Macbeth - 3

So all men do, from hence to the palace gate
Make it their walk.
Enter Banquo and Fleance with a torch.
SECOND MURDERER.
A light, a light!
THIRD MURDERER.
’Tis he.
FIRST MURDERER.
Stand to’t.
BANQUO.
It will be rain tonight.
FIRST MURDERER.
Let it come down.
[_Assaults Banquo._]
BANQUO.
O, treachery! Fly, good Fleance, fly, fly, fly!
Thou mayst revenge—O slave!
[_Dies. Fleance escapes._]
THIRD MURDERER.
Who did strike out the light?
FIRST MURDERER.
Was’t not the way?
THIRD MURDERER.
There’s but one down: the son is fled.
SECOND MURDERER.
We have lost best half of our affair.
FIRST MURDERER.
Well, let’s away, and say how much is done.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE IV. The same. A Room of state in the Palace.
A banquet prepared. Enter Macbeth, Lady Macbeth, Ross, Lennox, Lords
and Attendants.
MACBETH.
You know your own degrees, sit down. At first
And last the hearty welcome.
LORDS.
Thanks to your Majesty.
MACBETH.
Ourself will mingle with society,
And play the humble host.
Our hostess keeps her state; but, in best time,
We will require her welcome.
LADY MACBETH.
Pronounce it for me, sir, to all our friends;
For my heart speaks they are welcome.
Enter first Murderer to the door.
MACBETH.
See, they encounter thee with their hearts’ thanks.
Both sides are even: here I’ll sit i’ th’ midst.
Be large in mirth; anon we’ll drink a measure
The table round. There’s blood upon thy face.
MURDERER.
’Tis Banquo’s then.
MACBETH.
’Tis better thee without than he within.
Is he dispatch’d?
MURDERER.
My lord, his throat is cut. That I did for him.
MACBETH.
Thou art the best o’ th’ cut-throats;
Yet he’s good that did the like for Fleance:
If thou didst it, thou art the nonpareil.
MURDERER.
Most royal sir,
Fleance is ’scap’d.
MACBETH.
Then comes my fit again: I had else been perfect;
Whole as the marble, founded as the rock,
As broad and general as the casing air:
But now I am cabin’d, cribb’d, confin’d, bound in
To saucy doubts and fears. But Banquo’s safe?
MURDERER.
Ay, my good lord. Safe in a ditch he bides,
With twenty trenched gashes on his head;
The least a death to nature.
MACBETH.
Thanks for that.
There the grown serpent lies; the worm that’s fled
Hath nature that in time will venom breed,
No teeth for th’ present.—Get thee gone; tomorrow
We’ll hear, ourselves, again.
[_Exit Murderer._]
LADY MACBETH.
My royal lord,
You do not give the cheer: the feast is sold
That is not often vouch’d, while ’tis a-making,
’Tis given with welcome. To feed were best at home;
From thence the sauce to meat is ceremony;
Meeting were bare without it.
The Ghost of Banquo rises, and sits in Macbeth’s place.
MACBETH.
Sweet remembrancer!—
Now, good digestion wait on appetite,
And health on both!
LENNOX.
May’t please your Highness sit.
MACBETH.
Here had we now our country’s honour roof’d,
Were the grac’d person of our Banquo present;
Who may I rather challenge for unkindness
Than pity for mischance!
ROSS.
His absence, sir,
Lays blame upon his promise. Please’t your Highness
To grace us with your royal company?
MACBETH.
The table’s full.
LENNOX.
Here is a place reserv’d, sir.
MACBETH.
Where?
LENNOX.
Here, my good lord. What is’t that moves your Highness?
MACBETH.
Which of you have done this?
LORDS.
What, my good lord?
MACBETH.
Thou canst not say I did it. Never shake
Thy gory locks at me.
ROSS.
Gentlemen, rise; his Highness is not well.
LADY MACBETH.
Sit, worthy friends. My lord is often thus,
And hath been from his youth: pray you, keep seat;
The fit is momentary; upon a thought
He will again be well. If much you note him,
You shall offend him, and extend his passion.
Feed, and regard him not.—Are you a man?
MACBETH.
Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that
Which might appal the devil.
LADY MACBETH.
O proper stuff!
This is the very painting of your fear:
This is the air-drawn dagger which you said,
Led you to Duncan. O, these flaws, and starts
(Impostors to true fear), would well become
A woman’s story at a winter’s fire,
Authoris’d by her grandam. Shame itself!
