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 feen to fmile:
Where fighs and groans, and fhrieks that rend the air
Are made, not maik'd; where violent forrow feems
A modern ecftafie: the dead-man's knell

Is there scarce ask'd, for whom? and good mens lives
Expire before the flowers in their caps,

Dying or e'er they ficken.

Macd. 7'Relation, oh! too nice, and yet too true.
Mal. What is 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 fpeech: how goes it?
Roffe. When I came hither to transport the tidings
Which I have heavily born, there ran a rumour
Of many worthy fellows that were out,
Which was to my belief witnefs'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
Lent us good Siward and ten thousand men ;
An older, and a better foldier, none

That christendom 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 caúfe? or is it a fee-grief
Due to fome single breast?

Roffe. No mind that's honest

But in it shares fome woe, though the main

Pertains to you alone.

Macd. If it be mine,

part

Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it.
Roffe. Let not your ears defpife my tongue for ever,
Which shall poffefs them with the heaviest found
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;
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 too!
Roffe. I've faid.

Mal. Be comforted.

Let's make us med'cines of our great revenge,

To cure this deadly grief.

Macd. He has no children.

/What, all my pretty ones? did you fay all?

What, all? a

Mal. Endure it like a man.
VOL. V.

LI

Macd

Macd. I fhall:

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
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 flaughter 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 my felf;
Within my fword's length fet him, if he 'scape,
Then 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 fhaking, and the powers above

Put on their inftruments. Receive what cheer you may;

The night is long that never finds the day.

[Exeun

ACT V.

SCENE I

An Anti-chamber in Macbeth's 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 seen her rise from her bed, throw her night-gown upon her, unlock her closet, take forth paper, fold it, write

upon't,

upon't, read it, afterwards feal it, and again return to bed; yet all this while in a most fast sleep.

Dot. 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. Dott. You may to me, and 'tis moft meet you should. Gent. Neither to you, nor any one, having no witness to confirm my speech.

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.

Dot. How came fhe 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.

Dot. What is it she does now? look how the rubs her hands.

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

Lady. Yet here's a spot.

Doct. Hark, fhe fpeaks. I will fet down what comes from her, to fatisfy my remembrance the more ftrongly. Lady. Out! damned fpot; out, I fay 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 account? — yet who would have thought the old man to have had fo much blood in him?.

Doct. Do you mark that?

Lady. The Thane of Fife had a wife; where is fhe now? what, will these hands ne'er be clean? no more o' that, my Lord, no more o' that: you marr all with ftarting.

L12

Dot. Go to, go to; you have known what you should

not.

Gent. She has spoke what fhe fhould not, I am fure of that heav'n knows what fhe has known.

Lady. Here's the smell of blood still: 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 walkt 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. [Exit. Doct. Will the go now to bed?

Gent. Directly.

Doct. Foul whifp'rings are abroad; unnat❜ral deeds Do breed unnat'ral troubles. Infected minds To their deaf pillows will difcharge their fecrets. More needs fhe the Divine than the Physician. Good God forgive us all! Look after her, Remove from her the means of all annoyance, And still keep eyes upon her; fo good-night. My mind fhe'as mated, and amaz'd my fight. I think, but dare not speak.

Gent. Good-night, good Doctor.

[Exeunt.

SCENE