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This deed I'll do before this purpose cool.
But no more sights!-Where are these gentlemen?
Come, bring me where they are. [Exeunt.
SCENE II. Fife. Macduff's castle.
Enter LADY MACDUFF, her Son, and Ross.
L. Macd. What had he done, to make him fly
Ross. You must have patience, madam.
He had none:
His flight was madness: when our actions do not,
Our fears do make us traitors.
His mansion and his titles in a place
From whence himself does fly? He loves us not;
He wants the natural touch: for the poor wren,
The most diminutive of birds, will fight,
Her young ones in her nest, against the owl.
All is the fear and nothing is the love;
As little is the wisdom, where the flight
So runs against all reason.
You know not
Whether it was his wisdom or his fear.
L. Macd. Wisdom! to leave his wife, to leave quickly have a new father.
My dearest coz,
I pray you, school yourself: but for your husband,
He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows
The fits o' the season. I dare not speak much
But cruel are the times, when we are traitors
And do not know ourselves, when we hold rumour
From what we fear, yet know not what we fear,
But float upon a wild and violent sea
Each way and move. I take my leave of you:
Shall not be long but I'll be here again:
Things at the worst will cease, or else climb up-
To what they were before. My pretty cousin,
Blessing upon you!
L. Macd. Father'd he is, and yet he's father-
My father is not dead, for all your saying.
L. Macd. Yes, he is dead: how wilt thou do for a father?
Son. And be all traitors that do so? L. Macd. Every one that does so is a traitor, and must be hanged.
Son. And must they all be hanged that swear and lie?
L. Macd. Every one.
Son, Who must hang them?
Son. Nay, how will you do for a husband?
L. Macd. Why, I can buy me twenty at any
Son. Was my father a traitor, mother?
L. Macd. Ay, that he was.
Son. What is a traitor?
L. Macd. Why, one that swears and lies.
L. Macd. Why, the honest men.
Son. Then the liars and swearers are fools; for there are liars and swearers enow to beat the honest men and hang up them.
L. Macd. Now, God help thee, poor monkey! But how wilt thou do for a father?
Son. If he were dead, you'ld weep for him: you would not, it were a good sign that I should
L. Macd. Poor prattler, how thou talk'st!
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. Bless you, fair dame! I am not to you
Though in your state of honour I am perfect.
I doubt some danger does approach you nearly:
If you will take a homely man's advice,
Be not found here; hence, with your little ones.
To fright you thus, methinks, I am too savage; 70
To do worse to you were fell cruelty,
Which is too nigh your person. Heaven preserve
I dare abide no longer.
Ross. I am so much a fool, should I stay longer,
It would be my disgrace and your discomfort:
I take my leave at once.
L. Macd. Sirrah, your father's dead: 30
And what will you do now? How will you live?
Son. As birds do, mother.
What, with worms and flies?
Son. With what I get, I mean; and so do they.
L. Macd. Poor bird! thou'ldst never fear the
net nor lime,
The pitfall nor the gin.
Son. Why should I, mother? Poor birds they SCENE III. England. Before the King's palace. are not set for.
Whither should I fly?
I have done no harm. But I remember now
I am in this earthly world; where to do harm
Is often laudable, to do good sometime
Accounted dangerous folly: why then, alas,
Do I put up that womanly defence,
To say I have done no harm?
What are these faces?
First Mur. Where is your husband? 80
L. Macd. I hope, in no place so unsanctified
Where such as thou mayst find him.
He's a traitor.
Son. Thou liest, thou shag-hair'd villain!
What, you egg!
Enter MALCOLM and Macduff.
Mal. Let us seek out some desolate shade, and there
Weep our sad bosoms empty.
Let us rather
Hold fast the mortal sword, and like good men
Bestride our down-fall'n birthdom: each new morn
Son. Then you'll buy 'em to sell again.
L. Macd. Thou speak'st with all thy wit; and New widows howl, new orphans cry, new sorrows yet, i' faith,
Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds
With wit enough for thee.
As if it felt with Scotland and yell'd out
Like syllable of dolour.
What I believe I'll wail,
What know believe, and what I can redress,
As I shall find the time to friend, I will.
Young fry of treachery!
He has kill'd me, mother:
[Exit Lady Macduff, crying 'Murder!'
Exeunt Murderers, following her..
What you have spoke, it may be so perchance.
This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues,
Was once thought honest: you have loved him
He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young; but
You may deserve of him through me, and wisdom
To offer up a weak poor innocent lamb
To appease an angry god.
Macd. I am not treacherous.
But Macbeth is.
A good and virtuous nature may recoil
In an imperial charge. But I shall crave your
That which you are my thoughts cannot transpose:
Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell:
Though all things foul would wear the brows of
Yet grace must still look so.
I have lost my hopes. Mal. Perchance even there where I did find my doubts.
Why in that rawness left you wife and child,
Those precious motives, those strong knots of love,
Without leave-taking? I pray you,
Let not my jealousies be your dishonours,
But mine own safeties. You may be rightly just,
Whatever I shall think.
Bleed, bleed, poor country!
