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

MACD. How does my wife?

ROSSE. Why, well..

MACD. And all my

ROSSE. Well too.

children?

MACD. The tyrant has not batter'd at their peace?
ROSSE. No; they were at peace when I did leave 'em.
MACD. Be not a niggard of your speech: how goes it?
ROSSE. When I came 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 faw the tyrant's power a-

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 better foldier, none

That Christendom gives out.

Rosse. Would I could anfwer

This comfort with the like; but I have words
That would be howl'd out in the defert air,
Where hearing should not catch them.

MACD. What concern they?

The gen'ral caufe? or is it a free grief,

Due to fome fingle breast.

ROSSE. No mind that's honest,

But in it fhares fome wo; though the main part

Pertains to you alone.

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MACD. If it be mine,

Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it.

Rosse. Let not your ears despise my tongue for ever. Which fhall poffefs them with the heaviest found,

That ever yet they heard.

MACD. Hum! I guess at it.

ROSSE. Your caftle is furpris'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!-

ROSSE. Wife, children, fervants, all that could be found.
MACD. And I must be from thence! My wife kill'd too!
ROSSE. 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.-All my pretty ones! Did you fay all? What all? Oh, hell-kite! All?

MAL. Endure it like a man.

MACD. I fhall do fo;

But I muft alfo feel it as a man.

I cannot but remember fuch things were,

That were most precious to me.

And would not take their part?

Did Heav'n look on,

Sinful 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

MAL. Be this the whetstone of your sword, 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 short all intermiffion: front to front,

Bring thou this fiend of Scotland and myself;
Within my fword's length fet him, if he 'scape,
Then Heav'n 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.

SHAKSPEARE.

CHAP. XXIV.

ANTONY'S SOLILOQUY OVER CÆSAR'S BODY.

O

PARDON'me, thou bleeding piece of earth!

That I am meek and gentle with these butchers.

Thou art the ruins of the nobleft man

That ever lived in the tide of times.

Wo to the hand that shed this coftly blood!
Over thy wounds now do I prophesy,

(Which like dumb mouths, do ope their ruby lips,
To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue)
A curfe fhall light upon the line of men;
Domestic fury, and fierce civil ftrife,
Shall cumber all the parts of Italy:
Blood and deftruction fhall be fo in ufe,
And dreadful objects so familiar,

That

That mothers fhall but fmile, when they behold
Their infants quarter'd by the hands of war ;
All pity chok'd with custom of fell deeds;
And Cæfar's fpirit, ranging, for revenge,
With Até by his fide, come hot from hell,
Shall in these confines, with a monarch's voice,
Cry, Havick! and let flip the dogs of war.

SHAKSPEARE.

CHAP. XXV.

ANTONY'S FUNERAL ORATION OVER CESAR's

BODY.

FRIENDS, Romans, Countrymen, lend me your ears,

I come to bury Cæfar, not to praise him.
The evil that men do lives after them:
The good is oft interred with their bones :
So let it be with Cæfar! Noble Brutus
Hath told you, Cæfar was ambitious;
If it were fo, it was a grievous fault;
And grievously hath Cæfar answer'd it.
Here, under leave of Brutus, and the reft,
(For Brutus is an honourable man,
So are they all, all honourable men)
Come I to speak in Cæsar's funeral,
He was my friend, faithful and just to me;
But Brutus fays, he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honourable man.

He hath brought many captives home to Rome,
Whofe ranfoms did the general coffers fill;
Did this in Cæfar feem ambitious?

When that the poor have cry'd, Cæfar hath wept;

Ambition

Ambition fhould be made of sterner stuff.
Yet Brutus fays he was ambitious:
And Brutus is an honourable man.
You all did fee, that, on the Lupercal,

I thrice presented him a kingly crown;

Which he did thrice refufe. Was this ambition ?
Yet Brutus fays, he was ambitious;

And, fure, he is an honourable man.

I fpeak not to difprove what Brutus spoke,
But here I am to speak what I do know.
You all did love him once, not without cause":
What cause withholds you then to mourn for him?
O judgment ! thou art fled to brutish beasts,
And men have loft their reafon.-Bear with me..
My heart is in the coffin there with Cæfar,
And I must paufe till it come back to me.

If you have tears, prepare to shed them now.
You all do know this mantle; I remember,
The first time ever Cæfar put it on,
'Twas on a fummer's evening in his tent,
That day he overcame the Nervii-

Look! in this place ran Caffius' dagger through ;-
See what a rent the envious Cafca made.-
Carough this the well-beloved Brutus stabb'd:
And as he pluck'd his curfed steel away,
Mark how the blood of Cæfar follow'd it!
As rufhing out of doors, to be refolv'd,
If Brutus fo unkindly knock'd, or no :

For Brutus, as you know, was Cæfar's angel.

Judge, oh ye gods! how dearly Cæfar lov'd him;
This, this was the unkindest cut of all;
For when the noble Cæfar faw him stab,

Ingratitude

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