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The curtain'd Sleep; now Witchcraft celebrates
Pale Hecate's offerings : and wither'd Murder,
(Alarmed by his sentinel, the wolf,
Whose howl's his watch,) thus with his stealthy pace,
With Tarquin's ravishing strides, tow'rd his design
Moyes like a ghost.—Thou sound and firm-set earth
Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear
The very stones prate of my whereabout ;
And take the present horror from the time,
Which now suits with it. While I threat, he lives-

go, and it is done ; the bell invites me. Hear it not, Duncan ! for it is a knell, That summons thee to Heaven or to Hell !



Macd. See who comes here?
Malc. My countryman; but yet I know him not.
Macd. My ever gentle cousin, welcome hither.

Malc. I know him now. Good God! betimes remove The means that makes us strangers !

Rosse. Sir, Amen.
Maid. Stands Scotland where it did?

Rosse. Alas! poor country,
Almost afraid to kuow itself. It cannot
Be call’d our mother, but our grave; where nothing,
But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile ;
Where sighs, and groans, and shrieks that rend the air,
Are made, not mark'd; where violent sorrow seems
A modern ecstacy; the dead man's knell
Is there scarce ask'd for whom : and good men's lives
Expire before the flowers in their

caps ; Dying or e'er they sicken.

Macd. Oh, relation
Too nice, and yet too true!

Malc. What's the newest grief?

Rosse. That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker. Each minute teems a new one.

Macd. How does my wife !
Rosse. Why, well.
Macd. And all my children ?
Rosse, Well too.
Macd. The tyrant has not batter'd at their peace?
Rosse. No; they were at peace when I did leave 'em.
Macd. Be not a niggard of your speech : how goes it?

Rosse. When I came hither to transport the tidings
Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumour
Of many worthy fellows that were out,
Which was to my belief witness'd the rather,
For that I saw the tyrant's power afoot.
Now is the time of help; your eye in Scotland
Would create soldiers, and make women fight,
To doff their dire distresses.

Malc. Be't their comfort
We're coming thither: gracious England hath
Lent us good Siward and ten thousand men ;
An older, and a better soldier, none
That Christendoin gives out.

Rosse, Would I could answer
This comfort with the like; but I have words,
That would be howl'd out in the desert air,
Where hearing should not catch them.

Macd. What concern they?
The gen’ral cause? or is it a free grief,
Due to some single breast ?

Rosse. No mind that's honest,
But in it shares some wo; though the main part
Pertains to you alone.

Macd. If it be inine,
Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it.

Rosse. Let not your ears despise my tongue for ever, Which shall


them with the heaviest sound, That ever yet they heard.

Macd. "Hum! I guess at it.

Rosse. Your castle is surpris'd, your wife and babes
Savagely slaughter'd! to relate the manner,
Were on the quarry of these murder'd deer
To add the death of you. ;

Did you say

Mal. Merciful Heav'n!
What, man! ne'e. pull your hat upon your brows;
Give sorrow words, the grief that does not speak,
Whispers the o'erfraught heart, and bids it break.

Macd. My children too!-
Rosse. Wife, children, servants, all that could be found.
Macd. And I must be from thence! my wife kill'd too?
Rosse. I've said.

Malc. Be comforted.
Let's make us med'cines of our great revenge,
To cure this deadly grief.
Macd. He has no children.--All my pretty ones !

all? what, all? oh, hell-kite ! all? Malc. Endure it like a man.

Macd. I shall do so ;
But I must also feel it as a man.
I cannot but remember such things were,
That were most precious to me.

Did Heav'n look on,
And would not take their part?. Sinful Macduff,
They were all struck for thee! naught that I am,
Not for their own demerits, but for mine,
Fell slaughter on their souls. Heav'n rest them now!

Malc. Be this the whetstone of your sword, let grief
Convert to wrath ; blunt not the heart, enrage it!

Macd. O, I could play the woman with mine eyes,
And braggart with my tongue ! But, gentle Heav'n!
Cut short all intermission : front to front
Bring thou this fiend of Scotland and myself ;


sword's length set him, if he 'scape, Tben Heav'n forgive him too!

Malc. This tune goes manly. Come, go we to the King, our pow'r is ready.; Our lack is nothing but our leave. Macbeth Is ripe for shaking, and the pow'rs above Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer you may ; The night is long that never finds the day.




O PARDON me, thou bleeding piece of earth!
That I am meek and gentle with these butchers.
Thou art the ruins of the noblest man,
That ever lived in the tide of times.
Wo to the hand, that shed this costly blood !
Over thy wounds now do I prophesy,
(Which, like dumb mouths, do ope their ruby lips,
To beg the voice and utt'rance of my tongue,)
A curse shall light upon the line of men:
Domestic fury, and fierce civil strike,
Shall cumber all the parts of Italy ;
Blood and destruction shall be so in use,
And dreadful objects so familiar,
That mothers shall but smile, when they

Their infants quarter'd by the hands of war;
All pity chok’d with custom of fell deeds ;
And Cæsar's spirit raging for revenge,
With Até by his side come hot from Hell,
Shall in these confines, with a monarch's voice,
Cry Harock, and let slip the dogs of war.




FRIENDS, Romans, Countrymen, lend me your ears.
I come to bury Cæsar, not to praise him.
The evil that inen do lives after them;
The good is oft iiiterred with their bones;
So let it be with Cxsar! Noble Brutus
Hath told you, Caesar was ambitious :
If it were so, it was a grievous fault;
And grievously hath Cæsar answer'd it.
Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest,

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(For Brutus is an honourable man,
So are they all, all honourable men,)
Come I to speak in Cæsar's funeral.
He was my friend, faithful and just to me ;
But Brutus says, he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honourable man.
He hath brought many captives home to Rome,
Whose ransoms did the gen’ral coffers fill ;
Did this in Cæsar seem ambitious ?.
When that the poor bath cried, Cæsar hatlı- wept;
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff.
Yet Brutus says, he was anbitious;
And Brutus is an honourable man..
You all did see, that, on the Lupercal,
I thrice presented him a kingly crown;
Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambitions
Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ;
And sure he is an honourable man.
I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke,
But here I am to speak what I do know.
You all did love him once, not without cause.
What cause withholds you then to mourn for him?
O judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts,
And inen have lost their reason.-Bear with


e.; My heart is in the coffin there with Cæsar, And I must pause till it come back to me.

If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. You all do know this mantle : I remember The first time ever Cæşar put it on, Twas on a summer's; evening in his tent, That day he overcame the Nervii Look! in this place ran Cassius' dagger through; See what a rent the envious Caşca made.Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabb'd; And as he plack'd his cursed steel away, Mark how the blood of Cæsar follow'd it! As rushing out of doors, to be resolv'd, If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no : For Brutus, as you know, was Cæsar's angel. Judge, O ye gods ! how dearly Cæsar lov'd him; This, this was the unkindest eut of all;

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