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Mal.

Be't their comfort
We are coming thither : gracious England hath
Lent us good Siward and ten thousand men ; 190
An older and a better soldier none

That Christendom gives out.
Ross.

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 ?
Ross.

No mind that's honest
But in it shares some woe, though the main part
Pertains to

you

alone. Macd.

If it be mine,
Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it.
Ross. 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.
Ross. Your castle is surprised; 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.

200

Mal.

Merciful heaven!
What, man! ne'er pull your hat

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? Ross.

Wife, children, servants, all 211 That could be found. Macd.

And I must be from thence! My wife kill'd too? Ross.

I have said.
Mal.

Be comforted :
Let's make us medicines of our great revenge,

To cure this deadly grief.
Macd. He has no children. All my pretty ones ?

all ? O hell-kite! All ?
What, all my pretty chickens and their dam

At one fell swoop? Mal. Dispute it like a man. Macd.

I shall do 80 ;

220
But I must also feel it as a man :
I cannot but remember 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,

Did you say

Fell slaughter on their souls : heaven rest them now! Mal. Be this the whetstone of your sword : let grief

Convert to anger ; blunt not the heart, enrage it. Macd. O, I could play the woman with mine eyes, 230

And braggart with my tongue ! But, gentle heavens,
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 !
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. 240

[Exeunt. Act Fifth.

Scene 1.

Dunsinane. Ante-room in the castle.

Enter a Doctor of Physic and a Waiting-Gentlewoman.

but can

Doct. I have two nights watched with you,

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't, 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 slumbery agitation, besides
her walking and other actual performances,
what, at any time, have you heard her

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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.

20

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. 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. Lady M. Out, damned spot ! out, I say! One:

30

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