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And my more-having would be as a fauce,
To make me hunger more; that I should forge
Quarrels unjust against the good, and loyal,
Destroying them for wealth.

Maca. This avarice
Sticks deeper; grows with more pernicious root,
Than summer-teeming luft: and it hath been
The sword of our flain kings : Yet do not fear;
Scotlard hath foizons to fill up your will,
Of your meer own : All these are portable,
With other graces weigh’d.

MAL. But I have none: The king-becoming graces,
As justice, verity, temp'rance, stableness,
Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness,
Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude,
I have no relish of them ; but abound
In the division of each several crime,
Acting it many ways. Nay, had I power, I should
Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell,
Uproar the universal peace, confound
All unity on earth.

Mxcd. O, Scotland, Scotland !

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

MAC". Fit to govern!
No, not to live. - O nation miserable,
With an untitl'd tyrant bloody-fcepter'd,
When shalt thou see thy wholesom days again?
Since that the truest issue of thy throne
By his own interdiction stands accurft,
And does blaspheme his breed ? - Thy royal father
Was a most fainted king; the queen, that bore thee,

? Summer-seeming



her knees than on her feet,
Dy'd every day she lived. Fare thee well!
These evils, thou repeat'st upon thyself,
Have banish'd me from Scotland. _ O my breast,
Thy hope ends here!

Mal. 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. Dev'lish Macbeth,
By many of these trains, hath sought to win me
Into his power: and modest wisdom plucks me
From over-credulous haste : But God above
Deal between thee and me! for even now
I put myself to thy direction, and
Unspeak mine own detraction; here abjure
The taints and blames I lay'd upon myself,
For ftrangers to my nature. I am yet
Unknown to woman; never was forsworn;
Scarcely have coveted what was mine own;
At no time broke my faith ; would not betray
The devil to his fellow; and delight
No less in truth, than life : my first falfe-speaking
Was this upon myself: What I am truly
Is thine, and my poor country's, to command :
Whither, indeed, before thy here-approach,
Old Seyward, with ten thousand warlike men,
All ready at a point, was setting forth :
Now we'll together ; And the chance, of goodness,
Be like our unwarranted quarrel ! Why are you silent?

Macd. Such welcome and unwelcome things at once, 'Tis hard to reconcile.

Enter a Doctor.

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Ma. Well, more anon.-Comes the king forth, I pray

Doc. Ay, fir: there are a crew of wretched fouls, [you? That stay his cure : their malady convinces The great assay of art; but, at his touch, (Such fanctity hath heaven given his hand) They presently amend. Mal. I thank you, doctor.

[Exit Doctor. Macd. What's the disease he means ?

MAL. 'Tis call’d, the evil :
A most miraculous work in this good king;
Which often, since


here-remain in England,
I have seen him do. How he sollicits heaven,
Himself best knows: but ftrangely-visited people,
All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye,
The meer despair of surgery, he cures ;
Hanging a golden stamp about their necks,
Put on with holy prayers : and 'tis spoken,
To the succeeding royalty he leaves
The healing benediction. With this strange virtue,
He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy;
And sundry blessings hang about his throne,
That speak him full of grace.

Enter Rosse.
Macd. See, who comes here?
MAL. My countryman ; but yet I know him not.
Maca. My ever-gentle cousin, welcome hither.

Mal. I know him now: Good God, betimes remove The means that makes us strangers !

Ros. Sir, amen.
Macd. Stands Scotland where it did ?

Ros. Alas, poor country;
Almost afraid to know itself! It cannot



Be callid our mother, but our grave : where nothing,
But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile ;
Where fighs, and groans, and shrieks that rent the air,
Are made, not mark'd; where violent forrow seems
A modern extasy: the dead man's knell
Is there scarce ask'd, for who; and good men's lives
Expire before the flowers in their caps,
Dying, or ere they ficken.

Mac". O, relation,
Too nice, and yet too true!

MAL. What is the newest grief?

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

Maca. How does my wife?
Ros. Why, well.
Macd. And all


children? Ros. Well too. Mac". The tyrant has not batter'd at their peace?[them. Ros. No; they were well at peace, when I did leave Macd. Be not a niggard of your speech ; How goes't?

Ros. 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 witnes’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
Lent us good Seyward, and ten thousand men ;
An older and a better foldier, none

That Cbriftendom gives out.

Ros. 'Would I could answer
This comfort with the like! But I have words,
That would be howl'd out in the desert air,
Where hearing should not latch them.

MACA. What concern they?
The general cause ? or is it a fee grief,
Due to some single breaft?

Ros. No mind, that's honest,
But in it shares some woe; though the main part
Pertains to you alone.

Mace. If it be mine,
Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it.

Ros. Let not your ears despise my tongue for ever,
Which shall possess them with the heaviest found
That ever yet they heard.

Macd. Hum ! I guess at it.

Ros. Your castle is surpriz’d; your wife, and babes,
Savagely slaughter'd: to relate the manner,
Were, on the quarry of these murther'd deer,
To add the death of you.

MAL. Merciful heaven!
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.

Mac". My children too ?

Ros. Wife, children, servants, all
That could be found.

Macd. And I must be from thence!
My wife kill'd too?

Ros. I have said.
MAL. Be comforted :

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