And overcome* us like a summer's cloud, Without our special wonder? You make me strange Even to the disposition that I owe,t When now I think you can behold such sights, And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks, When mine are blanck'd with fear. Rosse. What sights, my lord? Lady M. I pray you, speak not; he grows worse and worse; Question enrages him: at once, good night: Stand not upon the order of your going, But go at once. Len. Attend his majesty! Lady M. Good night and better health A kind good night to all! [Exeunt Lords and Attendants. Macb. It will have blood; they say, blood will have blood: Stones have been known to move, and trees to speak: Augurs, and understood relations, have By magot-piest and choughs, and rooks, brought forth The secret'st man of blood. ACT IV. THE POWER OF WITCHES. I conjure you, by that which you profess, Though bladed corn be lodg'd and trees blown down; Though castles topple¶ on their warders' heads; Their heads to their foundations; though the treasure * Pass over. + Possess. + Magpies. Laid flat by wind or rain. ** Seeds which have begun to sprout. § Frothy. T Tumble. Even till destruction sicken, answer me To what I ask you. MALCOLM'S CHARACTER OF HIMSELF. Mal. But I have none: The king-becoming graces As justice, verity, temperance, stableness, Bounty, perseverance, 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. Macb. O Scotland! Scotland! Mal. If such a one be fit to govern, speak: I am as I have spoken. Macb. Fit to govern! No, not to live.-O nation miserable, With an untitled tyrant, bloody-sceptred, When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again? By his own interdiction stands accurs'd, And does blaspheme his breed?-Thy royal father Died every day she lived. Fare thee well! Have banish'd me from Scotland.-O, my breast, Mal. Macduff, this noble passion, Wip'd the black scruples, reconcil'd my thoughts *Over-hasty credulity. For strangers to my nature. No less in truth, than life: my first false speaking Is thine, and my poor country's, to command. AN OPPRESSED COUNTRY. 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 rent the air, Are made, not mark'd: were violent sorrow seems Is there scarce ask'd, for who; and good men's lives MACDUFF'S BEHAVIOUR ON THE MURDER OF HIS Rosse. 'Would I could answer This comfort with the like! But I have words Macd. Rosse. No mind, that's honest, But in it shares some wo; 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 heavest sound, * Common distress of mind. † Catch. Macd. Humph! I guess at it. Rosse. Your castle is surpris'd; your wife and babes, Savagely slaughter'd: to relate the manner, Mal. Rosse. That could be found. Macd. Wife, children, servants, all My wife kill'd too? I have said. Be comforted: Rosse. Mal. 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. But I must also feel it as a man: I shall do so; 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, 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. The game after it is killed. + All pause. Within my sword's length set him; if he 'scape, 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. ACT V. SCENE.-Enter Lady MACBETH, with a taper. Gent. 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. 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; Two; Why, then 'tis time to do't:-Hell is murky!*-Fie, my lord, fie! 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? - • Dark. |