Mal. It is myself I mean: in whom I know That, when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth Macd. Not in the legions Of horrid hell can come a devil more damn'd In evils to top Macbeth. Mal. I grant him bloody, Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful, Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin That has a name: but there's no bottom, none, Than such an one to reign. Macd. Boundless intemperance In nature is a tyranny; it hath been And yet seem cold, the time you may so hoodwink. We've willing dames enough; there cannot be Finding it so inclin'd. Mal. With this, there grows, And my Sticks deeper; grows with more pernicious root Of your mere own: all these are portable, Mal. But I have none: the king-becoming graces, Acting it many ways. Nay, had I power, I should Uproar(99) the universal peace, confound All unity on earth. Macd. O Scotland, Scotland! Mal. If such a one be fit to govern, speak: I am as I have spoken. No, not to live.-O nation miserable, With an untitled tyrant bloody-scepter'd, When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again, And does blaspheme his breed?—Thy royal father Died every day she lived. Fare thee well!(100) Have banish'd me from Scotland.-O my breast, Mal. Deal between thee and me! for even now Unspeak mine own detraction; here abjure No less in truth than life: my first false speaking Enter a Doctor. Mal. Well; more anon.-Comes the king forth, I pray you? Doct. Ay, sir; there are a crew of wretched souls That stay his cure their malady convinces The great assay of art; but, at his touch, Mal. [Exit Doctor. 'Tis call'd the evil I thank you, doctor. Macd. What's the disease he means? Mal. A most miraculous work in this good king; The mere Hanging a golden stamp about their necks, The healing benediction. With this strange virtue, And sundry blessings hang about his throne, That speak him full of grace. Macd. See, who comes here? Mal. My countryman; but yet I know him not. Enter Ross. Macd. My ever-gentle cousin, welcome hither. Mal. I know him now:-good God, betimes remove The means that makes us strangers! Ross. Sir, amen. Macd. Stands Scotland where it did? Alas, poor country, Almost afraid to know itself! It cannot Is there scarce ask'd for who; and good men's lives Dying or e'er they sicken. Macd. Too nice, and yet too true! Mal. O, relation What's the new'st grief? Ross. That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker; Each minute teems a new one. Macd. The tyrant has not batter'd at their peace? Ross. No; they were well at peace when I did leave 'em. Macd. Be not a niggard of your speech: how goes 't? Ross. 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 a-foot: Now is the time of help; your eye in Scotland Mal. Be 't their comfort We're coming thither: gracious England hath That Christendom gives out. Ross. Would I could answer This comfort with the like! But I have words Maed. What concern they? No mind that's honest But in it shares some woe; though the main part Pertains to you alone. Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it. Ross. Let not your ears despise my tongue for ever, Macd. Hum! I guess at it. Ross. 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. Mal. Merciful heaven! What, man! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows; |