Mac

Mal. My countryman; but yet I know him Macd. My ever-gentle Coufin, welcome hither.

Mal. I know him now. Good God betimes remove The means that makes us ftrangers!

Roffe. Sir, Amen.

Macd. Stands Scotland where it did?

Roffe. Alas, poor Country,

Almoft afraid to know itself. It cannot

Be call'd our Mother, but our Grave; where nothing,
But who knows nothing, is once feen to smile:
Where figns and groans, and fhrieks that rend the air,
Are made, not mark'd; where violent forrow seems
A modern ecftafy the dead-man's Knell

Is there scarce ask'd, for whom : and good men's lives
Expire before the flowers in their caps;
Dying, or ere they ficken.

Macd. Oh, relation

Too nice, and yet too true!

Mal. What's the newest grief?

Roffe. That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker, Each minute teems a new one.

Macd. How does my wife?

Roffe. Why, well.

Macd. And all my children?
Roffe. Well too.

Macd. The tyrant has not batter'd at their peace?
Roffe. No; they were well at peace, when I did

leave 'em.

Macd. Be not a niggard of your speech: how goes it?

Roffe. When I came hither to transport the tidings, Which I have heavily borne, there ran a ruinour Of many worthy fellows that were out,

Which was to my belief witnefs'd the rather,

For

For that I faw the Tyrant's Power a-foot;
Now is the time of help; your eye in Scotland
Would create foldiers, and make women fight,
To doff their dire diftreffes.

Mal. Be't their comfort

We're coming thither: gracious England hath
Lent us good Siward and ten thousand men ;
An older, and a better foldier, none
That Chriftendom gives out.
Roffe. 'Would I could anfwer

This comfort with the like! But I have words,
That would be howl'd out in the defart air,
Where Hearing fhould not catch them.
Macd. What concern they?

The gen'ral caufe? or is it a fee grief,
Due to fome fingle breaft?

Roffe. No mind, that's honeft,

But in it fhares fome woe; though the main part
Pertains to you alone.

Macd. If it be mine,

Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it.

Roffe. Let not your ears defpife my tongue for ever, Which fhall poffefs them with the heavieft Sound, That ever yet they heard.

Macd. Hum! I guess at it.

Roffe. Your Caftle is furpriz'd, your wife and babes Savagely flaughter'd; to relate the manner, Were on the Quarry of thefe murder'd deer To add the death of you.

Mal. Merciful heav'n !

What, man! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows;
Give forrow words; the grief, that does not speak,
Whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it break.
Macd. My children too!

Roffe. Wife,children, fervants, all that could be found.
Macd. And I must be from thence! my wife kill'd
Roffe. I've faid.

Mal. Be comforted.

[too!

Let's

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 fay, all? what, all? oh, hell-kite! all?
What, all my pretty chickens, and their dam,
At one fell fwoop?

Mal. Difpute it like a Man.

Macd. I fhall do fo:

But I must alfo feel it as a Man.

I cannot but remember fuch things were,
That were most precious to me: did heav'n look on,
And would not take their part? finful Macduff,
They were all ftruck for thee! naught that I am,
Not for their own demerits, but for mine,
Fell Slaughter on their fouls: heav'n reft them now!
Mal. Be this the whetstone of your fword, let grief
Convert to wrath: blunt not the heart, enrage it.

Macd. O, I could play the woman with mine eyes, And braggart with my tongue. But, gentle heav'n! Cut fhort all intermiffion: front to front,

Bring thou this fiend of Scotland and myself;
Within my fwords length fet him, if he 'fcape,
Then heav'n 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 fhaking, and the Powers above [may?
Put on their Inftruments. Receive what cheer you
The night is long that never finds the day. [Exeunt.

I

ACT

V.

SCENE I.

An Ante-chamber in Macbeth's Cafile.

Enter a Doctor of Phyfic, and a Gentlewoman.

DOCTOR.

Have two nights watch'd with you, but can perceive no truth in your report. When was it, fhe laft walk'd?

Gent.

Gent. Since his Majefty went into the field, I have feen her rife from her bed, throw her night-gown upon her, unlock her closet, take forth paper, fold it, write upon't, read it, afterwards feal 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 fleep, and do the effects of watching. In this flumbry agitation, besides her walking, and other actual performances, what (at any time) have you heard her fay?

Gent. That, Sir, which I will not report after her. Doct. You may to me, and 'tis most meet you fhould. Gent. Neither to you, nor any one, having no witnefs to confirm my fpeech.

Enter Lady Macbeth with a Taper.

Lo, you! here fhe comes: this is her very guife, and upon my life, faft afleep; obferve her, ftand close. Doct. How came fhe by that light?

Gent. Why, it ftood by her: the has light by her continually, 'tis her command.

Doct. You fee, her eyes are open.

Gent. Ay, but their fenfe is fhut.

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

Gent. It is an accuftom'd Action with her, to feem thus washing her hands: I have known her continue in this a quarter of an hour.

Lady. Yet here's a spot.

*

Doct. Hark, fhe speaks. I will fet down what comes from her, to fortify my remembrance the more ftrongly.

Lady. Out! damned fpot; out, I say one; two; why then, 'tis time to do't-hell is murky. Fie, my lord, fie! a foldier, and afraid? what need we fear who knows it, when none can call our power

to fatisfy my remembrance the more ftrongly.] Both the Senfe and Expreffion require we should read, to fortify my Remembrance. Warb.

Q

to

to account?-yet who would have thought the old man to have fo much blood in him?

Doct. Do you mark that?

Lady. The Thane of Fife had a wife; where is the now; what, will thefe hands ne'er be clean?— no more o' that, my lord, no more o' that: you mar all with this ftarting.

Doct. Go to, go to; you have known what you fhould not.

Gent. She has fpoke what she should not, I am fure of that heav'n knows, what she has known.

:

Lady. Here's the fmell of the blood ftill: all the perfumes of Arabia will not fweeten this little hand. Oh! oh! oh!

Do&. What a figh is there? the heart is forely charg'd.

Gent. I would not have fuch a heart in my bofom, for the dignity of the whole body. Doct. Well, well, well

Gent. Pray God, it be, Sir.

Dot. This disease is beyond my practice: yet I have known thofe which have walk'd in their fleep, who have died holily in their beds.

Lady. Wash your hands, put on your Night-gown, look not fo pale--I tell you yet again, Banquo's buried; he cannot come out of his Grave.

Dot. Even fo?

Lady. To bed, to bed; there's knocking at the gate: come, come, come, come, give me your hand: what's done, cannot be undone. To bed, to bed, to bed. [Exit Lady.

Dot. Will he go now to bed?
Gent. Directly.

Infected minds

Dot. Foul whifp'rings are abroad; unnat'ral deeds Do breed unnat'ral troubles. To their deaf pillows will difcharge their Secrets. More needs the the Divine, than the Phyfician. God, God, forgive us all! Look after her;