Why do you make such faces? When all’s done,
You look but on a stool.
MACBETH.
Pr’ythee, see there!
Behold! look! lo! how say you?
Why, what care I? If thou canst nod, speak too.—
If charnel houses and our graves must send
Those that we bury back, our monuments
Shall be the maws of kites.
[_Ghost disappears._]
LADY MACBETH.
What, quite unmann’d in folly?
MACBETH.
If I stand here, I saw him.
LADY MACBETH.
Fie, for shame!
MACBETH.
Blood hath been shed ere now, i’ th’ olden time,
Ere humane statute purg’d the gentle weal;
Ay, and since too, murders have been perform’d
Too terrible for the ear: the time has been,
That, when the brains were out, the man would die,
And there an end; but now they rise again,
With twenty mortal murders on their crowns,
And push us from our stools. This is more strange
Than such a murder is.
LADY MACBETH.
My worthy lord,
Your noble friends do lack you.
MACBETH.
I do forget.—
Do not muse at me, my most worthy friends.
I have a strange infirmity, which is nothing
To those that know me. Come, love and health to all;
Then I’ll sit down.—Give me some wine, fill full.—
I drink to the general joy o’ th’ whole table,
And to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss:
Would he were here.
Ghost rises again.
To all, and him, we thirst,
And all to all.
LORDS.
Our duties, and the pledge.
MACBETH.
Avaunt! and quit my sight! let the earth hide thee!
Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold;
Thou hast no speculation in those eyes
Which thou dost glare with!
LADY MACBETH.
Think of this, good peers,
But as a thing of custom: ’tis no other,
Only it spoils the pleasure of the time.
MACBETH.
What man dare, I dare:
Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear,
The arm’d rhinoceros, or th’ Hyrcan tiger;
Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves
Shall never tremble: or be alive again,
And dare me to the desert with thy sword;
If trembling I inhabit then, protest me
The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow!
Unreal mock’ry, hence!
[_Ghost disappears._]
Why, so;—being gone,
I am a man again.—Pray you, sit still.
LADY MACBETH.
You have displaced the mirth, broke the good meeting
With most admir’d disorder.
MACBETH.
Can such things be,
And overcome us like a summer’s cloud,
Without our special wonder? You make me strange
Even to the disposition that I owe,
When now I think you can behold such sights,
And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks,
When mine are blanch’d with fear.
ROSS.
What sights, my lord?
LADY MACBETH.
I pray you, speak not; he grows worse and worse;
Question enrages him. At once, good night:—
Stand not upon the order of your going,
But go at once.
LENNOX.
Good night; and better health
Attend his Majesty!
LADY MACBETH.
A kind good night to all!
[_Exeunt all Lords and Atendants._]
MACBETH.
It will have blood, they say, blood will have blood.
Stones have been known to move, and trees to speak;
Augurs, and understood relations, have
By magot-pies, and choughs, and rooks, brought forth
The secret’st man of blood.—What is the night?
LADY MACBETH.
Almost at odds with morning, which is which.
MACBETH.
How say’st thou, that Macduff denies his person
At our great bidding?
LADY MACBETH.
Did you send to him, sir?
MACBETH.
I hear it by the way; but I will send.
There’s not a one of them but in his house
I keep a servant fee’d. I will tomorrow
(And betimes I will) to the Weird Sisters:
More shall they speak; for now I am bent to know,
By the worst means, the worst. For mine own good,
All causes shall give way: I am in blood
Stepp’d in so far that, should I wade no more,
Returning were as tedious as go o’er.
Strange things I have in head, that will to hand,
Which must be acted ere they may be scann’d.
LADY MACBETH.
You lack the season of all natures, sleep.
MACBETH.
Come, we’ll to sleep. My strange and self-abuse
Is the initiate fear that wants hard use.
We are yet but young in deed.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE V. The heath.
Thunder. Enter the three Witches meeting Hecate.
FIRST WITCH.
Why, how now, Hecate? you look angerly.
HECATE.
Have I not reason, beldams as you are,
Saucy and overbold? How did you dare
To trade and traffic with Macbeth
In riddles and affairs of death;
And I, the mistress of your charms,
The close contriver of all harms,
Was never call’d to bear my part,
Or show the glory of our art?
And, which is worse, all you have done
Hath been but for a wayward son,
Spiteful and wrathful; who, as others do,
Loves for his own ends, not for you.
