Oftener upon her knees than on her feet, Mal. By many of these trains hath sought to win me Unspeak mine own detraction: here abjure No less in truth, than life: my first false speaking ness, Be like our warranted quarrel! Why are you silent? Macd. Such welcome and unwelcome things at once, 'Tis hard to reconeile. Enter a Doctor. Mal. Well; more anon.-Comes the king forth, I pray you? Doct. Ay, sir; there are a crew of wretched That stay his cure: their malady convinces Mal. I thank you, doctor. [Exit Doctor. Macd. What's the disease he means? All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye, 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. Enter ROSSE. Macd. remove The means that make us strangers! Rosse. Sir, Amen. Macd. Stands Scotland where it did? Alas, poor country! Almost afraid to know itself! It cannot 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; where violent sorrow seems A modern ecstasy; the dead man's knell Is there scarce ask'd, for who; and good men's lives Expire before the flowers in their caps, Dying, or ere they sicken. Macd. Too nice, and yet too true! O, relation, Mal. What is the newest grief? Rosse. That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker; Each minute teems a new one. Macd. The tyrant has not batter'd at their peace? Rosse. No; they were well at peace when I did leave them. 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 Which was to my belief witness'd the rather, Mal. 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 hearing should not latch them. Macd. What concern they? No mind, that's honest, The general cause? or is it a fee-grief, Rosse. 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 surpris'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. Merciful heaven! Mal. 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? Rosse. Wife, children, servants, all 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, Mal. Dispute it like a man. I shall do so; But I must also feel it as a man: I cannot but remember such things were, And would not take their part? Sinful Macduff, now! eyes, And braggart with any tongue!-But, gentle heaven, 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. [Exeunt. ACT V. SCENE I. Dunsinane. A Room in the Castle. Enter a Doctor of Physick, and a waiting Gentlewoman. Doct. I have two nights watched with you, but can 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 it, 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 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 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. |