FullReads

–and thy air,
Thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first.

NOTE XXXVII.
I will–give to the edge o’ th’ sword
His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls
That trace him in his line.–No boasting like a fool:
This deed I’ll do before my purpose cool.

Both the sense and measure of the third line, which, as it rhymes, ought, according to the practice of this author, to be regular, are, at present, injured by two superfluous syllables, which may easily be removed by reading,

–souls
That trace his line:–No boasting like a fool.

NOTE XXXVIII.

SCENE III.

Rosse.
My dearest cousin,
I pray you, school yourself: But for your husband,
He’s noble, wise, judicious, and best knows
The fits o’th’time, I dare not speak much further,
But cruel are the times when we are traitors,
And do not know’t ourselves, when we (a)hold rumour
From what we fear, yet know not what we fear;
But float upon a wild and violent sea,
Each way, and (b)move. I’ll take my leave of you:
Shall not be long but I’ll be here again:
Things at the worst will cease, or else climb upward
To what they were before: my pretty cousin,
Blessing upon you!
(a)–When we hold rumour
From what we fear, yet know not what we fear.

The present reading seems to afford no sense; and, therefore, some critical experiments may be properly tried upon it, though, the verses being without any connexion, there is room for suspicion, that some intermediate lines are lost, and that the passage is, therefore, irretrievable. If it be supposed that the fault arises only from the corruption of some words, and that the traces of the true reading are still to be found, the passage may be changed thus:

–when we bode ruin
From what we fear, yet know not what we fear.

Or, in a sense very applicable to the occasion of the conference:

–when the bold, running
From what they fear, yet know not what they fear.

(b) But float upon a wild and violent sea
Each way, and move.

That he who floats upon a rough sea must move, is evident, too evident for Shakespeare so emphatically to assert. The line, therefore, is to be written thus:

Each way, and move–I’ll take my leave of you.

Rosse is about to proceed, but, finding himself overpowered by his tenderness, breaks off abruptly, for which he makes a short apology, and retires.

NOTE XXXIX.

SCENE IV.

Malcolm. Let us seek out some desolate shade, and there

Weep our sad bosoms empty.

Macduff. Let us rather

Hold fast the mortal sword; and, like good men,

Bestride our downfal birth-doom: each new morn,

New widows howl, new orphans cry, new sorrows

Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds

As if it felt with Scotland, and yell'd out

Like syllables of dolour.
 

He who can discover what is meant by him that earnestly exhorts him to bestride his downfal birth-doom, is at liberty to adhere to the present text; but those who are willing to confess that such counsel would to them be unintelligible, must endeavour to discover some reading less obscure. It is probable that Shakespeare wrote:

–like good men,
Bestride our downfall’n birthdom—

The allusion is to a man from whom something valuable is about to be taken by violence, and who, that he may defend it without encumbrance, lays it on the ground, and stands over it with his weapon in his hand. Our birthdom, or birthright, says he, lies on the ground, let us, like men who are to fight for what is dearest to them, not abandon it, but stand over it and defend it. This is a strong picture of obstinate resolution.