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And

my more-having would bé as a fauce,
To make me hunger more; that I fhould forge
Quarrels unjust against the good, and loyal,
Deftroying them for wealth.

MACd. This avarice

Sticks deeper; grows with more pernicious root,
Than fummer-teeming luft: and it hath been
The sword of our flain kings: Yet do not fear;
Scotland hath foizons to fill up your will,

Of your meer own: All these are portable,
With other graces weigh'd.

MAL. But I have none: The king-becoming graces,
As juftice, verity, temp'rance, ftableness,
Bounty, perfeverance, mercy, lowlinefs,
Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude,
I have no relish of them; but abound
In the division of each feveral crime,

Acting it many ways. Nay, had I power, I should
Pour the fweet milk of concord into hell,

Uproar the universal peace, confound

All unity on earth.

Maca. O, Scotland, Scotland!

MAL. If fuch a one be fit to govern, fpeak :

I am as I have spoken.

MAC. Fit to govern!

No, not to live. — O nation miserable,

With an untitl'd tyrant bloody-fcepter'd,
When fhalt thou fee thy wholefom days again?
Since that the trueft iffue of thy throne

By his own interdiction ftands accurft,

And does blafpheme his breed? Thy royal father Was a most fainted king; the queen, that bore thee,

7 Summer-feeming

Oftner upon her knees than on her feet,
Dy'd every day fhe lived. Fare thee well!
These evils, thou repeat'ft upon thyself,
Have banish'd me from Scotland. O my breast,
Thy hope ends here!

MAL. Macduff, this noble paffion,

Child of integrity, hath from my foul

Wip'd the black fcruples, reconcil'd my thoughts
To thy good truth and honour. Dev'lish Macbeth,
By many of these trains, hath fought to win me
Into his power: and modeft wisdom plucks me
From over-credulous hafte : But God above
Deal between thee and me! for even now
I put myself to thy direction, and
Unfpeak mine own detraction; here abjure
The taints and blames I lay'd upon myself,
For ftrangers to my nature. I am yet
Unknown to woman; never was forfworn;
Scarcely have coveted what was mine own;
At no time broke my faith; would not betray
The devil to his fellow; and delight

No lefs in truth, than life: my firft falfe-speaking
Was this upon myself: What I am truly

Is thine, and my poor country's, to command:
Whither, indeed, before thy here-approach,
Old Seyward, with ten thousand warlike men,
All ready at a point, was fetting forth:

Now we'll together; And the chance, of goodness,
Be like our unwarranted quarrel! Why are you filent?
MACd. Such welcome and unwelcome things at once,
"Tis hard to reconcile.

Enter a Doctor.

27 Already

MAL. Well, more anon. Comes the king forth, I pray Doc. Ay, fir: there are a crew of wretched fouls, [you? That ftay his cure: their malady convinces

The great affay of art; but, at his touch,

(Such fanctity hath heaven given his hand) They presently amend.

MAL. I thank you, doctor.

MACd. What's the disease he means?

MAL. 'Tis call'd, the evil :

[Exit Doctor.

A moft miraculous work in this good king;
Which often, fince my here-remain in England,
I have seen him do. How he follicits heaven,
Himself best knows: but ftrangely-visited people,
All fwoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye,
The meer despair of furgery, he cures ;
Hanging a golden ftamp about their necks,
Put on with holy prayers: and 'tis spoken,
To the fucceeding royalty he leaves

The healing benediction. With this strange virtue,
He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy;

And fundry bleffings hang about his throne,
That speak him full of grace.

Enter ROSSE.

MACd. See, who comes here?

MAL. My countryman; but yet I know him not. MACd. My ever-gentle cousin, welcome hither. MAL. I know him now: Good God, betimes remove The means that makes us ftrangers!

Ros. Sir, amen.

MACd. Stands Scotland where it did?

Ros. Alas, poor country;

Almoft afraid to know itself! It cannot

VOL. IV.

A a

Be call'd our mother, but our grave: where nothing,
But who knows nothing, is once feen to smile;
Where fighs, and groans, and fhrieks that rent the air,
Are made, not mark'd; where violent forrow feems
A modern extafy: the dead man's knell

Is there scarce afk'd, for who; and good men's lives
Expire before the flowers in their caps,

Dying, or ere they ficken.

MAC. O, relation,

Too nice, and yet too true!

MAL. What is the newest grief?

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

MAC. How does my wife?

Ros. Why, well.

MACd. And all my children?
Ros. Well too.

MAC. The tyrant has not batter'd at their peace?[them.
Ros. No; they were well at peace, when I did leave
MAC. Be not a niggard of your fpeech; How goes't?
Ros. When I came hither to tranfport the tidings,
Which I have heavily born, 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, make our women fight,
To doff their dire diftreffes.

MAL. Be it their comfort,

We are coming thither: gracious England hath
Lent us good Seyward, and ten thousand men ;
An older and a better foldier, none

That Christendom gives out.

Ros. 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 latch them.
MAC. What concern they?

The general cause? or is it a fee grief,
Due to fome fingle breaft?

Ros. No mind, that's honest,

But in it shares 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.

Ros. Let not your ears defpise my tongue for ever, Which fhall possefs them with the heaviest found That ever yet they heard.

MAC. Hum! I guess at it.

Ros. 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 heaven!

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.
MAC. My children too?

Ros. Wife, children, fervants, all

That could be found.

MACd. And I must be from thence!

My wife kill'd too?

Ros. I have faid.

MAL. Be comforted:

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