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Ege. But seven years since, in Syracusa, boy, Thou know'st, we parted: but, perhaps, my son, Thou sham'st to acknowledge me in misery.

Ant. E. The duke, and all that know me in the city, Can witness with me that it is not so

I ne'er saw Syracusa in my life.

Duke. I tell thee, Syracusan, twenty years
Have I been patron to Antipholus,
During which time he ne'er saw Syracusa :
thy age and dangers make thee dote.

I see,

Enter the Abbess, with ANTIPHоLUS Syracusan, and DROMIO Syracusan.

Abb. Most mighty duke, behold a man much wrong'd. [All gather to see him. Adr. I see two husbands, or mine eyes deceive me. Duke. One of these men is genius to the other; And so of these: Which is the natural man, And which the spirit? Who deciphers them? Dro. S. I, sir, am Dromio; command him away. Dro. E. I, sir, am Dromio; pray, let me stay. Ant. S. Ægeon, art thou not? or else his ghost? Dro. S. O, my old master, who hath bound him here? Abb. Whoever bound him, I will loose his bonds, And gain a husband by his liberty :Speak, old Ægeon, if thou be'st the man That had'st a wife once called Æmilia, That bore thee at a burden two fair sons: O, if thou be'st the same geon, speak, And speak unto the same Æmilia!'

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Ege. If I dream not, thou art Æmilia;
If thou art she, tell me, where is that son
That floated with thee on the fatal raft?

Abb. By men of Epidamnum, he, and I,
And the twin Dromio, all were taken up:
But, by and by, rude fishermen of Corinth
By force took Dromio, and my son from them,
And me they left with those of Epidamnum :
What then became of them, I cannot tell;
I, to this fortune that you see me in.

Duke. Why, here begins his morning story right:
These two Antipholus's, these two so like,
And these two Dromio's, one in semblance,-
Besides her urging of her wreck at sea,—
These are the parents to these children,
Which accidentally are met together.

Antipholus, thou cam'st from Corinth first.

Ant. S. No, sir, not I; I came from Syracuse. Duke. Stay, stand apart; I know not which is which.

[lord.

Ant. E. I came from Corinth, my most gracious Dro. E. And I with him.

Ant. E. Brought to this town by that most famous Duke Menaphon, your most renowned uncle. [warrior Aar. Which of you two did dine with me to day? Ant. S. I, gentle mistress.

Adr.

And are not you my husband? Ant. E. No, I say nay to that. Ant. S. And so do I, yet did she call me so ; And this fair gentlewoman, her sister here,

On a careful revision of the foregoing scenes, I do not hesitate to pronounce them the composition of two very unequal writers. Shakspeare had undoubtedly a share in them; but that the entire play was no work of his, is an opinion which (as Benedict says) fire canuot melt out of me; I will die in it at the stake." Thus, as we are informed by Aulus Gellius, lib. iii. cap. 3. some plays were actually ascribed to Plautus, which in truth had only been (retracte et expolita) retouched and polished by him.

In this comedy we find more intricacy of plot than distinction of character: and our attention is less forcibly engaged, because we can guess in a great measure how the denouement will be brought about. Yet the subject appears to have been reluctantly dismissed, even in this last and unnecessary scene,

Did call me brother :-What I told you then,
I hope, I shall have leisure to make good;
If this be not a dream I see and hear.

Ang. That is the chain, sir, which you had of me.
Ant. S. I think it be, sir; I deny it not.
Ant. E. And you, sir, for this chain arrested me.
Ang. I think I did, sir; I deny it not.
Adr. I sent you money, sir, to be your bail,
By Dromio; but I think he brought it not.
Dro. E. No, none by me.

And Dromio my man did bring them me :
Ant. S. This purse of ducats I receiv'd from you,
I see, we still did meet each other's man,
And I was ta'en for him, and he for me,
And thereupon these errors are arose.

Ant. E. These ducats pawn I for my father here.
Duke. It shall not need, thy father hath his life.
Cour. Sir, I must have that diamond from you.
Ant. E. There, take it; and much thanks for my
good cheer.