But make amends now: get you gone,
And at the pit of Acheron
Meet me i’ th’ morning: thither he
Will come to know his destiny.
Your vessels and your spells provide,
Your charms, and everything beside.
I am for th’ air; this night I’ll spend
Unto a dismal and a fatal end.
Great business must be wrought ere noon.
Upon the corner of the moon
There hangs a vap’rous drop profound;
I’ll catch it ere it come to ground:
And that, distill’d by magic sleights,
Shall raise such artificial sprites,
As, by the strength of their illusion,
Shall draw him on to his confusion.
He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear
His hopes ’bove wisdom, grace, and fear.
And you all know, security
Is mortals’ chiefest enemy.
[_Music and song within, “Come away, come away” &c._]
Hark! I am call’d; my little spirit, see,
Sits in a foggy cloud and stays for me.
[_Exit._]
FIRST WITCH.
Come, let’s make haste; she’ll soon be back again.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE VI. Forres. A Room in the Palace.
Enter Lennox and another Lord.
LENNOX.
My former speeches have but hit your thoughts,
Which can interpret farther: only, I say,
Thing’s have been strangely borne. The gracious Duncan
Was pitied of Macbeth:—marry, he was dead:—
And the right valiant Banquo walk’d too late;
Whom, you may say, if’t please you, Fleance kill’d,
For Fleance fled. Men must not walk too late.
Who cannot want the thought, how monstrous
It was for Malcolm and for Donalbain
To kill their gracious father? damned fact!
How it did grieve Macbeth! did he not straight,
In pious rage, the two delinquents tear
That were the slaves of drink and thralls of sleep?
Was not that nobly done? Ay, and wisely too;
For ’twould have anger’d any heart alive,
To hear the men deny’t. So that, I say,
He has borne all things well: and I do think,
That had he Duncan’s sons under his key
(As, and’t please heaven, he shall not) they should find
What ’twere to kill a father; so should Fleance.
But, peace!—for from broad words, and ’cause he fail’d
His presence at the tyrant’s feast, I hear,
Macduff lives in disgrace. Sir, can you tell
Where he bestows himself?
LORD.
The son of Duncan,
From whom this tyrant holds the due of birth,
Lives in the English court and is receiv’d
Of the most pious Edward with such grace
That the malevolence of fortune nothing
Takes from his high respect. Thither Macduff
Is gone to pray the holy king, upon his aid
To wake Northumberland, and warlike Siward
That, by the help of these (with Him above
To ratify the work), we may again
Give to our tables meat, sleep to our nights;
Free from our feasts and banquets bloody knives,
Do faithful homage, and receive free honours,
All which we pine for now. And this report
Hath so exasperate the King that he
Prepares for some attempt of war.
LENNOX.
Sent he to Macduff?
LORD.
He did: and with an absolute “Sir, not I,”
The cloudy messenger turns me his back,
And hums, as who should say, “You’ll rue the time
That clogs me with this answer.”
LENNOX.
And that well might
Advise him to a caution, t’ hold what distance
His wisdom can provide. Some holy angel
Fly to the court of England, and unfold
His message ere he come, that a swift blessing
May soon return to this our suffering country
Under a hand accurs’d!
LORD.
I’ll send my prayers with him.
[_Exeunt._]

ACT IV
SCENE I. A dark Cave. In the middle, a Cauldron Boiling.
Thunder. Enter the three Witches.
FIRST WITCH.
Thrice the brinded cat hath mew’d.
SECOND WITCH.
Thrice, and once the hedge-pig whin’d.
THIRD WITCH.
Harpier cries:—’Tis time, ’tis time.
FIRST WITCH.
Round about the cauldron go;
In the poison’d entrails throw.—
Toad, that under cold stone
Days and nights has thirty-one
Swelter’d venom sleeping got,
Boil thou first i’ th’ charmed pot!
ALL.
Double, double, toil and trouble;
Fire, burn; and cauldron, bubble.
SECOND WITCH.
Fillet of a fenny snake,
In the cauldron boil and bake;
Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
Adder’s fork, and blind-worm’s sting,
Lizard’s leg, and howlet’s wing,
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
ALL.
Double, double, toil and trouble;
Fire, burn; and cauldron, bubble.
THIRD WITCH.
Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf,
Witch’s mummy, maw and gulf
Of the ravin’d salt-sea shark,
Root of hemlock digg’d i’ th’ dark,
Liver of blaspheming Jew,
Gall of goat, and slips of yew
Sliver’d in the moon’s eclipse,
Nose of Turk, and Tartar’s lips,
Finger of birth-strangled babe
Ditch-deliver’d by a drab,
Make the gruel thick and slab:
Add thereto a tiger’s chaudron,
For th’ ingredients of our cauldron.
ALL.
Double, double, toil and trouble;
Fire, burn; and cauldron, bubble.
SECOND WITCH.
Cool it with a baboon’s blood.
Then the charm is firm and good.
Enter Hecate.
HECATE.
O, well done! I commend your pains,
And everyone shall share i’ th’ gains.
And now about the cauldron sing,
Like elves and fairies in a ring,
Enchanting all that you put in.
[_Music and a song: “Black Spirits,” &c._]
[_Exit Hecate._]
SECOND WITCH.
By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes.
Open, locks,
Whoever knocks!
Enter Macbeth.
MACBETH.
How now, you secret, black, and midnight hags!
What is’t you do?
ALL.
A deed without a name.
MACBETH.
I conjure you, by that which you profess,
(Howe’er you come to know it) answer me:
Though you untie the winds, and let them fight
Against the churches; though the yesty waves
Confound and swallow navigation up;
Though bladed corn be lodg’d, and trees blown down;
Though castles topple on their warders’ heads;
Though palaces and pyramids do slope
Their heads to their foundations; though the treasure
Of nature’s germens tumble all together,
Even till destruction sicken, answer me
To what I ask you.
FIRST WITCH.
Speak.
SECOND WITCH.
Demand.
THIRD WITCH.
We’ll answer.
FIRST WITCH.
Say, if thou’dst rather hear it from our mouths,
Or from our masters?
MACBETH.
Call ’em, let me see ’em.
FIRST WITCH.
Pour in sow’s blood, that hath eaten
Her nine farrow; grease that’s sweaten
From the murderer’s gibbet throw
Into the flame.
ALL.
Come, high or low;
Thyself and office deftly show!
[_Thunder. An Apparition of an armed Head rises._]
MACBETH.
Tell me, thou unknown power,—
FIRST WITCH.
He knows thy thought:
Hear his speech, but say thou naught.
APPARITION.
Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! Beware Macduff;
Beware the Thane of Fife.—Dismiss me.—Enough.
[_Descends._]
MACBETH.
Whate’er thou art, for thy good caution, thanks;
Thou hast harp’d my fear aright.—But one word more.
FIRST WITCH.
He will not be commanded. Here’s another,
More potent than the first.
[_Thunder. An Apparition of a bloody Child rises._]
APPARITION.
Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth!
MACBETH.
Had I three ears, I’d hear thee.
APPARITION.
Be bloody, bold, and resolute. Laugh to scorn
The power of man, for none of woman born
Shall harm Macbeth.
[_Descends._]
MACBETH.
Then live, Macduff: what need I fear of thee?
But yet I’ll make assurance double sure,
And take a bond of fate. Thou shalt not live;
That I may tell pale-hearted fear it lies,
And sleep in spite of thunder.
[_Thunder. An Apparition of a Child crowned, with a tree in his hand,
rises._]
What is this,
That rises like the issue of a king,
And wears upon his baby brow the round
And top of sovereignty?
ALL.
Listen, but speak not to’t.
APPARITION.
Be lion-mettled, proud, and take no care
Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are:
Macbeth shall never vanquish’d be, until
Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill
Shall come against him.
[_Descends._]
MACBETH.
That will never be:
Who can impress the forest; bid the tree
Unfix his earth-bound root? Sweet bodements, good!
Rebellious head, rise never till the wood
Of Birnam rise, and our high-plac’d Macbeth
Shall live the lease of nature, pay his breath
To time and mortal custom.—Yet my heart
Throbs to know one thing: tell me, if your art
Can tell so much, shall Banquo’s issue ever
Reign in this kingdom?
ALL.
Seek to know no more.
MACBETH.
I will be satisfied: deny me this,
And an eternal curse fall on you! Let me know.
Why sinks that cauldron? and what noise is this?
[_Hautboys._]
FIRST WITCH.
Show!
SECOND WITCH.
Show!
THIRD WITCH.
Show!
ALL.
Show his eyes, and grieve his heart;
Come like shadows, so depart!
