The Bodleian First Folio

A digital facsimile of the First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Bodleian Arch. G c.7.



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Reference: nn1v - Tragedies, p. 146

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The Tragedie of Macbeth.
Sc na Tertia. [Act 4, Scene 3] Enter Malcolme and Macduffe. Mal. Let vs seeke out some desolate shade, & there
[1715]
Weepe our sad bosomes empty.
Macd. Let vs rather Hold fast the mortall Sword: and like good men, Bestride our downfall Birthdome: each new Morne, New Widdowes howle, new Orphans cry, new sorowes
[1720]
Strike heauen on the face, that it resounds As if it felt with Scotland, and yell'd out Like Syllable of Dolour.
Mal. What I beleeue, Ile waile; What know, beleeue; and what I can redresse,
[1725]
As I shall finde the time to friend: I wil. What you haue spoke, it may be so perchance. This Tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues, Was once thought honest: you haue lou'd him well, He hath not touch'd you yet. I am yong, but something
[1730]
You may discerne of him through me, and wisedome To offer vp a weake, poore innocent Lambe T'appease an angry God.
Macd. I am not treacherous. Malc. But Macbeth is.
[1735]
A good and vertuous Nature may recoyle In an Imperiall charge. But I shall craue your pardon: That which you are, my thoughts cannot transpose; Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell. Though all things foule, would wear the brows of grace
[1740]
Yet Grace must still looke so.
Macd. I haue lost my Hopes. Malc. Perchance euen there Where I did finde my doubts. Why in that rawnesse left you Wife, and Childe?
[1745]
Those precious Motiues, those strong knots of Loue, Without leaue‑taking. I pray you, Let not my Iealousies, be your Dishonors, But mine owne Safeties: you may be rightly iust, What euer I shall thinke.
Macd.
[1750]
Bleed, bleed poore Country, Great Tyrrany, lay thou thy basis sure, For goodnesse dare not check thee: wear y u thy wrongs, The Title, is affear'd. Far thee well Lord, I would not be the Villaine that thou think'st,
[1755]
For the whole Space that's in the Tyrants Graspe, And the rich East to boot.
Mal. Be not offended: I speake not as in absolute feare of you: I thinke our Country sinkes beneath the yoake,
[1760]
It weepes, it bleeds, and each new day a gash Is added to her wounds. I thinke withall, There would be hands vplifted in my right: And heere from gracious England haue I offer Of goodly thousands. But for all this,
[1765]
When I shall treade vpon the Tyrants head, Or weare it on my Sword; yet my poore Country An ink mark follows the end of this line. Shall haue more vices then it had before, More suffer, and more sundry wayes then euer, An ink mark follows the end of this line. By him that shall succeede.
Macd.
[1770]
What should he be?
Mal. It is my selfe I meane: in whom I know All the particulars of Vice so grafted,

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Right Column


That when they shall be open'd, blacke Macbeth Will seeme as pure as Snow, and the poore State
[1775]
Esteeme him as a Lambe, being compar'd With my confinelesse harmes.
Macd. Not in the Legions Of horrid Hell, can come a Diuell more damn'd In euils, to top Macbeth. Mal.
[1780]
I grant him Bloody, Luxurious, Auaricious, False, Deceitfull, Sodaine, Malicious, smacking of euery sinne That ha's a name. But there's no bottome, none In my Voluptuousnesse: Your Wiues, your Daughters,
[1785]
Your Matrons, and your Maides, could not fill vp The Cesterne of my Lust, and my Desire All continent Impediments would ore‑beare That did oppose my will. Better Macbeth, Then such an one to reigne.
Macd.
[1790]
Boundlesse intemperance In Nature is a Tyranny: It hath beene Th'vntimely emptying of the happy Throne, And fall of many Kings. But feare not yet To take vpon you what is yours: you may
[1795]
Conuey your pleasures in a spacious plenty, And yet seeme cold. The time you may so hoodwinke: We haue willing Dames enough: there cannot be That Vulture in you, to deuoure so many As will to Greatnesse dedicate themselues,
[1800]
Finding it so inclinde.
Mal. With this, there growes In my most ill‑compos'd Affection, such A stanchlesse Auarice, that were I King, I should cut off the Nobles for their Lands,
[1805]
Desire his Iewels, and this others House, And my more‑hauing, would be as a Sawce To make me hunger more, that I should forge Quarrels vniust against the Good and Loyall, Destroying them for wealth.
Macd.
[1810]
This Auarice stickes deeper: growes with more pernicious roote Then Summer‑seeming Lust: and it hath bin The Sword of our slaine Kings: yet do not feare, Scotland hath Foysons, to fill vp your will
[1815]
Of your meere Owne. All these are portable, With other Graces weigh'd.
Mal. But I haue none. The King‑becoming Graces, As Iustice, Verity, Temp'rance, Stablenesse, Bounty, Perseuerance, Mercy, Lowlinesse,
[1820]
Deuotion, Patience, Courage, Fortitude, I haue no rellish of them, but abound In the diuision of each seuerall Crime, Acting it many wayes. Nay, had I powre, I should Poure the sweet Milke of Concord, into Hell,
[1825]
Vprore the vniuersall peace, confound All vnity on earth.