Abb. Renowned duke, vouchsafe to take the pains,
To go with us into the abbey here,
And hear at large discoursed all our fortunes:-
And all that are assembled in this place,
That by this sympathized one day's error,
Have suffer'd wrong, go, keep us company,
And we shall make full satisfaction.-
Twenty-five years have I but gone in travail
Of you, my sons; nor, till this present hour,
My heavy burdens are delivered:-

The duke, my husband, and my children both,-
And you the calendars of their nativity,
Go to a gossip's feast, and go with me;
After so long grief, such nativity!

Duke. With all my heart, I'll gossip at this feast. [Exeunt DUKE, Abbess, ÆGEON, Courtezan, Merchant, ANGELO, and Attendants. Dro. S. Master, shall I fetch your stuff from shipboard? [bark'd? Ant. E. Dromio, what stuff of mine hast thou emDro. S. Your goods, that lay at host, sir, in the Centaur. [mio: Ant. S. He speaks to me; I am your master, DroCome, go with us; we'll look to that anon: Embrace thy brother there, rejoice with him.

[Exeunt ANTIPHOLUS S. and E., ADR. and Luc. Dro. S. There is a fat friend at your master's house, That kitchen'd me for you to-day at dinner; She now shall be my sister, not my wife.

Dro. E. Methinks, you are my glass, and not my see by you, I am a sweet-faced youth. [brother; Will you walk in to see their gossiping?

I

Dro. S. Not I, sir; you are my elder.

Dro. E. That's a question: how shall we try it? Dro. S. We will draw cuts for the senior: till then, lead thou first.

Dro. E. Nay, then thus:

We came into the world like brother and brother: And now let's go hand in hand, not one before another. [Exeunt.

where the same mistakes are continued, till their power of affording entertainment is entirely lost.-STEEVENS. The long doggrel verses that Shakspeare has attributed in this play to the two Dromios, are written in that kind of metre which was usually attributed, by the dramatic poets before his time, in their comic pieces, to some of their inferior characters; and this circumstance is one of the many that authorizes us to place the preceding comedy, as well as Love's Labour's Lost, and The Taming of the Shrew, (where the same kind of versification is likewise found,) among our author's earliest productions; com posed probably at a time when he was imperceptibly infected with the prevailing mode, and before he had completely learned to deviate boldly from the common track."-MALONE.

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Of this splendid poem the first edition was that of the players in 1623. It was, however, in the opinion of Mr. Malone, written either in 1606 or 1607.-When Mr. Reed first discovered the MS. of Middleton's tragi-comedy the Witch, it was supposed that Shakspeare had taken from it the hint of the supernatural portion of this tragedy. There is no reason for suspecting that the play of Middleton was anterior to that of Shakspeare, and Mr. Malone has adduced several very strong arguments to shew that it was written several years later. The following Essay on the superstitious opinions prevalent in Shakspeare's time is from Dr. Johnson,

"In order to make a true estimate of the abilities and merit of a writer, it is always necessary to examine the genius of his age, and the opinions of his contemporaries. A poet who should now make the whole action of his tragedy depend upon enchantment, and produce the chief events by the assistance of supernatural agents, would be censured as transgressing the bounds of probability, be banished from the theatre to the nursery, and condemned to write fairy tales instead of tragedies; but a survey of the notions that prevailed at the time when this play was written, will prove that Shakspeare was in no danger of such censures, since he only turned the system that was then universally admitted, to his advantage, and was far from overburdening the credulity of his audience. "The reality of witchcraft or enchantment, which, though not strictly the same, are confounded in this play, has in all ages and countries been credited by the common people, and in most, by the learned themselves. The phantoms have indeed appeared more frequently, in proportion as the darkness of ignorance has been more gross; but it cannot be shewn, that the brightest gleams of knowledge have at any time been sufficient to drive them out of the world. The time in which this kind of credulity was at its height, seems to have been that of the holy war, in which the Christians imputed all their defeats to enchantments or diabolical opposition, as they ascribed their success to the assistance of the military saints; and the learned Dr. Warburton appears to believe (Supplement to the Introduction to Don Quirote), that the first accounts of enchantments were brought into this part of the world by those who returned from their eastern expeditions. But there is always some distance between the birth and maturity of folly as of wickedness this opinion had long existed, though perhaps the application of it had in no foregoing age been so frequent, nor the reception so general. Olympiodorus, in Photius's Er tracts, tells us of one Libanins who practised this kind of military magic, and having promised χώρις ὁπλιτῶν κατὰ βαρβάρων ἐνεργεῖν, to perform great things against the Barbarians without soldiers, was, at the instance of the empress Placidia, put to death, when he was about to have given proofs of his abilities. The empress shewed some kindness in her anger, by cutting him off at a time so convenient for his reputation. But a more remarkable proof of the antiquity of this notion may be found in St. Chrysostom's book de Sacerdotio, which exhibits a scene of enchantments not exceeded by any romance of the middle age: he supposes a spectator overlooking a field of battle, attended by one that points out all the various objects of horror, the engines of destruction and the arts of slaughter. Δεικνύτο δὲ ἔτι παρὰ τοῖς ἐναντίοις καὶ πετομένους ίππους διά τινος μαγγανείας, καὶ ὁπλίτας δι' ἀέρος φερομένους, καὶ πάσην γοητείας δύναμιν καὶ ἰδέαν. Let him then proceed to shew him in the opposite armies flying horses by enchantment, armed men transported through the air, and every power and Jorm of magic. Whether St. Chrysostom believed that such performances were really to be seen in a day of battle, or only

