I doubt, fome danger does approach you nearly.
If you will take a homely man's advice,

Be not found here; hence with your little ones.
To fright you thus, methinks, I am too favage:
To do worse to you were fell cruelty,

Which is too nigh your perfon. Heav'n preferve you!
I dare abide no longer.

L. Macd. Whither should I fly?

[Exit Messenger.

I've done no harm. But I remember now,

I'm in this earthly world, where to do harm
Is often laudable; to do good, fometime
Accounted dang'rous folly. Why then, alas!
Do I put up that womanly defence,

To fay, I'd done no harm ?-What are thefe faces }
Enter Murderers.

Mur. Where is your husband?

L. Macd. I hope in no place fo unsanctified, Where fuch as thou may'ft find him.

Mur. He's a traitor.

Son. Thou ly'ft, thou fhag-ear'd villain.

Mur. What, you egg

Young fry of treachery?

?

Son. He 'as kill'd me, mother,

[Stabbing him.

Run away, pray you. [Exit L. Macduff, crying Murder 3

[Murderers purfue ber.

SCENE changes to the King of England's Palace.

Enter Malcolm and Macduff.

Mal. Weep our fad bofoms empty.
L

ET us feek out fome defolate fhade, and there

Macd. Let us rather

Hold fast the mortal fword; and, like good men,
Beftride our downfal birth-doom: each new morn,
New widows howl, new orphans cry; new forrows
Strike heaven on the face, that it refounds
As if it felt with Scotland, and yell'd out
Like fyllables of dolour.

Mal.

Mal. What I believe, I'll wail;

What know, believe; and what I can redress,
As I fhall find the time to friend, I will.

What you have spoke, it may be fo, perchance;
This tyrant, whofe fole name blifters our tongues,
Was once thought honeft; you have lov'd him well,
He hath not touch'd you yet. I'm young; but some
thing (36)

You may deferve 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 Macheth is.

A good and virtuous nature may recoil

In an imperial charge. I crave your pardon ::
That which you are, my thoughts cannot tranfpofe;
Angels are bright ftill, though the brightest fell:
Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace,
Yet grace muft ftill look fo..

Macd. I've loft my hopes.

my

doubts..

Mal. Perchance, ev'n there, where I did find Why in that rawnefs left you wife and children? Thofe precious motives, thofe ftrong knots of love, Without leave-taking!-I pray you,

Let not my jealoufies be your dishonours,

But mine own fafeties: you may be rightly juft,
Whatever I fhall think.

Macd. Bleed, bleed, poor country!!

Great tyranny, lay thou thy bafis fure,

For goodness dares not check thee! wear thou thy wrongs,

(36)

I'm young, but fomething

You may difcern of him through me, &c.] If the whole tenour of the context could not have convinced our blind editors, that we ought to read deferve instead of difcern, (as I have corrected in the text) yet Macduff's anfwer, fure, might have given them fome light ;----I am not treacherous. There is another paffage, in which vice verfa the fame error has been committed upon the other word;

K. Lear, (old 4to in 1608)

--an eye deferving

Thine honour from thy fuff'ring.

where the fenfe evidently demands, difcerning

P 5

His

His title is affear'd. Fare thee well, Lord:
I would not be the villain that thou think'ft,
For the whole fpace that's in the tyrant's grafp,
And the rich Eaft to boot.

Mal. Be not offended;

I fpeak not as in abfolute fear of you.

I think, our country finks beneath the yoke;
It weeps, it bleeds, and each new day a gafh
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 thoufands. But for all this,
When I fhall tread upon the tyrant's head,
Or wear it on my fword, yet my poor country
Shall have more vices than it had before;
More fuffer, and more fundry ways than ever,
By him that shall fucceed.

Mach. What fhould he be ?

Mal. It is myfelf I mean, in whom I know All the particulars of vice fo grafted,

ftate

That when they fhall be open'd, black Macbeth
Will feem as pure as fnow, and the poor
Efteem 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, falfe, deceitful,

Sudden, malicious, fmacking of ev'ry fin
That has a name. But there's no bottom, none,
In my voluptuoufnefs: your wives, your daughters,
Your matrons, and your maids, could not fill up
The ciftern of my luft; and my desire

All continent impediments would o'er-bear,
That did oppose my will. Better Macbeth,
Than fuch an one to reign.

Macd. Boundless intemperance
In nature is a tyranny; it hath been

Th' untimely emptying of the happy throne,

And

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 feem cold, the time you may fo hoodwink :
We've willing dames enough; there cannot be
That vulture in you to devour fo many,

As will to greatness dedicate themselves,
Finding it fo inclin’d.

Mal. With this, there grows,

In my moft ill-compos'd affection, fuch
A ftanchless avarice, that, were I King,
I fhould cut off the nobles for their lands;
Defire his jewels, and this other's house ;
And my more-having would be as a fauce
To make me hunger more; that I should forge
Quarrels unjuft against the good and loyal,
Destroying them for wealth.

Macd. This avarice

Sticks deeper; grows with more pernicious root (37)
Than fummer-teeming luft; and it hath been
The fword of our flain Kings: yet do not fear;
Scotland hath foyfons to fill up your will

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

(37)

-grows with more pernicious root

Than fummer-feeming luft.] Mr. Warburton concurr'd with me in obferving, that fummer-feeming has no manner of fense: We therefore both corrected conjecturally,

Than fummer-teeming luft.

i. e. the paffion, which lafts no longer than the beat of life, and which goes off in the winter of age. Befides, the metaphor is much more juft by our emendation; for fummer is the feafon in which weeds get ftrength, grow rank, and dilate themselves.

2 Henry VI,

Now 'tis the spring,

And weeds are fhallow-rooted; fuffer them now,

And they'll o'ergrow the garden.

The fame image our author in another paffage conveys by an equivalent epithet, fummer-fwelling.

2 Gent. of Verona.

Difdain to root the fummer-fwelling flow'r,

And make rough winter everlaftingly,

P 6

Mal

Mal. But I have none; the King-becoming graces,
As justice, verity, temp'rance, ftableness,
Bounty, perfeverance, mercy, lowlinefs,
Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude;
I have no relish of them, but abound
In the divifion of each feveral crime,

Acting it many ways. Nay, had I power, I should
Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell,
Uproar the univerfal peace, confound

All unity on earth.

Macd. Oh Scotland! Scotland!

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

Macd. Fit to govern?

No, not to live. Oh, nation miferable,
With an untitled tyrant, bloody-fceptred!
When fhalt thou fee thy wholesome days again?
Since that the trueft iffue of thy throne

By his own interdiction ftands accurst,

And does blafpheme his breed. Thy royal father Was a moft fainted King; the Queen, that bore thee,

Oftner upon her knees than on her feet,

Dy'd every day fhe liv'd. Oh, fare thee well!
Thefe evils, thou repeat'ft upon thyfelf,

Have banish'd me from Scotland. Oh, 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. Devilish Macbeth
By many of these trains hath fought to win me
Into his pow'r and modeft wifdom 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 laid upon myself,
For ftrangers to my nature.

I am yet
Unknown to woman, never was forfworn,.
Scarcely have coveted what was mine own,.