MACBETH

So foul and fair a day I have not seen. Stay you imperfect Speakers, tell me more: By Sinells death, I know I am Thane of Glamis, But how, of Cawdor? the Thane of Cawdor lives A prosperous Gentleman: And to be King, Stands not within the prospect of belief, No more then to be Cawdor. Say from whence You owe this strange Intelligence, or why Upon this blasted Heath you stop our way With such Prophetic greeting? Speak, I charge you. Into the Air: and what seemed corporal, Melted, as breath into the Wind. Would they had stayed. Your Children shall be Kings. And Thane of Cawdor too: went it not so? The Thane of Cawdor lives: Why do you dress me in borrowed Robes? Glamys, and Thane of Cawdor: The greatest is behind. Thanks for your pains. Do you not hope your Children shall be Kings, When those that gave the Thane of Cawdor to me, Promised no less to them. Two Truths are told, As happy Prologues to the swelling Act Of the Imperial Theme. I thank you Gentlemen: This supernatural soliciting Cannot be ill; cannot be good. If ill? why hath it given me earnest of success, Commencing in a Truth? I am Thane of Cawdor. If good? why do I yield to that suggestion, Whose horrid Image does unfix my Heir, And make my seated Heart knock at my Ribs, Against the use of Nature? Present Fears Are less then horrible Imaginings: My Thought, whose Murder yet is but fantastical, Shakes so my single state of Man, That Function is smothered in surmise, And nothing is, but what is not. If Chance will have me King, Why Chance may Crown me, Without my stir. Come what come may, Time, and the Hour, runs through the roughest Day. Give me your favour: My dull Brain was wrought with things forgotten. Kind Gentlemen, your pains are registered, Where every day I turn the Lease, To read them. Let us towards the King: think upon What hath chanced: and at more time, The Interim having weighed it let us speak Our free Hearts each to other. Till then enough: Come friends. The service, and the loyalty I owe, In doing it, pays it self. Your Highness partly, is to receive our Duties: And our Duties are to your Throne, and State, Children, and Servants; which do but what they should, By doing every thing safe towards your Love And Honour. The Rest is Labour, which is not used for you: I'll be my self the Herbenger, and make joyful The hearing of my Wife, with your approach: So humbly take my leave. The Prince of Cumberland: that is a step, On which I must fallen down, or else o're-leape, For in my way it lies. Stars hide your fires, Let not Light see my black and deep desires: The Eye wink at the Hand; yet let that be, Which the Eye fears, when it is done to see. My dearest Love, Duncan comes here to Night. To morrow, as he purposes. We will speak further. If it were done, when it's done, then 'twer well, It were done quickly: If the Assassination Could trammel up the Consequence, and catch With his surcease, Success: that but this blow Might be the be all, and the end all. Here, But here, upon this Bank and School of time, Wee'ld jump the life to come. But in these Cases, We still have judgement here, that we but teach Bloody Instructions, which being taught, return To plague the Inventer, This even-handed Justice Commends the Ingredience of our poisoned Chalice To our own lips. He's here in double trust; First, as I am his Kinsman, and his Subject, Strong both against the Deed: Then, as his Host, Who should against his Murderer shut the door, Not bear the knife my self. Beside, this Duncan Hath born his Faculties so meek; hath been So clear in his great Office, that his Virtues Will plead Like Angels, Trumpet-tongued against The deep damnation of his taking off: And Pity, Like a naked New-borne-Babe, Striding the blast, or Heavens Cherubin, horsed Upon the sightless Curriors of the Air, Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye, That tears shall drown the wind. I have no Spur To prick the sides of my intent, but only Vaulting Ambition, which ore-leapes it self, And falls on the other. How now? What News? Prithee peace: I dare do all that may become a man, Who dares no more, is none. If we should fail? Bring forth Men-Children only: For thy undaunted Mettle should compose Nothing but Males. Will it not be received, When we have marked with blood those sleepy two Of his own Chamber, and used their very