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endeavoured to enliven his description, by adopting the notions of the vulgar, it is equally certain, that such notioas were in his time received, and that therefore they were not imported from the Saracens in a later age; the wars with the Saracens, however, gave occasion to their propagation, not only as bigotry naturally discovers prodigies, but as the scene of action was removed to a great distance.

"The Reformation did not immediately arrive at its meridian, and though day was gradually increasing upon us, the goblins of witchcraft still continued to hover in the twilight. In the time of Queen Elizabeth was the remarkable trial of the witches of Warbois, whose conviction is still commemorated in an annual sermon at Huntingdon. But in the reign of King James, in which this tragedy was written, many circumstances concurred to propagate and confirm this opinion. The king, who was much celebrated for his knowledge, had, before his arrival in England, not only examined in person a woman ac cused of witchcraft, but had given a very formal account of the practices and illusions of evil spirits, the compacts of witches, the ceremonies used by them, the manner of detecting them, and the justice of punishing them, in his dialogues of Damonologie, written in the Scottish dialect, and published at Edinburgh. This book was, soon after his succession, reprinted at London; and as the ready way to gain King James's favour was to flatter his speculations, the system of Damonologie was immediately adopted by all who desired either to gain preferment or not to lose it. Thus the doctrine of witchcraft was very powerfully inculcated; and as the greatest part of mankind have no other reason for their opinions than that they are in fashion, it cannot be doubted but this persuasion made a rapid progress, since vanity and credulity co-operated in its favour. The infection soon reached the parliament, who, in the first year of King James, made a law, by which it was enacted, chap. xii. That if any person shall use any invocation or conjuration of any evil or wicked spirit; 2. or shall consult, covenant with, entertain, employ, feed, or reward any evil or cursed spirit, to or for any intent or purpose; 3. or take up any dead man, woman, or child, out of the grave, or the skin, bone, or any part of the dead person, to be employed or used in any manner of witchcraft, sorcery, charm, or enchantment; 4. or shall use, practise, or exercise any sort of witchcraft, sorcery, charm, or enchantment; 5. whereby any person shall be destroyed, killed, wasted, consumed, pined, or lamed in any part of the body; 6. That every such person being convicted shall suffer death. This law was repealed in our own time. "Thus, in the time of Shakspeare, was the doctrine of witchcraft at once established by law and by the fashion, and it became not only unpolite, but criminal, to doubt it; and as prodigies are always seen in proportion as they are expected, witches were every day discovered, and multiplied so fast in some places, that Bishop Hall mentions a village in Lancashire, where their number was greater than that of the houses. The jesuits and sectaries took advantage of this universal error, and endeavoured to promote the interest of their par ties by pretended cures of persons affected by evil spirits; but they were detected and exposed by the clergy of the established church.