Macd. O Scotland, Scotland. Mal. If such a one be fit to gouerne, speake: I am as I haue spoken. Mac.
[1830]
Fit to gouern? No not to liue. O Natiō Nation miserable! With an vntitled Tyrant, bloody Sceptred, When shalt thou see thy wholsome dayes againe? Since that the truest Issue of thy Throne By his owne Interdiction stands accust,
[1835]
And do's blaspheme his breed? Thy Royall Father Was a most Sainted‑King: the Queene that bore thee, Oftner vpon her knees, then on her feet, Dy'de euery day she liu'd. Fare thee well, These

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Sc na Tertia. [Act 4, Scene 3] Enter Malcolme and Macduffe. Mal. Let vs seeke out some desolate shade, & there
[1715]
Weepe our sad bosomes empty.
Macd. Let vs rather Hold fast the mortall Sword: and like good men, Bestride our downfall Birthdome: each new Morne, New Widdowes howle, new Orphans cry, new sorowes
[1720]
Strike heauen on the face, that it resounds As if it felt with Scotland, and yell'd out Like Syllable of Dolour.
Mal. What I beleeue, Ile waile; What know, beleeue; and what I can redresse,
[1725]
As I shall finde the time to friend: I wil. What you haue spoke, it may be so perchance. This Tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues, Was once thought honest: you haue lou'd him well, He hath not touch'd you yet. I am yong, but something
[1730]
You may discerne of him through me, and wisedome To offer vp a weake, poore innocent Lambe T'appease an angry God.
Macd. I am not treacherous. Malc. But Macbeth is.
[1735]
A good and vertuous Nature may recoyle In an Imperiall charge. But I shall craue your pardon: That which you are, my thoughts cannot transpose; Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell. Though all things foule, would wear the brows of grace
[1740]
Yet Grace must still looke so.
Macd. I haue lost my Hopes. Malc. Perchance euen there Where I did finde my doubts. Why in that rawnesse left you Wife, and Childe?
[1745]
Those precious Motiues, those strong knots of Loue, Without leaue‑taking. I pray you, Let not my Iealousies, be your Dishonors, But mine owne Safeties: you may be rightly iust, What euer I shall thinke.
Macd.
[1750]
Bleed, bleed poore Country, Great Tyrrany, lay thou thy basis sure, For goodnesse dare not check thee: wear y u thy wrongs, The Title, is affear'd. Far thee well Lord, I would not be the Villaine that thou think'st,
[1755]
For the whole Space that's in the Tyrants Graspe, And the rich East to boot.
Mal. Be not offended: I speake not as in absolute feare of you: I thinke our Country sinkes beneath the yoake,
[1760]
It weepes, it bleeds, and each new day a gash Is added to her wounds. I thinke withall, There would be hands vplifted in my right: And heere from gracious England haue I offer Of goodly thousands. But for all this,
[1765]
When I shall treade vpon the Tyrants head, Or weare it on my Sword; yet my poore Country An ink mark follows the end of this line. Shall haue more vices then it had before, More suffer, and more sundry wayes then euer, An ink mark follows the end of this line. By him that shall succeede.
Macd.
[1770]
What should he be?
Mal. It is my selfe I meane: in whom I know All the particulars of Vice so grafted, That when they shall be open'd, blacke Macbeth Will seeme as pure as Snow, and the poore State
[1775]
Esteeme him as a Lambe, being compar'd With my confinelesse harmes.
Macd. Not in the Legions Of horrid Hell, can come a Diuell more damn'd In euils, to top Macbeth. Mal.
[1780]
I grant him Bloody, Luxurious, Auaricious, False, Deceitfull, Sodaine, Malicious, smacking of euery sinne That ha's a name. But there's no bottome, none In my Voluptuousnesse: Your Wiues, your Daughters,
[1785]
Your Matrons, and your Maides, could not fill vp The Cesterne of my Lust, and my Desire All continent Impediments would ore‑beare That did oppose my will. Better Macbeth, Then such an one to reigne.
Macd.
[1790]
Boundlesse intemperance In Nature is a Tyranny: It hath beene Th'vntimely emptying of the happy Throne, And fall of many Kings. But feare not yet To take vpon you what is yours: you may
[1795]
Conuey your pleasures in a spacious plenty, And yet seeme cold. The time you may so hoodwinke: We haue willing Dames enough: there cannot be That Vulture in you, to deuoure so many As will to Greatnesse dedicate themselues,
[1800]
Finding it so inclinde.
Mal. With this, there growes In my most ill‑compos'd Affection, such A stanchlesse Auarice, that were I King, I should cut off the Nobles for their Lands,
[1805]
Desire his Iewels, and this others House, And my more‑hauing, would be as a Sawce To make me hunger more, that I should forge Quarrels vniust against the Good and Loyall, Destroying them for wealth.
Macd.
[1810]
This Auarice stickes deeper: growes with more pernicious roote Then Summer‑seeming Lust: and it hath bin The Sword of our slaine Kings: yet do not feare, Scotland hath Foysons, to fill vp your will
[1815]
Of your meere Owne. All these are portable, With other Graces weigh'd.
