The rival, then, of the Murder Scene—the Sleep-Walking stands aloof and aloft—to the chance of a true divination by the whole Globe audience? I think not. The argument is of a vulgar tone, I confess, and extremely literal, but it is after the measure of my poor faculties.
SEWARD.
In confirmation of what you say, sir, it has been lately asserted that one of the two appearings at least is not Banquo's—but Duncan's. How is that to be settled but by a real Ghost—or Ghosts?
NORTH.
And I ask, what has Shakspeare himself undeniably done elsewhere? In Henry VIII., Queen Katherine sleeps and dreams. Her Dream enters, and performs various acts—somewhat expressive—minutely contrived and prescribed. It is a mute Dream, which she with shut eyes sees—which you in pit, boxes, and gallery see—which her attendants, watching about her upon the stage, do not see.
SEWARD.
And in Richard III—He dreams, and so does Richmond. Eight Ghosts rise in succession and speak to Richard first, and to the Earl next—each hears, I suppose, what concerns himself—they seem to be present in the two Tents at once.
NORTH.
In Cymbeline, Posthumus dreams. His Dream enters—Ghosts and even Jupiter! They act and speak; and this Dream has a reality—for Jupiter hands or tosses a parchment-roll to one of the Ghosts, who lays it, as bidden, on the breast of the Dreamer, where he, on awaking, perceives it! I call all this physically strong, sir, for the representation of the metaphysically thought.