Or have we eaten of the infane root,
That takes the reafon prifoner ?

Mach. Your children fhall be Kings.
Ban. You fhall be King.

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

Roffe. The King hath happily receiv'd, Macbeth,
The news of thy fuccefs; and when he reads
Thy perfonal 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 reit o' th' self-same day,
He finds thee in the ftout Norweyan ranks,
Nothing afraid of what thyfelf didft make,
Strange images of death. As thick as hail,
Came poft on poft; and every one did bear
Thy praises in his kingdom's great defence:

ons, or whether their eyes were not deceiv'd by fome 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 fome particular circumftance in the hiftory, which, I hoped, I fhould find explain'd in Holing fhead. But I found myfelf 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 fubject. 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 paffage of Boethius, I dare fay, our poet had an eye to: and, I think, it fairly accounts for his mention of the infane root. Diofcorides lib. iv. c. 74. Tepi Zтpúxve paving, attributes the fame properties to it. Its claffical name, I obferve, is Solanum but the fhopmen 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 fent,

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

Not pay thee.

Roffe. And for an earneft of a greater honour,
He bade me, from him, call thee Thane of Cawdor:
In which addition, hail, moft worthy Thane!
For it is thine.

Ban. What, can the devil speak true?
Macb. The Thane of Cawdor lives;

Why do

you drefs me in his borrow'd robes ?
Ang. Who was the Thane, lives yet;
But under heavy judgment bears that life,
Which he deferves to lofe. 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 treafons 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 thofe, that gave the Thane of Cawdor to me,
Promis'd no lefs to them?

Ban. That trufted home,

Might yet enkindle you unto the crown,
Befides the Thane of Cawdor. But 'tis ftrange:
And oftentimes, to win us to our harm,
The inftruments of darknefs tell us truths,

Win us with honeft trifles, to betray us

In deepest confequence.

Coufins, a word, I pray you.

[To Roffe and Angus.

Mach. Two truths are told,

[Afide.

As happy prologues to the fwelling act

Of the imperial theme. I thank you, gentlemen

This fupernatural folliciting

Cannot be ill; cannot be good.-If ill,

Why

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

My thought, whofe murder yet is but fanftastical,
Shakes fo my fingle ftate of man, that function
Is fmother'd in furmife; 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 lefs 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 foon recovering from, thus he reasons on the nature of his diforder. But imaginings are fo far from being more or less than prefent fears, that they are the fame things under different words. Shakespeare certainly wrote;

سپید

-prefent feats

Are less than horrible imaginings.

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

Mr. Warburton. Macbeth, fpeaking again of this murder in a subsequent fcene, uses the very fame term;

I'm fettled, and bend up

Each corp'ral agent to this terrible feat.

And it is a word, elfewhere, very familiar with our poet. I'll only add, in aid of my friend's correction, that we meet with the very fame fentiment, which our poet here advances, in OVID's Epiftles; Terror in his ipfo 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 difcofo paiono terribili, infopportabili, ftrani; & quando tu, ti appreffi loro, le riescono bumane, fopportabili, domeftiche. Et pero fi dice, che fono maggiori li Spaventi che i mali, Mandragola. Atto. 3. Sc. 11. N 4

Like

Like our ftrange garments cleave not to their mould, But with the aid of ufe.

Mach. Come what come may,

Time and the hour runs thro' the rougheft day.

Ban. Worthy Macbeth, we ftay upon your leisure. Macb. Give me your favour: my dull brain was wrought With things forgot. Kind gentlemen, your pains Are regiftred 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 fpeak Our free hearts each to other.

Ban. Very gladly.

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

SCENE changes to the Palace.

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

King-I

King. S execution done on Cawdor yet?
Or not thofe in commiffion

Mal. My liege,

yet return'd!

They are not yet come back. But I have spoke
With one that faw him die; who did report,
That very frankly he confefs'd his treafons;
Implor'd your Highness' pardon, and set forth
A deep repentance; nothing in his life
Became him like the leaving it. He dy'd,
As one, that had been ftudied 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 conftruction in the face:
He was a gentleman, on whom I built
An abfolute truft.

Enter Macbeth, Banquo, Roffe, and Angus.

O worthieft Coufin!

The fin of my ingratitude e'en now

Was

Was heavy on me. Thou'rt fo far before, (10)
That swifteft wing of recompence is flow,

To overtake thee. Would thou'dft lefs deferv'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.
Macb. The fervice 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 ftate, children and fervants;
Which do but what they fhould, 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 lefs deferv'd, and must be known
No lefs to have done fo: let me enfold thee,
And hold thee to heart.

my

Ban. There if I grow, The harvest is your own.

King. My plenteous joys,

Wanton in fulness, feek to hide themfelves

(10) Thou art fo far before,

That fwifteft wind of recompence is flow

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 chofe the reading of the more authentick copies, Wing.
We meet with the fame metaphor again in Troilus and Creffidas
But his evafion, wing'd thus fwift with scorn,

Cannot outfly our apprehenfion.

and our duties

(11) Are to your throne and frate, children and fervants; Which do but what they should, by doing every thing

fafe towards your love and honour.] This may be fenfe; 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,

Fiefs towards your love and honour.

i. e. We hold our duties to your throne, &c. under an obligation of doing every thing in our power: as we hold our Fiefs, (feuda) thofe eflates and tenures, which we have on the terms of homage and fer

vices.