grow  =  /<?  ding 64 

Guild  . . .  guilt 137 

Gulf=Mr0a/ 249 

Hair 262 

Hales,  on  the  Porter 145 

Hallam,  on  the  Play 406 

Hangman 133 

Harbinger 65 

Harness  for  Armor 337 

Harpier 246 

Yizyiti'g'^  estate 42 

Hazlitt,  on  Character  of  Macbeth  .    .  466 

He  has  no  Children 297 

Heayen,  in  plural  sense 1 14 

Hecate 232 

Hedge  Pig 245 

Here  approach 288 

Hermits  or  Ermites 91 

Hiecke,  on  the  Play 440 

Hills,  on  Third  Murderer 200 

Hired  assassins  in  Shakespeare's  time  1 89 

Yio\^  =  interpret 270 

Holinshed 380 

YiorcMt^to  the  utmost 51 

Hoodwink 283 

Horn,  on  the  Play 431 

Horror  of  silence 1 25 

Hose 148 

Hover,  pronounced  ho^er 14 

Human  =  m/i/iJ^</ 219 

"       kindness 71 

Hunter,  on  the  Play 406 

Hurley-burley 10 

Hyperbaton  (Suffering)      .   .    .  242,  342 

Hyrcan  Tiger 222 


PAGE 

/  dropped  in  trisyllables   .   .   •     54*136 

I  have  no  spur 100 

rUdo 33 

If  it  were  done 94 

\fp^QT9sA.^unkn(nuing 84 

Imperative  use  of  subjunctive  .   .   .  338 

Impostors 2x8 

Incarnadine X40 

In  compt 92 

In  « <7if  account  of 281 

'<  used  in  sense  of  into 149 

Infinitive  Active  used  for  Passive  .    .  338 

*'       used  indefinitely     ....  142 

Infirm  of  purpose 137 

Inflection   in  s  with  two    singular 

nouns  as  subject 57, 196 

Informed  used  absolutely 76 

Ingredients      97, 250 

Inhabit 223 

Insane  Root 45 

Interim 57 

Irving,  on  Character  of  Macbeth  .   .  470 

<*      as  Macbeth,  Wedmore  on     .  497 

"      on  Third  Murderer   ....  201 

**      treatment  of  Witches    ...  10 

Jameson,   Mrs,  Character  of  Lady 

Macbeth 477 

Johnson,  on  the  Play 400 

Judgment  Stones,  dacha  breath  .    .  227 

Jutty 89 

Kean's  scenic  arrangement  of  I,  iL  .     14 

Keep  seat 217 

Kemble  and  Ghost  of  Banquo  .    .    .   222 
**       Mrs,  on  Character  of  Lady 

Macbeth 4^5 

Kemble's,  J.  P.,  Answer  to  Whately  .  465 

Kerns 17 

King  Grunewald  Legend^  basis  of 

moving  wood  incident 398 

King's  Evil,  touching  for 290 

**                  **          an    inter- 
polated fMissage  289 

Kirke,  on  the  Play 411 

Knocking,  De  Quincey  on  ....  138 
Knowings,  in  concrete  sense  ...  168 
Kdlbing,  on  Byron  and  Macbeth  .    .   457 


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561 


PAGB 

Kieyssig,  on  the  Flay 44^ 

Lacroix,  on  the  Play 458 

Lady  Macbeth,  Character  of— 

BuckniU  on 4S4 

Campbell  on 480 

Mrs  Jameson  on 477 

Mrs  Kemble  on 485 

Maginn  on      483 

Lady  Martin  on 485 

Mrs  Siddons  on 472 

Steevens  on 471 

Symons  on 486 

Lady  Macbeth,  father  of,  resemblance 

of,  to  Duncan    .   .  129 

"            Miss  Terry  as    ...  68 

"            omission  of,  in  II,  iii.  156 
**            Personal  Appearance 

of 439 

«•            sleep-walking  of   .    .  303 
**            swoon    of,    real     or 

