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And all my children? Rosse.

Well too. 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
Of many worthy fellows that were out;
Which was to my belief witness'd the rather,
For that I saw the tyrant's power

a-foot :
Now is the time of help ;, your eye in Scotland
Would create soldiers, make our women fight,
To doff' their dire distresses.

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.

'Would I could' answer This comfort with the like! But I have words, That would be howlid out in the desert air, Where hearing should not latch 2 them. Macd.

What concern they? The general cause ? or is it a fee-grief,3 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.

i Put off.

2 Catch.

3 A grief that has a single owner.


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.

Humph! I guess at it. Rosse. Your castle is surpriz'd; your wife, and

Savagely slaughter'd: to relate the manner,
Were, on the quarry 4 of these murderd deer,
To add the death of you.

Merciful heaven!
What, man ! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows;
Give sorrow words: the grief, that does not speak,
Whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it break.

Macd. My children too?

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

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

I have said. Mal.

Be comforted : Let's make us med'cines of our great revenge, To cure this deadly grief.

Mgcd. He has no children. All my pretty ones?
Did you say, all ?-0, hell-kite !-All ?
What, all my pretty chickens, and their dam,
At one fell swoop?

Mal. Dispute it like a man.

I shall do so;
But I must also feel it as a man :

4 The game after it is killed.

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.

Macd. O, I could play the woman with mine eyes, And braggart with my tongue ! But, gentle

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!

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.




SCENE I. Dunsinane. A Room in the Castle.

Enter a Doctor of Physick, and a waiting Gentle


Doct. I have two nights watched with you, but can

5 All pause.

perceive no truth in your report. When was it she ast 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.
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; Two; Why, then 'tis time to do't : -Hell is murky !6_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?

Ludy 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.

6 Dark.

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