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Where hearing should not latch them *.
Macd.

What concern they?
The general cause, or is it a fee-grief',
Due to some single breast ?
Rosse.

No mind that's honest
But in it shares some woe, though the main part
Pertains to you alone.
Macd.

If it be mine,
Keep it not from me; quickly let me have it.

Rosse. Let not your ears despise my tongue for ever,
Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound,
That ever yet they heard.
Macd.

Humph! I guess at it.
Rosse. Your castle is surpris'd; your wife, and babes,
Savagely slaughter'd: to relate the manner,
Were, on the quarry of these murder'd deer,
To add the death of you.
Mal.

Merciful heaven !
What, man! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows :
Give sorrow words; the grief, that does not speak,
Whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it break'.
Macd. My children too?

Wife, children, servants, all
That could be found.
Macd.

And I must be from thence! My wife kill'd too? Rosse.

I have said.

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+- should not Latch them.] To “latch,” (in the north country dialect) Steevens informs us, signifies the same as to catch. It has the same meaning in Norfolk, as we find from Holloway's “ General Provincial Dictionary.” 1838.

5 — fee-grief,] A grief that has a single owner.

6 Were, on the QUARRY of these murder'd deer,] A “quarry” was a heap of dead game. See Vol. vi. p. 147.

7 Whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it break.) The following is from Montaigne's Essays, by Florio, b. i. ch. 2, a work of which it is known Shakespeare had a copy, and of which he certainly elsewhere made use :-“ All passions that may be tasted and digested are but mean and slight.

Curæ leves loquuntur, ingentes stupent.
“ Light cares can freely speake,

Great cares heart rather breake.”

Mal.

Be comforted :
Let's make us medicines of our great revenge,
To cure this deadly grief.

Macd. He has no children.—All my pretty ones?
Did you say, all ?-0, hell-kite All?
What, all my pretty chickens, and their dam,
At one fell swoop ?

Mal. Dispute it like a man.
Macd.

I shall do so;
But I must also feel it as a man:
I cannot but remember such things were,
That were most precious to me.—Did heaven look on,
And would not take their part ? Sinful Macduff!
They were all struck for thee. Naught that I am,
Not for their own demerits, but for mine,
Fell slaughter on their souls. Heaven rest them now!

Mal, Be this the whetstone of your sword: let grief Convert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage it.

Macd. O! I could play the woman with mine eyes, And braggart with my tongue.- But, gentle Heavens, Cut short all intermission; front to front, Bring thou this fiend of Scotland, and myself; Within my sword's length set him ; if he 'scape, Heaven forgive him too ! Mal.

This tune goes manlys. Come, go we to the king : our power is ready; Our lack is nothing but our leave. Macbeth Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer you

may; The night is long that never finds the day. [Exeunt.

8 This tune goes manly.] The folios read, time, which Rowe altered to “tune.” Time could here scarcely be right, even were we to take for granted Gifford's statement (Massinger, vol. ii. p. 261.), that time and tune were, of old, used indifferently. No misprint could be more easy than time for tune, and rice versa ; and perhaps none was more frequently committed.

ACT V. SCENE I.

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Dunsinane. A Room in the Castle. Enter a Doctor of Physic, and a waiting Gentlewoman'.

Doct. I have two nights watched with you, but can perceive no truth in your report. When was it she last walked ?

Gent. Since his majesty went into the field, I have seen her rise from her bed, throw her night-gown upon her, unlock her closet, take forth paper, fold it, write upon it, read it, afterwards seal it, and again return to bed; yet all this while in a most fast sleep.

Doct. A great perturbation in nature, to receive at once the benefit of sleep, and do the effects of watching. In this slumbery agitation, besides her walking and other actual performances, what at any time bave you heard her say ? Gent. That, sir, which I will not report after her.

Doct. You may, to me; and 'tis most meet you should.

Gent. Neither to you, nor any one, having no witness to confirm my speech.

Enter Lady MACBETH, with a Taper. Lo you! here she comes. This is her very guise, and upon my life fast asleep. Observe her: stand close.

Doct. How came she by that light? Gent. Why, it stood by her: she has light by her continually ; 'tis her command.

Doct. You see, her eyes are open.

9 Enter a Doctor of Physic, and a waiting Gentlewoman.) This is the old stage-direction, but the English “ Doctor” introduced in the last scene with Malcolm and Macduff must also have been a Doctor of Physic, though not so described in the old editions.

Gent. Ay, but their sense is shut?.

Doct. What is it she does now ? Look, how she rubs her hands.

Gent. It is an accustomed action with her to seem thus washing her hands : I have known her continue in this a quarter of an hour.

Lady M. Yet here's a spot.

Doct. Hark! she speaks. I will set down what comes from her, to satisfy my remembrance the more strongly.

Lady M. Out, damned spot! out, I say!- One; two: why, then 'tis time to do't.—Hell is murky! Fie, my lord, fie! a soldier, and afеard ? 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 so much blood in him?

Doct. Do you mark that?

Lady M. The thane of Fife had a wife: where is she now ?-What, will these hands ne'er be clean ?No more o' that, my lord; no more o' that: you mar all with this starting.

Doct. Go to, go to: you have known what you should not.

Gent. She has spoke what she should not, I am sure of that: Heaven knows what she has known.

Lady M. Here's the smell of the blood still : all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh! oh! oh!

Doct. What a sigh is there! The heart is sorely charged.

Gent. I would not have such a heart in my bosom, for the dignity of the whole body.

Doct. Well, well, well,
Gent. Pray God, it be, sir.

1 Ay, but their sense is shut.] Surely it is not necessary to retain the false concord of “their sense are shut.” We should have made an amendment of this description silently, had not Malone endeavoured to justify the printer's error, because perhaps Steevens had corrected it.

Doct. This disease is beyond my practice: yet I have known those which have walked in their sleep, who have died holily in their beds.

Lady M. Wash your hands, put on your night-gown; look not so pale. — I tell you yet again, Banquo's buried : he cannot come out on’s grave.

Doct. Even so ?

Lady M. 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 MACBETH. Doct. Will she go now to bed? Gent. Directly.

Doct. Foul whisperings are abroad. Unnatural deeds Do breed unnatural troubles : infected minds To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets. More needs she the divine, than the physician.God, God, forgive us all! Look after her; Remove from her the means of all annoyance, And still keep eyes upon her.—So, good night : My mind she has mated?, and amaz’d my sight. I think, but dare not speak. Gent.

Good night, good doctor.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The Country near Dunsinane.

Enter, with Drum and Colours, MENTETH, CATHNESS,

ANGUS, LENOX, and Soldiers. Ment. The English power is near, led on by Mal

colm,

? My mind she has MATED,] i. e. Astonished, confounded. The word has occurred several times before in the same sense. See Vol. ii. p. 142 ; and Vol. v. p. 159.

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