Was once thought honest: you have lov'd him well; He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young; but some thing You may deserve of him through me; and wisdom To appease an angry god. Macd. I am not treacherous. Mal. But Macbeth is. A good and virtuous nature may recoil, In an imperial charge. But 'crave your pardon; Macd. I have lost my hopes. Mal. Perchance, even there, where I did find my doubts. Why in that rawness left you wife, and child, (Those precious motives, those strong knots of love,) Without leave-taking?—I pray you, Let not my jealousies be your dishonours, But mine own safeties:-You may be rightly just, Macd. Bleed, bleed, poor country! Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure, For goodness dares not check thee! wear thou thy wrongs, Thy title is affeer'd !-Fare thee well, lord: I would not be the villain, that thou think'st, For the whole space that's in the tyrant's grasp, Mal. Be not offended: I speak not as in absolute fear of you. I think, our country sinks beneath the yoke; Macd. What should he be ? Mal. It is myself, I mean: in whom I know That, when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth Macd. Not in the legions Of horrid hell, can come a devil more damn'd Mal. I grant him bloody, Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful, udden, malicious, smacking of every sin All continent impediments would o'er-bear, Macd. Boundless intemperance In nature is a tyranny; it hath been The untimely emptying of the happy throne, As will to greatness dedicate themselves, Mal. With this, there grows, In my most ill-compos'd affection, such Macd. This avarice Sticks deeper; grows with more pernicious root Of your mere own: All these are portable, With other graces weigh'd. Mal. But I have none: The king-becoming graces, As justice, verity, temperance, stableness, Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness, In the division of each several crime, Acting in many ways. Nay, had I power, I should Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell, Uproar the universal peace, confound All unity on earth. Macd. O Scotland! Scotland! Mal. If such a one be fit to govern, speak: I am as I have spoken. Macd. Fit to govern! No, not to live.-O nation miserable, When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again? By his own interdiction stands accurs'd, And does blaspheme his breed?-Thy royal father Was a most sainted king; the queen, that bore thee, Oftner upon her knees than on her feet, Died every day she lived. Fare thee well! These evils, thou repeat'st upon thyself, Have banish'd me from Scotland.-O, my breast, Mal. Macduff, this noble passion, Child of integrity, hath from my soul Wip'd the black scruples, reconcil'd my thoughts For strangers to my nature. I am yet No less in truth, than life: my first false speaking Now we'll together; And the chance, of goodness, Enter a Doctor. Mal. Well; more anon.-Comes the king forth, I 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 touch, Such sanctity hath heaven given his hand, They presently amend. Mal. I thank you, doctor. Macd. What's the disease he means? Mal. 'Tis call'd the evil: [Exit Doctor. A most miraculous work in this good king; I have seen him do. How he solicits heaven, |