The Complete Works of William Shakespeare Part 320

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 n.i.g.g.ard 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 h.e.l.l-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.

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ACT V. SCENE I.

Dunsinane. Anteroom in the castle.

Enter a Doctor of Physic and a Waiting Gentlewoman.

DOCTOR. I have two nights watched with you, but can perceive no truth in your report. When was it she last walked?

GENTLEWOMAN. Since his Majesty went into the field, have seen her rise from her bed, throw her nightgown upon her, unlock her closet, take forth paper, fold it, write upon't, read it, afterwards seal it, and again return to bed; yet all this while in a most fast sleep.

DOCTOR. A great perturbation in nature, to receive at once the benefit of sleep and do the effects of watching! In this slumbery agitation, besides her walking and other actual performances, what, at any time, have you heard her say?

GENTLEWOMAN. That, sir, which I will not report after her.

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

GENTLEWOMAN. Neither to you nor anyone, 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.

DOCTOR. How came she by that light?

GENTLEWOMAN. Why, it stood by her. She has light by her continually; 'tis her command.

DOCTOR. You see, her eyes are open.

GENTLEWOMAN. Ay, but their sense is shut.

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

GENTLEWOMAN. It is an accustomed action with her, to seem thus was.h.i.+ng her hands. I have known her continue in this a quarter of an hour.

LADY MACBETH. Yet here's a spot.

DOCTOR. Hark, she speaks! I will set down what comes from her, to satisfy my remembrance the more strongly.

LADY MACBETH. Out, d.a.m.ned spot! Out, I say! One- two -why then 'tis time to do't. h.e.l.l is murky. Fie, my lord, fie! A soldier, and afeard? 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?

DOCTOR. Do you mark that?

LADY MACBETH. The Thane of Fife had a wife; where is she now? What, will these hands neer be clean? No more o' that, my lord, no more o' that. You mar all with this starting.

DOCTOR. Go to, go to; you have known what you should not.

GENTLEWOMAN. She has spoke what she should not, I am sure of that.

Heaven knows what she has known.

LADY MACBETH. Here's the smell of the blood still. All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh, oh, oh!

DOCTOR. What a sigh is there! The heart is sorely charged.

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

DOCTOR. Well, well, well- GENTLEWOMAN. Pray G.o.d it be, sir.

DOCTOR. This disease is beyond my practice. Yet I have known those which have walked in their sleep who have died holily in their beds.

LADY MACBETH. Wash your hands, put on your nightgown, look not so pale. I tell you yet again, Banquo's buried; he cannot come out on's grave.

DOCTOR. Even so?

LADY MACBETH. 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.

Exit.

DOCTOR. Will she go now to bed?

GENTLEWOMAN. Directly.

DOCTOR. Foul whisperings are abroad. Unnatural deeds Do breed unnatural troubles; infected minds To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets.

More needs she the divine than the physician.

G.o.d, G.o.d, 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 amazed my sight.

I think, but dare not speak.

GENTLEWOMAN. Good night, good doctor.

Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The country near Dunsinane. Drum and colors.