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morn,

New widows howl; new orphans cry; new sorrows
Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds
As if it felt with Scotland, and yell'd out
Like syllable of dolour.

Mal.
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 lov'd himwell;
He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young;
but something

You may deserve of him through me; and wisdom
To offer up a weak, poor, innocent lamb,
To appease an angry god.

Mucd. I am not treacherous.
Mal.

But Macbeth is.
A good and virtuous nature may recoil,
In an imperial charge. But 'crave your pardon;
That, which you are, my thoughts cannot trans-
pose:

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 my doubts.

Why in that rawness left you 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.

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I speak not as in absolute fear of you.
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.

Macd.
What should he be ?
Mal. It is myself I mean: in whom I know
All the particulars of vice so grafted,
That, when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth
Will seem as pure as snow; and the poor state
Esteem him as a lamb, being compar'd
With my confineless harms.

Macd. Not in the legions Of horrid hell, can come a devil more damn'd In evils, to top Macbeth.

Mal. I grant him bloody, Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful, Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin, That has a name: But there's no bottom, none, In my voluptuousness: your wives, your daugh

ters,

Your matrons, and your maids, could not fill up
The cistern of my lust; and my desire
All continent impediments would o'er-bear,
That did oppose my will: Better Macbeth,
Than such a one to reign.

Macd.

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 Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty, And yet seem cold, the time you may so hoodwink.

We have willing dames enough; there can

not be

That vulture in you, to devour so many As will to greatness dedicate themselves, Finding it so inclin'd.

Mal.

With this, there grows,

In my most ill-compos'd 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:
And my more-having would be as a sauce
To make me hunger more; that I should forge
Quarrels unjust against the good, and loyal,
Destroying them for wealth.

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graces,

As justice, verity, temperance, stableness,
Bounty, perséverance, mercy, lowliness,
Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude,
I have no relish of them; but abound
In the division of each several crime,
Acting it many ways. Nay, had I power, I
should

Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell,
Uproar the universal
peace, confound
All unity on earth.
Macd.

O Scotland! Scotland! Mal. If such a one be fit to govern, speak: I am as I have spoken.

Macd. Fit to govern! No, not to live.-O 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 does blaspheme his breed?-Thy royal

father

Was a most sainted king; the queen, that bore thee,

Oftner upon her knees than on her feet,
Died
every day she lived. Fare thee well!
These evils, thou repeat'st upon thyself,
Have banish'd me from Scotland.-O, my breast,
Thy hope ends here!
Mal.
Macduff, this noble passion,
Child of integrity, hath from my soul
Wip'd the black scruples, reconcil'd my thoughts
To thy good truth and honour. Devilish Mac-
beth

By many of these trains hath sought to win me
Into his power; and modest wisdom plucks me
From over-credulous haste: But God 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. I am yet
Unknown to woman; never was forsworn;
Scarcely have coveted what was mine own;
At no time broke my faith; would not betray
The devil to his fellow; and delight

No less in truth, than life: my first false speaking
Was this upon myself: 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 good

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Macd. Such welcome and unwelcome things

at once,

Tis hard to reconcile.

Enter a Doctor.

Mal. Well; more anon.-Comes the king forth, I pray you?

Doct. Ay, sir: there are a crew of wretched souls,

That stay his cure: their malady convinces
The great assay of art; but, at his touch,
Such sanctity hath heaven given his hand,
They presently amend.
Mal.

I thank you, doctor.
[Exit Doctor.

Macd. What's the disease he means?
Mal.

'Tis call'd the evil:

A most miraculous work in this good king;
Which often, since my here-remain in England,
I have seen him do. How he solicits heaven,
Himself best knows: but strangely-visited people,
All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye,
The mere despair of surgery, he cures;
Hanging a golden stamp about their necks,
Put on with holy prayers: and 'tis spoken,
To the succeeding royalty he leaves
The healing benediction, With this strange
virtue,

He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy;
And sundry blessings hang about his throne,
That speak him full of grace.

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Rosse. Why, well.

Macd.

And all my children?

Rosse.

Well too.

