Macbeth has seen the weird sisters, has listened to their prophecy, has found one of their predictions verified. He _is_ Thane of Cawdor! He has caught the dazzling dream of royalty with an eager and a determined hand. He has begun to weave in his ambitious brain the web of his vast designs. He has not only conceived—he has _yielded_ to the dire suggestion whose horrid image unfixed his hair and made his “seated heart knock at his ribs,” against the use of nature. He has invoked the stars to hide their fires, that “light” may not see his “black and deep desires.” He has met his sinful and earthly wife, and in the interchange of a few portentous words, understood even before spoken, (for there is a freemasonry of guilt as well as of innocence and honor) he has resolved upon deep hypocrisy, prompt action, and the most tremendous guilt. That very night is to become memorable in the history of their lives and of the world, by a deed of eternal wo. The sun, now rolling calmly and brightly to his golden rest, is never to behold again the forth-going of the silver-haired old monarch, who, with his happy and triumphant suite, approaches the sweet castle of Inverness; and the raven has been, (by the deep conjuration of the blackest of human hearts,) supposed _hoarse_ with ominous croakings at the sight of the happy and confiding king entering beneath those battlements. With what consummate skill these innumerable ideas are presented to our imagination, and then (and here is the passage) what a transition from the gloomy and horrid depths of the corrupt human heart, to the perfume, radiance, tranquility, picturesqueness, and ever-soothing routine of external nature. SCENE VI. _Before the castle._ _Hautboys, servants of Macbeth attending. Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain, Banquo, Lenox, Macduff, Rosse, Angus, and attendants._ _Duncan._ This castle hath a pleasant seat; the air Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself Unto our gentle senses. _Banquo._ This guest of summer, The temple-haunting martlet, does approve, By his lov’d mansionry, that the heaven’s breath Smells wooingly here: no jutty frieze, Buttress, nor coigne of vantage, but this bird Hath made his pendent bed, and procreant cradle; Where they most breed and haunt, I have observ’d, The air is delicate.