Mal. But I haue none. The King‑becoming Graces, As Iustice, Verity, Temp'rance, Stablenesse, Bounty, Perseuerance, Mercy, Lowlinesse,
[1820]
Deuotion, Patience, Courage, Fortitude, I haue no rellish of them, but abound In the diuision of each seuerall Crime, Acting it many wayes. Nay, had I powre, I should Poure the sweet Milke of Concord, into Hell,
[1825]
Vprore the vniuersall peace, confound All vnity on earth.
Macd. O Scotland, Scotland. Mal. If such a one be fit to gouerne, speake: I am as I haue spoken. Mac.
[1830]
Fit to gouern? No not to liue. O Natiō Nation miserable! With an vntitled Tyrant, bloody Sceptred, When shalt thou see thy wholsome dayes againe? Since that the truest Issue of thy Throne By his owne Interdiction stands accust,
[1835]
And do's blaspheme his breed? Thy Royall Father Was a most Sainted‑King: the Queene that bore thee, Oftner vpon her knees, then on her feet, Dy'de euery day she liu'd. Fare thee well, These Euils thou repeat'st vpon thy selfe,
[1840]
Hath banish'd me from Scotland. O my Brest, Thy hope ends heere.
Mal. Macduff, this Noble passion Childe of integrity, hath from my soule Wip'd the blacke Scruples, reconcil'd my thoughts
[1845]
To thy good Truth, and Honor. Diuellish Macbeth, By many of these traines, hath sought to win me Into his power: and modest Wisedome pluckes me From ouer‑credulous hast: but God aboue Deale betweene thee and me; For euen now
[1850]
I put my selfe to thy Direction, and Vnspeake mine owne detraction. Heere abiure The taints, and blames I laide vpon my selfe, For strangers to my Nature. I am yet Vnknowne to Woman, neuer was forsworne,
[1855]
Scarsely haue coueted what was mine owne: At no time broke my Faith, would not betray The Deuill to his Fellow, and delight No lesse in truth then life. My first false speaking Was this vpon my selfe. What I am truly
[1860]
Is thine, and my poore Countries to command: Whither indeed, before they heere approach Old Seyward with ten thousand warlike men Already at a point, was setting foorth: Now wee'l together, and the chance of goodnesse
[1865]
Be like our warranted Quarrell. Why are you silent?
Macd. Such welcome, and vnwelcom things once 'Tis hard to reconcile. Enter a Doctor. Mal. Well, more anon. Comes the King forth I pray you? Doct.
[1870]
I Sir: there are a crew of wretched Soules That stay his Cure: their malady conuinces The great assay of Art. But at his touch, Such sanctity hath Heauen giuen his hand, They presently amend.
Exit. Mal.
[1875]
I thanke you Doctor.
Macd. What's the Disease he meanes? Mal. Tis call'd the Euill. A most myraculous worke in this good King, Which often since my heere remaine in England,
[1880]
I haue seene him do: How he solicites heauen Himselfe best knowes: but strangely visited people All swolne and Vlcerous, pittifull to the eye, The meere dispaire of Surgery, he cures, Hanging a golden stampe about their neckes,
[1885]
Put on with holy Prayers, and 'tis spoken To the succeeding Royalty he leaues The healing Benediction. With this strange vertue, He hath a heauenly guift of Prophesie, And sundry Blessings hang about his Throne,
[1890]
That speake him full of Grace.
Enter Rosse. Macd. See who comes heere. Malc. My Countryman: but yet I know him not. Macd. My euer gentle Cozen, welcome hither. Malc. I know him now. Good God betimes remoue
[1895]
The meanes that makes vs Strangers.
Rosse. Sir, Amen. Macd. Stands Scotland where it did ? Rosse. Alas poore Countrey, Almost affraid to know it selfe. It cannot
[1900]
Be call'd our Mother, but our Graue; where nothing But who knowes nothing, is once seene to smile: Where sighes, and groanes, and shrieks that rent the ayre Are made, not mark'd: Where violent sorrow seemes A Moderne extasie: The Deadmans knell,
[1905]
Is there scarse ask'd for who, and good mens liues Expire before the Flowers in their Caps, Dying, or ere they sicken.
Macd. Oh Relation; too nice, and yet too true. Malc. What's the newest griefe? Rosse.
[1910]
That of an houres age, doth hisse the speaker, Each minute teemes a new one.
Macd. How do's my Wife? Rosse. Why well. Macd. And all my Children? Rosse.
[1915]
Well too.
Macd. The Tyrant ha's not batter'd at their peace? Rosse. No, they were wel at peace, when I did leaue 'em Macd. Be not a niggard of your speech: How gos't? Rosse. When I came hither to transport the Tydings
[1920]
Which I haue heauily borne, there ran a Rumour Of many worthy Fellowes, that were out, Which was to my beleefe witnest the rather, For that I saw the Tyrants Power a‑foot. Now is the time of helpe: your eye in Scotland
[1925]
Would create Soldiours, make our women fight, To doffe their dire distresses.
Malc. Bee't their comfort We are comming thither: Gracious England hath Lent vs good Seyward, and ten thousand men,
[1930]
An older, and a better Souldier, none That Christendome giues out.
Rosse. Would I could answer This comfort with the like. But I haue words That would be howl'd out in the desert ayre,
[1935]
Where hearing should not latch them.
Macd. What concerne they, The generall cause, or is it a Fee‑griefe Due to some single brest? Rosse. No minde that's honest
[1940]
But in it shares some woe, though the maine part Pertaines to you alone.