"Upon this general infatuation Shakspeare might be easily allowed to found a play, especially since he has followed with great exactness such histories as were then thought true; nor can it be doubted that the scenes of enchantment, however they may now be ridiculed, were both by himself and his audience thought awful and affect:ng."-JOHNSON.

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Like valour's minion,

Carv'd out his passage, till he fac'd the slave; And ne'er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him, Till he unseam'd him from the nave to the chaps, And fix'd his head upon our battlements.

Dun. O, valiant cousin! worthy gentleman! Sol. As whence the sun 'gins his reflection Shipwrecking storms and direful thunders break; So from that spring, whence comfort seem'd to come, Discomfort swells. Mark, king of Scotland, mark, No sooner justice had, with valour arm'd, Compell'd these skipping Kernes to trust their heels: But the Norweyan lord, surveying vantage, With furbish'd arms, and new supplies of men, Began a fresh assault.

Dun.

Dismay'd not this Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo?

Sol.

Yes;

As sparrows, eagles; or the hare, the lion.
If I say sooth, I must report they were

As cannons overcharg'd with double cracks :
So they

Doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe:
Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds,
Or memorize another Golgotha,

I cannot tell :

But I am faint, my gashes cry for help.
Dun. So well thy words become thee, as thy wounds;
They smack of honour both :-Go, get him surgeons.
[Exit Soldier, attended.

Who comes here? Mal.

Enter ROSSE.

The worthy thane of Rosse.
Len. What a haste looks through his eyes! So should
That seems to speak things strange.
[he look,
Rosse.
God save the king!
Dun. Whence cam'st thou, worthy thane?
Rosse.
From Fife, great king,

Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky,
And fan our people cold.

Norway himself, with terrible numbers,
Assisted by that most disloyal traitor
The thane of Cawdor, 'gan a dismal conflict:
Till that Bellona's bridegroom, lapp'd in proof,
Confronted him with self-comparisons,
Point against point rebellious, arm 'gainst arm,
Curbing his lavish spirit: And, to conclude,
The victory fell on us;—

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Sweno, the Norways' king, craves composition;
Nor would we deign him burial of his men,
Till he disbursed, at Saint Colmes' inch,
Ten thousand dollars to our general use.

Dun. No more that thane of Cawdor shall deceive Our bosom interest: --Go, pronounce his present death, And with his former title greet Macbeth. Rosse. I'll see it done.

Dun. What he hath lost, noble Macbeth hath won. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.-A Heath. Thunder.

Enter the three Witches.

1 Witch. Where hast thou been, sister?

2 Witch. Killing swine.

3 Witch. Sister, where thou?

1 Witch. A sailor's wife had chesnuts in her lap, And mounch'd and mounch'd and mounch'd:-Give

me, quoth I:

Aroint thee, witch! the rump-fed ronyon cries.

Her husband's to Aleppo gone, master o'the Tiger:
But in a sieve I'll thither sail,
And, like a rat without a tail,
I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do.

2 Witch. I'll give thee a wind.

1 Witch. Thou art kind.

3 Witch. And I another.

1 Witch. I myself have all the other;
And the very ports they blow,
All the quarters that they know
I'the shipman's card.

I will drain him dry as hay:
Sleep shall, neither night nor day,
Hang upon his pent-house lid;
He shall live a man forbid :
Weary sev'n-nights, nine times nine,
Shall he dwindle, peak, and pine:
Though this bark cannot be lost,
Yet it shall be tempest-toss'd.
Look what I have.

2 Witch. Shew me, shew me.

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

Wreck'd as homeward he did come. [Drum within.
3 Witch. A drum, a drum:
Macbeth doth come.

All. The weird sisters, hand in hand,
Posters of the see and land,
Thus do go about, about;
Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine,
And thrice again, to make up nine:
Peace!—the charm's wound up.

Enter MACBETH and BANQUO.
Macb. So foul and fair a day I have not seen.
Ban. How far is't call'd to Fores?-What are these,
So wither'd, and so wild in their attire ;
That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth,
And yet are on't? Live you? or are you aught
That man may question? You seem to understand me,
By each at once her choppy finger laying
Upon her skinny lips :-You should be women,
And yet your beards forbid me to interpret

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1 Witch. Lesser than Macbeth, and greater. 2 Witch. Not so happy, yet much happier. 3 Witch. Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none: So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo!