Daggers, That they have don't? I am settled, and bend up Each corporal Agent to this terrible Feat. Away, and mock the time with fairest show, False Face must hide what the false Heart does know. A Friend. I think not of them: Yet when we can entreat and hour to serve, We would spend it in some words upon that Business, If you would grant the time. If you shall cleave to my consent, When it's, it shall make Honour for you. Good repose the while. Go bid thy Mistress, when my drink is ready, She strike upon the Bell. Get thee to bed. Is this a Dagger, which I see before me, The Handle towards my Hand? Come, let me clutch thee: I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not fatal Vision, sensible To feeling, as to sighed? or art thou but A Dagger of the Mind, a false Creation, Proceeding from the heat-oppressed Brain? I see thee yet, in form as palpable, As this which now I draw. Thou marshalest me the way that I was going, And such and Instrument I was to use. Mine Eyes are made the fools of the other Senses, Or else worth all the rest: I see thee still; And on thy Blade, and Dudgeon, Gouts of Blood, Which was not so before. There's no such thing: It is the bloody Business, which informs Thus to mine Eyes. Now over the one half World Nature seems dead, and wicked Dreams abuse The Curtained sleep: Witchcraft celebrates Pale Heccats Offerings: and withered Murder, Alarmed by his Centinel, the Wolf, Whose howle's his Watch, thus with his stealthy pace, With Tarquin's ravishing sides, towards his design Moves Like a Ghost. Thou sour and firme-set Earth Hear not my steps, which they may walk, for fear Thy very stones prate of my whereabout, And take the present horror from the time, Which now suits with it. While I threat, he lives: Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives. I go, and it is done: the Bell invites me. Hear it not, Duncan, for it is a Knell, That summons thee to Heaven, or to Hell. Who's there? what hoa? I have done the deed: Didst thou not hear a noise? When? As I descended? Hark, who lies in the second Chamber? There's one did laugh in's sleep, And one cried Murder, that they did wake each other: I stood, and herd them: But they did say their Prayers, And addressed them again to sleep. One cried God bless us, and Amen the other, As they had seen me with these Hangmans hands: Listening their fear, I could not say Amen, When they did say God bless us. Me thought I herd a voice cry, Sleep no more: Macbeth does murder Sleep, the innocent Sleep, Sleep that knits up the raveled Sleeve of Care, The death of each days Life, soar Labors Both, Balm of hurt Minds, great Nature's second Course, Chief nourisher in Life's Feast. Still it cried, Sleep no more to all the House: Glamis hath murdered Sleep, and therefore Cawdor Shall sleep no more: Macbeth shall sleep no more. I'll go no more: I am afraid, to think what I have done: Look on't again, I dare not. Whence is that knocking? How is't with me, when every noise appalls me? What Hands are here? hah: they pluck out mine Eyes. Will all great Neptune's Ocean wash this blood Clean from my Hand? no: this my Hand will rather The multitudinous Seas incarnardine, Making the Green one, Read. To know my deed, 'Twere best not know my self. Wake Duncan with thy knocking: I would thou couldst. Good morrow both. Not yet. The labour we delight in, Physics pain: This is the Door. He does: he did appoint so. 'Twas a rough Night. What is't you say, the Life? Had I but died and hour before this chance, I had lived a blessed time: for from this instant, There's nothing serious in Mortality: All is but Toys: Renown and Grace is dead, The Wine of Life is drawn, and the mere Lees Is left this Vault, to brag of. You are, and do not know't: The Spring, the Head, the Fountain of your Blood Is stopped, the very Source of it is stopped. Oh, yet I do repent me of my fury, That I did kill them. Who can be wise, amazed, temperate, & furious, Loyal, and Neutral, in a moment? No man: the expedition of my violent Love Outrun the pawser, Reason. Here lay Duncan, His Silver skin, laced with his Golden Blood, And his gashed Stabs, looked Like a Breach in Nature, For Ruins wasteful entrance: there the Murderers, Steeped in the Colours of their Trade; their Daggers Unmannerly breeched with gore: who could refrain, That had a heart to love; and in that