Reading Help THE TRAGEDY OF MACBETH
Finding it so inclined. `
` MALCOLM. With this there grows `
` In my most ill-composed affection such `
` A stanchless avarice that, were I King, `
` I should cut off the nobles for their lands, `
` Desire his jewels and this other's house, `
` And my more-having would be as a sauce `
` To make me hunger more, that I should forge `
` Quarrels unjust against the good and loyal, `
` Destroying them for wealth. `
` MACDUFF. This avarice `
` Sticks deeper, grows with more pernicious root `
` Than summer-seeming lust, and it hath been `
` The sword of our slain kings. Yet do not fear; `
` Scotland hath foisons to fill up your will `
` Of your mere own. All these are portable, `
` With other graces weigh'd. `
` MALCOLM. But I have none. The king-becoming graces, `
` As justice, verity, temperance, 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. `
` MACDUFF. O Scotland, Scotland! `
` MALCOLM. If such a one be fit to govern, speak. `
` I am as I have spoken. `
` MACDUFF. Fit to govern? `
` No, not to live. O nation miserable! `
` With an untitled tyrant bloody-scepter'd, `
` When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again, `
` Since that the truest issue of thy throne `
` By his own interdiction stands accursed `
` And does blaspheme his breed? Thy royal father `
` Was a most sainted king; the queen that bore thee, `
` Oftener upon her knees than on her feet, `
` Died 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! `
` MALCOLM. Macduff, this noble passion, `
` Child of integrity, hath from my soul `
` Wiped the black scruples, reconciled my thoughts `
` To thy good truth and honor. Devilish 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 laid upon myself, `
` For strangers 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 false 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 Siward, with ten thousand warlike men `
` Already at a point, was setting forth. `
` Now we'll together, and the chance of goodness `
` Be like our warranted quarrel! Why are you silent? `
` MACDUFF. Such welcome and unwelcome things at once `
` 'Tis hard to reconcile. `
` `
` Enter a Doctor. `
` `
` MALCOLM. Well, more anon. Comes the King forth, I pray you? `
` DOCTOR. Ay, sir, there are a crew of wretched souls `
` That stay his cure. Their malady convinces `
` The great assay of art, but at his touch, `
` Such sanctity hath heaven given his hand, `
` They presently amend. `
` MALCOLM. I thank you, Doctor. Exit Doctor. `
` MACDUFF. What's the disease he means? `
` MALCOLM. 'Tis call'd the evil: `
` A most miraculous work in this good King, `
` Which often, since my here-remain in England, `
` I have seen him do. How he solicits heaven, `
` Himself best knows; but strangely-visited people, `
` All swol'n and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye, `
` The mere 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 Ross. `
` `
` MACDUFF. See, who comes here? `
` MALCOLM. My countryman, but yet I know him not. `
` MACDUFF. My ever gentle cousin, welcome hither. `
` MALCOLM. I know him now. Good God, betimes remove `
` The means that makes us strangers! `
` ROSS. Sir, amen. `
` MACDUFF. Stands Scotland where it did? `
` ROSS. Alas, poor country, `
` Almost afraid to know itself! It cannot `
` Be call'd our mother, but our grave. Where nothing, `
` But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile; `
` Where sighs and groans and shrieks that rend the air, `
` Are made, not mark'd; where violent sorrow seems `
` A modern ecstasy. 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 sicken. `
` MACDUFF. O, relation `
` Too nice, and yet too true! `
` MALCOLM. What's the newest grief? `
` ROSS. That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker; `
` Each minute teems a new one. `
` MACDUFF. How does my wife? `
` ROSS. Why, well. `
` MACDUFF. And all my children? `
` ROSS. Well too. `
` MACDUFF. The tyrant has not batter'd at their peace? `
` ROSS. No, they were well at peace when I did leave 'em. `
` MACDUFF. Be not a niggard of your speech. How goest? `
` ROSS. When I came hither to transport the tidings, `
` Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumor `
` Of many worthy fellows that were out, `
` Which was to my belief witness'd the rather, `
` For that I saw the tyrant's power afoot. `
` Now is the time of help; your eye in Scotland `
` Would create soldiers, make our women fight, `
` To doff their dire distresses. `
` MALCOLM. Be't their comfort `
` We are coming thither. Gracious England hath `
` Lent us good Siward and ten thousand men; `
` An older and a better soldier none `
` That Christendom gives out. `
` ROSS. 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. `