Macd. If it be mine Keepe it not from me, quickly let me haue it. Rosse. Let not your eares dispise my tongue for euer,
[1945]
Which shall possesse them with the heauiest sound That euer yet they heard.
Macd. Humh: I guesse at it. Rosse. Your Castle is surpriz'd: your Wife, and Babes Sauagely slaughter'd: To relate the manner
[1950]
Were on the Quarry of these murther'd Deere To adde the death of you.
Malc. Mercifull Heauen: What man, ne're pull your hat vpon your browes: Giue sorrow words; the griefe that do's not speake,
[1955]
Whispers the o're‑fraught heart, and bids it breake.
Macd. My Children too? Ro. Wife, Children, Seruants, all that could be found. Macd. And I must be from thence? My wife kil'd too ? Rosse. I haue said. Malc.
[1960]
Be comforted. Let's make vs Med'cines of our great Reuenge, To cure this deadly greefe.
Macd. He ha's no Children. All my pretty ones? Did you say All? Oh Hell‑Kite! All?
[1965]
What, All my pretty Chickens, and their Damme At one fell swoope?
Malc. Dispute it like a man. Macd. I shall do so: But I must also feele it as a man;
[1970]
I cannot but remember such things were That were most precious to me: Did heauen looke on, And would not take their part? Sinfull Macduff, They were all strooke for thee: Naught that I am, Not for their owne demerits, but for mine
[1975]
Fell slaughter on their soules: Heauen rest them now.
Mal. Be this the Whetstone of your sword, let griefe Conuert to anger: blunt not the heart, enrage it. Macd. O I could play the woman with mine eyes, And Braggart with my tongue. But gentle Heauens,
[1980]
Cut short all intermission: Front to Front, Bring thou this Fiend of Scotland, and my selfe Within my Swords length set him, if he scape Heauen forgiue him too.
Mal. This time goes manly:
[1985]
Come go we to the King, our Power is ready, Our lacke is nothing but our leaue. Macbeth Is ripe for shaking, and the Powres aboue Put on their Instruments: Receiue what cheere you may, The Night is long, that neuer findes the Day.
Exeunt
 

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<div type="scene" n="3">
   <head rend="italic center">Sc<gap/>na Tertia.</head>
   <head type="supplied">[Act 4, Scene 3]</head>
   <stage rend="italic center" type="entrance">Enter Malcolme and Macduffe.</stage>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mal">
      <speaker rend="italic">Mal.</speaker>
      <l n="1714">Let vs seeke out some desolate shade, &amp; there</l>
      <l n="1715">Weepe our sad bosomes empty.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mcd">
      <speaker rend="italic">Macd.</speaker>
      <l n="1716">Let vs rather</l>
      <l n="1717">Hold fast the mortall Sword: and like good men,</l>
      <l n="1718">Bestride our downfall Birthdome: each new Morne,</l>
      <l n="1719">New Widdowes howle, new Orphans cry, new sorowes</l>
      <l n="1720">Strike heauen on the face, that it resounds</l>
      <l n="1721">As if it felt with Scotland, and yell'd out</l>
      <l n="1722">Like Syllable of Dolour.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mal">
      <speaker rend="italic">Mal.</speaker>
      <l n="1723">What I beleeue, Ile waile;</l>
      <l n="1724">What know, beleeue; and what I can redresse,</l>
      <l n="1725">As I shall finde the time to friend: I wil.</l>
      <l n="1726">What you haue spoke, it may be so perchance.</l>
      <l n="1727">This Tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues,</l>
      <l n="1728">Was once thought honest: you haue lou'd him well,</l>
      <l n="1729">He hath not touch'd you yet. I am yong, but something</l>
      <l n="1730">You may discerne of him through me, and wisedome</l>
      <l n="1731">To offer vp a weake, poore innocent Lambe</l>
      <l n="1732">T'appease an angry God.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mcd">
      <speaker rend="italic">Macd.</speaker>
      <l n="1733">I am not treacherous.</l>
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      <speaker rend="italic">Malc.</speaker>
      <l n="1734">But<hi rend="italic">Macbeth</hi>is.</l>
      <l n="1735">A good and vertuous Nature may recoyle</l>
      <l n="1736">In an Imperiall charge. But I shall craue your pardon:</l>
      <l n="1737">That which you are, my thoughts cannot transpose;</l>
      <l n="1738">Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell.</l>
      <l n="1739">Though all things foule, would wear the brows of grace</l>
      <l n="1740">Yet Grace must still looke so.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mcd">
      <speaker rend="italic">Macd.</speaker>
      <l n="1741">I haue lost my Hopes.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mal">
      <speaker rend="italic">Malc.</speaker>
      <l n="1742">Perchance euen there</l>
      <l n="1743">Where I did finde my doubts.</l>
      <l n="1744">Why in that rawnesse left you Wife, and Childe?</l>
      <l n="1745">Those precious Motiues, those strong knots of Loue,</l>
      <l n="1746">Without leaue‑taking. I pray you,</l>
      <l n="1747">Let not my Iealousies, be your Dishonors,</l>
      <l n="1748">But mine owne Safeties: you may be rightly iust,</l>
      <l n="1749">What euer I shall thinke.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mcd">
      <speaker rend="italic">Macd.</speaker>
