Certainly, it would be possible to take one of the plays of Shakespeare, or all of them, one after the other, and having exposed their fundamental motive (this has been done), to illustrate their aesthetic coherence and to point out the delicacy of treatment, bit by bit, scene by scene, accent by accent, word by word. In _Macbeth,_ for instance, might be shown the robust and potent unity of the affective tragical representation, which bursts out and runs like a lyric, all of a piece, everywhere maintaining complete harmony of parts, and each scene seeming to be a strophe of the poem, from its opening, with the sudden news of Macbeth's victories, and the joy and gratitude of the old king, immediately followed by the fateful meeting with the witches and by the kindling of the voracious desire, against which Macbeth struggles; down to the coming of the king to the castle, where ambush and death await his unsuspecting confidence; then the scene darkens, the murder takes place on that dread night, and Macbeth becomes gradually involved in a crescendo of crimes, up to the moment when the terrible tension ends in furious combat and the slaying of the hero. King Duncan, when he arrives at the gate of the castle, serene and happy as he is, in the event which has given peace to his kingdom, lingers to enjoy the delicate air and to admire the amenity of the spot. Banquo echoes him, and abandons himself to innocent pleasure, in whole-hearted confidence, repeating that delicious little poem about the martlet, which has suspended everywhere on the walls of the castle its nest and fruitful cradle, "This guest of summer, The temple-haunting martlet,"