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Edward Capell [1767], Mr William Shakespeare his comedies, histories, and tragedies, set out by himself in quarto, or by the Players his Fellows in folio, and now faithfully republish'd from those Editions in ten Volumes octavo; with an introduction: Whereunto will be added, in some other Volumes, notes, critical and explanatory, and a Body of Various Readings entire (Printed by Dryden Leach, for J. and R. Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S10601].
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SCENE V. Inverness. A Room in Macbeth's Castle. Enter Lady Macbeth, reading.

L. Mb.

&stellam; &stellam; &stellam; &stellam; &stellam; &stellam; &stellam; They met me14Q0496 in the day of success: and I have learn'd by the perfectest report, they have more in them than mortal knowledge. When I burnt in desire to question them further, they made themselves air, into which they vanish'd. Whiles I stood rapt in the wonder of it, came missives from the king, who all-hail'd me, thane of Cawdor; by which title before these weird sisters saluted me, and refer'd me to the coming on of time, with, Hail, king that shalt be. This have I thought good to deliver thee, my dearest partner of greatness; that thou mightest not lose the dues note of rejoicing, by being ignorant of what greatness is promis'd thee. Lay it to thy heart, and farewel.


Glamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be
What thou art promis'd: Yet do I fear thy nature;
It is too full o'the milk of human kindness,
To catch the nearest way: Thou would'st be great,
Art not without ambition; but without
The illness should attend it: what thou would'st highly,
That would'st thou holily; would'st not play false,
And yet would'st wrongly win: thoud'st note have, great Glamis,
That which cries, Thus thou must do, if thou have it note;

-- 15 --


And that's what rather note thou dost fear to do,
Than wishest should be undone. Hie thee hither,
That I may pour my spirits in thine ear;
And chástise with the valour of my tongue
All that impedes thee from note the golden round,
Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem Enter an Attendant.
To have thee crown'd withal.—What is your tidings?

Att.
The king comes here to-night.

L. Mb.
Thou'rt mad to say it:
Is not thy master with him? who, wer't so,
Would have inform'd for preparation.

Att.
So please you, it is true: our thane is coming:
One of my fellows had the speed of him;
Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more
Than would make up his message.

L. Mb.
Give him tending,
He brings great news. [Exit Att.] The raven himself is hoarse,
That croaks the fatal enterance of Duncan
Under my battlements. Come, all you spirits,
That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here;
And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full
Of direst cruelty! make thick my blood,
Stop up the access and passage to remorse;
That no compunctious visitings of nature
Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between
The effect, and it! note Come to my woman's breasts,
And take my milk for gall, you murth'ring ministers,
Wherever in your sightless substances
You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick night,
And pall thee in the dunnest smoak of hell!
That my keen knife see not the wound it makes;

-- 16 --


Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark,
To cry, Hold, hold!—Great Glamis! worthy Cawdor! Enter Macbeth.
Greater than both, by the all-hail hereafter!
Thy letters have transported me beyond
This ignorant present time, and I feel now
The future in the instant.

Macb.
My dear'st love,
Duncan comes here to-night.

L. Mb.
And when goes hence?

Macb.
To-morrow, as he purposes.

L. Mb.
O, never
Shall sun that morrow see.
Your face, my thane,14Q0497 is as a note book, where men
May read strange matters: To beguile the time,
Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye,
Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower,
But be the serpent under it. He that's coming
Must be provided for: and you shall put
This night's great business into my dispatch;
Which shall to all our nights and days to come
Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom.

Macb.
We will speak further.

L. Mb.
Only look up clear;
To alter favour ever is to fear:
Leave all the rest to me.
[Exeunt.
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Edward Capell [1767], Mr William Shakespeare his comedies, histories, and tragedies, set out by himself in quarto, or by the Players his Fellows in folio, and now faithfully republish'd from those Editions in ten Volumes octavo; with an introduction: Whereunto will be added, in some other Volumes, notes, critical and explanatory, and a Body of Various Readings entire (Printed by Dryden Leach, for J. and R. Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S10601].
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