Love thyself last; cherish those hearts that wait thee; Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not. Thy God's, and Truth's; then if thou fall'st, O Cromwell There take an invent'ry of all I have, My robe, O Cromwell, Cromwell, Crom. Good Sir, have patience. BLOW winds, and crack your cheeks; rage, blow! Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks! Singe my white head. And thou, all-shaking thunder, Crack Nature's mould, all germins spill at once, Rumble thy bellvfull, spit fire, spout rain! But yet I call you servile ministers, That have with two pernicious daughters join'd That keep this dreadful pudder o'er our heads, Unwhipp'd of Justice! Hide thee, thou bloody hand: Hast practis'd on man's life.-Close pent up guilts, Those dreadful summoners grace!—I am a man SHAKSPEARE CHAP. XVI. MACBETH'S SOLILOQUY. Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle tow'rd my hand? come, let me clutch thee.- As this which I now draw.—— Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going; Mine eyes are made the fools o' th' other senses, Thus to mine eyes.-Now o'er one half the world The curtain'd Sleep; now Witchcraft celebrates Whose howl's his watch,) thus with his stealthy pace, That summons thee to Heaven or to Hell! SHAKSPEARE, Macd. CHAP. XVII. MACDUFF, MALCOLM, AND ROSSE. SEE who comes here? Malc. My countryman; but yet I know him not. Malc. I know him now. Good God! betimes remove The means that makes us strangers! Rosse. Macd. Sir, Amen. Stands Scotland where it did? Rosse. Alas! poor country, Almost afraid to know itself. It cannot Be call'd our mother, but our grave; where nothing, Where sighs, and groans, and shrieks that rend the air, Is there scarce ask'd for whom and good men's lives Macd. Oh, relation Too nice, and yet too true! Malc. What's the newest grief Rosse. That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker. Each minute teems a new one. it Macd. The tyrant has not batter'd at their peace? Now is the time of help; your eye in Scotland Malc. Be't their comfort We're coming thither: gracious England hath Rosse. Would I could answer This comfort with the like; but I have words, The gen'ral cause? or is it a free grief, 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 heaviest sound, That ever yet they heard. Macd. Hum! 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 Mal. Merciful Heav'n! What, man! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows; Rosse. Wife, children, servants, all that could be found. Rosse. Malc. I've said. 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! 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 Heav'n look on, And would not take their part? Sinful Macduff, Fell slaughter on their souls. Heav'a rest them now! Macd. O, I could play the woman with mine eyes, Bring thou this fiend of Scotland and myself; Malc. This tune goes manly. Come, go we to the King, our pow'r is ready; Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer you may; SHAKSPEARE. |