Or have we eaten of the infane root,
That takes the reason prisoner ?

Mach. Your children shall be Kings.

Ban. You shall be King.

Macb. And Thane of Cawdor too; went it not fo? Ban. To th' self fame tune, and words; who's here?

Enter Roffe and Angus.

Rose. 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' th' self-fame day,
He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks,
Nothing afraid of what thyself didst make,
Strange images of death. As thick as hail,
Came poft on post; and every one did bear
Thy praises in his kingdom's great defence :

ons, or whether their eyes were not deceiv'd by some illufion; Ban quo immediately starts the question,

Were fuch things bere, &c.

I was fure, from a long obfervation of Shakespeare's accuracy, that he alluded here to some particular circumstance in the history, which, I hoped, I should find explain'd in Holingshead. But I found myself deceived in this expectation. This furnishes a proper occafion, therefore, to remark our author's fignal diligence; and happiness at applying whatever he met with, that could have any relation to his subject. Hector Boethius, who gives us an account of Sueno's army being intoxicated by a preparation put upon them by their fubtle enemy, informs us; that there is a plant, which grows in great quantity in Scotland, call'd Solatrum Amentiale; that its berries are purple, or rather black, when full ripe; and have a quality of laying to fleep; or of driving into madness, if a more than ordinary quantity of them be taken. This passage of Boethius, I dare say, our poet had an eye to: and, I think, it fairly accounts for his mention of the inSane root. Diofcorides lib. iv. c. 74. Περὶ Στρύχνε μανικό, attributes the fame properties to it. Its claffical name, I observe, is Solanum; but the shopmen agree to call it Solatrum. This, prepar'd in medicine, (as Theophraftus tells us, and Pliny from him;) has a peculiar effect of filling the patient's head with odd images and fancies: and particularly that of feeing spirits: an effect, which, I am perfuaded, was no fecret to our author. Bochart and Salmafius have both been copious upon the defcription and qualities of this plant.

N 3

And

And pour'd them down before him.

Ang. We are sent,

To give thee, from our royal master, thanks;
Only to herald thee into his fight,

Not pay thee.

Roffe. 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 me in his borrow'd robes ?
Ang. Who was the Thane, lives yet;
But under heavy judgment bears that life,
Which he deferves 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 wrack, I know not:
But treasons capital, confefs'd, and prov'd,
Have overthrown him.

Macb. Glamis, and Thane of Cawdor!

The greatest is behind. Thanks for your pains.

[Afide

[To Angus.

Do you not hope, your children shall be Kings ?

[To Banquo.

When those, that gave the Thane of Cawdor to me,
Promis'd no less to them?

Ban. That trusted home,

Might yet enkindle you unto the crown,
Besides the Thane of Cawdor. But 'tis strange:
And oftentimes, to win us to our harm,
The instruments of darkness tell us truths,
Win us with honest trifles, to betray us

In deepest consequence.

Coufins, a word, I pray you.

Mach. Two truths are told,

As happy prologues to the swelling act

Of the imperial theme. I thank you, gentlemen

This supernatural folliciting

Cannot be ill; cannot be good. If ill,

Why

Why hath it giv'n me earnest of fuccefs,
Commencing in a truth? I'm Thane of Cawdor.
If good; why do I yield to that suggestion,
Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair,
And make my feated heart knock at my ribs
Against the use of nature? present feats (9)
Are less than horrible imaginings.

My thought, whose murder yet is but fanstastical,
Shakes so my single state of man, that function
Is smother'd in furmise; and nothing is,

But what is not.

Ban. Look, how our partner's rapt !

Macb. If chance will have me King, why, chance may

crown me,

Without my ftir.

Ban. New honours, come upon him,

(9)

prefent fears

[Afide.