      <l n="1750">Bleed, bleed poore Country,</l>
      <l n="1751">Great Tyrrany, lay thou thy basis sure,</l>
      <l n="1752">For goodnesse dare not check thee: wear y<c rend="superscript">u</c>thy wrongs,</l>
      <l n="1753">The Title, is affear'd. Far thee well Lord,</l>
      <l n="1754">I would not be the Villaine that thou think'st,</l>
      <l n="1755">For the whole Space that's in the Tyrants Graspe,</l>
      <l n="1756">And the rich East to boot.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mal">
      <speaker rend="italic">Mal.</speaker>
      <l n="1757">Be not offended:</l>
      <l n="1758">I speake not as in absolute feare of you:</l>
      <l n="1759">I thinke our Country sinkes beneath the yoake,</l>
      <l n="1760">It weepes, it bleeds, and each new day a gash</l>
      <l n="1761">Is added to her wounds. I thinke withall,</l>
      <l n="1762">There would be hands vplifted in my right:</l>
      <l n="1763">And heere from gracious England haue I offer</l>
      <l n="1764">Of goodly thousands. But for all this,</l>
      <l n="1765">When I shall treade vpon the Tyrants head,</l>
      <l n="1766">Or weare it on my Sword; yet my poore Country</l>
      <note resp="#ES">An ink mark follows the end of this line.</note>
      <l n="1767">Shall haue more vices then it had before,</l>
      <l n="1768">More suffer, and more sundry wayes then euer,</l>
      <note resp="#ES">An ink mark follows the end of this line.</note>
      <l n="1769">By him that shall succeede.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mcd">
      <speaker rend="italic">Macd.</speaker>
      <l n="1770">What should he be?</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mal">
      <speaker rend="italic">Mal.</speaker>
      <l n="1771">It is my selfe I meane: in whom I know</l>
      <l n="1772">All the particulars of Vice so grafted,</l>
      <cb n="2"/>
      <l n="1773">That when they shall be open'd, blacke<hi rend="italic">Macbeth</hi>
      </l>
      <l n="1774">Will seeme as pure as Snow, and the poore State</l>
      <l n="1775">Esteeme him as a Lambe, being compar'd</l>
      <l n="1776">With my confinelesse harmes.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mcd">
      <speaker rend="italic">Macd.</speaker>
      <l n="1777">Not in the Legions</l>
      <l n="1778">Of horrid Hell, can come a Diuell more damn'd</l>
      <l n="1779">In euils, to top<hi rend="italic">Macbeth</hi>.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mal">
      <speaker rend="italic">Mal.</speaker>
      <l n="1780">I grant him Bloody,</l>
      <l n="1781">Luxurious, Auaricious, False, Deceitfull,</l>
      <l n="1782">Sodaine, Malicious, smacking of euery sinne</l>
      <l n="1783">That ha's a name. But there's no bottome, none</l>
      <l n="1784">In my Voluptuousnesse: Your Wiues, your Daughters,</l>
      <l n="1785">Your Matrons, and your Maides, could not fill vp</l>
      <l n="1786">The Cesterne of my Lust, and my Desire</l>
      <l n="1787">All continent Impediments would ore‑beare</l>
      <l n="1788">That did oppose my will. Better<hi rend="italic">Macbeth</hi>,</l>
      <l n="1789">Then such an one to reigne.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mcd">
      <speaker rend="italic">Macd.</speaker>
      <l n="1790">Boundlesse intemperance</l>
      <l n="1791">In Nature is a Tyranny: It hath beene</l>
      <l n="1792">Th'vntimely emptying of the happy Throne,</l>
      <l n="1793">And fall of many Kings. But feare not yet</l>
      <l n="1794">To take vpon you what is yours: you may</l>
      <l n="1795">Conuey your pleasures in a spacious plenty,</l>
      <l n="1796">And yet seeme cold. The time you may so hoodwinke:</l>
      <l n="1797">We haue willing Dames enough: there cannot be</l>
      <l n="1798">That Vulture in you, to deuoure so many</l>
      <l n="1799">As will to Greatnesse dedicate themselues,</l>
      <l n="1800">Finding it so inclinde.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mal">
      <speaker rend="italic">Mal.</speaker>
      <l n="1801">With this, there growes</l>
      <l n="1802">In my most ill‑compos'd Affection, such</l>
      <l n="1803">A stanchlesse Auarice, that were I King,</l>
      <l n="1804">I should cut off the Nobles for their Lands,</l>
      <l n="1805">Desire his Iewels, and this others House,</l>
      <l n="1806">And my more‑hauing, would be as a Sawce</l>
      <l n="1807">To make me hunger more, that I should forge</l>
      <l n="1808">Quarrels vniust against the Good and Loyall,</l>
      <l n="1809">Destroying them for wealth.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mcd">
      <speaker rend="italic">Macd.</speaker>
      <l n="1810">This Auarice</l>
      <l n="1811">stickes deeper: growes with more pernicious roote</l>
      <l n="1812">Then Summer‑seeming Lust: and it hath bin</l>
      <l n="1813">The Sword of our slaine Kings: yet do not feare,</l>
      <l n="1814">Scotland hath Foysons, to fill vp your will</l>
      <l n="1815">Of your meere Owne. All these are portable,</l>
      <l n="1816">With other Graces weigh'd.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mal">
      <speaker rend="italic">Mal.</speaker>
      <l n="1817">But I haue none. The King‑becoming Graces,</l>
      <l n="1818">As Iustice, Verity, Temp'rance, Stablenesse,</l>
