Rosse, Let not your ears despise my tongue for ever,

Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound, That ever yet they heard.

Macd. Humph! I guess at it.

Rosse. Your castle is surpriz'd; your wife, and

babes

Savagely slaughter'd: to relate the manner,
Werc, on the quarry of these murder'd deer,
To add the death of you.

Mal. Merciful heaven!

What, man! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows; Give sorrow words: the grief, that does not speak, Whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it break. Macd. 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 have said.

Mal. Be comforted:

Let's make us medicines of our great revenge,

To cure this deadly grief.

Macd. He has no children.

All my pretty

ones?

Did you say, all?

What, all my pretty chickens, and their dam,
At one fell swoop?

Mal. Dispute 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.

look on,

Did heaven

And would not take their part? Sinful Macduff, They were all struck for thee! naught that I an

Not for their own demerits, but for mine,

Fell slaughter on their souls: Heaven rest them now!

Mal. Be this the whetstone of your sword; let grief

Convert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage it. Macd. O, I could play the woman with mine

eyes,

And braggart with my tongue!

heaven,

But, gentle

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!

Mal. 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.

A CT V.

SCENE 1.

Dunsinane. A Room in the Castle.

Enter a DOCTOR of physick, and a waiting Gentlewoman.

Doct. I have two nights watch'd with you, but can perceive no truth in your report. When was it she last walk'd?

Gent. Since his Majesty went into the field, I have seen her rise from her bed, throw her night-gown upon her, unlock her closet, take forth paper, fold it, write upon it, read it, afterwards seal it, and again returu to bed; yet all this while in a most fast sleep.

Doct. A great perturbation in nature? to receive at once the benefit of sleep, and do the cffects of watching. In this slumbry agitation, besides her walking, and other actual performanccs, what, at any time, have 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; having no witness to confirm my speech.

Enter Lady MACBETH, with a taper.

Lo you, here she comes! This is her very guise; and, upon my life, fast asleep. Observe her: stand close.

Doct. How came she by that light?

Gent. Why, it stood by her: she has light by her continually; 'tis her command.

Doct. You see, her eyes are open.

Gent. Ay, but their sense is shut.

Doct. What is it she does now? Look how she rubs her hands.

Gent. It is an accustom'd action with her, to seem thus washing her hands; 1 have known her continue in this a quarter of an hour.

Lady M. Yet here's a spot.

Doct. Hark, she speaks: I will set down what comes from her, to satisfy my rememberance the more strongly.

Lady M. Out, damned spot! out, I say! One; Two; Why, then 'tis time to do't: Hell is murky! Fie, my Lord, fie! a soldier and afear'd? What need we fear who knows it, when none can call our power to account? Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?

Doct. Do you mark that?

Lady M. The Thane of Fife had a wife; Where is she now?

ne'er be clean?

What, will these hands No more o' that, my Lord, no more o'that you mar all with this starting. Doct. Go to, go to; you have known what you should not.

Gent. She has spoke what she should not, I am sure of that: Heaven knows what she has

known.

Lady M. Here's the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh! oh! oh!

Doct. What a sigh is there? The heart is sorely charged.

Gent. I would not have such a heart in my bosom, for the dignity of the whole body.

Doct.

This disease is beyond my practice: Yet I have known those which have walk'd in their sleep, who have died holily in their beds. Lady M. Wash your hands, night-gown; look not so pale: again, Banquo's buried; he cannot his grave.

Doct. Even so?

Lady M.

put on your I tell you yet

come out of

To bed, to bed; there's knocking at the gate. Come, come, come, come, give me your hand; What's done, cannot be undone: To bed, to bed, to bed.

Do breed unnatural troubles: Infected minds

To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets. More needs she the divine, than the physician. God, God, forgive us all! Look after her; Remove from her the means of all annoyance, And still keep eyes upon her

So, good night:

My mind she has mated, and amaz'd my sight:

I think, but dare not speak.

Gent. Good night, good Doctor.

[Exeunt.