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Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear
The very itones prate of my where-about;
And take the present horror from the time,
Which now suits with it. ---Whilft I threat, he lives and
and it is done; the bell invites me. Hear it not, Duncan ; for it is a knell That summons thee to heaven or to hell.
MACDUFF, MALCOLM, AND ROSSE.
Maco. EE 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. .
Macp. Stands Scotland where it did :
Rosse. Alas, poor country,
Almoft 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 sighs 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 ak’d, for whom : and good mens' 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
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 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, and make women fight,
To doff their dire diftresses.
MAL. Be't their comfort
We're coming thither: gracious England hath
Lent us good Siward and ten thousand men ;
An older, and better soldier, none
That Christendom gives out.
Rosse. Would I could answer
This comfort with the like; but I have words
That would be howl'd out in the defart air,
Where hearing should not catch them.
Macd. What concern they?
The gen’ral caufe? or is it a free-grief,
Due to some fingle breast,
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 found,
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,
of these murther'd deer To add the death of
Mal. Merciful Heav'n!
What, 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.
Macp. 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 ! all?
MAL. Endure it like a man.
Macd. I shall do fo;
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 ftruck for thee? naught that I am,
Not for their own demerits, but for mine,
Fell flaughter on their souls. Heav'n reft them now!
MAL. Be this the whet-ftone of your sword, let grief Convert to wrath ; blunt not the heart, enrage it.
MacD. O, I could play the woman with mine eyes, And braggart with my tongue. But, gentle Heav'n! 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, Then Heav'n forgive him too !
MAL. This tune goes manly. Come, go we to the King, our power is ready; Our lack is nothing but our leave. Macbeth Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer you may; The night is long that never finds the day.
ANTONY's SOLILOQUY OVER CÆSAR's BODY.
PARDON me, thou bleeding piece of earth!
Thou art the ruins of the noblest man
That ever lived in the tide of times.
Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood!
Over thy wounds now do I prophesy,
(Which, like dumb mouths, do ope their ruby lips,
To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue)
A curse shall light upon the line of men ;
Domeitic fury, and fierce civil ftrife,
Shall cumber all the parts of Italy ;
Blood and destruction shall be so in use,
And dreadful objects fo familiar,
That mothers shall but smile, when they behold
Their infants quarter'd by the hands of war:
All pity chok'd with custom of fell deeds;
And Cæsar's fpirit, ranging for revenge,
With Até by his fide come hot from hell,
Shall in these confines, with a monarch's voice,
Cry, Havock, and let flip the dogs of war.
CH A P. XXV. ANTONY'S FUNERAL ORATION OVER
RIENDS, Romans, Countrymen, lend me your ears.
Fi come to bury manfar more to praise him.
The evil that men do lives after them ;
The good is oft interred with their bones;
So let it be with Cæfar! Noble Brutus
Hath told you, Cæsar was ambitious ;
If it were fo, it was a grievous fault;
And grievously hath Cæsar answer'd it.
Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest,
(For Brutus is an honourable man,
So are they all, all honourable men)
Come I to speak in Cæsar's funeral.
He was my friend, faithful and just to me;
But Brutus says, he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honourable man.
He hath brought many captives home to Rome,
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill ;
Did this in Cæfar seem ambitious ?
When that the poor have cry'd, Cæfar hath wept;