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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?
MACD. Such welcome and unwelcome things at
'Tis hard to reconcile.
Enter a Doctor. MAL. Well; more anon.—Comes the king forth,
pray you? Doct. Ay, sir; there are a crew of wretched souls That stay his cure: their malady convinces The great assay of art; but at his touchSuch sanctity hath heaven given his handThey presently amend. MAL. I thank
you, doctor. [Exit Doctor. MACD. What's the disease he means ? MAL.
'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 swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the
eye, The mere despair of surgery,
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
See, who comes here?
Good God, betimes
The means that makes us strangers !
Alas, poor country!
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.
What's the newest grief?
wife? Ross. Why, well. Macd.
Well too. Macd. The tyrant has not batter'd at their peace? Ross. No; they were well at peace when I did
leave 'em. Macd. Be not a niggard of your speech : how
Ross. 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, make our women fight, To doff their dire distresses. MAL.
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,
What concern they?
No mind that's honest But in it shares some woe; though the main part Pertains to you alone. Macd.
If it be mine, Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it. Ross. Let not your ears despise my tongue for
ever, Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound That ever yet they heard. MACD.
Hum! I guess at it. Ross. Your castle is surprised; 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 heaven ! What, man! ne'er pull your
hat Give sorrow words: the grief that does not speak Whispers the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break.
Macd. My children too?
Wife, children, servants, all
And I must be from thence! My wife kill'd too? Ross.
I have said.
upon your brows;
MACD. He has no children. All my pretty ones?
MAL Dispute it like a man.
I shall do so;
And would not take their part? Sinful Macduff,
Macd. O, I could play the woman with mine eyes
This tune goes manly.