תמונות בעמוד

Like fyllables of dolour.

Mal. What I believe, I'll wail; What know, believe; and, what I can redress, As I shall find the time to friend, I will. What you have spoke, it may be fo, perehance ; This tyrant, whose fole name blisters our tongues, Was once thought honeft : you have lov'd him well, He hath not touch'd you yet. I'm young; but

something + You

may deserve of him through me, and wisdom To offer up a weak, poor, innocent lamb, T'appease an angry God.

Macd. I am not treacherous.

Mal. But Macbeth is. A good and virtuous nature may recoil In an imperial Charge. I crave your pardon : That which you are, my thoughts cannot transpose; Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell: Though all things foul would bear the brows of Yet Grace must look lill fo.

(Grace, Macd. I've lost my hopes. Mal. Perchance, ev’n ihere, where I did find

my doubts. Why in that rawness left you wife and children, Those precious motives, those strong knots of love, Without leave-taking?- I pray you, Let not my jealousies be your dishonours, But mine own safeties: you may be rightly just, Whatever I shall think.

Macd. Bleed, bleed, poor Country ! Great Tyranny, lay thou thy Basis sure,

(wrongs, For goodness dares not check thee! Wear thou thy what is insinuated under it is noble; that the Portents and Prodigies in the Skies, of which mention is made before, thewed that Heaven sympathised with Scotland.

+ You may Discern of him through me,–] By Macduff's Answer it appears we should read,

--Deserve of him


His title is affear'd. Fare thee well, lord :
I would not be the villain that thou think it,
For the whole space that's in the tyrant's grasp,
And the rich East to boot.

Mal. Be not offended ;
I speak not as in absolute fear of you.
I think, our country sinks beneath the yoke;
It weeps, it bleeds, and each new day a galh
Is added to her wounds. I think withal,
There would be hands up-lifted in my Right:
And here from gracious England have I Offer
Of goodly thousands. But for all this,
When I shall tread upon the Tyrant's head,
Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor Country
Shall have more vices than it had before;
More fuffer, and more sundry ways than ever,
By him that shall fucceed.

Macd. What thould he be?

Mal. It is myself I mean, in whom I know
All the particulars of vice so grafted,
That, when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth
Will seem as pure as snow, and the
Esteem him as a lamb, being compar'd
With my confineless harms.

Macd. Not in the legions
Of horrid hell can come a devil more damn'd,
In Evils to top Macbeth.

Mal. I grant him bloody,
Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful,
Sudden, malicious, smacking of ev'ry sin
That has a name.

But there's no boitom, none,
In my voluptuousness: your wives, your daughters,
Your matrons,

and your maids, could not fill up The ciftern of

luft; and


desire All continent impediments would o'er-bear, That did oppose my will. Better Macbeth,

* His title is affear'd.-) Affear'd, a Law-term for confirmed.

poor State

Mr. Pope.


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Than such an one to reign.

Macd. Boundless intemperance
In nature is a tyranny; it hath been
Th' untimely emptying of the happy Throne,
And fall of many Kings. But fear not yet
To take upon you what is yours: you may
Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty,
And yet seem cold, the time you may so hoodwink:
We've willing dames enough; there cannot be
That Vulture in you to devour so many,
As will to Greatness dedicate themselves,
Finding it so inclin'd.

Mal. With this, there grows,
In my most ill-composd affection, such
A stanchless Avarice, that, were 1 King,
I should cut off the Nobles for their lands;
Desire his jewels, and this other's house;
And my more-having would be as a sauce
To make me hunger more; that I should forge
Quarrels unjust against the good and loyal,
Destroying them for wealth.

Macd. This Avarice
Strikes deeper; grows with more pernicious root
Than summer-teeming luft; and it hath been
The Sword of our flain Kings : yet do not fear ;
Scotland hath foisons, to fill up your will,
Of your mere own. All these are portable,
With other Graces weigh’d.

Mal. But I have none; the King-becoming graces, As justice, verity, temp'rance, stableness, Bounty, persev'rance, mercy, lowliness, Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude ; I have no relish of them, but abound In the division of each several crime, Ading it many ways. Nay, had I power, I should Pour the sweet milk of Concord into Hell, Uproar the universal peace, confound All unity on earth.

Macd. Macd. Oh Scotland! Scotland !

Mal. If such a one be fit to govern, speak: I am as I have spoken.

Maed. Fit to govern? No, not to live. O nation miserable, With an untitled tyranı, bloody-scepter'd! When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again? Since that the truest Issue of thy Throne By his own interdiction stands accurlt, And does blafpheme his Breed. Thy royal father Was a moft sainted King; the Queen, that boret hee, Oftener upon her knees than on her feet, Dy'd ever yday she liv'd. Oh, fare thee well! These evils, thou repeat'st upon thyself, Have banish'd me from Scotland. Oh, my breast ! Thy hope ends here.

Mal. Macduff, this noble Passion, Child of integrity, hath from my soul Wip'd the black scruples; reconcil'd my thoughts To thy good truth and honour. Devilish Macbeth By many of these trains bath fought to win me Into his pow'r: and modest wisdom plucks me From over-credulous haftc; But God above Deal between thee and me! for even now I put myself to thy dire&tion, and Unspeak mine own detra&tion; here abjure The taints and blames I laid upon myself, For ftrangers to my nature. Unknown to woman, never was forsworn, Scarcely have coveted what was mine own, At no time broke my faith, would not betray The devil to his fellow, and delight No less in truth, than life: my first false-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 Siward with ten thousand warlike men,


I am yet

* All ready at appoint, was setting forih.
Now we'll together, and the chance of goodness,
Be like our warrented quarrel! Why are you silent?
Alacd. Such welcome, and unwelcome things at

'Tis hard to reconcile.




Enter a Do&or. Mal. ELL; more anon. Comes the King forth,

I pray you Do&t. Ay, Sir; there are a crew of wretched souls, That stay his cure; their malady convinces The great assay of art. But, at his Touch, Such fandity hath heaven given his hand, They presently amend.

[Exit. Mal. I thank you, Doctor. Macd. What's the Disease he means ?

Mal. Tis call'd the Evil ; A most miraculous Work in this good King, Which often since may here remain in England I've seen him do. How he solicits heav'n, Himself best knows; but ftrangely-visited people, All fwoln and ulc'rous, pitiful to the eye, The mere despair of surgery, he cures ; Hanging a golden Stamp about their necks, Put on with holy prayers: and 'tis Spoken, To the succeeding Royalty he leaves The healing Benediction. With this strange virtue, He hath a heavenly gift of Prophecy; And fundry bleflings hang about his Throne, That speak him full of Grace.

* All ready at A point.) At a point, may mean all ready at a Time; but Shakespear meant more : He meant both Time and Place, and .certainly wrote, All ready at appoint, . . c. At the Place appointed, at the Rendezvous.


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