heart, Courage, to make's love known? Let's briefly put on manly readiness, And meet in the Hall together. Here's our chief Guest. To night we hold a solemn Supper sir, And I'll request your presence. Ride you this afternoon? We should have else desired your good advice (Which still hath been both graven, and prosperous) In this days Council: but we'll take to morrow. Is't far you ride? Fail not our Feast. We hear our bloody Cozens are bestowed In England, and in Ireland, not confessing Their cruel Parricide, filling their hearers With strange invention. But of that to morrow, When therewithal, we shall have cause of State, Craving us jointly. High you to Horse: Adieu, till you return at Night. Goes Fleance with you? I wish your Horses swift, and sure of foot: And so I do commend you to their backs. Farewell. Let every man be master of his time, Till seven at Night, to make society The sweeter welcome: We will keep our self till Supper time alone: While then, God be with you. Sirrah, a word with you: Attend those men Our pleasure? Bring them before us. To be thus, is nothing, but to be safely thus: Our fears in Banquo stick deep, And in his Royalty of Nature reigns that Which would be feared. It's much he dares, And to that dauntless temper of his Mind, He hath a Wisdom, that does guide his Valour, To act in safety. There is none but he, Whose being I do fear: and under him, My Genius is rebuked, as it is said Mark Anthony's was by Caesar. He chid the Sisters, When first they put the Name of King upon me, And bade them speak to him. Then Prophet-like, They hailed him Father to a Line of Kings. Upon my Head they placed a fruitless Crown, And put a barren Sceptre in my Gripe, Thence to be wrenched with and unlineal Hand, No Son of mine succeeding: if it be so, For Banquo's Issue have I filled my Mind, For them, the gracious Duncan have I murdered, Put Rancour's in the Vessel of my Peace Only for them, and mine eternal Jewel Given to the common Enemy of Man, To make them Kings, the Seeds of Banquo Kings. Rather then so, come Fate into the Lift, And champion me to the utterance. Who's there? Now go to the Door, and stay there till we call. Was it not yesterday we spoke together? Well then, Now have you considered of my speeches: Know, that it was he, in the times passed, Which held you so under fortune, Which you thought had been our innocent self. This I made good to you, in our last conference, Passed in probation with you: How you were born in hand, how crossed: The Instruments: who wrought with them: And all things else, that might To half a Soul, and to a Notion crazed, Say, Thus did Banquo. I did so: And went further, which is now Our point of second meeting. Do you find your patience so predominant, In your nature, that you can let this go? Are you so Gospell'd, to pray for this good man, And for his Issue, whose heavy hand Hath bowed you to the Grave, and beggared Yours for ever? I, in the Catalogue you go for men, As Hounds, and Greyhouds, Mungrels, Spaniels, Curs, Showghes, Water-Rugs, and Demy-Wolues are clipped All by the Name of Dogs: the valued file Distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle, The Housekeeper, the Hunter, every one According to the gift, which bounteous Nature Hath in him closed: whereby he does receive Particular addition from the Bill, That writes them all alike: and so of men. Now, if you have a station in the file, Not in the worst rank of Manhood say't, And I will put that Business in your Bosoms, Whose execution takes your Enemy off, Grapples you to the heart; and love of us, Who wear our Health but sickly in his Life, Which in his Death were perfect. Both of you know Banquo was your Enemy. So is he mine: and in such bloody distance, That every minute of his being, thrusts Against my nearest of Life: and though I could With barefaced power sweep him from my sighed, And bid my will avouch it; yet I must not, For certain friends that are both his, and mine, Whose loves I may not drop, but wail his fallen, Who I my self struck down: and thence it is, That I to your assistance do make love, Masking the Business from the common Eye, For sundry weighty Reasons. Your Spirits shine through you. Within this hour, at most, I will advise you where to plant your selves, Acquaint you with the perfect Spy of the time, The moment on't, for't must