Angus.
Rosse.
The King hath happily receiv'd, Macbeth,
The news of thy success; and when he reads
3 noteThy personal 'venture in the rebels' fight,
His wonders and his praises do contend,
Which should be thine, or his. Silenc'd with That,
In viewing o'er the rest o' th' self-same day,
He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks,
Nothing afraid of what thy self didst make,
Strange images of death. As thick as hail,
Came Post on Post; and every one did bear
Thy praises in his Kingdom's great defence:
And pour'd them down before him.
Ang.
We are sent,
To give thee, from our royal Master, thanks;
Only to herald thee into his sight,
Not pay thee.
Rosse.
And for an earnest of a greater honour,
He bad me, from him, call thee Thane of Cawdor:
In which Addition, hail, most worthy Thane!
For it is thine.
Ban.
What, can the Devil speak true?
Macb.
The Thane of Cawdor lives;
Why do you dress me in his borrow'd robes?
Ang.
Who was the Thane, lives yet;
But under heavy judgment bears that life,
Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was
Combin'd with Norway, or did line the Rebel
With hidden help and vantage; or that with both
-- 342 --
He labour'd in his country's wreck, I know not;
But treasons capital, confess'd, and prov'd,
Have overthrown him.
Macb.
Glamis and Thane of Cawdor!
[Aside.
The greatest is behind. Thanks for your pains.
[To Angus.
Do you not hope, your children shall be Kings?
[To Banquo.
When those that gave the Thane of Cawdor to me,
Promis'd no less to them?
Ban.
That, trusted home,
4 noteMight yet enkindle you unto the Crown,
Besides the Thane of Cawdor. But 'tis strange:
And oftentimes, to win us to our harm,
The instruments of Darkness tell us truths;
Win us with honest trifles, to betray us
In deepest consequence.
Cousins, a word, I pray you.
[To Rosse and Angus.
Macb.
Two truths are told,
[Aside.
As happy prologues to the swelling act
Of the imperial theme. I thank you, gentlemen—
5 noteThis supernatural Solliciting
Cannot be ill; cannot be good.—If ill,
Why hath it giv'n me earnest of success,
Commencing in a truth? I'm Thane of Cawdor.
If good, 6 notewhy do I yield to that suggestion,
7 noteWhose horrid image doth upfix my hair,
And make my seated heart knock at my ribs
-- 343 --
Against the use of nature; 8 note
present feats
Are less than horrible imaginings.
My thought, whose murther yet is but fantastical,
Shakes so my single state of man, that Function
9 noteIs smother'd in surmise; 1 note
and nothing is,
But what is not.
Ban.
Look, how our Partner's rapt!
Macb.
If Chance will have me King, why, Chance may crown me,
[Aside.
Without my stir.
Ban.
New Honours, come upon him,
Like our strange garments cleave not to their mould,
But with the aid of use.
Macb.
Come what come may,
2 noteTime and the hour runs thro' the roughest day.
Ban.
Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure.
Macb.
Give me your favour: my dull brain was wrought
With things forgot. Kind gentlemen, your pains
Are registred where every day I turn
The leaf to read them—Let us tow'rd the King;
-- 344 --
Think, upon what hath chanc'd; and at more time,
[To Banquo.
(The Interim having weigh'd it,) let us speak
Our free hearts each to other.
Ban.
Very gladly.
Macb.
'Till then, enough: come, friends.
[Exeunt.
Alexander Pope [1747], The works of Shakespear in eight volumes. The Genuine Text (collated with all the former Editions, and then corrected and emended) is here settled: Being restored from the Blunders of the first Editors, and the Interpolations of the two Last: with A Comment and Notes, Critical and Explanatory. By Mr. Pope and Mr. Warburton (Printed for J. and P. Knapton, [and] S. Birt [etc.], London) [word count] [S11301].
