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To do worse to you were fell cruelty,
Which is too nigh your person.

Heaven preserve

you !

I dare abide no longer.

[Exit. L. Macd.

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?

Enter Murderers. First Mur. Where is your husband ?

80 L. Macd. I hope, in no place so unsanctified

Where such as thou mayst find him. First Mur.

He's a traitor. Son. Thou liest, thou shag-ear'd villain ! First Mur.

What, you egg!

[Stabbing bim. Young fry of treachery ! Son.

He has kill'd me, mother : Run away, I pray you !

[Dies. [Exit Lady Macduff, crying Murderer!'

Exeunt murderers, following her.

Scene III.

England. Before the King's palace.

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
New widows howl, new orphans cry, new sorrows
Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds
As if it felt with Scotland and yelld 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.
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 well;
He hath not touch'd you yet.

I am young; but

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 pardon ;
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 grace,

Yet grace must still look so. Macd.

I have lost my hopes. Mal. Perchance even there where I did find


Why in that rawness left 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: 31
Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure,
For goodness dare not check thee: wear thou thy

wrongs ;
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

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 80 grafted
That, when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth
Will seem as pure as snow, and the
Esteem him as a lamb, being compared

confineless harms. Macd.

Not in the legions
Of horrid hell can come a devil more danın'd

In evils to top Macbeth.

I grant him bloody,
Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful,
Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin

poor state

With my

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.

Boundless intemperance
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 70
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.

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 : 80

my more-having would be as a sauce
To make me hunger more, that I should forge

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