1 Witch. Banquo, and Macbeth, all hail! Macb. Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more: By Sinel's death, I know, I am thane of Glamis; But how of Cawdor? the thane of Cawdor lives, A prosperous gentleman; and, to be king, Stands not within the prospect of belief, No more than to be Cawdor. Say, from whence You owe this strange intelligence? or why Upon this blasted heath you stop our way With such prophetic greeting?-Speak, I charge you. [Witches vanish. Ban. The earth hath bubbles, as the water has, And these are of them: Whither are they vanish'd? Macb. Into the air: and what seem'd corporal, melted As breath into the wind.-'Would they had staid! Ban. Were such things here, as we do speak about? Or have we eaten of the insane root, That takes the reason prisoner?

Macb. Your children shall be kings.

Ban.

You shall be king. Macb. And thane of Cawdor too; went it not so? Ban. To the self-same tune, and words. Who's here?

Enter ROSSE and ANGUS.

Rosse. The king hath happily receiv'd, Macbeth, The news of thy success: and when he reads Thy personal venture in the rebels' fight, His wonders and his praises do contend, Which should be thine, or his: Silenc'd with that, In viewing o'er the rest o' the self-same day, He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks, Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make, Strange images of death. As thick as hail, Came post with post; and every one did bear Thy praises in his kingdom's great defence, And pour'd them down before him. Ang. We are sent, To give thee, from our royal master, thanks; To herald thee into his sight, not pay thee.

Rosse. And, for an earnest of a greater honour, He bade me, from him, call thee thane of Cawdor: In which addition, hail, most worthy thane! For it is thine. Ban.

What, can the devil speak true?

Mach. The thane of Cawdor lives; Why do you dress

In borrow'd robes ?

[me

Ang. Who was the thane, lives yet; But under heavy judgment bears that life Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was Combin'd with Norway; or did line the rebel With hidden help and vantage; or that with both He labour'd in his country's wreck, I know not; But treasons capital, confess'd, and prov'd, Have overthrown him.

Macb. Glamis, and thane of Cawdor: The greatest is behind.-Thanks for your pains.

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Macb.

Two truths are told,

As happy prologues to the swelling act
Of the imperial theme. I thank you, gentlemen.-
This supernatural soliciting

Cannot be ill; cannot be good :—If ill,
Why hath it given me earnest of success,
Commencing in a truth? I am thane of Cawdor:
If good, why do I yield to that suggestion
Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair,
And make my seated heart knock at my ribs,
Against the use of nature? Present fears
Are less than horrible imaginings:

My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical,
Shakes so my single state of man, that function
Is smother'd in surmise; and nothing is,
But what is not.
Ban.
Look, how our partner's rapt.
Macb. If chance will have me king, why, chance may
Without my stir.
[crown me,
Ban.
New honours come upon him
Like our strange garments; cleave not to their mould,
But with the aid of use.
Macb.
Come what come may;
Time and the hour runs through the roughest day.
Ban. Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure.
Macb. Give me your favour:-my dull brain was

wrought

With things forgotten. Kind gentlemen, your pains
Are register'd where every day I turn

The leaf to read them.-Let us toward the king.-
Think upon what hath chanc'd; and, at more time,
The interim having weigh'd it, let us speak
Our free hearts each to other.

Very gladly.

Ban.
Macb. Till then, enough.-Come, friends. [Faeunt.

SCENE IV. Fores. A Room in the Palace.
Flourish.

Enter DUNCAN, MALCOLM, DONALBAIN,
LENOX, and Attendants.

Dun. Is execution done on Cawdor? Are not
Those in commission yet return'd?

Mal.
My liege,
They are not yet come back. But I have spoke
With one that saw him die: who did report,
That very frankly he confess'd his treasons;
Implor'd your highness' pardon; and set forth
A deep repentance: nothing in his life
Became him, like the leaving it; he died
As one that had been studied in his death,
To throw away the dearest thing he ow'd,
As 'twere a careless trifle.

Dun.

There's no art,
To find the mind's construction in the face :
He was a gentleman on whom I built
An absolute trust.-O worthiest cousin!