be done to Night, And something from the Palace: always thought, That I require a clearness; and with him, To leave no Rubs nor Botches in the Work: Fleans, his Son, that keeps him company, Whose absence is no less material to me, Then is his Father's, must embrace the fate Of that dark hour: resolve your selves apart, I'll come to you anon. I'll call upon you straight: abide within, It is concluded: Banquo, thy Souls flight, If it find Heaven, must find it out to Night. We have scorched the Snake, not killed it: Shee'le close, and be her self, whilst our poor Malice Remains in danger of her former Tooth. But let the frame of things dis-ioynt, Both the World's suffer, Ere we will eat our Meal in fear, and sleep In the affliction of these terrible Dreams, That shake us Nightly: Better be with the dead, Whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace, Then on the torture of the Mind to lie In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his Grave: After Life's fitfull Fever, he sleeps well, Treason ha done his worst: nor Steel, nor Poison, Malice domestic, foreign Levy, nothing, Can touch him further. So shall I Love, and so I pray be you: Let your remembrance apply to Banquo, Present him Eminence, both with Eye and Tongue: Unsafe the while, that we must laue Our Honours in these flattering streams, And make our Faces Vizards to our Hearts, Disguising what they are. Oh, full of Scorpions is my Mind, deer Wife: Thou knowest, that Banquo and his Fleans lives. There's comfort yet, they are assaileable, Then be thou jocund: ere the Bat hath flown His Cloistered flight, ere to black Heccats summons The shard-borne Beetle, with his drowsy hums, Hath rung Nights yawning Peal, There shall be done a deed of dreadful note. Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest Chuck, Till thou applaud the deed: Come, feeling Night, Scarf up the tender Eye of pitiful Day, And with thy bloody and invisible Hand Cancel and tear to pieces that great Bound, Which keeps me pale. Light thickens, And the Crow makes Wing toth' Rooky Wood: Good things of Day begin to droop, and drowse, While Nights black Agents to their Prey's do rouse. Thou marvelest at my words: but hold thee still, Things bade begun, make strong themselves by ill: So prithee go with me. You know your own degrees, fit down: At first and last, the hearty welcome. Our self will mingle with Society, And play the humble Host: Our Hostess keeps her State, but in best time We will require her welcome. See they encounter thee with their hearts thanks Both sides are even: here I'll fit in the midst, Be large in mirth, anon we'll drink a Measure The Table round. There's blood upon thy face. It's better thee without, then he within. Is he dispatched? Then comes my Fit again: I had else been perfect; Whole as the Marble, founded as the Rock, As broad, and general, as the casing Air: But now I am cabined, cribbed, confined, bound in To saucy doubts, and fears. But Banquo is safe? Thanks for that: There the grown Serpent lies, the worm that's fled Hath Nature that in time will Venom breed, No teeth for the present. Get thee gone, to morrow We'll hear our selves again. Sweet Remembrancer: Now good digestion wait on Appetite, And health on both. Here had we now our Countries Honour, roofed, Were the graced person of our Banquo present: Who, may I rather challenge for unkindness, Then pity for Mischance. The Table's full. Where? Which of you have done this? Thou canst not say I did it: never shake Thy gory locks at me. I, and a bold one, that dare look on that Which might appall the Devil. If I stand here, I saw him. Blood hath be shed ere now, in the olden time Ere humane Statute purged the gentle Weal: I, and since too, Murders have be performed Too terrible for the ear. The times has be, That when the Brains were out, the man would die, And there and end: But now they rise again With twenty mortal murders on their crowns, And push us from our stools. This is more strange Then such a murder is. I do forget: Do not muse at me my most worthy Friends, I have a strange infirmity, which is nothing To those that know me. Come, love and health to all, Then I'll fit down: Give me some Wine, fill full: I drink to the general joy of the whole Table, And to our deer Friend Banquo, whom we miss: Would he were here: to all, and him we thirst, And