University of Virginia Library

SCENE VII.

Baudron and Macbeth.
BAUDRON.
It is, my liege, the fume of the disease,
Clouding like vapour her serene of mind:
The sun of reason fails amidst the gloom.

MACBETH.
She was not wont to see these spectacles;
And since thou hast been here, free friend with us,
We have, such air-embodied horrors seen
Rising before us, in the cheerful wake,
Like incantations of the wizard Sleep,
That day has grown as hideous as the night;
And baleful Memory, witching nurse of Fancy,
Mingling the caldron of perturbed care,
Gives aspectable form to dreadest things.
Again, I say, if thou hast wrought this change,
Depart our threshold. But if thou art man,
Stay; for the genius of thy antique lore,
Is touch'd with mystery, so finely wild,
That I could listen, had I leisure ease,
Far rather to thy high hypothesis,
Than to the cadence of the minstrel's song.