Great tyranny! lay thou thy basis sure,
For goodness dare not check thee: wear thou thy
The title is affeer'd! Fare thee well, lord:
I would not be the villain that thou think'st
For the whole space that's in the tyrant's grasp,
And the rich East to boot.
Be not offended:
I speak not as in absolute fear of you.
I think our country sinks beneath the yoke;
It weeps, it bleeds; and each new day a gash
Is added to her wounds: I think withal
There would be hands uplifted in my right;
And here from gracious England have I offer
Of goodly thousands: but, for all this,
When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head,
Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country
Shall have more vices than it had before,
More suffer and more sundry ways than ever,
By him that shall succeed.
What should he be?
Mal. It is myself I mean: in whom I know 50
All the particulars of vice so grafted
That, when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth
Will seem as pure as snow, and the poor state
Esteem him as a lamb, being compared
With my confineless harms.
Not in the legions
Of horrid hell can come a devil more damn'd
In evils to top Macbeth.
In nature is a tyranny; it hath been
The untimely emptying of the happy throne
And fall of many kings. But fear not yet
To take upon you what is yours: you may
Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty,
And yet seem cold, the time you may so hoodwink.
We have willing dames enough; there cannot be
That vulture in you, to devour so many
As will to greatness dedicate themselves,
Finding it so inclined.
I grant him bloody,
Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful,
Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin
That has a name: but there's no bottom, none, 60
In my voluptuousness: your wives, your daughters,
Your matrons and your maids, could not fill up
The cistern of my lust, and my desire.
All continent impediments would o'erbear
That did oppose my will: better Macbeth
Than such an one to reign.
Sticks deeper, grows with more pernicious root
Than summer-seeming lust, and it hath been
The sword of our slain kings: yet do not fear;
Scotland hath foisons to fill up your will,
Of your mere own: all these are portable,
With other graces weigh'd.
Mal. But I have none: the king-becoming
As justice, verity, temperance, stableness,
Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness,
Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude,
I have no relish of them, but abound
In the division of each several crime,
Acting it many ways. Nay, had I power, I should
Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell,
Uproar the universal
All unity on earth.
O Scotland, Scotland!
Mal. If such a one be fit to govern, speak:
I am as I have spoken.
With this there grows
In my most ill-composed affection such
A stanchless avarice that, were I king,
I should cut off the nobles for their lands,
Desire his jewels and this other's house:
And my more-having would be as a sauce
To make me hunger more; that I should forge
Quarrels unjust against the good and loyal,
Destroying them for wealth.
Fit to govern!
No, not to live. O nation miserable,
With an untitled tyrant bloody-scepter'd,
When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again,
Since that the truest issue of thy throne
By his own interdiction stands accursed,
And does blaspheme his breed? Thy royal father
Was a most sainted king: the queen that bore thee,
Oftener upon her knees than on her feet,
Died every day she lived. Fare thee well!
These evils thou repeat'st upon thyself
Have banish'd me from Scotland.
Thy hope ends here!
O my breast,
Macduff, this noble passion,
Child of integrity, hath from my soul
Wiped the black scruples, reconciled my thoughts
To thy good truth and honour. Devilish Macbeth
By many of these trains hath sought to win me
Into his power, and modest wisdom plucks me
From over-credulous haste: but God above
Deal between thee and me! for even now
I put myself to thy direction, and
Unspeak mine own detraction, here abjure
The taints and blames I laid upon myself,
For strangers to my nature. I am yet
Unknown to woman, never was forsworn,
Scarcely have coveted what was mine own,
At no time broke my faith, would not betray
The devil to his fellow and delight
No less in truth than life: my first false speaking
Was this upon myself: what I am truly,
Is thine and my poor country's to command:
Whither indeed, before thy here-approach,
Old Siward, with ten thousand warlike men,
Already at a point, was setting forth.
Now we'll together; and the chance of goodness
Be like our warranted quarrel! Why are you
Macd. Such welcome and unwelcome things
'Tis hard to reconcile.
Enter a Doctor.
Mal. Well; more anon.-Comes the king forth,
I pray you?
Doft. Ay, sir; there are a crew of wretched
his cure: their malady convinces
The great assay of art; but at his touch-
Such sanctity hath heaven given his hand-
They presently amend.
Mal. I thank you, doctor. [Exit Doctor. Macd. What's the disease he means? Mal. 'Tis call'd the evil: A most miraculous work in this good king; Which often, since my here-remain in England, I have seen him do. How he solicits heaven, Himself best knows: but strangely-visited people, All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye, 151 The mere despair of surgery, he cures, Hanging a golden stamp about their necks, Put on with holy prayers: and 'tis spoken, To the succeeding royalty he leaves The healing benediction. With this strange virtue, He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy, And sundry blessings hang about his throne, That speak him full of grace.
Each minute teems a new one.
Ross. Why, well.
And all my children?
Ross. Well too. 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? 180 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
Would create soldiers, make our women fight,
To doff their dire distresses.
Be't their comfort We are coming thither: gracious England hath Lent us good Siward and ten thousand men; 190 An older and a better soldier none That Christendom gives out.
Ross. 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 latch them. Macd. What concern they? The general cause? or is it a fee-grief Due to some single breast? Ross.