all to all. What man dare, I dare: Approach thou Like the rugged Russian Bear, The armed Rhinoceros, or the Hircan Tiger, Take any shape but that, and my firm Nerves Shall never tremble. Or be alive again, And dare me to the Desert with thy Sword: If trembling I inhabit then, protest me The Baby of a Girl. Hence horrible shadow, Unreal mockery hence. Why so, being gone I am a man again: pray you fit still. Can such things be, And overcome us Like a Summer's Cloud, Without our special wonder? You make me strange Even to the disposition that I owe, When now I think you can behold such sights, And keep the natural Ruby of your Cheeks, When mine is blanched with fear. It will have blood they say: Blood will have Blood: Stones have been known to move, & Trees to speak: Augurs, and understood Relations, have By Maggot Pies, & Choughs & Rooks brought forth The secretest man of Blood. What is the night? How sayest thou that Macduff denies his person At our great bidding. I hear it by the way: But I will send: There's not a one of them but in his house I keep a Servant Feed. I will to morrow (And betimes I will) to the weyard Sisters. More shall they speak: for now I am bent to know By the worst means, the worst, for mine own good, All causes shall give way. I am in blood Stepped in so far, that should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go over: Strange things I have in head, that will to hand, Which must be acted, ere they may be scanned. Come, we'll to sleep: My strange & self-abuse Is the initiate fear, that wants hard use: We are yet but young indeed. How now you secret, black, & midnight Hags? What is't you do? I conjure you, by that which you Profess, (How ere you come to know it) answer me: Though you untie the Winds, and let them fight Against the Churches: Though the yesty Waves Confound and swallow Navigation up: Though bladed Corn be lodged, & Trees blown down, Though Castles topple on their Warders heads: Though Palaces, and Pyramids do slope Their heads to their Foundations: Though the treasure Of Nature's Germane, tumble altogether, Even till destruction sicken: Answer me To what I ask you. Call they: let me see they. Tell me, thou unknown power. What ere thou art, for thy good caution, thanks Thou hast harped my fear aright. But one word more. Had I three ears, Ill hear thee. That will never be: Who can impress the Forest, bid the Tree Unfix his earthbound Root? Sweet boadments, good: Rebellious dead, rise never till the Wood Of Byrnan rise, and our high placed Macbeth Shall live the Lease of Nature, pay his breath To time, and mortal Custom. Yet my Heart Throbs to know one thing: Tell me, if your Art Can tell so much: Shall Banquo is issue ever Reign in this Kingdom? I will be satisfied. Deny me this, And and eternal Curse fallen on you: Let me know. Why Sinks that Caldron? & what noise is this? Thou art too Like the Spirit of Banquo : Down: Thy Crown do's sear mine Eye-bals. And thy hair Thou other Gold-bound-brow, is Like the first: A third, is Like the former. Filthy Hags, Why do you show me this? —A fourth? Start eyes! What will the Line stretch out to the crack of Doom? Another yet? A seventh? I'll see no more: And yet the eight appears, who bears a glass, Which shows me many more: and some I see, That twofold Balls, and treble Sceptres carry. Horrible sighed: Now I see it's true, For the Blood-bolter'd Banquo smiles upon me, And points at them for his. What? is this so? Where are they? Gone? Let this pernicious hour, Stand aye accursed in the Calendar. Come in, without there. Saw you the Weyard Sisters? Came they not by you? Infected be the Air whereon they ride, And damned all those that trust them. I did hear The galloping of Horse. Who was't came by? Fled to England? Time, thou anticipat'st my dread exploits: The flighty purpose never is overtook Unless the deed go with it. From this moment, The very firstlings of my heart shall be The firstlings of my hand. And even now To Crown my thoughts with Acts: be it thought & done: The Castle of Macduff, I will surprise, Seize upon Fife; give to the edge of the Sword His Wife, his Babes, and all unfortunate Souls That trace him in his Line. No boasting Like a Fool, This deed I'll do, before this purpose cool, But no more sights. Where are these Gentlemen? Come bring me where they are. Bring me no more