Remains in danger of her former tooth. But let both worlds disjoint, and all things fuffer, In the affliction of these terrible Dreams, That shake us nightly. Better be with the Dead, In reftlefs ecftafie. Duncan is in his Grave; After life's fitful fever, he fleeps well; Treafon has done his worft; nor fteel, nor poison, Lady. Come on; Gentle my lord, fleek o'er your rugged looks; fed current thro' the Editions, and yet, I dare affirm, is not our Author's Reading. What has a Snake, clofing again, to do with its being fcorch'd? Scorching would never either Separate, or dilate, its Parts; but rather make them inftantly contract and shrivel. SHAKESPEARE, I am very well perfwaded, had this Notion in his head; that if you cut a Serpent or Worm afunder, in feveral Pieces, there is fuch an unctuous Quality in their Blood, that the difmember'd Parts, being only placed near enough to touch one another, will cement and become as whole as before the Injury receiv'd. The Application of this Thought is to Duncan, the murther'd King, and his furviving Sons. Macbeth confiders them fo much as Members of the Father, that tho' he has cut off the Old Man, he would fay, he has not entirely kill'd him, but he'll revive again in the Lives of his Sons. Can we doubt therefore but that the Poet wrote, as I have reftor'd to the Text, We have fcotch'd the Snake, not kill'dit? To fcotch, however the Generality of our Dictionaries happen to omit the Word, fignifies, to notch, flash, hack, cut, with Twigs, Swords, &c. and fo our Poet more than once has used it in his Works. CORIOLANUS. He was too hard for him directly, to say the Troth on't: Before Corioli, he fcotch'd him, and notch'd him, like a Carbonado. ANTONY and CLEOPATRA. We'll beat 'em into Bench-holes: I have yet I made this Emendation, when I publifh'd my SHAKESPEARE Tftor'd; and Mr. Pope has vouchfafed to embrace it in his last Edition. Unfafe Unfafe the while, that we must lave our honours Macb. O, full of fcorpions is my mind, dear wife ! Hath rung night's yawning peal, there fhall be done Lady. What's to be done? Macb. Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck, 'Till thou applaud the Deed: come, feeling Night, (23) Skarf up the tender eye of pitiful day, And with thy bloody and invifible hand Which keeps me pale! Light thickens, and the Crow Good things of day begin to droop and drowze. [Exeunt. SCENE changes to a Park; the Caftle at a dif tance. Enter three Murtherers. UT who did bid thee join with us? I Mur. BU (23) come, fealing Night, 2 Mur. Skarf up the tender Eye of pitiful day;] Mr. Rowe and Mr. Pope, neither of them were aware of the Poet's Metaphor here, and fo have blunder'd the Text into Nonfenfe. I have reftor'd from the old Copies, come, feeling Night, 2 Mur. He needs not our Miftruft, fince he delivers (24) Our offices, and what we have to do, I Mur. Then ftand with us. The weft yet glimmers with some streaks of day: To gain the timely inn; and near approaches 3 Mur. Hark, I hear horfes. Banquo within. Give us light there, ho! 1 Mur. His horfes go about. 3 Mur. Almoft a mile: but he does ufually, (So all men do,) from hence to th' Palace-gate Make it their Walk. Enter Banquo and Fleance, with a Torch. 2 Mur. A light, a light. 3 Mur. 'Tis he. 1 Mur. Stand to't. Ban. It will be rain to night. 1 Mur. Let it come down. Ban. Oh, treachery! Fly, Fleance, fly, fly, fly, [They affault Banquo. i. e. blinding. It is a Term in Falconry, when they run a thread thro' the Eyelids of a Hawk first taken, fo that the may fee very little, or not at all, to make her the better endure the Hood. This they call, feeling a Hawk. (24) He needs not to miftruft,] Mr. Pope has here fophifticated the Text, for want of understanding it. I can easily fee, that he conceiv'd This to be the Meaning; that Macbeth had no Occafion to mistrust the Murtherers he had employ'd, and plant another upon them. But the Text in the Old Copies ftands thus, He needs not our Miftruft Macbeth had agreed with the two Murtherers, and appoints a Third to affift them. The Two are Somewhat jealous of him at firft, but finding that he was So particular and precife in his Directions, that he knew every part of their Commiffion, they agree, that there is no need to miftrust him, and fo bid him stand with them. Thou Thou may'st revenge. Oh flave! [Dies. Fleance efcapes. 3 Mur. Who did ftrike out the light? I Mur. Was't not the way? 3 Mur. There's but One down; the fon Is fled. 2 Mur. We've loft best half of our affair. 1 Mur. Well, let's away, and fay how much is done. [Exeunt. SCENE changes to a Room of State in the Caftle. A Banquet prepar'd. Enter Macbeth, Lady, Roffe, Lenox, Lords, and Attendants. Mach. YOU OU know your own degrees, fit down: Lords. Thanks to your Majefty. Mach. Our felf will mingle with fociety, And play the humble Host: Our Hoftefs keeps her State, but in best time We will require her welcome. [They fit. Lady. Pronounce it for me, Sir, to all our friends, For my Enter first Murtherer. Macb. See, they encounter thee with their hearts' thanks. Both fides are even: here I'll fit i'th' midft; Be large in mirth, anon we'll drink a measure The table roundThere's blood upon thy face. [To the Murtherer, afide, at the door. Mur. 'Tis Banquo's then. Macb. 'Tis better thee without, than he within. Is he dispatch'd? Mur. My lord, his throat is cut, That I did for him. Macb. Thou art the best of cut-throats; yet he's good, That did the like for Fleance: if thou didst it, Thou art the non-pareil. Mur. Moft royal Sir, Fleance is 'fcap'd. Macb. Macb. Then comes my Fit again: I had elfe been per fe&t; Whole as the marble, founded as the rock; But now I'm cabin'd, cribb'd, confin'd, bound in Mach. Thanks for that; There the grown ferpent lyes: the worm, that's fled, No teeth for th' prefent. Get thee gone, to morrow Lady. My royal lord, [Exit Murtherer. You do not give the cheer; the feast is fold, That is not often vouched, while 'tis making; 'Tis given, with welcome. To feed, were beft at home; From thence, the fawce to meat is ceremony; Meeting were bare without it. [The Ghost of Banquo rifes, and fits in Macbeth's place. Mach. Sweet remembrancer! Now good digeftion wait on appetite, And health on both! Len. May't please your Highnefs fit? Macb. Here had we now our Country's Honour roof'd, Were the grac'd perfon of our Banquo prefent, (Whom may I rather challenge for unkindness, Than pity for mischance!) Roffe. His abfence, Sir, Lays blame upon his promife. Pleas't your Highness To grace us with your royal company? Macb. The table's full. Len. Here's a place referv'd, Sir. Mach. Where? Len. Here, my good lord. What is't that moves your Highness? Mach. Which of you have done this? [Starting. Macb. Thou can'ft not fay, I did it: never fhake Thy |