feigned 161 

Lamartine,  on  the  Play 461 

Langbaine 492 

Latch««ra/f^ 295 

Latin  text  of  Oxford,  Interlude  by 

Gwynne -  397 

Leighton,  on  comparison  of  Witches 

of  Middleton  and  Shakespeare    .  10 

Leo,  on  the  Flay 457 

Libby,  on  Third  Murderer    ....  203 

Life  to  come 97 

Light  thickens 198 

Limbeck      ill 

Limited 152 

List  of  Books 547 

List,  use  of,  in  singular 182 

Listening  with  particle  omitted    .    .  133 

1Jc9t&  =^  living  erecUures 341 

Lock  or  Purcell,  composer  of  Music  ?  543 

Loon 315 

Lounsbury,  on  the  Play 416 

Luxurious  = /iuavi^ii» 281 

Macbeth,  Character  of— 

Bucknill  on 466 

Hazlitt  on 466 

Trying  on 470 

36 


PAGB 

Macbeth,  Character  of— 

Moulton  on 4^ 

Rose  on 4^7 

Whatelyon 463 

Macbeth,  relationship  of,  to  Duncan  21 
Macdonald,  Rebellion  of,  a  fable  .  394 
Macduff,  instances  of  similar  cases 

to  birth  of 34^,  399 

Macready's  costumes  as  Macbeth    .   503 
«  scenic    arrangement   of 

IV,  i 243 

<*  self-criticism 496 

Maggot  Pyes 228 

Maginn,  on  Character  of  Lady  Mac- 
beth       483 

Majesty,  a  disyllable 206 

Makes  for  make  his l6i 

Martin,  Lady,   on  her  own   Lady 

Macbeth 49^ 

lIL^XtA'' astonished 309 

Meat  pronounced  mate 210 

ULtd^cmt  fox  Physician 312 

Memory,  seat  of iii 

JAert^  complete 291 

Metaphor,  forced 160 

Metaphysical  B  j«/^m<x/!Kra/    ...     75 

Mettle  or  OT^/o/ 112 

Meyer's  Transition 425 

M^zidres,  on  the  Play 459 

Milk  of  human  kindness 70 

Milton's  Macbeth,  Steevens  on  .  .  400 
Minutely,  either  as  adjective  or  adverb  312 

yiocVsTf "  mimicry 225 

yLodg£cn.==  ordinary 293 

Moe  and  more 320 

Monstrous,  a  trisyllable 239 

Monuments,  maws  of  kites  .    .    .    .   219 

More  and  Less 328 

Mortal  <s  murderous 78,  220 

yioi^&sd^  Ascetic 310 

Motives  applied  to  persons  ....  279 
Moulton,  on  Character  of  Macbeth  .  468 

Moving  Wood 325 

'<  basis  of,  in  Legend 

ofFredegunda  .    .   399 
**  ba^  of,  in  Legend 

of  King  GrUnetoald 398 

Multitudinous 140 


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562 


INDEX 


Mammy,  nse  of,  in  Blateria  Medica  248 

ybaat^in  amoMe 220 

Music 543 

'<    to  D'Avenanfs  ▼ernon,  trae 

author  of 543 

Must,  meaning  definite  futurity   297,  342 

Naked  frailties 164 

"      new-bome-Babe 98 

Napkin 147 

"StLYe^nave/ 20 

Ne'er  shook  hands    ..••...  20 

New  hatch'd 153 

"Nice  ^flddoraie 294 

Night-gown 142 

No  for  do 105 

N  oise  ^  compofty  o/Matuiafu  ,  .  261 
Nominative        absolute       {A/tuays 