Enter MACBETH, BANQUO, ROSSE, and ANGUS.
The sin of my ingratitude, even now
Was heavy on me: Thou art so far before,
That swiftest wing of recompense is slow
To overtake thee. 'Would thou hadst less deserv'd;

That the proportion both of thanks and payment
Might have been mine! only I have left to say,
More is thy due than more than all can pay.

Macb. The service and the loyalty I owe,
In doing it, pays itself. Your highness' part
Is to receive our duties: and our duties
Are to your throne and state, children, and servants;
Which do but what they should, by doing every thing
Safe toward your love and honour.

Dun.

Welcome hither:
I have begun to plant thee, and will labour
To make thee full of growing.-Noble Banquo,
That hast no less deserv'd, nor must be known
No less to have done so, let me infold thee,
And hold thee to my heart.
Ban.

There if I grow,
The harvest is your own.
Dun.
My plenteous joys,
Wanton in fulness, seek to hide themselves
In drops of sorrow.-Sons, kinsmen, thanes,
And you whose places are the nearest, know,
We will establish our estate upon
Our eldest, Malcolm; whom we name hereafter
The prince of Cumberland: which honour must
Not, unaccompanied, invest him only,
But signs of nobleness, like stars shall shine
On all deservers. From hence to Inverness,
And bind us further to you.

Mach. The rest is labour, which is not us'd for you:
I'll be myself the harbinger, and make joyful
The hearing of my wife with your approach;
So, humbly take my leave.

Dun.

My worthy Cawdor! Mach. The prince of Cumberland!-That is a step, On which I must fall down, or else o'er-leap, [Aside. For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires! 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. [Exit. Dun. True, worthy Banquo; he is full so valiant; And in his commendations I am fed ; It is a banquet to me. Let us after him, Whose care is gone before to bid us welcome : It is a peerless kinsman. [Flourish. Exeunt.

Inverness.

SCENE V.

A Room in Macbeth's Castle.
Enter Lady MACBETH, reading a letter.

Lady M. They met me in the day of success; and I have learned by the perfectest report, they have more in them than mortal knowledge. When I burned in desire to question them further, they made themselves--air, into which they vanished. Whiles I stood rapt in the wonder of it, came missives from the king, who all-hailed me, Thane of Cawdor; by which title, before, these weird sisters saluted me, and referred me to the coming on of time, with, Hail, king that shalt be! This have I thought good to deliver thee, my dearest partner of greatness; that thou mightest not lose the dues of rejoicing, by being ignorant of what greatness is promised thee. Lay it to thy heart, and farewell. Glamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be What thou art promis'd:-Yet do I fear thy nature; It is too full o' the milk of human kindness, To catch the nearest way. Thou would'st be great; Art not without ambition; but without The illness should attend it. What thou would'st That would'st thou holily; would'st not play false, And yet would'st wrongly win: thou'dst have, great Glamis,

[highly,

That which cries, Thus thou must do, if thou have it;

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Is not thy master with him? who, wer't so,
Would have inform'd for preparation.

Atten. So please you, it is true; our thane is com-
One of my fellows had the speed of him ; [ing:
Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more
Than would make up his message.
Lady M.

He brings great news.

Give him tending. The raven himself is hoarse, [Exit Attendant.

That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan
Under my battlements. Come, come, you spirits
That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here;
And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full
Of direst cruelty! make thick my blood,
Stop up the access and passage to remorse;
That no compunctious visitings of nature
Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between
The effect, and it! Come to my woman's breasts,
And take my milk for gall, you murd'ring ministers,
Wherever in your sightless substances

You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick night,
And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell!
That my keen knife see not the wound it makes ;
Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark,
To cry, Hold, hold! Great Glamis! worthy
Cawdor!

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Your face, my thane, is as a book, where men
May read strange matters;-To beguile the time,
Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye,
Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower,
But be the serpent under it. He that's coming
Must be provided for: and you shall put
This night's great business into my despatch;
Which shall to all our nights and days to come
Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom.
Macb. We will speak further.
Lady M.

To alter favour ever is to fear:
Leave all the rest to me.

Only look

clear:

up

[Exeunt.

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