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? Which was to my belief witness'd the rather, a-foot. MAL. Be't their comfort We're coming thither: gracious England hath That Christendom gives out. Rosse. Would I could anfwer This comfort with the like; but I have words 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. $ 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, ROSSE. Wife, children, fervants, all that could be found. 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, 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, Bring thou this fiend of Scotland and myself; MAL. This tune goes manly. Come, go we to the king, our power is ready; 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! (Which like dumb mouths, do ope their ruby lips, That That mothers fhall but fmile, when they behold 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. He hath brought many captives home to Rome, When that the poor have cry'd, Cæfar hath wept; Ambition Ambition fhould be made of sterner stuff. I thrice presented him a kingly crown; Which he did thrice refufe. Was this ambition ? And, fure, he is an honourable man. I fpeak not to difprove what Brutus spoke, If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. Look! in this place ran Caffius' dagger through ;- For Brutus, as you know, was Cæfar's angel. Judge, oh ye gods! how dearly Cæfar lov'd him; Ingratitude |