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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 catch them.

Macd. What concern they?

The general cause? or is it a fee-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.

495

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.

500

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!.

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?

Rosse. Wife, children, servants, all

That could be found.

Macd. And I must be from thenee!

510

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.

Macd. He has no children.

All my pretty ones?

520

Did you say, all?-Oh, 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,

e. Did heaven look on,

That were most precious to me.

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,
530
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. Oh, I could play the woman with mine eyes,
And braggart with my 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.

540

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

Receive what cheer you

Put on their instruments.

T

may;

The night is long, that never finds the day. [Exeunt.

ACT V. SCENE I.

Enter a Doctor of Physick, and a waiting Gentlewoman.

I

Doctor,

HAVE two nights watch'd with you, but can perceive no truth in your report. When was it she last

walk'd?

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.

9

Dact. 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. Hiij

19

Enter

Enter Lady MACBETH, with a Taper.

Lo you, here she comes! This is her very guise ; and upon my life, fast asleep.

close.

Observe her; stand

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.

Genț. Ay, but their sense is shut.

Doct. What is it she does now? Look, how she rubs her hands.

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Gent. It is an accustom'd action with her, to seem thus washing her hands; I have known her continue in this a quarter of an hour.

Lady. 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. 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 afraid? 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?

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Lady. 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 maṛ all with this starting.

Doct.

peit, buth Labrary London: Aug! 26.1784.

ΟΙ

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