[_A show of eight kings appear, and pass over in order, the last with
a glass in his hand; Banquo following._]
MACBETH.
Thou are too like the spirit of Banquo. Down!
Thy crown does sear mine eyeballs:—and thy hair,
Thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first.
A third is like the former.—Filthy hags!
Why do you show me this?—A fourth!—Start, eyes!
What, will the line stretch out to th’ crack of doom?
Another yet!—A seventh!—I’ll see no more:—
And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass
Which shows me many more; and some I see
That twofold balls and treble sceptres carry.
Horrible sight!—Now I see ’tis true;
For the blood-bolter’d Banquo smiles upon me,
And points at them for his.—What! is this so?
FIRST WITCH.
Ay, sir, all this is so:—but why
Stands Macbeth thus amazedly?—
Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprites,
And show the best of our delights.
I’ll charm the air to give a sound,
While you perform your antic round;
That this great king may kindly say,
Our duties did his welcome pay.
[_Music. The Witches dance, and vanish._]
MACBETH.
Where are they? Gone?—Let this pernicious hour
Stand aye accursed in the calendar!—
Come in, without there!
Enter Lennox.
LENNOX.
What’s your Grace’s will?
MACBETH.
Saw you the Weird Sisters?
LENNOX.
No, my lord.
MACBETH.
Came they not by you?
LENNOX.
No, indeed, my lord.
MACBETH.
Infected be the air whereon they ride;
And damn’d all those that trust them!—I did hear
The galloping of horse: who was’t came by?
LENNOX.
’Tis two or three, my lord, that bring you word
Macduff is fled to England.
MACBETH.
Fled to England!
LENNOX.
Ay, my good lord.
MACBETH.
Time, thou anticipat’st my dread exploits:
The flighty purpose never is o’ertook
Unless the deed go with it. From this moment
The very firstlings of my heart shall be
The firstlings of my hand. And even now,
To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and done:
The castle of Macduff I will surprise;
Seize upon Fife; give to th’ edge o’ th’ sword
His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls
That trace him in his line. No boasting like a fool;
This deed I’ll do before this purpose cool:
But no more sights!—Where are these gentlemen?
Come, bring me where they are.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE II. Fife. A Room in Macduff’s Castle.
Enter Lady Macduff her Son and Ross.
LADY MACDUFF.
What had he done, to make him fly the land?
ROSS.
You must have patience, madam.
LADY MACDUFF.
He had none:
His flight was madness: when our actions do not,
Our fears do make us traitors.
ROSS.
You know not
Whether it was his wisdom or his fear.
LADY MACDUFF.
Wisdom! to leave his wife, to leave his babes,
His mansion, and his titles, in a place
From whence himself does fly? He loves us not:
He wants the natural touch; for the poor wren,
The most diminutive of birds, will fight,
Her young ones in her nest, against the owl.
All is the fear, and nothing is the love;
As little is the wisdom, where the flight
So runs against all reason.
ROSS.
My dearest coz,
I pray you, school yourself: but, for your husband,
He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows
The fits o’ th’ season. I dare not speak much further:
But cruel are the times, when we are traitors,
And do not know ourselves; when we hold rumour
From what we fear, yet know not what we fear,
But float upon a wild and violent sea
Each way and move—I take my leave of you:
Shall not be long but I’ll be here again.
Things at the worst will cease, or else climb upward
To what they were before.—My pretty cousin,
Blessing upon you!
LADY MACDUFF.
Father’d he is, and yet he’s fatherless.
ROSS.
I am so much a fool, should I stay longer,
It would be my disgrace and your discomfort:
I take my leave at once.
[_Exit._]
LADY MACDUFF.
Sirrah, your father’s dead.
And what will you do now? How will you live?
SON.
As birds do, mother.
LADY MACDUFF.
What, with worms and flies?
SON.
With what I get, I mean; and so do they.
LADY MACDUFF.
Poor bird! thou’dst never fear the net nor lime,
The pit-fall nor the gin.
SON.
Why should I, mother? Poor birds they are not set for.
My father is not dead, for all your saying.
LADY MACDUFF.
Yes, he is dead: how wilt thou do for a father?
SON.
Nay, how will you do for a husband?
LADY MACDUFF.
Why, I can buy me twenty at any market.
SON.
Then you’ll buy ’em to sell again.
LADY MACDUFF.
Thou speak’st with all thy wit;
And yet, i’ faith, with wit enough for thee.
SON.