      <l n="1819">Bounty, Perseuerance, Mercy, Lowlinesse,</l>
      <l n="1820">Deuotion, Patience, Courage, Fortitude,</l>
      <l n="1821">I haue no rellish of them, but abound</l>
      <l n="1822">In the diuision of each seuerall Crime,</l>
      <l n="1823">Acting it many wayes. Nay, had I powre, I should</l>
      <l n="1824">Poure the sweet Milke of Concord, into Hell,</l>
      <l n="1825">Vprore the vniuersall peace, confound</l>
      <l n="1826">All vnity on earth.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mcd">
      <speaker rend="italic">Macd.</speaker>
      <l n="1827">O Scotland, Scotland.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mal">
      <speaker rend="italic">Mal.</speaker>
      <l n="1828">If such a one be fit to gouerne, speake:</l>
      <l n="1829">I am as I haue spoken.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mcb">
      <speaker rend="italic">Mac.</speaker>
      <l n="1830">Fit to gouern? No not to liue. O<choice>
            <abbr>Natiō</abbr>
            <expan>Nation</expan>
         </choice>miserable!</l>
      <l n="1831">With an vntitled Tyrant, bloody Sceptred,</l>
      <l n="1832">When shalt thou see thy wholsome dayes againe?</l>
      <l n="1833">Since that the truest Issue of thy Throne</l>
      <l n="1834">By his owne Interdiction stands accust,</l>
      <l n="1835">And do's blaspheme his breed? Thy Royall Father</l>
      <l n="1836">Was a most Sainted‑King: the Queene that bore thee,</l>
      <l n="1837">Oftner vpon her knees, then on her feet,</l>
      <l n="1838">Dy'de euery day she liu'd. Fare thee well,</l>
      <pb facs="FFimg:axc0757-0.jpg" n="147"/>
      <cb n="1"/>
      <l n="1839">These Euils thou repeat'st vpon thy selfe,</l>
      <l n="1840">Hath banish'd me from Scotland. O my Brest,</l>
      <l n="1841">Thy hope ends heere.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mal">
      <speaker rend="italic">Mal.</speaker>
      <l n="1842">
         <hi rend="italic">Macduff</hi>, this Noble passion</l>
      <l n="1843">Childe of integrity, hath from my soule</l>
      <l n="1844">Wip'd the blacke Scruples, reconcil'd my thoughts</l>
      <l n="1845">To thy good Truth, and Honor. Diuellish<hi rend="italic">Macbeth</hi>,</l>
      <l n="1846">By many of these traines, hath sought to win me</l>
      <l n="1847">Into his power: and modest Wisedome pluckes me</l>
      <l n="1848">From ouer‑credulous hast: but God aboue</l>
      <l n="1849">Deale betweene thee and me; For euen now</l>
      <l n="1850">I put my selfe to thy Direction, and</l>
      <l n="1851">Vnspeake mine owne detraction. Heere abiure</l>
      <l n="1852">The taints, and blames I laide vpon my selfe,</l>
      <l n="1853">For strangers to my Nature. I am yet</l>
      <l n="1854">Vnknowne to Woman, neuer was forsworne,</l>
      <l n="1855">Scarsely haue coueted what was mine owne:</l>
      <l n="1856">At no time broke my Faith, would not betray</l>
      <l n="1857">The Deuill to his Fellow, and delight</l>
      <l n="1858">No lesse in truth then life. My first false speaking</l>
      <l n="1859">Was this vpon my selfe. What I am truly</l>
      <l n="1860">Is thine, and my poore Countries to command:</l>
      <l n="1861">Whither indeed, before they heere approach</l>
      <l n="1862">Old<hi rend="italic">Seyward</hi>with ten thousand warlike men</l>
      <l n="1863">Already at a point, was setting foorth:</l>
      <l n="1864">Now wee'l together, and the chance of goodnesse</l>
      <l n="1865">Be like our warranted Quarrell. Why are you silent?</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mcd">
      <speaker rend="italic">Macd.</speaker>
      <l n="1866">Such welcome, and vnwelcom things<gap extent="1"
              unit="words"
              reason="illegible"
              agent="inkBlot"
              resp="#ES"/>once</l>
      <l n="1867">'Tis hard to reconcile.</l>
   </sp>
   <stage rend="italic center" type="entrance">Enter a Doctor.</stage>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mal">
      <speaker rend="italic">Mal.</speaker>
      <l n="1868">Well, more anon. Comes the King forth</l>
      <l n="1869">I pray you?</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-doc">
      <speaker rend="italic">Doct.</speaker>
      <l n="1870">I Sir: there are a crew of wretched Soules</l>
      <l n="1871">That stay his Cure: their malady conuinces</l>
      <l n="1872">The great assay of Art. But at his touch,</l>
      <l n="1873">Such sanctity hath Heauen giuen his hand,</l>
      <l n="1874">They presently amend.</l>
   </sp>
   <stage rend="italic rightJustified" type="exit">Exit.</stage>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mal">
      <speaker rend="italic">Mal.</speaker>
      <l n="1875">I thanke you Doctor.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mcd">
      <speaker rend="italic">Macd.</speaker>
      <l n="1876">What's the Disease he meanes?</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mal">
      <speaker rend="italic">Mal.</speaker>
      <l n="1877">Tis call'd the Euill.</l>
      <l n="1878">A most myraculous worke in this good King,</l>
      <l n="1879">Which often since my heere remaine in England,</l>
      <l n="1880">I haue seene him do: How he solicites heauen</l>
      <l n="1881">Himselfe best knowes: but strangely visited people</l>
