Shall have more vices than it had before; Macd. What should he be ? Mal. 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. 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, false, deceitful, 2 Sudden,3 malicious, smacking of every sin That has a name: But there's no bottom, none, my desire All continent impediments would o'er-bear, Macd. Boundless intemperance In nature is a tyranny; it hath been That vulture in you, to devour so many Mal. With this, there grows, In my most ill-compos'd affection, such Macd. This avarice Sticks deeper; grows with more pernicious root Mal. But I have none: The king-becoming graces, As justice, verity, temperance, stableness, Bounty, perséverance, mercy, lowliness, Nay, had I power, I should Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell, Macd. O Scotland! Scotland! Mal. If such a one be fit to govern, speak: Fit to govern! I am as I have spoken. Macd. No, not to live.—O nation miserable, When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again? By his own interdiction stands accurs'd, And does blaspheme his breed?-Thy royal father Died every day she lived. Fare thee well! Have banish'd me from Scotland.-O, my breast, Mal. Macduff, this noble passion, Child of integrity, hath from my soul Wip'd the black scruples, reconcil'd my thoughts No less in truth, than life: my first false speaking • Over-hasty credulity. Was this upon myself: What I am truly, Now we'll together; And the chance, of goodness, Be like our warranted quarrel! Why are you silent? Macd. Such welcome and unwelcome things once, 'Tis hard to reconcile. Enter a Doctor. Mal. Well; more anon.-Comes the king forth, I pray you? Doct. Ay, sir: there are a crew of wretched souls, That stay his cure: their malady convinces 7 The great assay of art; but, at his touch, Such sanctity hath heaven given his hand, A most miraculous work in this good king; I have seen him do. How he solicits heaven, 7 Overpowers, subdues. VOL. IV. 8 and 'tis spoken, 8 The coin called an Angel. T To the succeeding royalty he leaves The healing benediction. With this strange virtue, And sundry blessings hang about his throne, That speak him full of grace. Macd. Enter ROSSE. See, who comes here? Mal. My countryman; but yet I know him not. Macd. My ever-gentle cousin, welcome hither. Mal. I know him now: Good God, betimes remove The means that make us strangers! Rosse. Sir, Amen. Macd. Stands Scotland where it did? Alas, poor country; Almost afraid to know itself! It cannot Is there scarce ask'd, for who; and good men's lives Dying, or ere they sicken. Macd. Too nice, and yet too true! Mal. O, relation, What is the newest grief? Rosse. That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker; Each minute teems a new one. Macd. Rosse. Why, well. How does my wife? 9 Common distress of mind. |