Yet I will try the last: Before my body
I throw my warlike shield; lay on, Macduff;
And damn'd be him that first cries, Hold, enough.

[Exeunt, fighting.

Retreat. Flourish. Re-enter, with Drum and Colours, MALCOLM, old SIWARD, ROSSE, LENOX, ANGUS, CATHNESS, MENTETH, and Soldiers. Mal. I would, the friends we miss were safe arriv'd. Siw. Some must go off: and yet, by these I see, So great a day as this is cheaply bought.

Mal. Macduff is missing, and your noble son. Rosse. Your son, my lord, has paid a soldier's debt; He only liv'd but till he was a man:

The which no sooner had his prowess confirm'd
In the unshrinking station where he fought,

But like a man he died.

Siw.

Then he is dead?

Rosse. Ay, and brought off the field: your cause

of sorrow

Must not be measur'd by his worth, for then

It hath no end.

Siw.

Had he his hurts before?

Rosse. Ay, on the front.
Siw.

Why then, God's soldier be he!

Had I as many sons as I have hairs,

8 To cry hold! was the word of yielding (according to Carew's Survey of Cornwall, p. 74), that is, when one of the combatants cries so. To cry hold! when persons were fighting, was an authoritative way of separating them, according to the old military laws. This is shown by the following passage produced by Mr. Tollet: it declares it to be a capital offence 'Whosoever shall strike stroke at his adversary, either in the heat or otherwise, if a third do cry hold, to the intent to part them.'

Bellay's Instructions for the Wars, 1599.

This illustrates the passage in Act i. Sc. 5, of this play :'Nor heav'n peep through the blanket of the dark To cry Hold! hold!'

I would not wish them to a fairer death 9:

And so his knell is knoll'd.
Mal.

He's worth more sorrow,

And that I'll spend for him.
Siw.

He's worth no more;

They say, he parted well, and paid his score :
And so, God be with him!-Here comes newer

comfort.

Re-enter MACDUFF, with MACBETH'S Head on

a Pole 10.

Macd. Hail, king! for so thou art: Behold, where

stands

The usurper's cursed head: the time is free:
I see thee compass'd with thy kingdom's pearl 11,

That speak my salutation in their minds;
Whose voices I desire aloud with mine,-

Hail, king of Scotland!
All.

Hail, king of Scotland!

[Flourish.

Mal. We shall not spend a large expense 12 of time, Before we reckon with your several loves,

And make us even with you. My thanes and kinsmen,

Henceforth be earls, the first that ever Scotland
In such an honour nam'd13. What's more to do,
Which would be planted newly with the time, -
As calling home our exil'd friends abroad,
That fled the snares of watchful tyranny;
Producing forth the cruel ministers

Of this dead butcher, and his fiendlike queen;
Who, as 'tis thought, by self and violent hands
Took off her life; -This, and what needful else
That calls upon us, by the grace of Grace,
We will perform in measure, time, and place:
So thanks to all at once, and to each one,
Whom we invite to see us crown'd at Scone.

[Flourish. Exeunt.

13 Malcolm, immediately after his coronation, called a parliament at Forfair; in the which he rewarded them with lands and livings that had assisted him against Macbeth. Manie of them that were before thanes were at this time made earles; as Fife, Menteith, Atholl, Levenox, Murrey, Caithness, Rosse, and Angus.'-Holinshed's History of Scotland, p. 176.

THIS play is deservedly celebrated for the propriety of its fictions, and solemnity, grandeur, and variety of its action; but it has no nice discriminations of character: the events are too great to admit the influence of particular dispositions, and the course of the action necessarily determines the conduct of the agents.

The danger of ambition is well described; and I know not whether it may not be said, in defence of some parts which now seem improbable, that in Shakspeare's time it was necessary to warn credulity against vain and illusive predictions.

The passions are directed to their true end. Lady Macbeth is merely detested; and though the courage of Macbeth preserves some esteem, yet every reader rejoices at his fall.

JOHNSON.

Constance. Why dost thou look so sadly on my son? What means that hand upon that breast of thine ?

Аст ііі. Sc. 1.