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RLOW winds, and crack your cheeks; rage, blow!
You cataracts, and hurricanes, spout Till you have drench'd oar steeples, drown'd the cocks! You sulph'rous and thought-executing fires, Singe my white head. And thou, all-shaking thunder, Strike flat the thick rotundity o'th' world; Crack nature's mould, all germins spill at once That make ungrateful man!
Rumble thy belly full, spit fire, spout rain! .
Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters.
I tax not you, ye elements, with unkindness;
I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children;
You owe me no subscription. Then let fall
Your horrible pleasure.--Here I stand your brave, .
A poor, infirm, weak, and despis’d old man;
But yet I call you servile ministers,
That have with two pernicious daughters join'd
Your high engender'd battles, 'gainst a head,
So old and white as this. Oh! oh! 'tis foul.
Let the great gods,
That keep this dreadful pudder o'er our heads,
Find out their enemies now. Tremble thou wretch,
That hast within thec undivulged crimes,
Unwhip'd of justice! Hide thee, thou bloody hand;
Thou perjure, and thou simular of virtue,
That art incestuous! caitiff, shake to pieces,
That, under cover of convivial seeming,
Has practis’d on man's life-Close-pent-up guilts,
Rive your concealing continents, and ask
Those dreadful summoners grace !---1am a man, More finn'd against, than finning.
. CH A P. XXII. MACBETH's SOLILOQU Y.,
T S this a dagger which I see before me,
The handle tow'rd my hand ? come, let me clutch thee... I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling, as to fight? or art thou but A dagger of the mind, a false creation Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain? I see thee yet, in form as palpable As this which now I draw. Thou marshal'st me the way that I was going; And such an instrument I was to use. ' , Mine eyes are made the fools o'th' other senses, Or else worth all the rest-I see thee ftill; And on the blade of th'dudgeon, gouts of blood, Which was not so before. There's no such thing.-It is the bloody business, which informs Thus to mine eyes.-Now o’er one half the world Nature feems dead, and wicked dreams abuse The curtain'd sleep; now witchcraft celebrates Pale Hecate's offerings : and wither'd Murther, (Alarum'd by his centinel, the wolf, Whose howl's his watch) thus with his stealthy pace, With Tarquin's ravishing strides, tow'rds his design Moves like a ghoft.-Thou found and firm-fet earth, Cc3
Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear
The very stones prate of my where about ;
And take the present horror from the time,
Which now suits with it.-Whilft I threat, he livesma
I go, and it is done; the bell invites me.
Hear it not, Duncan; for it is a knell
That fummons thee to heaven or to hell.
CH A P. XXIII. MAC DUFF, MALCOLM, AND ROSSE.
MacD. SEE who comes here !
Mal. My countryman; but yet I know him not.
Macd. My ever-gentle coufin, welcome hither.
MAL. I know him now. Good God, betimes remove
The means that makes us strangers !
Rosse. Sir, Amen.
Mácp. Stands Scotland where it did ?
Rosse. Alas, poor country,
Almost afraid to know itfelf. It cannot
Be call'd our mother, but our grave; where nothing,
But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile;
Where fighs and groans, and shrieks that rend the air,
Are made, not mark’d; where violent sorrow seems
A modern, ecstasy; 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 ficken.
MacD. Oh, relation
Too nice, and yet too true!
MAL. 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 come hither to transport the tidings,
Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumour. 3
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 foldiers, and make women fight,
To doff their dire distresses.
Mal. Be't their comfort
We're coming thither : gracious England hath
Lent us good Siward and ten thousand men;
An older, and better foldier, none
That Christendom gives out.
Rosse. Would I could answer
This comfort with the like; but I have words
That would be howld 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 woe; though the main part
Pertains to you alone.
Macd. If it be mine, i
Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it.
Rosse. Let not your ears despise my tongue for ever,
Which shall poffefs them with the heaviest sound,
That ever yet they heard..
Macp. Hum! I guess at it.
Rosse. Your castle is surpris’d, your wife and babes
Savagely laughter’d; to relate the manner,
Were on the quarry of these murther'd deer. ,
To add the death of you.
MAL. Merciful Heaven!
Whai, man! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows,
Give forrow words; the grief that does not speak,
Whispers the o'er-fraught 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.
MAL. 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;
Did you say, all? what all? oh, hell-kite! ah?
Mal. 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!