      <l n="1882">All swolne and Vlcerous, pittifull to the eye,</l>
      <l n="1883">The meere dispaire of Surgery, he cures,</l>
      <l n="1884">Hanging a golden stampe about their neckes,</l>
      <l n="1885">Put on with holy Prayers, and 'tis spoken</l>
      <l n="1886">To the succeeding Royalty he leaues</l>
      <l n="1887">The healing Benediction. With this strange vertue,</l>
      <l n="1888">He hath a heauenly guift of Prophesie,</l>
      <l n="1889">And sundry Blessings hang about his Throne,</l>
      <l n="1890">That speake him full of Grace.</l>
   </sp>
   <stage rend="italic center" type="entrance">Enter Rosse.</stage>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mcd">
      <speaker rend="italic">Macd.</speaker>
      <l n="1891">See who comes heere.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mal">
      <speaker rend="italic">Malc.</speaker>
      <l n="1892">My Countryman: but yet I know him not.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mcd">
      <speaker rend="italic">Macd.</speaker>
      <l n="1893">My euer gentle Cozen, welcome hither.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mal">
      <speaker rend="italic">Malc.</speaker>
      <l n="1894">I know him now. Good God betimes remoue</l>
      <l n="1895">The meanes that makes vs Strangers.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-ros">
      <speaker rend="italic">Rosse.</speaker>
      <l n="1896">Sir, Amen.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mcd">
      <speaker rend="italic">Macd.</speaker>
      <l n="1897">Stands Scotland where it did<c rend="italic">?</c>
      </l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-ros">
      <speaker rend="italic">Rosse.</speaker>
      <l n="1898">Alas poore Countrey,</l>
      <l n="1899">Almost affraid to know it selfe. It cannot</l>
      <l n="1900">Be call'd our Mother, but our Graue; where nothing</l>
      <l n="1901">But who knowes nothing, is once seene to smile:</l>
      <l n="1902">Where sighes, and groanes, and shrieks that rent the ayre</l>
      <cb n="2"/>
      <l n="1903">Are made, not mark'd: Where violent sorrow seemes</l>
      <l n="1904">A Moderne extasie: The Deadmans knell,</l>
      <l n="1905">Is there scarse ask'd for who, and good mens liues</l>
      <l n="1906">Expire before the Flowers in their Caps,</l>
      <l n="1907">Dying, or ere they sicken.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mcd">
      <speaker rend="italic">Macd.</speaker>
      <l n="1908">Oh Relation; too nice, and yet too true.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mal">
      <speaker rend="italic">Malc.</speaker>
      <l n="1909">What's the newest griefe?</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-ros">
      <speaker rend="italic">Rosse.</speaker>
      <l n="1910">That of an houres age, doth hisse the speaker,</l>
      <l n="1911">Each minute teemes a new one.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mcd">
      <speaker rend="italic">Macd.</speaker>
      <l n="1912">How do's my Wife?</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-ros">
      <speaker rend="italic">Rosse.</speaker>
      <l n="1913">Why well.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mcd">
      <speaker rend="italic">Macd.</speaker>
      <l n="1914">And all my Children?</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-ros">
      <speaker rend="italic">Rosse.</speaker>
      <l n="1915">Well too.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mcd">
      <speaker rend="italic">Macd.</speaker>
      <l n="1916">The Tyrant ha's not batter'd at their peace?</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-ros">
      <speaker rend="italic">Rosse.</speaker>
      <l n="1917">No, they were wel at peace, when I did leaue 'em</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mcd">
      <speaker rend="italic">Macd.</speaker>
      <l n="1918">Be not a niggard of your speech: How gos't?</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-ros">
      <speaker rend="italic">Rosse.</speaker>
      <l n="1919">When I came hither to transport the Tydings</l>
      <l n="1920">Which I haue heauily borne, there ran a Rumour</l>
      <l n="1921">Of many worthy Fellowes, that were out,</l>
      <l n="1922">Which was to my beleefe witnest the rather,</l>
      <l n="1923">For that I saw the Tyrants Power a‑foot.</l>
      <l n="1924">Now is the time of helpe: your eye in Scotland</l>
      <l n="1925">Would create Soldiours, make our women fight,</l>
      <l n="1926">To doffe their dire distresses.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mal">
      <speaker rend="italic">Malc.</speaker>
      <l n="1927">Bee't their comfort</l>
      <l n="1928">We are comming thither: Gracious England hath</l>
      <l n="1929">Lent vs good<hi rend="italic">Seyward</hi>, and ten thousand men,</l>
      <l n="1930">An older, and a better Souldier, none</l>
      <l n="1931">That Christendome giues out.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-ros">
      <speaker rend="italic">Rosse.</speaker>
      <l n="1932">Would I could answer</l>
      <l n="1933">This comfort with the like. But I haue words</l>
      <l n="1934">That would be howl'd out in the desert ayre,</l>