Was my father a traitor, mother?
LADY MACDUFF.
Ay, that he was.
SON.
What is a traitor?
LADY MACDUFF.
Why, one that swears and lies.
SON.
And be all traitors that do so?
LADY MACDUFF.
Every one that does so is a traitor, and must be hanged.
SON.
And must they all be hanged that swear and lie?
LADY MACDUFF.
Every one.
SON.
Who must hang them?
LADY MACDUFF.
Why, the honest men.
SON.
Then the liars and swearers are fools: for there are liars and swearers
enow to beat the honest men and hang up them.
LADY MACDUFF.
Now, God help thee, poor monkey! But how wilt thou do for a father?
SON.
If he were dead, you’ld weep for him: if you would not, it were a good
sign that I should quickly have a new father.
LADY MACDUFF.
Poor prattler, how thou talk’st!
Enter a Messenger.
MESSENGER.
Bless you, fair dame! I am not to you known,
Though in your state of honour I am perfect.
I doubt some 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 savage;
To do worse to you were fell cruelty,
Which is too nigh your person. Heaven preserve you!
I dare abide no longer.
[_Exit._]
LADY MACDUFF.
Whither should I fly?
I have done no harm. But I remember now
I am in this earthly world, where to do harm
Is often laudable; to do good sometime
Accounted dangerous folly: why then, alas,
Do I put up that womanly defence,
To say I have done no harm? What are these faces?
Enter Murderers.
FIRST MURDERER.
Where is your husband?
LADY MACDUFF.
I hope, in no place so unsanctified
Where such as thou mayst find him.
FIRST MURDERER.
He’s a traitor.
SON.
Thou liest, thou shag-ear’d villain!
FIRST MURDERER.
What, you egg!
[_Stabbing him._]
Young fry of treachery!
SON.
He has kill’d me, mother:
Run away, I pray you!
[_Dies. Exit Lady Macduff, crying “Murder!” and pursued by the
Murderers._]
SCENE III. England. Before the King’s Palace.
Enter Malcolm and Macduff.
MALCOLM.
Let us seek out some desolate shade and there
Weep our sad bosoms empty.
MACDUFF.
Let us rather
Hold fast the mortal sword, and, like good men,
Bestride our down-fall’n birthdom. Each new morn
New widows howl, new orphans cry; new sorrows
Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds
As if it felt with Scotland, and yell’d out
Like syllable of dolour.
MALCOLM.
What I believe, I’ll wail;
What know, believe; and what I can redress,
As I shall find the time to friend, I will.
What you have spoke, it may be so, perchance.
This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues,
Was once thought honest: you have loved him well;
He hath not touch’d you yet. I am young; but something
You may deserve of him through me; and wisdom
To offer up a weak, poor, innocent lamb
To appease an angry god.
MACDUFF.
I am not treacherous.
MALCOLM.
But Macbeth is.
A good and virtuous nature may recoil
In an imperial charge. But I shall crave your pardon.
That which you are, my thoughts cannot transpose.
Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell:
Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace,
Yet grace must still look so.
MACDUFF.
I have lost my hopes.
MALCOLM.
Perchance even there where I did find my doubts.
Why in that rawness left you wife and child,
Those precious motives, those strong knots of love,
Without leave-taking?—I pray you,
Let not my jealousies be your dishonours,
But mine own safeties. You may be rightly just,
Whatever I shall think.
MACDUFF.
Bleed, bleed, poor country!
Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure,
For goodness dare not check thee! wear thou thy wrongs;
The title is affeer’d.—Fare thee well, lord:
I would not be the villain that thou think’st
For the whole space that’s in the tyrant’s grasp
And the rich East to boot.
MALCOLM.
Be not offended:
I speak not as in absolute fear of you.
I think our country sinks beneath the yoke;
It weeps, it bleeds; and each new day a gash
Is added to her wounds. I think, withal,
There would be hands uplifted in my right;
And here, from gracious England, have I offer
Of goodly thousands: but, for all this,
When I shall tread upon the tyrant’s head,
Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country
Shall have more vices than it had before,
More suffer, and more sundry ways than ever,
By him that shall succeed.
MACDUFF.
What should he be?
MALCOLM.
It is myself I mean; in whom I know
All the particulars of vice so grafted
That, when they shall be open’d, black Macbeth
Will seem as pure as snow; and the poor state
Esteem him as a lamb, being compar’d
With my confineless harms.