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As justice, verity, temperance, stableness,
O Scotland! Scotland!
Fit to govern!
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 hath sought to win me Into his power: and modest wisdom plucks me From over-credulous haste: Bat God above Deal belween thee and me! for even now I put myself to thy direction, and Unspeak mine own detraction, here abjure
The devil to his fellow; and delight
Macd. Such welcome and unwelcome things at once, 'Tis hard to reconcile.
Enter a Doctor. Mal. Well; more anon.—Comes the king forth, I
pray you? Doct. Āy, 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 sanctity bath heaven given his hand, They presently amend. Mal.
I thank you, doctor.
[Exit Doctor. Macd. What is the disease he means? Mal.
'Tis call'd the evil:
See, who comes here?
Mal. My countryman; but yet I know him not.
Mal. I know himn now:-Good God, betimes remove
Alas, poor country;
Wbat is the newest grief?
How does iny wife?
And all my children
thein. Macd. Be not a niggard of yourspeech; How goes it?
Rosse. When I carne 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 saw the tyrant's power a-foot: Now is the time of help; your eye in Scotland Would create soldiers, make our women fight, To doff their dire distresses. Mal.
Be it their comfort, We are coming thither: gracious England hath Leot as good Šiward, and ten thousand men;
An older, and a better soldier, none,
Would I could answer
What concern they? The general cause? or is it a free-grief, Due to some single breast? Rosse.
No mind, that's honest,
If it be mine,
Rosse. Let not your ears despise my tongue for ever,
Humph! I guess at it. Rosse. Your castle is surpris'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.
Macd. My children too?
Wife, children, servants, all
And I must be from thence!
I have said.
Macd. He has no children.-All my pretty ones?
Mal. Dispute it like a man.
I shall do so;
Macd. But I must also feel it as a man : I cannot but remember such things were, "That were most precious to me.- Did heaven look on, 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, 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. O, 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. 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 on their instruments. Receive what cheer you may; The night is long, that never finds the day. [Exeunt.