thought) 188 

Nonpareil 208 

Nomae,   connection    between,   and 

Witches 9 

'^o\t=' notoriety 197 

"    ^Kst  of  guests 204 

Nouns  ending  in  j,  plurals  of,  not 

pronounced 168 

Obscure,  accent  of 154 

Of  used  partitively     .' 44 

*'  ^tviih 17 

Offices lis 

Old 146 

Omission  of  final  d  in  participle  pas- 
sive       241 

«       of  Lady  Macbeth  in  II,  iii.  156 

On-^ 45 

One,  pronunciation  of    .    .  230,  282,  349 

One-halfe  world 121 

Only  . . .  but,  a  pleonasm     ....  345 

Optative  use  of  subjunctive  ....  338 

Or  ^  or  are 59 

Other  Devil's  name 147 

"     three  Witches,  the,  of  IV,  i.  .  251 

"     used  adverbially  for  0/A^rz&u/  112 

Overcome 225 

Oxford  Interlude 396 

Padock 12 


Pall  used  as  veib 80 

Palter 343 

Parricide  =  OT«n^ 177 

Participial  formation,  irregular     .   .  256 

Passive  use  of  infinitive  active  .   .    .  338 

Patch 315 

Paton,  on  Third  Murderer    ....  200 

Pauser 160 

Peace,  vX^dead 294 

"      or  place 193 

Peari 347 

Peep 80 

Penthouse 35 

Perfect  spy 186 

Perseverance,  accent  of 285 

Petri,  on  the  Play 453 

Plan  of  the  Work 545 

Plural  nsed  for  attribute  oommon  to 

many 186 

Plurals  of  nouns  ending  in  s  not  pro- 
nounced    168 

Point,  at  a 288 

Porter,  Coleridge  on  the 144 

«       Hales  on  the 145 

Ports 34 

Possess -»s»/^rm 296 

Posset 128 

Prefix  tf-'ffK 210 

Prepositions,  omission  of,  in  adverbial 
expressions  of  time, 

manner,  etc.  .    .     57,  280 

•«          repetition  of .   ....  230 

Present  s  f>ir/aii/ 30 

Pretence  =  fVf/^if/f^if 165 

Pretend  =  m/«9f// 170 

Prince  of  Cumberland 64,  66 

Prolepsis  (Gentle) 88,  219 

Proof 27 

Proper » absolute 2X8 

Purveyor 91 

Vvii  on  =^  encourage 301 

Quarry 18,296 

Quell 112 

Question  =  converse  with 40 

Rf  in  disyllables,  pronounced  as  with 

an  extra  vowel 77 


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563 


PAGB 

Rachel's  idea  for  novel  effect  .   .   .  306 

V^^gX.^^  rapturously  affected   ....  42 

Rat  without  a  tail 33 

Rather,  the 295 

^vnn' 6.^  glutted 249 

Rawness 279 

Readiness 165 

RebeUions  dead 260 

Relative  pronoun,  omission  of  .    .    .  339 

Remembrance,  a  quadrisyllable    .    .  194 

Vitmojsit^  relenting 78 

Renty   used   for   present    tense   of 

rend 293 

Repetitions 349 

Require  ^^/i^oxi^ 207 

Resemblance    of    Lady    Macbeth's 

father  to  Duncan 129 

Rex  Plaionicui 396 

Reynolds,  Sir  Joshua,  on  Dialogue 

between  Banquo  and  Duncan  .   .  87 
Rhythmical  prose,  Shakespeare's  use 

of  (line  18) 303 

^iVi^/^^^^,  a  stage-direction     .    .  156 

Roffe,  on  Ghost  Belief 408 

Ronyon 32 

Rooky 198 

Rose,  on  Character  of  Macbeth    .   .  467 
Rosse,  Libby's  hypothesis  in  regard 

to 24 

«      Thane  of,  as  title 46 

Rossi  as  Macbeth,  Thomas  on     .   .  499 

ROtscher,  on  the  Play 438 

Rubs 188 

ROmelin,  on  the  Hay 451 

Rump-fed 31 

Safe  toward 63 

Sag 314 

Salvini     as    Macbeth,     Stevenson, 

on 498 

Scaon'd 231 

Scenic  arrangement  of  I,  ii,  Kean's  14 

Schiller's  Translation 419 

Schlegel  and  Tieck's  Translation     .  426 

"       on  the  Play 430 

School  or  shoal 96 

Scone 171 

Scon2bL*&cit  scotched .191 


PAGE 

Scott's  correction  of  Kemble's  head- 

g«^ 503 

Season 231 

Seat  or  site 87 

Second  Cock 149 

•*      Course 135 

Security 235 

Seed  used  for  descendants 181 

Seel 198 

Seems      25 

Self  used  as  adjective 348 

Senna 323 

Sennet 174 

Sense  as  plural 304 

Sensible  in  objective  sense    ....  120 
ScntanX.'^sergeant'at'arms  ....  15 
Seven  deadly  Sins,  indirect  refer- 
ence to 281 

Sewer 93 

Seyward,  Old 288 

**         Young 339 

Shag-ear'd 275 

Shakespeare  in  Scotland 48S 

Shall  used  to  denote  inevitable  fu- 
turity     217,  280 

Shard-borne 197 

She  should  have  died 332 

Shew  of  Eight  Kings,  the    ....  261 

S\nxit=  prosper       173 

Shipman's  card 34 

Shoal  or  school 96 

Short  vowel  preceded  by  long  one  or 

diphthong,  contraction  of  ...    .  345 

Shonghs 184 

Should  used  as  past  tense  of  verb    .  281 

"      nought 25,335 

Shut  up 116 

Siddons,  Mrs,  account  of  her  first 
"  appearance  as  Lady 

Macbeth 476 

«  as     Lady    Macbeth, 

Fletcher's  strictures 

on 493 

«  costumes  of,  as  Lady 

Macbeth 503 

<<  on  Character  of  Lady 

Macbeth 472 

Sides 123 


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INDEX 


/ 


PAGB 

Sightless  »tii9£mMp 79,  100 

Sights 266 

Silence  during  incantation    ....  257 

Sinely  father  of  Macbeth 42 

Single  lines  with  four  to  seven  sylla- 
bles    242 

"      state  of  man 54 

Sirrah,  applied  to  women 271 

SkuT 321 

Slab 250 

Sleave 135 

Sleek  as  verb 194 

Sleep 134 

Sleep-walking,  Lady  Macbeth' s  .   .  303 

Slip  used  transitively 151 

Slope  as  verb 255 

Slumbry 303 

Smell  as  a  sooroeof  Tragic  Emotion  307 

Snider,  on  the  Play 407 

'*       on  the  Witches 8 

Solenm 174 

Solicit  =  to  prevail  by  entreaty  .     52,  291 

Scsan^txai^^  sometimes 90 

Song :  Black  Spirits,  etc 253 

Sore 168 

Sorry 132 

V  Source  of  Plot •   •  379 

Sowre 124 

Spalding,  on    connection    between 

Witches  and  Nomae 9 

Speculation  »/0nvri9/'/^i/ .   .    .    .  222 

Spirit,  a  monosyllable 264 

Spoken  »t/ujafV/ 292 

Sprights»  (7i(Ar/:r 155 

Spurious  passages  in  Macbeth  .   .   .  364 

Spy,  perfect 186 

Staff-rime 38 

Stage-history 492 

Stars  tenned  candles 114 

State 207 

Steevens,  on  Character  of  Lady  Mac- 
beth    471 

Stephanie  der  Jflngere's  Macbeth     ,  4x7 
Stevenson,    on    Salvini    as    Mac- 
beth       498 

Stevenson's  account  of  failure   of 

Ghost 215 

Sticking-place iio 


PAGS 

Stones  ...  to  move 227 

Strutt,  on  fit  beginning  of  tragedy    .  36 
Strutt's  opinion  in  regard  to  Ghost 

of  Banquo 212 

Studied 60 

Stufft . . .  stuff 322 

Subjunctive  used  imperatively  or  op- 

tatively 338 

Success  ^^osperotis  issue 69 

Such  a  word 332 

'*    used  with  relative  words  .   .   .  299 

Suggestion 52 

Summer-seeming 284 

Supper,  time  of 175 

Surcease 96 

Sweaten,  irregular  participial  forma- 
tion    256 

Sweno 28 

Swine  and  Witches 31 

Swoon  of  Lady  Macbeth,  real  or 

feigned? x6i 

Symbolism  of  Apparitions  in  IV,  i.  .  256 
Symons,  on  Character  of  Lady  Mac- 
beth   486 