Are less than borrible imaginings.] Macbeth, while he is projecting the murder, which he afterwards puts in execution, is thrown into the most agonizing affright at the profpect of it: which soon recovering from, thus he reasons on the nature of his disorder. But imaginings are so far from being more or less than present fears, that they are the fame things under different words. Shakespeare certainly wrote;

present feats

Are less than borrible imaginings.

i. e. When I come to execute this murder, I shall find it much less dreadful than my frighted imagination now presents it to me. A confideratión drawn from the nature of the imagination.

Mr. Warburton. Macbeth, speaking again of this murder in a subsequent scene, uses the very same term;

I'm fettled, and bend up

Each corp'ral agent to this terrible feat.

And it is a word, elsewhere, very familiar with our poet. I'll only add, in aid of my friend's correction, that we meet with the very same sentiment, which our poet here advances, in OVID'S Epistles;

Terror in his ipso major folet effe periclo.

Paris Helenæ, ver. 349. And it is a maxim with Machiavel, that many things are more fear'd afar off, than near at hand. E fono molte cose che discosto paiono terribili, infopportabili, strani; & quando tu ti appreffi loro, le riescono bumane, Sopportabili, domestiche. Et pero fi dice, che sono maggiori li Spaventi che i mali. Mandragola. Atto. 3. Sc. 11.

N 4

Like

Like our strange garments cleave not to their mould, But with the aid of use.

Mach. Come what come may,

Time and the hour runs thro' the roughest day.

Ban. Worthy Macheth, we stay upon your leisure. Mach. Give me your favour: my dull brain was wrought With things forgot. Kind gentlemen, your pains Are registred where every day I turn The leaf to read them-Let us tow'rd the King; Think, upon what hath chanc'd; and at more time, [To Banquo.

(The Interim having weigh'd it,) let us speak Our free hearts each to other.

Ban. Very gladly.

Mach. 'Till then enough: come, friends. [Exeunt.

SCENE changes to the Palace.

Flourish. Enter King, Malcolm, Donalbain, Lenox, and Attendants.

King-I

S execution done on Cawdor yet?
Or not those in commission yet return'd!

Mal. My liege,

They are not yet come back. But 1 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 fet forth
A deep repentance; nothing in his life
Became him like the leaving it. He dy'd,
As one, that had been studied in his death,
To throw away the dearest thing he ow'd,
As 'twere a careless trifle.

King. There's no art,

To find the mind's construction in the face:
He was a gentleman, on whom I built

An abfolute truft.

Enter Macbeth, Banquo, Rosse, and Angus.

O worthiest Cousin!

The fin of my ingratitude e'en now

Was

Was heavy on me. Thou'rt so far before, (10)
That swiftest wing of recompence is flow,
To overtake thee. Would thou'dst less deserv'd,
That the proportion both of thanks and payment
Might have been mine! only I've left to say,
More is thy due, than more than all can pay.

Mach. The service and the loyalty I owe,
In doing it, pays itself. Your Highness' part
Is to receive our duties; and our duties (11)
Are to your throne, and state, children and servants;
Which do but what they should, by doing every thing
Safe tow'rd your love and honour.

King. Welcome hither :

I have begun to plant thee, and will labour
To make thee full of growing. Noble Banquo,
Thou haft no less deserv'd, and must be known
No less to have done so: let me enfold thee,

And hold thee to my heart.

Ban. There if I grow,

The harvest is your own.

King. My plenteous joys,

Wanton in fulness, seek to hide themselves

(10) Thou art so far before,

That swifteft wind of recompence is low

To overtake thee. Thus the editions by Mr. Rowe and Mr. Pipe whether for any reafon, or purely by chance, I cannot determine. I have chose the reading of the more authentick copies, Wing.

We meet with the same metaphor again in Troilus and Creffidas

But his evafion, wing'd thus swift with scorn,

Cannot outfly our apprehenfion.

(11)

- and our duties

Are to your throne and ftate, children and fervants;
Which do but what they should, by doing every thing

fafe towards your love and honour.] This may be sense; but, I own it gives me no very fatisfactory idea: And tho' I have not difturb'd the text, I cannot but embrace in my mind the conjecture of my ingenious friend Mr. Warburton, who would read;

by doing every thing,