Macbeth Part 7

Mes. Blesse you faire Dame: I am not to you known, Though in your state of Honor I am perfect; I doubt some danger do's approach you neerely.

If you will take a homely mans aduice, Be not found heere: Hence with your little ones To fright you thus. Me thinkes I am too sauage: To do worse to you, were fell Cruelty, Which is too nie your person. Heauen preserue you, I dare abide no longer.

Exit Messenger

Wife. Whether should I flye?

I haue done no harme. But I remember now I am in this earthly world: where to do harme Is often laudable, to do good sometime Accounted dangerous folly. Why then (alas) Do I put vp that womanly defence, To say I haue done no harme?

What are these faces?

Enter Murtherers.

Mur. Where is your Husband?

Wife. I hope in no place so vnsanctified, Where such as thou may'st finde him Mur. He's a Traitor

Son. Thou ly'st thou s.h.a.gge-ear'd Villaine

Mur. What you Egge?

Yong fry of Treachery?

Son. He ha's kill'd me Mother, Run away I pray you.

Exit crying Murther.

Scaena Tertia.

Enter Malcolme and Macduffe.

Mal. Let vs seeke out some desolate shade, & there 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 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, 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 You may discerne of him through me, and wisedome To offer vp a weake, poore innocent Lambe T' appease an angry G.o.d Macd. I am not treacherous

Malc. But Macbeth is.

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 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?

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. Bleed, bleed poore Country, Great Tyrrany, lay thou thy basis sure, For goodnesse dare not check thee: wear y thy wrongs, The t.i.tle, is affear'd. Far thee well Lord, I would not be the Villaine that thou think'st, For the whole s.p.a.ce 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, 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, When I shall treade vpon the Tyrants head, Or weare it on my Sword; yet my poore Country Shall haue more vices then it had before, More suffer, and more sundry wayes then euer, By him that shall succeede Macd. 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 Esteeme him as a Lambe, being compar'd With my confinelesse harmes Macd. Not in the Legions Of horrid h.e.l.l, can come a Diuell more d.a.m.n'd In euils, to top Macbeth Mal. I grant him b.l.o.o.d.y, 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, Your Matrons, and your Maides, could not fill vp The Cesterne of my l.u.s.t, and my Desire All continent Impediments would ore-beare That did oppose my will. Better Macbeth, Then such an one to reigne Macd. 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 Conuey your pleasures in a s.p.a.cious 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, Finding it so inclinde Mal. With this, there growes In my most ill-composd Affection, such A stanchlesse Auarice, that were I King, I should cut off the n.o.bles for their Lands, 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. This Auarice stickes deeper: growes with more pernicious roote Then Summer-seeming l.u.s.t: and it hath bin The Sword of our slaine Kings: yet do not feare, Scotland hath Foysons, to fill vp your will 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, Deuotion, Patience, Courage, Fort.i.tude, 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 h.e.l.l, 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. Fit to gouern? No not to liue. O Natio[n] miserable!

With an vnt.i.tled Tyrant, b.l.o.o.d.y Sceptred, When shalt thou see thy wholsome dayes againe?

Since that the truest Issue of thy Throne By his owne Interdiction stands accust, 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, Hath banish'd me from Scotland. O my Brest, Thy hope ends heere Mal. Macduff, this n.o.ble pa.s.sion Childe of integrity, hath from my soule Wip'd the blacke Scruples, reconcil'd my thoughts 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 G.o.d aboue Deale betweene thee and me; For euen now 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, Sca.r.s.ely 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 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 Be like our warranted Quarrell. Why are you silent?

Macd. Such welcome, and vnwelcom things at once 'Tis hard to reconcile.

Enter a Doctor.

Mal. Well, more anon. Comes the King forth I pray you?

Doct. I Sir: there are a crew of wretched Soules That stay his Cure: their malady conuinces The great a.s.say of Art. But at his touch, Such sanct.i.ty hath Heauen giuen his hand, They presently amend.

Enter.

Mal. 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, 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, 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, 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 G.o.d betimes remoue 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 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, Is there sca.r.s.e 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. 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. 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 n.i.g.g.ard of your speech: How gos't?

Rosse. When I came hither to transport the Tydings 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 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, 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, 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 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, 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 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, 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. 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 h.e.l.l-Kite! All?

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; 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 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, 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: 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.

Actus Quintus. Scena Prima.

Enter a Doctor of Physicke, and a Wayting Gentlewoman.

Doct. I haue too Nights watch'd with you, but can perceiue no truth in your report. When was it shee last walk'd? Gent. Since his Maiesty went into the Field, I haue seene her rise from her bed, throw her Night-Gown vppon her, vnlocke her Closset, take foorth paper, folde it, write vpon't, read it, afterwards Seale it, and againe returne to bed; yet all this while in a most fast sleepe

Doct. A great perturbation in Nature, to receyue at once the benefit of sleep, and do the effects of watching. In this slumbry agitation, besides her walking, and other actuall performances, what (at any time) haue you heard her say? Gent. That Sir, which I will not report after her

Doct. You may to me, and 'tis most meet you should

Gent. Neither to you, nor any one, hauing no witnesse to confirme my speech. Enter Lady, with a Taper.

Lo you, heere she comes: This is her very guise, and vpon my life fast asleepe: obserue her, stand close

Doct. How came she by that light?

Gent. Why it stood by her: she ha's light by her continually, 'tis her command Doct. You see her eyes are open

Gent. I, but their sense are shut