Duch. I did not doubt you,
Hec. No! what did you?

mother.

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 :
It shall be convey'd in at howlet-time;

Take you no care: my spirits 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 sanguine,
Their gorge
house;

cramm'd full, if they come once to our

We are no niggard. Fire. They fare but too well when they come hither they ate up as much t' other night as would have made me a good conscionable pudding. Hec. Give me some lizard's brain; quickly, Firestone. Where's grannam Stadlin, and all the rest o' th' sisters?

Fire. All at hand, forsooth.

[The other Witches appear. 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. Whereabout, sweet mother?

Hec. Hip; hip or flank. Where's the acopus ?
Fire. You shall have acopus, forsooth.

Hec. Stir, stir about, whilst I begin the charm.

A Charm Song about a Vessel.

Hec. Black spirits and white, red spirits and grey,

;

Mingle, mingle, mingle, you that mingle may !
Titty, Tiffin, keep it stiff in ;
Fire-drake, 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 adder.
Sec. Witch. Those will make the younker madder.
Hec. Put in, there's all, and rid the stench.

Fire. Nay, here's three ounces of the red-hair'd wench.
All. Round, around, around, &c.

Hec. So, so, enough into the vessel with it.

There, 't hath the true perfection. I am so light At any mischief! there's no villany

But is a tune, methinks.

1

Fire. A tune? 'tis to the tune of damnation then, I warrant you,

And that song hath a villanous burthen.

Hec. Come, my sweet sisters; let the air strike our

tune,

While we show reverence to yond peeping moon. [The Witches dance, et Exeunt.

[Though some resemblance may be traced between the Charms in Macbeth and the Incantations in this Play, which is supposed to have preceded it, this coincidence will not detract much from the originality of Shakspeare. His witches are distinguished from the witches of Middleton by essential differences. These are creatures to whom man or woman plotting some dire mischief might resort for occasional consultation. Those originate deeds of blood, and begin bad impulses to men. From the moment that their eyes first meet with Macbeth'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

1 Light-hearted.

hags of Shakspeare have neither child of their own, nor seem to be descended from any parent. They are foul Anomalies, of whom we know not whence they are sprung, nor whether they have beginning 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 things. Their presence cannot coexist 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 o'er life.]

WOMEN BEWARE WOMEN, A TRAGEDY: BY THE SAME AUTHOR.

LIVIA, the Duke's creature, cajoles a poor widow with the appearance of hospitality and neighbourly attentions, that she may get her daughter-in-law (who is left in the mother's care in the son's absence) into her trains, to serve the Duke's pleasure.

LIVIA. WIDOW. A GENTLEMAN, Livia's guest. Liv. Widow, come, come, I have a great quarrel to

you;

;

Faith I must chide you that you must be sent for You make yourself so strange, never come at us, And yet so near a neighbour, and so unkind; Troth, you're to blame; you cannot be more welcome

To any house in Florence, that I'll tell you. Wid. My thanks must needs acknowledge so much, madam.

Liv. How can you be so strange then? I sit here
Sometimes whole days together without company,
When business draws this gentleman from home,
And should be happy in society
Which I so well affect as that of
I know

yours:

you 're alone too; why should not we,

Like two kind neighbours then, supply the wants Of one another, having tongue-discourse, Experience in the world, and such kind helps To laugh down time, and meet age merrily? Wid. Age, madam! you speak mirth; 'tis at my door, But a long journey from your ladyship yet.

Liv. My faith, I'm nine and thirty, every stroke, wench;

And 'tis a general observation

'Mongst knights-wives or widows, we account

ourselves

Then old, when young men's eyes leave looking at 's;

Come, now I have thy company I'll not part with 't Till after supper.

Wid. Yes, I must crave pardon, madam.

Liv. I swear you shall stay supper; we've no strangers,

woman,

None but my sojourners and I, this gentleman

And the young heir his ward; you know your

company.

Wid. Some other time I'll make bold with you, madam.

Liv. Faith, she shall not go :

Do you think I'll be forsworn?

Wid. 'Tis a great while

Till supper-time; I'll take my leave then now, madam,

And come again i' th' evening, since your ladyship Will have it so.

Liv. I' th' evening? by my troth, wench,

I'll keep you while I have you: you've great business, sure,

To sit alone at home; I wonder strangely

What pleasure you take in 't; were 't to me now,
I should be ever at one neighbour's house
Or other all day long; having no charge,

Or none to chide you, if you go or stay,
Who may live merrier, ay, or more at heart's ease?
Come, we'll chess or draughts; there are an

hundred tricks

To drive out time till supper, never fear 't, wench. [A chess-board is set. Wid. I'll but make one step home, and return straight, madam.

Liv. Come, I'll not trust you; you use more excuses
To your kind friends than ever I knew any.
What business can you have, if you be sure
You've lock'd the doors? and, that being all you
have,

I know you 're careful on 't. One afternoon
So much to spend here! say I should entreat you

now

To lie a night or two, or a week, with me,
Or leave your own house for a month together;
It were a kindness that long neighbourhood
And friendship might well hope to prevail in ;
Would you deny such a request? i' faith
Speak truth, and freely.

Wid. I were then uncivil, madam.

Liv. Go to then; set your men; we'll have whole nights

Of mirth together, ere we be much older, wench. Wid. As good now tell her then, for she will know 't; I've always found her a most friendly lady. [Aside. Liv. Why, widow, where's your mind?

Wid. Troth, even at home, madam :

To tell you the truth, I left a gentlewoman
Even sitting alone, which is uncomfortable,
Especially to young bloods.

Liv. Another excuse!

Wid. No; as I hope for health, madam, that's a