Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Mal. I haue no rellish of them, but abound
Mal. In the diuision of each seuerall Crime,
Mal. Acting it many wayes. Nay, had I powre, I should
Mal. Poure the sweet Milke of Concord, into Hell,
Mal. Vprore the vniuersall peace, confound
Mal. All vnity on earth.
Macd. Macd.
Macd. O Scotland, Scotland.
Mal. Mal.
Mal. If such a one be fit to gouerne, speake:
Mal. I am as I haue spoken.
Mac. Mac.
Mac. Fit to gouern? No not to liue. O Natiō Nation miserable!
Mac. With an vntitled Tyrant, bloody Sceptred,
Mac. When shalt thou see thy wholsome dayes againe?
Mac. Since that the truest Issue of thy Throne
Mac. By his owne Interdiction stands accust,
Mac. And do's blaspheme his breed? Thy Royall Father
Mac. Was a most Sainted‑King: the Queene that bore thee,
Mac. Oftner vpon her knees, then on her feet,