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There take an inventory of all I have,
To the last penny, tis the King's. My robe,
And my integrity to Heav'n, are all
I dare now call my own.

O Cromwell, Cromwell,
Had I but serv'd my, God with half the zeal
I serv'd my King, he would not in mine age
Have left ine naked to mine enemies,

Crom: Good Sir, have patience.

Wol. So I have. Farewell
The hopes of court! My hopes in Heaven do dwell.




Blow winds, and crack your cheeks; rage, blow!
You cataracts, and hurricanoes, spout
Til you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks !
You sulph'rous and thought-executing fires,
Singe my white head. And thou, ali-shaking thunder,
Strike flat the thick rotundity o'th? world:
Crack Nature's mould, all germins spill at once
That make ungrateful man!

Rumble thy belly full, spit fire, spout rain!
Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters.
I tax not you,' ve elements, with unkindness;
I never gave you kingdoms, call'd


children; You

ou owe me no subscription. Then let fall
Your horrible pleasure. Here I stand your brave,
A poor; infirm, weak, and despis'd old man;

yet I call you servile ministers,
Thať have with two pernicious daughters join'd
Your high engender'd baules, 'gainst a head,
So 'old and white as this. On! oh! 'tis foul.

Let the great gods,
That keep this dreadful pudder o'er our heads,
Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch,
That hast within thee undivulged crimes,

Unwhipp'd of justice! Hide thee, thou bloody hand;
Thou perjure, and thou simular of virtue,
That art incestuous! caitiff, shake to pieces
That, under cover of convivial seeming,
Has practis'd on man's life.-Close pent-up guilts,
Rive your concealing continents, and ask
Those dreadful summoners grace!lam a man,
More sinn'd agaiost, than sinning.




Is this a dagger which I see before me, Th' handle, toward my hand ? Come, let me clutch thee.I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling, as to sight? or art thou but A dagger of the mind, a false creation Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain? I see thee yet, in form as palpable As this which now I draw.. Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going; And such an instrument I was to use. Mine eyes are made the tools o'ih' other senses, Or else worth all the rest-I see thee still; And on the blade o'th' dudgeon, gouts of blood, Which was not so before.— There's no such thing.It is the bloody business, which informs Thus to mine eyes.- Now o’er one half the world Nature seems dead, and wicked creams abuse The curtain's sleep; now witclicraft celebrates Pale Hecate's offerings: and wither'd Murder, (Alarm’d by his centinel, the woll, Whose huwl's his watch,) thus with his stealthy pace, With Tarquin's ravishing strides, tow'rds his design Moves like a ghost.- Thou sound and firin-set earth. Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear

The very stones prate of my where-about;
And take the present horror from the time,
Which now suits with it.-While I Ihreat, he lives-
I go, and it is done; the bell invites me.
Hear it not, Duncan! for it is a knell
That summons thee to heaven or to hell.




MACD. See who comes here!
MAL. My countryman; but yet I know him not.
Macd. My ever gentle cousing welcome hither.

MAL. - I know him now, Good God, betimes remov The means that makes us strangers!

Rosse. Sir, Amen.
MacD, Stands Scotland where it did?

Rosse. 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 whom: and good men's lives
Expire before the flowers in their caps;
Dying or e'er they sicken.

MACD. Oh, relation
Too nice, and yet tou true!

Mal. What's the newest grief?

Rosse. That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker; Each minute teems a new one. Maci). How does


Rosse. Why, well.-
MACD. And all

my children:
Macd. The tyrant has not batter'd at their peace?

Well too.

Rosse. No; they were at peace when I did leave 'em. « MacD.

Be not a niggard of your speech: how goes it?
Rosse. When I came hither to transport the tidings,
Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumour
Of many worthy fellows that were out,
Which was to my belief witness'd the rather,
For that I saw the tyrant's power a-foot.
Now is the time of help; your eye in Scotland
Would create soldiers, and make women fight,
To doff their dire distressęs.

MAL. Be't their comfort
We're coming thither: gracious England hath
Lent us good Siward and ten thousand men;
An older, and a better soldier, none
That Christendom gives out.

Rosse. Would I could answer
This comfort with the like; but I have words
That would be howi'd out in the desert air,
Where hearing should not catch them..

MACD. What concern they?
The gen’ral cause? or is it a free grief,
Due to some single breas!?

Rosse. No mind that's honest,
But in it shares some wo; though the main part
Pertains to you afone,

Maćd. If it be mine,
Keep it not from me, quickly' let me have it.

Rosse. Let not your ear's despise my tongue for ever,
Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound,
That ever yet they heard.

MACD. Hum! I guess at it.

Rosse. Your castle is surpris'd, your wife and babes Savagely slaughter'd! to relate the manner, Were on the


of these murder'd deer To add the death of you.

MAL. Merciful Heav'n!
What, man! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows,
Give sor raw words! the grief that does not speak,
Whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it break.

Macu. My children too?.
Rosse. Wife, children, servants, all that could be found.

MacD. And I'must be from thence! my wife kill'd too?
Rosse. I've said.

MAL. Be comforted.
Let's make us med'cines of our great révenge,
To cure this deadly grief.

Macd. He has no children.-All my pretty ones!
Did you say all? what, all? oh, hell-kite! all'

Mal. Endure it like a man.

Macd. 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 Heav'n look ong'
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. Heav’n rest them now!

Mali Be this the whet-stone of your sword, let grief Convert to wrath; blunt not the heart, enrage il!

MacD. O, I could play the woman with mine eyes, And braggart with my tongue. But, gentle Heavo! 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, Then Heav'n forgive him too!

MAL.' This tune goes manly. Come, ĝo 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.




O PARDON me, thou bleeding piece of earth! That I am meek and genile with these butchers. Thou art the ruins of the noblest man

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