` MACDUFF. What concern they? `
` The general cause? Or is it a fee-grief `
` Due to some single breast? `
` ROSS. No mind that's honest `
` But in it shares some woe, though the main part `
` Pertains to you alone. `
` MACDUFF. If it be mine, `
` Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it. `
` ROSS. Let not your ears despise my tongue forever, `
` Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound `
` That ever yet they heard. `
` MACDUFF. Humh! I guess at it. `
` ROSS. Your castle is surprised; 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. `
` MALCOLM. Merciful heaven! `
` What, man! Neer pull your hat upon your brows; `
` Give sorrow words. The grief that does not speak `
` Whispers the o'erfraught heart, and bids it break. `
` MACDUFF. My children too? `
` ROSS. Wife, children, servants, all `
` That could be found. `
` MACDUFF. And I must be from thence! `
` My wife kill'd too? `
` ROSS. I have said. `
` MALCOLM. Be comforted. `
` Let's make us medicines of our great revenge, `
` To cure this deadly grief. `
` MACDUFF. He has no children. All my pretty ones? `
` Did you say all? O hell-kite! All? `
` What, all my pretty chickens and their dam `
` At one fell swoop? `
` MALCOLM. Dispute it like a man. `
` MACDUFF. I shall do so, `
` But I must also feel it as a man. `
` I cannot but remember such things were `
` That were most precious to me. Did heaven look on, `
` And would not take their part? Sinful Macduff, `
` They were all struck for thee! Naught that I am, `
` Not for their own demerits, but for mine, `
` Fell slaughter on their souls. Heaven rest them now! `
` MALCOLM. Be this the whetstone of your sword. Let grief `
` Convert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage it. `
` MACDUFF. O, I could play the woman with mine eyes `
` And braggart with my tongue! But, gentle heavens, `
` Cut short all intermission; front to front `
` Bring thou this fiend of Scotland and myself; `
` Within my sword's length set him; if he 'scape, `
` Heaven forgive him too! `
` MALCOLM. This tune goes manly. `
` Come, go we to the King; our power is ready, `
` Our lack is nothing but our leave. Macbeth `
` Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above `
` Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer you may, `
` The night is long that never finds the day. Exeunt. `
` `
` `
`
` MALCOLM. With this there grows `
` In my most ill-composed affection such `
` A stanchless avarice that, were I King, `
` I should cut off the nobles for their lands, `
` Desire his jewels and this other's house, `
` And my more-having would be as a sauce `
` To make me hunger more, that I should forge `
` Quarrels unjust against the good and loyal, `
` Destroying them for wealth. `
` MACDUFF. This avarice `
` Sticks deeper, grows with more pernicious root `
` Than summer-seeming lust, and it hath been `
` The sword of our slain kings. Yet do not fear; `
` Scotland hath foisons to fill up your will `
` Of your mere own. All these are portable, `
` With other graces weigh'd. `
` MALCOLM. But I have none. The king-becoming graces, `
` As justice, verity, temperance, 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. `
` MACDUFF. O Scotland, Scotland! `
` MALCOLM. If such a one be fit to govern, speak. `
` I am as I have spoken. `
` MACDUFF. Fit to govern? `
` No, not to live. O nation miserable! `
` With an untitled tyrant bloody-scepter'd, `
` When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again, `
` Since that the truest issue of thy throne `
` By his own interdiction stands accursed `
` And does blaspheme his breed? Thy royal father `
` Was a most sainted king; the queen that bore thee, `
` Oftener upon her knees than on her feet, `
` Died 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! `
` MALCOLM. Macduff, this noble passion, `
` Child of integrity, hath from my soul `
` Wiped the black scruples, reconciled my thoughts `
` To thy good truth and honor. Devilish 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 laid upon myself, `
` For strangers 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 false 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 Siward, with ten thousand warlike men `
` Already at a point, was setting forth. `
` Now we'll together, and the chance of goodness `
` Be like our warranted quarrel! Why are you silent? `
` MACDUFF. Such welcome and unwelcome things at once `
` 'Tis hard to reconcile. `
` `
` Enter a Doctor. `
` `
` MALCOLM. Well, more anon. Comes the King forth, I pray you? `
` DOCTOR. Ay, sir, there are a crew of wretched souls `
` That stay his cure. Their malady convinces `
` The great assay of art, but at his touch, `
