Would create foldiers, make our women fight,
To doff their dire diftreffes.

Mal. Be it their comfort,

We are coming thither: gracious England hath
Lent us good Siward, and ten thousand men:
An older, and a better foldier, none

That Christendom gives out.

Roffe. 'Would I could answer

This comfort with the like! But I have words
That would be howl'd out in the defart air,
Where hearing should not catch them.
Macd. What concern they?

The general caufe? or is it a fee-grief,
Due to fome fingle breast?

Roffe. No mind that's honeft,

But in it shares fome woe; though the main part
Pertains to you alone.

Macd. If it be mine,

Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it.
Roffe. Let not your ears defpife my tongue for ever,
Which fhall poffefs them with the heaviest found,
That ever yet they heard.

Macd. Hum! I guefs at it..

Roffe. Your caftle is furpris'd; your wife, and babes, Savagely flaughter'd: to relate the manner, Were, on the quarry of thefe murder'd deer To add the death of you.

Mal. Merciful heaven!

What, man! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows; Give forry words: the grief that does not fpeak, Whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it break Macd. My children too?

Roffe. Wife, children, fervants, all That could be found.

Macd.

Macd. And I must be from thence!

My wife kill'd too?

Roffe. I have faid.

Mal. Be comforted:

Let's make us med'cines of our great revenge,
To cure this deadly grief.

Macd. He has no children.-All my pretty ones? Did you fay, all?-Oh, hell-kite!-All? What, all my pretty chickens and their dam, At one fell fwoop?

Mul. Difpute it like a man,

Macd. I fhall do fo;

But I must feel it as a man ;

I cannot but remember fuch things were,

That were moft precious to me.-Did heaven look on,
And would not take their part? Sinful Macduff,
They were all ftruck for thee! naught that I am,
Not for their own demerits, but for mine,
Fell flaughter on their fouls: Heaven reft them now!
Mal. Be this the whetstone of your fword: let grief
Convert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage it.
Macd. Oh,could I play the woman with mine eyes,
And braggart with my tongue!-But, gentle heaven,
Cut fhort all intermiffion; front to front,
Bring thou this fiend of Scotland, and myfelf:
Within my fword's length fet him; if he 'fcape,
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 fhaking, and the powers above

Put on their inftruments. Receive what cheer you may;
The night is long that never finds a day. [Exeunt.

ACT

ACT V.

SCENE I.

Enter a Doctor of Phyfic, and a Gentlewoman.

Doctor.

I HAVE two nights watch'd with you, but can perceive no truth in your report. When was it the laft walk'd?

Gent. Since his majesty went into the field, I have feen her rife from her bed, throw her night gown upon her, unlock her clofet, take forth paper, fold it, write upon it, read it, afterwards feal it, and again return to bed; yet all this while in a most fast fleep.

Doct. A great perturbation in nature! to receive at once the benefit of fleep, and do the effects of watching. In this flumbry agitation, befides her walking, and other actual performances, what, at any time, heard her say?

have you

Gent. That, fir, which I will not report after her. Doct. You may, to me; and 'tis moft meet you fhould.

Gent. Neither to you, nor any one; having no witnefs to confirm my speech.

Enter LADY MACBETH, with a taper.

Lo you, here she comes! This is her very guife: and upon my life, faft afleep. Obferve her; ftand clofe.

Doct. How came the by that light?

Gent. Why, it flood by her: fhe has light by her continually: 'tis her command.

Doc.

Doct. You fee her eyes are open.

Gent. Ay, but their fenfe is thut.

Doft. What is it fhe does now? Look, how she rubs her hands.

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

Lady. Yet here's a spot.

Doct. Hark, the fpeaks: I will fet down what comes from her, to fatisfy my remembrance the more ftrongly.

Lady. Out, damned fpot! out, I fay!-One; Two; Why, then, 'tis time to do't:-Hell is murky!--Fie, my lord, fie a foldier, and afraid! 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 fo much blood in him?

Doct. Do you mark that?

Lady. The thane of Fife had a wife; Where is fhe now?-What, will these hands ne'er be clean?No more o' that, my lord, no more o' that: you mar all with this. ftarting.

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

you

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

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

Doct. What a figh is there? The heart is forely charg'd.

Gent. I would not have fuch a heart in for the dignity of the whole body.

Dot. Well, well, well,

Gent.

Gent. Pray God, it be, fir.

Doct. This disease is beyond my practice: Yet I have known those which have walk'd in their fleep, who have died holily in their beds.

Lady. Wash your hands, put on your night-gown; look not fo pale :-I tell you yet again, Banquo's buried; he cannot come out of his grave.

Doct. Even fo?

Lady. 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 [Exit LADY Macbeth. Doct. Will the go now to bed?

bed.

Gent. Directly.

Doct.Foul whifperings are abroad: Unnatural deeds
Do breed unnatural troubles: Infected minds.
To their deaf pillows will discharge their fecrets.
More needs the the divine, than the phyfician.
God, God, forgive us all! Look after her;
Remove from her the means of all annoyance,
And ftill keep eyes upon her ;-So, good night:
My mind the has mated, and amaz'd my fight;
I think, but dare not fpeak.

Gent. Good night, good doctor.

SCENE II. Drum and Colours.

[Exeunt.

Enter MENTETH, CATHNESS, ANGUS, LENOX, and
Soldiers.

Men. The English power is near,led on by Malcolm,
His uncle Siward, and the good Macduff.
Revenges burn in them: for their deaf causes
Would, to the bleeding, and the grim alarin,
Excite the mortified man,

Ang.