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Lewis Theobald [1733], The works of Shakespeare: in seven volumes. Collated with the Oldest Copies, and Corrected; With notes, Explanatory and Critical; By Mr. Theobald (Printed for A. Bettesworth and C. Hitch [and] J. Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S11201].
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Scene 2 SCENE, the Outside of Macbeth's Castle. Enter Rosse, with an old Man.

Old Man.
Threescore and ten I can remember well,
Within the volume of which time, I've seen
Hours dreadful, and things strange; but this sore night
Hath trifled former knowings.

Rosse.
Ah, good father,
Thou seest, the heav'ns, as troubled with man's act,
Threaten this bloody stage: by th' clock, 'tis day;
And yet dark night strangles the travelling lamp:
Is't night's predominance, or the day's shame,
That darkness does the face of earth intomb,
When living light should kiss it?

Old M.
'Tis unnatural,
Even like the Deed that's done. On Tuesday last,
A faulcon, towring in her pride of place,
Was by a mousing owl hawkt at, and kill'd.

Rosse.
And Duncan's horses, (a thing most strange and certain!)(19) note







Beauteous and swift, the minions of the Race,

-- 419 --


Turn'd wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out,
Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would
Make war with man.

Old M.
'Tis said, they eat each other.

Rosse.
They did so; to the amazement of mine eyes,
That look'd upon't. Enter Macduff.
Here comes the good Macduff.
How goes the world, Sir, now?

Macd.
Why, see you not?

Rosse.
Is't known, who did this more than bloody Deed?

Macd.
Those, that Macbeth hath slain.

Rosse.
Alas, the day!
What good could they pretend?

Macd.
They are suborn'd;
Malcolm, and Donalbaine, the King's two Sons,
Are stol'n away and fled; which puts upon them
Suspicion of the Deed.

Rosse.
'Gainst nature still;—
Thriftless ambition! that will ravin up
Thine own life's means.—Then 'tis most like,
The Sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth?

Macd.
He is already nam'd, and gone to Scone,
To be invested.

Rosse.
Where is Duncan's body?

Macd.
Carried to Colmes-hill,
The sacred storehouse of his Predecessors,
And guardian of their bones.

Rosse.
Will you to Scone?

Macd.
No, Cousin, I'll to Fife.

Rosse.
Well, I will thither.

Macd.
Well, may you see things well done there, (adieu;)
Lest our old robes sit easier than our new!

-- 420 --

Rosse.
Farewel, Father.

Old M.
God's benison go with you, and with those
That would make good of bad, and friends of foes.
[Exeunt.
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Lewis Theobald [1733], The works of Shakespeare: in seven volumes. Collated with the Oldest Copies, and Corrected; With notes, Explanatory and Critical; By Mr. Theobald (Printed for A. Bettesworth and C. Hitch [and] J. Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S11201].
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