` Such sanctity hath heaven given his hand, `
` They presently amend. `
` MALCOLM. I thank you, Doctor. Exit Doctor. `
` MACDUFF. What's the disease he means? `
` MALCOLM. 'Tis call'd the evil: `
` A most miraculous work in this good King, `
` Which often, since my here-remain in England, `
` I have seen him do. How he solicits heaven, `
` Himself best knows; but strangely-visited people, `
` All swol'n and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye, `
` The mere 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 Ross. `
` `
` MACDUFF. See, who comes here? `
` MALCOLM. My countryman, but yet I know him not. `
` MACDUFF. My ever gentle cousin, welcome hither. `
` MALCOLM. I know him now. Good God, betimes remove `
` The means that makes us strangers! `
` ROSS. Sir, amen. `
` MACDUFF. Stands Scotland where it did? `
` ROSS. Alas, poor country, `
` Almost afraid to know itself! It cannot `
` Be call'd our mother, but our grave. Where nothing, `
` But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile; `
` Where sighs and groans and shrieks that rend the air, `
` Are made, not mark'd; where violent sorrow seems `
` A modern ecstasy. 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 sicken. `
` MACDUFF. O, relation `
` Too nice, and yet too true! `
` MALCOLM. What's the newest grief? `
` ROSS. That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker; `
` Each minute teems a new one. `
` MACDUFF. How does my wife? `
` ROSS. Why, well. `
` MACDUFF. And all my children? `
` ROSS. Well too. `
` MACDUFF. The tyrant has not batter'd at their peace? `
` ROSS. No, they were well at peace when I did leave 'em. `
` MACDUFF. Be not a niggard of your speech. How goest? `
` ROSS. When I came hither to transport the tidings, `
` Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumor `
` Of many worthy fellows that were out, `
` Which was to my belief witness'd the rather, `
` For that I saw the tyrant's power afoot. `
` Now is the time of help; your eye in Scotland `
` Would create soldiers, make our women fight, `
` To doff their dire distresses. `
` MALCOLM. Be't their comfort `
` We are coming thither. Gracious England hath `
` Lent us good Siward and ten thousand men; `
` An older and a better soldier none `
` That Christendom gives out. `
` ROSS. 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. `
` MACDUFF. What concern they? `
` The general cause? Or is it a fee-grief `
` Due to some single breast? `
` ROSS. No mind that's honest `
` But in it shares some woe, though the main part `
` Pertains to you alone. `
` MACDUFF. If it be mine, `
` Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it. `
` ROSS. Let not your ears despise my tongue forever, `
` Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound `
` That ever yet they heard. `
` MACDUFF. Humh! I guess at it. `
` ROSS. Your castle is surprised; 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. `
` MALCOLM. Merciful heaven! `
` What, man! Neer pull your hat upon your brows; `
` Give sorrow words. The grief that does not speak `
` Whispers the o'erfraught heart, and bids it break. `
` MACDUFF. My children too? `
` ROSS. Wife, children, servants, all `
` That could be found. `
` MACDUFF. And I must be from thence! `
` My wife kill'd too? `
` ROSS. I have said. `
` MALCOLM. Be comforted. `
` Let's make us medicines of our great revenge, `
` To cure this deadly grief. `
` MACDUFF. He has no children. All my pretty ones? `
` Did you say all? O hell-kite! All? `
` What, all my pretty chickens and their dam `
` At one fell swoop? `
` MALCOLM. Dispute it like a man. `
` MACDUFF. I shall do so, `
` But I must also feel it as a man. `
` I cannot but remember such things were `
` That were most precious to me. Did heaven look on, `
` And would not take their part? Sinful Macduff, `
` They were all struck for thee! Naught that I am, `
` Not for their own demerits, but for mine, `
` Fell slaughter on their souls. Heaven rest them now! `
` MALCOLM. Be this the whetstone of your sword. Let grief `
` Convert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage it. `
` MACDUFF. O, I could play the woman with mine eyes `
` And braggart with my tongue! But, gentle heavens, `
` Cut short all intermission; front to front `
` Bring thou this fiend of Scotland and myself; `
` Within my sword's length set him; if he 'scape, `
` Heaven forgive him too! `
` MALCOLM. This tune goes manly. `
` Come, go we to the King; our power is ready, `
` Our lack is nothing but our leave. Macbeth `
` Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above `
` Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer you may, `
` The night is long that never finds the day. Exeunt. `
` `
` `
`