Macd. Enter Rosse. See, who comes here? Mal. My countryman; but yet I know him not. Macd. My ever-gentle cousin, welcome hither. Mal. I know him now: Good God, betimes remove The means that make us strangers! Rosse. Sir, Amen. Macd. Stands Scotland where it did? Alas, poor country, Almost afraid to know itself! It cannot Be call'd our mother, but our grave: where nothing, Is there scarce ask'd, for who; and good men's lives Macd. Too nice, and yet too true! Mal. O, relation, What is 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. Rosse. Well too. Macd. The tyrant has not batter'd at their peace? Rosse. No; they were well at peace, when I did leave them. [goes it? Which was to my belief witness'd the rather, Now is the time of help; your eye in Scotland Mal. Be it their comfort, We are coming thither: gracious England hath That Christendom gives out. Rosse. This comfort with the like! "Would I could answer But I have words, What concern they? That would be howl'd out in the desert air, Rosse. No mind, that's honest, But in it shares some woe; though the main part Macd. If it be mine, Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it. Rosse. Let not your ears despise my tongue for ever, Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound, That ever yet they heard. Macd. Humph! I guess at it. Rosse. Your castle is surpriz'd; your wife, and Savagely slaughter'd: to relate the manner, [babes, Were, on the quarry 3 of these murder'd deer, To add the death of you. Mal. Merciful heaven!— What, man! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows; Rosse. That could be found. Wife, children, servants, all 1 lay hold of. 2 A peculiar sorrow. A grief that has a single owner. 3 mangled heap. ✦ whispers to the o'er-fraught heart, and bids &c. 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?—O, hell-kite!—All? What, all my pretty chickens, and their dam, Mal. Dispute it like a man. Macd. But I must also feel it as a man: I shall do so; I cannot but remember such things were, That were most precious to me.-Did heaven look on, Fell slaughter on their souls: Heaven rest them now! 2 Bring thou this fiend of Scotland, and myself; Mal. 'Not Macbeth, but Malcolm. [may; ⚫ all intervening time. 3 encourage, thrust forward us, their instruments. ACT V. SCENE 1.-Dunsinane. A room in the castle. Enter a Doctor of Physick, and a waiting Doct. I have two nights watched with you, but can perceive no truth in your report. When was it she last walked? Gent. Since his majesty went into the field, I have seen her rise from her bed, throw her night-gown upon her, unlock her closet, take forth paper, fold it, write upon it, read it, afterwards seal it, and again return to bed; yet all this while in a most fast sleep. Doct. A great perturbation in nature! to receive at once the benefit of sleep, and do the effects of watching. In this slumbry agitation, besides her walking, and other actual performances, what, at any time, have you heard her say? Gent. That, sir, which I will not report after her. Doct. You may, to me; and 'tis most meet you should. Gent. Neither to you, nor any one; having no witness to confirm my speech. Enter Lady MACBETH, with a taper. Lo you, here she comes! This is her very guise; and, upon my life, fast asleep. Observe her; stand close. Doct. How came she by that light? : Gent. Why, it stood by her she has light by her continually; 'tis her command. 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, to seem thus washing her hands; I have known her continue in this a quarter of an hour. 104 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. Hell is Lady M. Out, damned spot! out, I say!-One; Two; Why, then 'tis time to do't: murky!-Fye, my lord, fye! a soldier, aud afear'd? 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 spoken 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. 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 night 'Repeating her husband's presumed objection.-The classical reader may be reminded of Hesiod's Táprapos svpweig. Alluding to Macbeth's terrors at the sight of Banquo's ghost. |