Reports, let them fly all: Till Byrnane wood remove to Dunsinane, I cannot taint with Fear. What's the Boy Malcolm ? Was he not born of woman? The Spirits that know All mortal Consequences, have pronounced me thus: Fear not Macbeth, no man that's born of woman Shall ere have power upon thee. Then fly false Thanes, And mingle with the English Epicures, The mind I sway by, and the heart I bear, Shall never sag with doubt, nor shake with fear. The devil damn thee black, thou cream-faced Loon: Where gottest thou that Goose-looke. Geese Villain? Go prick thy face, and overread thy fear Thou Lilly-liuer'd Boy. What Soldiers, Patch? Death of thy Soul, those Linen cheeks of thine Are Counsellors to fear. What Soldiers Whay-face? Take thy face hence. Seyton, I am sick at heart, When I behold: Seyton, I say, this push Will cheer me ever, or dis-eate me now. I have lived long enough: my way of life Is fallen into the Sear, the yellow Leaf, And that which should accompany Old-Age, As Honour, Love, Obedience, Troops of Friends, I must not look to have: but in their steed, Curses, not loud but deep, Mouth-honor, breath Which the poor heart would feign deny, and dare not. Seyton ? What News more? I'll fight, till from my bones, my flesh be hacked. Give me my Armour. I'll put it on: Send out more Horses, skirre the Country round, Hang those that talk of Fear. Give me mine Armour: How do's your Patient, Doctor? Cure of that: Canst thou not Minister to a mind diseased, Pluck from the Memory a rooted Sorrow, Raze out the written troubles of the Brain, And with some sweet Oblivious Antidote Cleanse the stuffed bosom, of that perilous stuff Which weighs upon the heart? Throw Physic to the Dogs, I'll none of it. Come, put mine Armour on: give me my Staff: Seyton, send out: Doctor, the Thanes fly from me: Come sir, dispatch. If thou couldst Doctor, cast The Water of my Land, find her Disease, And purge it to a found and pristine Health, I would applaud thee to the very Echo, That should applaud again. Pull't off I say, What Rhubarb, Cyme, or what Purgative drug Would scour these English hence: hearest y u of them? Bring it after me: I will not be afraid of Death and Bane, Till Birnane Forest come to Dunsinane. Hang out our Banners on the outward walls, The Cry is still, they come: our Castles strength Will laugh a Siege to scorn: Here let them lie, Till Famine and the Ague eat them up: Were they not forced with those that should be ours, We might have met them dareful, beard to beard, And beat them backward home. What is that noise? I have almost forgotten the taste of Fears: The time ha been, my senses would have cooled To hear a Night-shricke, and my Fell of hair Would at a dismal Treatise rouse, and stir As life were in't. I have supped full with horrors, Direness familiar to my slaughterous thoughts Cannot once start me. Wherefore was that cry? She should have died hereafter; There would have been a time for such a word: To morrow, and to morrow, and to morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last Syllable of Recorded time: And all our yesterday's, have lighted Fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief Candle, Life's but a walking Shadow, a poor Player, That struts and frets his hour upon the Stage, And then is herd no more. It is a Tale Told by and Idiot, full of found and fury Signifying nothing. Thou comest to use thy Tongue: thy Story quickly. Well, say sir. Liar, and Slave. If thou speakest fhlse, Upon the next Tree shall thou hang alive Till Famine cling thee: If thy speech be sooth, I care not if thou dost for me as much. I pull in Resolution, and begin To doubt the Equivocation of the Fiend, That lies Like truth. Fear not, till Byrnane Wood Do come to Dunsinane, and now a Wood Comes towards Dunsinane. Arm, Arm, and out, If this which he avouches, do's appear, There is nor flying hence, nor tarrying here. In gin to be aweary of the Sun, And wish the estate of the world were now undone. Ring the Alarm Bell, blow Wind, come wrack, At least we'll die with Harness on our back. They have tied me to a stake, I cannot fly, But Bear-like I must fight the course. What's he That was not born of Woman? Such a one Am I to fear, or none. Thou'lt be afraid to hear it. My name's Macbeth. No: nor more fearful. Thou was't born of woman; But Swords I smile at, Weapons laugh to scorn, