A C T V.

SCENE, an Anti-chamber in Macbeth's Caftle,

I

Enter a Doctor of Phyfick, and a Gentlewoman.

Досток.

Have two nights watch'd with you, but can perceive no truth in your report. When was it, the last walk'd?

Gent. Since his Majefty went into the field, I have feen her rife from her bed, throw her night-gown upon her, unlock her clofet, take forth paper, fold it, write upon't, read it, afterwards feal it, and again return to bed; yet all this while in a moft faft fleep.

Dot. A great perturbation in nature! to receive at once the benefit of fleep, and do the effects of watching. In this dumbry agitation, befides her walking, and other actual performances, what (at any time) have you heard her fay?

Gent. That, Sir, which I will not report after her. Dot. You may to me, and 'tis moft meet you fhould. Gent. Neither to you, nor any one, having no witnefs to confirm my fpeech.

Enter Lady Macbeth with a taper.

Lo, you! here fhe comes: this is her very guife, and, upon my life, fast asleep; observe her, ftand close. Doct. How came the by that light?

Gent. Why, it flood by her: fhe has light by her continually, 'tis her command.

Dot. You fee, her eyes are open.

Gent. Ay, but their fenfe is fhut.

Doct. What is it fhe does now? look, how the rubs her hands.

Gent. It is an accustom'd action with her, to seem

thus

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

Lady. Yet here's a spot.

Doct. Hark, the speaks. I will fet down what comes from her, to fatisfy my remembrance the more ftrongly. Lady. Out! damned fpot; out, I fay-one; two; why then, 'tis time to do't-hell is murky. Fy, my Lord, fy, a foldier, and afraid? what need we fear who knows it, when none can call our power to account? yet who would have thought the old man to have had fo much blood in him?

Doct. Do you mark that?

Lady. The Thane of Fife had a wife; where is fhe now? what, will these hands ne'er be clean?—no more o' that, my Lord, no more o' that: you marr all with this ftarting.

Doct. Go to, go to; you have known what you fhould not.

Gent. She has fpoke what fhe fhould not, I am fure of that: heav'n knows, what he has known.

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

De7. What a figh is there? the heart is forely charg'd. Gent. I would not have fuch a heart in

for the dignity of the whole body.

Doct. Well, well, well

Gent. Pray God, it be, Sir.

my.

bosom,

Doct. This disease is beyond my practice: yet I have known thofe which have walkt in their fleep, who have died holily in their beds.

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

Doct. Even fo?

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

Doct. Will the go now to bed?

Gent

Gent. Dire&ly.

Doct. Foul whifp'rings are abroad; unnatʼral deeds Do breed unnat'ral troubles. Infected minds

To their deaf pillows will difcharge their fecrets.
More needs fhe the divine, than the phyfician.
God, God, forgive us all! Look after her,
Remove from her the means of all annoyance,
And ftill keep eyes upon her; fo, good night.
My mind fhe' as mated, and amaz'd my fight.
I think, but dare not speak.

Gent. Good-night, good Doctor,

[Exeum

SCENE changes to a Field, with a Wood at a diftance.

T

Enter Menteth, Cathnefs, Angus, Lenox, and Soldier's.
Ment.HE English power is near, led on by Malcolm,
His uncle Siward, and the good Macduff.
Revenges burn in them: for their dear caufes (41)
Would to the bleeding and the grim alarm
Excite the mortified man.

Ang. Near Birnam-wood

Shall we well meet them; that way are they coming.
Cath. Who knows, if Donalbain be with his brother?
Len. For certain, Sir, he is not: I've a file
Of all the gentry; there is Siward's fon, (42)

(41)

-for their dear caufer

And

Would to the bleeding and the grim alarm Excite the mortified man,] i. e. the man, who had abandon'd himself to defpair, who had no fpirit or refolution left. So Caius Ligarius replies to Brutusį.

Brave fon, deriv'd from
Thou, like an exorcift,
My mortified fpirit.

-Soul of Rome,
honourable loins,

haft conjur'd up

Ful. Cafar.

there is Siward's fon,

And many unruff'd youths,
Proteft their first of manhood.

that even now,

This unruff'd is a tacit fophiftication

(42)

put upon us by Mr. Pope, in his extraordinary fagacity; implying, that Malcolm had many foldiers in his ranks too young to wear a

ruffe

And many unrough youths, that even now
Proteft their first of manhood.

Ment. What does the tyrant?

Cath. Great Dunfinane he ftrongly fortifies;
Some fay, he's mad: others, that leffer hate him,
Do call it valiant fury: but for certain,
He cannot buckle his diftemper'd cause
Within the belt of rule.

Ang. Now does he feel

His fecret murders fticking on his hands;
Now minutely revolts upbraid his faith-breach;
Thofe, he commands, move only in command,
Nothing in love: now does he feel his title
Hang loofe about him, like a giant's robe
Upon a dwarfish thief.

Ment. Who then fhall blame

His pefter'd fenfes to recoil, and start,
When all that is within him does condemn
Itfelf, for being there?

Cath. Well, march we on,

To give obedience where 'tis truly ow'd;

ruffe. This happy conftruction might feduce one, into an error, who was not acquainted with that gentleman's fpirit of criticifm.. 'Tis true, the old editions read- -unruffe youths; and our great Orbilius did not difcern that this was the antiquated way of spelling, unrough, i. e. fmooth chin'd, imberbis. And our author particularly delights in this mode of expreflion. To fubjoin a few inftances;

a twelvemonth and a day,

I'll mark no words that smoothfac'd wooers say.

Now, Jove, in his next commodity of bair,

Love's Labour loft. fend thee a beard! Twelfib-night.

Meet we the med'cine of the fickly weal,

And with him pour we, in our country's purge,
Each drop of us.

Len. Or fo much as it needs,

To dew the fovereign flower, and drown the weeds. Make we our march towards Birnam.

Macb.

[Exeunt

SCENE, the Caftle of Dunsinane.

Enter Macbeth, Doctor, and Attendants.

Bring me no more reports, let them fly all:

'Till Birnam-wood remove to Dunsinane, I cannot taint with fear. What's the boy Malcolm? Was he not born of woman? fpirits, that know All mortal confequences, have pronounc'd it:

Fear not, Macbeth; no man, that's born of woman, Shall e'er have power upon thee.--Then fly falfe Thanes, And mingle with the English epicures. (43)

The mind I fway by, and the heart I bear,
Shall never fag with doubt, nor shake with fear.

(43)

Fly, falfe Thanes

Enter

And mingle with the English epicures.] I thought this paffage might deferve a note, if it were only to excufe our author from any imputation of throwing a flur on the English of his own times, for gluttony and epicurifm. He had no fuch intention; but artfully throws in a fatirical reflection in which he is countenanc'd by history. The fact is this. Hardicanute, (01 Canutus III.) the Dane, a contemporary of Macbeth, and who reign'd bere juft before the ufurpation of the latter in Scotland, was a Prince of a courteous and liberal nature; but, withal, fuch a lover of good cheer, that he would have his table cover'd four times a day, and largely furnish'd. So that the Englishmen were faid to have learn'd from him exceffive gluttony in diet, and intemperance in drinking. He reign'd barely two years, and was fucceeded by Edward the Confeffor. Now as Edward sent a force against Scotland, Macbeth malevolently is made to charge this temperate Prince (in his subjects,) with the riots of his predeceffor. And the infinuation may feem to bear the harder, because Hardicanute and Edward were allied by a double tye of affinity. It may please some readers, if I fubjoin a fhort sketch of their pedigree and relation to one another.

Ethelred