      <l n="1935">Where hearing should not latch them.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mcd">
      <speaker rend="italic">Macd.</speaker>
      <l n="1936">What concerne they,</l>
      <l n="1937">The generall cause, or is it a Fee‑griefe</l>
      <l n="1938">Due to some single brest?</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-ros">
      <speaker rend="italic">Rosse.</speaker>
      <l n="1939">No minde that's honest</l>
      <l n="1940">But in it shares some woe, though the maine part</l>
      <l n="1941">Pertaines to you alone.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mcd">
      <speaker rend="italic">Macd.</speaker>
      <l n="1942">If it be mine</l>
      <l n="1943">Keepe it not from me, quickly let me haue it.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-ros">
      <speaker rend="italic">Rosse.</speaker>
      <l n="1944">Let not your eares dispise my tongue for euer,</l>
      <l n="1945">Which shall possesse them with the heauiest sound</l>
      <l n="1946">That euer yet they heard.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mcd">
      <speaker rend="italic">Macd.</speaker>
      <l n="1947">Humh: I guesse at it.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-ros">
      <speaker rend="italic">Rosse.</speaker>
      <l n="1948">Your Castle is surpriz'd: your Wife, and Babes</l>
      <l n="1949">Sauagely slaughter'd: To relate the manner</l>
      <l n="1950">Were on the Quarry of these murther'd Deere</l>
      <l n="1951">To adde the death of you.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mal">
      <speaker rend="italic">Malc.</speaker>
      <l n="1952">Mercifull Heauen:</l>
      <l n="1953">What man, ne're pull your hat vpon your browes:</l>
      <l n="1954">Giue sorrow words; the griefe that do's not speake,</l>
      <l n="1955">Whispers the o're‑fraught heart, and bids it breake.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mcd">
      <speaker rend="italic">Macd.</speaker>
      <l n="1956">My Children too?</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-ros">
      <speaker rend="italic">Ro.</speaker>
      <l n="1957">Wife, Children, Seruants, all that could be found.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mcd">
      <speaker rend="italic">Macd.</speaker>
      <l n="1958">And I must be from thence? My wife kil'd too<c rend="italic">?</c>
      </l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-ros">
      <speaker rend="italic">Rosse.</speaker>
      <l n="1959">I haue said.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mal">
      <speaker rend="italic">Malc.</speaker>
      <l n="1960">Be comforted.</l>
      <l n="1961">Let's make vs Med'cines of our great Reuenge,</l>
      <l n="1962">To cure this deadly greefe.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mcd">
      <speaker rend="italic">Macd.</speaker>
      <l n="1963">He ha's no Children. All my pretty ones?</l>
      <l n="1964">Did you say All? Oh Hell‑Kite! All?</l>
      <l n="1965">What, All my pretty Chickens, and their Damme</l>
      <l n="1966">At one fell swoope?</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mal">
      <speaker rend="italic">Malc.</speaker>
      <l n="1967">Dispute it like a man.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mcd">
      <speaker rend="italic">Macd.</speaker>
      <l n="1968">I shall do so:</l>
      <pb facs="FFimg:axc0758-0.jpg" n="148"/>
      <cb n="1"/>
      <l n="1969">But I must also feele it as a man;</l>
      <l n="1970">I cannot but remember such things were</l>
      <l n="1971">That were most precious to me: Did heauen looke on,</l>
      <l n="1972">And would not take their part? Sinfull<hi rend="italic">Macduff</hi>,</l>
      <l n="1973">They were all strooke for thee: Naught that I am,</l>
      <l n="1974">Not for their owne demerits, but for mine</l>
      <l n="1975">Fell slaughter on their soules: Heauen rest them now.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mal">
      <speaker rend="italic">Mal.</speaker>
      <l n="1976">Be this the Whetstone of your sword, let griefe</l>
      <l n="1977">Conuert to anger: blunt not the heart, enrage it.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mcd">
      <speaker rend="italic">Macd.</speaker>
      <l n="1978">O I could play the woman with mine eyes,</l>
      <l n="1979">And Braggart with my tongue. But gentle Heauens,</l>
      <l n="1980">Cut short all intermission: Front to Front,</l>
      <l n="1981">Bring thou this Fiend of Scotland, and my selfe</l>
      <l n="1982">Within my Swords length set him, if he scape</l>
      <l n="1983">Heauen forgiue him too.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-mac-mal">
      <speaker rend="italic">Mal.</speaker>
      <l n="1984">This time goes manly:</l>
      <l n="1985">Come go we to the King, our Power is ready,</l>
      <l n="1986">Our lacke is nothing but our leaue.<hi rend="italic">Macbeth</hi>
      </l>
      <l n="1987">Is ripe for shaking, and the Powres aboue</l>
      <l n="1988">Put on their Instruments: Receiue what cheere you may,</l>
      <l n="1989">The Night is long, that neuer findes the Day.</l>
   </sp>
   <stage rend="italic rightJustified" type="exit">Exeunt</stage>
</div>

        
        

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