All fwoln and ulc'rous, pitiful to the eye, The healing Benediction. With this strange virtue, And fundry bleffings hang about his Throne, Enter Roffe. Macd. See, who comes here ! Mal. My country man; but yet I know him not. Macd. My ever-gentle Coufin, welcome hither. Mal. I know him now. Good God betimes remove The means that makes us strangers! Roffe. Sir, Amen. Macd. Stands Scotland where it did ? Roffe. Alas, poor Country, Almoft afraid to know it felf. It cannot Be call'd our Mother, but our Grave; where nothing, But who knows nothing, is once seen to fmile : Where fighs and groans, and fhrieks that rend the air, Are made, not mark'd; where violent forrow feems A modern ecftafie: 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 hifs 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. 1 Mard. 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 rumour Of many worthy fellows that were out, Which was to my belief witness'd the rather, 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 Roffe. 'Would I could answer This comfort with the like! But I have words, Macd. What concern they? The gen'ral caufe? or is it a fee-grief, 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 heaviest 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 these murther'd deer To add the death of you. Mal. Merciful heav'n! What, man! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows; Roffe. Wife, children, fervants, all that could be found. Macd. Macd. And I must be from thence! my wife kill'd too! Roffe. I've faid. Mal. Be comforted, Let's make us med'cines of our great Revenge, Macd. He has no children.. -All my pretty ones? Mal. Difpute it like a Man. Macd. I fhall do fo: But I muft alfo feel it as a Man. I cannot but remember fuch things were, That were most precious to me: did heav'n look on, Fell Slaughter on their fouls: heav'n reft them now! Bring thou this fiend of Scotland and my self; Mal. This tune goes manly: Come, go we to the King, our Power is ready; Is ripe for fhaking, and the Powers above Put on their Inftruments. Receive what cheer you may ; The night is long, that never finds the day. [Exeunt 3 ACT A CT V. SCENE, An Ante-chamber in Macbeth's I Caftle. Enter a Doctor of Phyfick, 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. Since his Majefty went into the field, I have feen her rife from her bed, throw her night-gown upon her, unlock her clofet, 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 faft fleep. Doct. A great perturbation in nature! to receive at once the benefit of fleep, and do the effects of watching. In this flumbry agitation, befides 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 speech. Enter Lady Macbeth with a Taper. Lo, you! here fhe comes: this is her very guise, and, upon my life, faft afleep; obferve her, ftand close. Doct. How came the by that light? Gent. Why, it ftood by her: fhe 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 she does now? look, how she rubs her hands. Gent. 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. one; two; Doct. Hark, the speaks. I will fet down what comes from her, to satisfie my remembrance the more ftrongly. Lady. Out! damned fpot; out, I fay 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 account? yet who would have thought the old man to have had fo much blood in him? Doc. Do you mark that ? Lady. The Thane of Fife had a wife; where is the now; what will these hands ne'er be clean ? no more o' that, my lord, no more o' that: you mar all with this farting. 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 smell of the blood ftill: all the perfumes of Arabia will not fweeten this little hand. Oh! oh! oh! Doct. 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. Doct. This difeafe is beyond my practice: yet I have known those 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. Doct. 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. [Ex. La. |