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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 howl'd out in the desert air,
Where bearing should not latch them.
Macd.
What concern they?
The general cause? or is it a fec-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 alone.

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
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!-

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And I must be from thence!

I have said.

My wife kill'd too?
Rosse.
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?-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 so;
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

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heaven,

But, gentle

Cut short all intermission; front to front,
Bring thou this fiend of Scotland, and myself;
Within my sword's length set hin; 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;

What, man! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows; The night is long, that never finds the day.
Give sorrow words: the grief, that does not speak,

Whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it break.

[Exeunt.

SCENE I.

ACT THE FIFTH.

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forth рарег, fold it, write upon it, read it, afterwards seal it, and again return to bed; yet all this while in a most fast sleep.

ceive at once the benefit of sleep, and do the Doct. A great perturbation in nature! to reeffects 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 | To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets. 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.

More needs she the divine, than the physician.-
God, God, forgive us all! Look after her;
Remove from her the means of all annoyance,
And still keep eyes upon her:-So, good night:
My mind she has mated, and amaz'd my sight:
I think, but dare not speak:
Gent.

Good night, good doctor.
[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The country near Dunsinane.

Doct. What is it she does now? Look, how Enter, with drum and colours, MENTETH,

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; Two; Why, then 'tis time to do't:Hell is murky!-Fye, my lord, fye! a soldier, and 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 spoke 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-gown; look not so pale:-I tell you yet again, Banquo's buried; he cannot come out of his grave.

Doct. Even so?

Lady M. To bed, to bed; there's knocking at the gate. Come, come, come, come, give me your hand; What's done, cannot be undone: To bed, to bed, to bed. [Exit Lady Macbeth. Duct. Will she go now to bed? Gent. Directly.

Duct. Foul whisperings are abroad: Unnatural deeds

Do breed unnatural troubles: Infected minds

CATHNESS, ANGUS, LENOX, and Soldiers. Ment. The English power is near, led on by Malcolm,

His uncle Siward, and the good Macduff.
Revenges burn in them: for their dear causes
Would, to the bleeding, and the grim alarm,
Excite the mortified man.
Ang.

Shall we well meet them;
coming.

Near Birnam wood that way are they

Cath. Who knows, if Donalbain be with his brother?

Len. For certain, sir, he is not: I have a file Of all the gentry; there is Siward's son, And many unrough youths, that even now Protest their first of manhood.

Ment.

What does the tyrant? Cath. Great Dunsinane he strongly fortifies: Some say, he's mad; others, that lesser hate him, Do call it valiant fury: but, for certain, He cannot buckle his distemper'd cause Within the belt of rule.

Ang. Now does he feel His secret murders sticking on his hands; Now minutely revolts upbraid his faith-breach; Those he commands, move only in command, Nothing in love: now does he feel his title Hang loose about him, like a giant's robe Upon a dwarfish thief.

Ment. Who then shall blame His pester'd senses to recoil, and start, When all, that is within him, does condeinn Itself, for being there? Cath. Well, march we on, To give obedience where 'tis truly ow'd: Meet we the medecin of the sickly weal; And with him pour we, in our country's purge, Each drop of us. Len. Or so much as it needs, To dew the sovereign flower, and drown the weeds.

Make we our march towards Birnain. [Exeunt, marching.

SCENE III.

Dunsinane. A room in the castle. Enter MACBETH, Doctor, and Attendants. Mucb. Bring me no more reports; let them fly all;

Till Birnamn wood remove to Dunsinane,

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bough,

And bear't before him; thereby shall we shadow
The numbers of our host, and make discovery
Err in report of us.

Sold.
It shall be done.
Siw. We learn no other, but the confident
tyrant

Keeps still in Dunsinane, and will endure
Our setting down before't.
Mal.

Tis his main hope:
For where there is advantage to be given,
Both more and less hath given him the revolt;
And none serve with him but constrained things
Whose hearts are absent too.

Macd. Let our just censures Attend the true event, and put we on Industrious soldiership.

Siw.

The time approaches,

That will with due decision make us know What we shall say we have, and what we owe

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