Take  my  milk 79 

Ttlt^  to  count 48 

Temple,  confusion  of  metaphor  .   .  155 

Tending  used  as  substantive     ...  76 

Terry,  Miss  Ellen,  as  Lady  Macbeth  68 

Text,  account  of 353 

Thane 25 

*<      of  Cawdor ^»43 

"      of  Cawdor's  death  compared 

to  that  of  Essex 59 

That » JO /4a/ 28,132,277 

"    'T^such 283 

"    used  as  conjunctional  affix  286,  295 

The  better 176 

"    Rather 295 

"    which      17S»345 

'*    used  for  possessive  pronoun  .   .  108 

Thee  without ...  he  within  ....  20S 

Thick  as  tale 48 

Third  Murderer 200 

This,  redundant 97 

Thomas,  on  Rossi  as  Macbeth  .   .   .  499 

*<        on  Third  Murderer     .   .   .  202 


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565 


Thou  and  Your,  use  of 321 

Thoughts  thinking 190 

Tidings  with  singular 76 

Tiger,  name  of  ship 32 

Time  Analysis 5^ 

Time  and  the  Hour 56 

"     for  tune 300 

«     of  Duncan's  murder     ....    150 

"      ^the  world 85,282 

To = according  to 204 

«  »fif  comparison  with 218 

**^inotfor 274 

"  ^to  that  end 16 

**  friend 277 

Toad,  venomous 247 

Top  of  Sovereignty 258 

Touch 194,  269,  277 

Touch-piece 292 

Towering 169 

Trains 287 

Trammel      95 

Translation  of   Schiller's    Original 

Porter-scene  ....   422 
"  of  Schiller's    Original 

Witch-scene 420 

Translations  in  German  of  Double^ 

double^  etc 428 

Transposition  of  adverbs 222 

Travailing 168 

Trees  to  speak 227 

Twain  and  two,  difference  between  .    177 
Twelve  Fruits  of  Holy  Ghost,  indi- 
rect reference  to 285 

Twice  and  once 245 

Two-fold  Balls  and  treble-sceptzes  .   263 
Two    negatives    to    strengthen  de- 
nial   154 

Tjrznny  ^  usurpation 282 

Tyrant  =»  Usurper 240 

Ulrici  and  Delius's  Translation    .    .  427 

Un-  and  In-  as  negative  affixes    .    .  287 

Undeeded 340 

Unrough 311 

Unsafe  the  while 195 

Uproar  as  verb 285 

Using  ^  entertaimng  /amiiiarfy  .    .  190 

Utterance 182 


Valued  file 184 

Vault 158 

Vaulting  Ambition 10 1 

Verdi's  opera  of  Macbeth 544 

Vertumnus,  Latin  play 397 

Voice,  a,  cry :  Sleep  no  more   .    .    .  134 

Voss's  Translation 423 

Wassail no 

Watching 303 

Way  and  move 270 

"    of  Life 319 

Wedmore,  on  Irving  as  Macbeth  .    .  497 

We  fail 109 

Weird,  see  JVeyward. 

Weyward 37 

What  ^'^  in  what  state 229 

**     used  as  a  reUtive    .   .   .  277,  339 
Whateley,   on    Character  of  Mac- 
beth   463 

Whether  pronounced  as  monosylla- 
ble     50 

While  then 178 

Whiles^whtlst 69 

Whisper  used  without  preposition    .   296 

Who  cannot  want 237 

Who,  inflection  of,  neglected     .  216,  293 

'<    used  for  objective      186 

Wieland's  Translation 417 

Wind  as  a  free  gift 33 

Winter,  on  Booth  as  Macbeth  .   .    .   499 
Wintownis  Cronykil,  summary  of    .   395 

Wisdom 278 

H^tchf  The,  of  Middleton    ....   361 
Witch-scenes  from  Middleton' s  Play  369 

Witches  and  swine 31 

*'      comparison  between  Mid- 
dleton's      and      Shake- 
speare's (Leighton)     .   .      10 
«      connection    between,    and 

Nomse      9,  243 

"      distribution  of  speeches  of, 

by  Steevens  in  I,  i.     .   .     11 
"       dramatic  treatment  of,  by 

Irving ID 

'<       Elwin,  on  dialogue  of  .    .    .      14 
'  *      of  IV,  i.  different  from  those 

of  I,  iii 243 


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Witches,  Snider  on 8 

"       the  other  three,  of  IV,  i.   .  251 

Withoat»^^0m/ 190 

With  used  for  ^ 180 

Wood,  moving 325 

y^orm^  serpent 209 


PAGB 

Would  for  skauid  ....  103,  278,  295 

"      used  for  will,  wish    ....    179 

Would' St  not  play  false 72 

Yew,  poisonous 250 


MNOINO   CO. 

S  i»'-» 

L   MARK 


5059 


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