Did he sup with the King? BULLER. I believe he sat down--but got up again--and left the Chamber. TALBOYS. His wife seeks him out. "He has almost supped. Why have you left the Chamber?" "Has he asked for me?" "Know ye not he has?" NORTH. On Macbeth's Soliloquy, which his wife's entrance here interrupts, how much inconsiderate comment have not moralists made! Here--they have said--is the struggle of a good man with temptation. Hearken, say they--to the voice of Conscience! What does the good man, in this hour of trial, say to himself? He says to himself--"I have made up my mind to assassinate my benefactor in my own house--the only doubt I have, is about the consequences to myself in the world to come." Well, then--"We'd jump the world to come. But if I murder him--may not others murder me? Retribution even in this world." Call you that the voice of Conscience? SEWARD. Hardly. NORTH. He then goes on to descant to himself about the relation in which he stands to Duncan, and apparently discovers for the first time, that "he's here in double trust;" and that as his host, his kinsman, and his subject, he should "against his murderer shut the door, not bear the knife myself." SEWARD. A man of genius. NORTH. Besides, Duncan is not only a King, but a good King-- "So clear in his great office, that his virtues Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against The deep damnation of his taking-off." That is much better morality--keep there, Macbeth--or thereabouts--and Duncan's life is tolerably safe--at least for one night. But Shakspeare knew his man--and what manner of man he is we hear in the unbearable context, that never yet has been quoted by any one who had ears to distinguish between the true and the false. "And pity, like a naked new-born babe, Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, hors'd Upon the sightless couriers of the air, Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye, That tears shall drown the wind." Cant and fustian. Shakspeare knew that cant and fustian would come at that moment from the mouth of Macbeth. Accordingly, he offers but a poor resistance to the rhetoric that comes rushing from his wife's heart--even that sentiment which is thought so fine--and 'tis well enough in its way-- "I dare do all that may become a man; Who dares do more is none"-- is set aside at once by-- "What beast was it, then, That made you break this enterprise to me?" We hear no more of "Pity like a naked new-born babe"--but at her horrid scheme of the murder-- "Bring forth men-children only! For thy undaunted mettle should compose Nothing but males!"