No mind that's honest But in it shares some woe; though the main part Pertains to you alone.
If it be mine,
Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it. 200 Ross. Let not your ears despise my tongue for
Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound That ever yet they heard.
Hum! I guess at it. Ross. Your castle is surprised; 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.
What, man! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows;
Give sorrow words: the grief that does not
Whispers the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break.
Macd. My children too?
Wife, children, servants, all 211 That could be found. Macd.
And I must be from thence!
My wife kill'd too?
I have said.
Be comforted: Let's make us medicines of our great revenge, To cure this deadly grief.
Macd. He has no children. All my pretty
Did you say all? O hell-kite! All?
What, all my pretty chickens and their dam
At one fell swoop?
Mal. Dispute it like a man.
But I must also feel it as a man:
seem thus washing her hands: I have known her continue in this a quarter of an hour. Lady M. Yet here's a spot.
Doct. Hark! she speaks: I will set down what comes from her, to satisfy my remembrance the more strongly.
Doct. You see, her eyes are open.
Gent. Ay, but their sense is shut.
Doct. What is it she does now? Look, how she rubs her hands.
Gent. It is an accustomed action with her,
Lady M. Out, damned spot! out, I say!One: two: why, then 'tis time to do't.-Hell is murky!-Fie, my lord, fie! a soldier, and afeard? What need we fear who knows it, when none can call our power to account?-Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him.
Doct. Do you mark that?
Lady M. The thane of Fife had a wife: where is she now? What, will these hands ne'er be clean?--No more o' that, my lord, no more o' that: you mar all with this starting.
Doct. Go to, go to; you have known what you should not.
Gent. She has spoke what she should not, I am sure of that: heaven knows what she has known.
Lady M. Here's the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh, oh, oh!
Doct. What a sigh is there! The heart is sorely charged. 60
Gent. I would not have such a heart in my bosom for the dignity of the whole body. Doct. Well, well, well,
Gent. Pray God it be, sir.
Doct. This disease is beyond my practice: yet I have known those which have walked in their sleep who have died holily in their beds.
Lady M. Wash your hands, put on your nightgown; look not so pale.-I tell you yet again, Banquo's buried; he cannot come out on's grave.
Doct. Even so?
Lady M. To bed, to bed! there's knocking at the gate: come, come, come, come, give me your hand. What's done cannot be undone.-To bed, to bed, to bed! [Exit.
Doct. Will she go now to bed?
Doct. Foul whisperings are abroad: unnatural deeds
Do breed unnatural troubles: infected minds 80
To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets:
More needs she the divine than the physician.
God, God forgive us all! Look after her;
Remove from her the means of all annoyance,
And still keep eyes upon her. So, good night:
My mind she has mated, and amazed my sight.
I think, but dare not speak.
Good night, good doctor. [Exeunt.
Who then shall blame His pester'd senses to recoil and start, When all that is within him does condemn Itself for being there?
Macb I'll fight till from my bones my flesh
Give me my armour.
Well, march we on,
To give obedience where 'tis truly owed:
Meet we the medicine of the sickly weal,
And with him pour we in our country's purge
Each drop of us.
'Tis not needed yet.
Macb. I'll put it on.
Send out moe horses; skirr the country round;
Hang those that talk of fear. Give me mine
Or so much as it needs, To dew the sovereign flower and drown the How does your patient, doctor? weeds.
Make we our march towards Birnam.
SCENE III. Dunsinane. A room in the castle..
And mingle with the English epicures:
The mind I sway by and the heart I bear
Shall never sag with doubt nor shake with fear. 10
Thou lily-liver'd boy. What soldiers, patch?
Death of thy soul! those linen cheeks of thine
Are counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whey-
Serv. The English force, so please you.
Macb. Take thy face hence. [Exit Servant.
Seyton! I am sick at heart,
When I behold-Seyton, I say! This push
Will cheer me ever, or disseat me now.
I have lived long enough: my way of life'
Is fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf;
And that which should accompany old age,
As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends,
I must not look to have; but, in their stead,
Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honour, breath,
Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare
Sey. What is your gracious pleasure?
What news more? 30
Sey. All is confirm'd, my lord, which was
Not so sick, my lord,
As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies,
That keep her from her rest.
Cure her of that.
Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased,
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow,
Raze out the written troubles of the brain
And with some sweet oblivious antidote
Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff
Which weighs upon the heart?
Therein the patient
Must minister to himself.
Mach. Throw physic to the dogs; I'll none
Come, put mine armour on; give me my staff.
Seyton, send out. Doctor, the thanes fly from
Makes us hear something.
Come, sir, dispatch. If thou couldst, doctor, cast
The water of my land, find her disease,
And purge it to a sound and pristine health,
I would applaud thee to the very echo,
That should applaud again.-Pull't off, I say.-
What rhubarb, † cyme, or what purgative drug,
Would scour these English hence? Hear'st thou
Doct. Ay, my good lord; your royal prepar
Bring it after me.
I will not be afraid of death and bane,
Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane.
Doct. [Aside] Were I from Dunsinane away
Profit again should hardly draw me here.