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Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful;
But there's no bortom, none,
In my voluptuousness.
Nay, had I power, I should
Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell,
Uproar the universal peace, confound
All unity on earth.

Macd. Oh Scotland! Scotland!
Mal. If such a one be fit to govern, speak.

Macd. Fit to govern!
No, not to live.-0 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 accurs'd,
And docs blaspheme his breed ?-Thy royal father
Was à most sainted king; the queen, that bore thee,
Oftener upon her knees than on her feet,
Dy'd every day she lived. Fare thee well!
These evils, thou repeat'st upon thyself,
Have banish’d me from Scotland.-0, my breast,
Thy hope ends here!

Mal. Macduff, this noble passion, Child of integrity, hath from my soul Wip'd the black scruples, reconcild 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 Heaven 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. 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,

All ready at a point, was setting forth:
Now we'll together; and the chance, of goodness,
Be like our warranted quarrel! Why are you silent?
Macd. Such welcome and unwelcome things at

once, 'Tis hard to reconcile.-See, who comes here? Mal. My countryman; but yet I know him not.

Enter Rosse. Macd. My ever gentle cousin, welcome hither. Mal. I know him now: Good Heaven, betimes re


The means that make us strangers !

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

Rosse. Alas, poor country!
Almost afraid to know 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

Expire before the flowers in their caps,
Dying, or ere they sicken,

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

Mal. 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. And all


children? Rosse. Well too. Macd. The tyrant has not batter'd at their peace? Rosse. No; they were all at peace, when I did

leave them.

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 a-foot:
Now is your time of help; your eye in Scotland
Would create soldiers, make our women fight,
To doff their dire distresses.

Mal. Be it their comfort,
We are coming thither: gracious England hath
Lent us good Siward, and ten thousand men;
An older, and a better soldier, 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 latch them.

Macd. What concern they?
The general cause? or is it a fee-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

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. 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. Mal. Merciful Heaven !What, man! ne'er pull your


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 have 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 ?-Oh; hell-kite !--Alli
What, all my pretty chickens, and their dam,
At one fell swoop?

Mal. Dispute it like a man.

Macd. I shall do so; But I must also feel it as a man: I cannot but reinember such things were, That were most precious to me.-Did Heaven 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 ! Mal. Be this the whetstone of


sword : let grief Convert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage it.

Macd. O, I could play the woman with mine eyes, And braggart with my tongue !-But, gentle Heaven, Cut short all intermission; front to front Bring thou this fiend of Scotland, and myself; Within my sword's length set him; if he 'scape, Heaven forgive him too!




LADY Macbeth's Rooms, in the Castle at Dunsinane.

Enter a GENTLEWOMAN and a PHYSICIAN. Phy. I have two nights watch'd with you, but can perceive no truth in your report. When was it she last walk'd ?

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.

Phy. What at any time have you heard her say? Gent. That, sir, which I will not report after her.

Phy. You may, to me; and, 'tis most meet you should.

Gent. Neither to you, nor any one; having no witness to confirm my speech.-Lo.

9. you,

here she comes ! This is her very guise; and, upon my life, fast asleep. Observe her; stand close.

Enter LADY MACBETH, with a Taper. Phy. How came she by that light?

Gent. Why, it stood by her : she has light by her continually; 'tis her command.

Phy. You see her eyes are open.
Gent. Ay, but their sense is shut.

Phy. What is it she does now? Look, how she rubs her hands.

Gent. It is an accustom'd action with her, to seem


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