To cure this deadly grief. Macd. He has no children.-All my pretty ones?. Mal. Difpute it like a man.. But I must alfo feel it as a man. I cannot but remember fuch things were, Fell flaughter on their fouls: heav'n reft them now! Macd, O, I could play the woman with mine eyes,. And braggart with my tongue. But, gentle heav'n! Cut short all intermiffion: front to front, Bring thou this fiend of Scotland and myself; Mal. This tune goes manly: Come, go we to the King, our power is ready ;. Put on their inftruments. Receive what cheer you may; he could not have been capable of fuch a barbarity on Macduff's offspring. So Conflantia, in K. John, when Pandulfe would comfort her for the lofs of her fon, cries; He talks to me, that never had a fon! And fo Queen Margaret, (in 3 Henry VI.) when her fon is stabb'd in her prefence, thus exclaims against his murderers. You have no children, butchers; if you had, ACT ACT V. SCENE, an Anti-chamber in Macbeth's Caftle, I Enter a Doctor of Phyfick, and a Gentlewoman. Have two nights watch'd with you, but can perceive no truth in your report. When was it, fhe laft walk'd? Gent. Since his Majefty went into the field, I have feen her rise 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. Doct. A great perturbation in nature! to receive at once the benefit of fleep, and do the effects of watching. In this flumbry 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 should. Gent. Neither to you, nor any one, having no wit nefs to confirm my speech.. Enter Lady Macbeth with a taper. Lo, you! here he 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 ftood by her: fhe has light by her continually, 'tis her command. Doct. You fee, her eyes are open. Gent. Ay, but their fenfe is fhut. Doct. What is it she does now? look, how the rubs her hands. Gent. It is an accuftom'd action with her, to feem 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, fhe fpeaks. 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 thefe 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 the should not, I am fure of that: heav'n knows, what fhe has known. Lady. Here's the fmell of the blood ftill: all the perfumes of Arabia will not fweeten this little hand. Oh! oh! oh! Doct. What a figh is there? the heart is forely charg'd.. Gent. I would not have fuch a heart in my bofom, for the dignity of the whole body. Doct. Well, well, well Gent. Pray God, it be, Sir. Doct. This difeafe is beyond my practice: yet I have known those 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. Do&. 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 he go now to bed 2 Gent Gent. Directly. Doct. Foul whifp'rings are abroad; unnat❜ral deeds, Do breed unnatʼral troubles. Infected minds To their deaf pillows will difcharge their fecrets. More needs the the divine, than the phyfician. God, God, forgive us all! Look after her, Remove from her the means of all annoyance, And till 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. [Exeurs SCENE changes to a Field, with a Wood at a distance. Enter Menteth, Cathnefs, Angus, Lenox, and Soldiers. Ment. ΤΗ 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. Gath. 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 son, (42). (41) - for their dear caufes And Would to the bleeding and the grim alarm Excite the mortified man.' .] i. e. the man, who had abandon'd himself to despair, who had no spirit or refolution left. So Caius Ligarius replies to Brutus; Brave fon, deriv'd from 42) -Soul of Rome, Jul. Cafar there is Siward's fon, And many unruff'd youths, that even now, Proteft their first of manhood.] This unruff'd is a tacit fophiftication put upon us by Mr. Pope, in his extraordinary fagacity; implying, that Malcolm had many foldiers in his ranks too young to wear a ruffer And many unrough youths, that even now Ment. What does the tyrant? Cath. Great Dunfinane he ftrongly fortifies; He cannot buckle his distemper'd caufe Ang. Now does he feel His fecret murders fticking on his hands; Ment. Who then fhall blame His pefter'd fenfes to recoil, and start, 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 fpelling, unrough, i. e. fmooth-chin'd, imberbis. And our author particularly delights in this mode of expreffion. To fubjoin a few inftances; a twelvemonth and a day, I'll mark no words that Smoothfac'd wooers say. Love's Labour loft. Now, Jove, in his next commodity of hair, fend thee a beard! Twelfth-night. or who knows, Anto. and Cleop Henry V. If the fearce-bearded Cæfar have not fent For who is he, whofe chin is but enrich'd Be rough and razorable. 'Till newborn chins When with his amazonian chin he drove This unbair'd faucinéfs, and boyish troops Tempest. Coriolanus. K. Joln. |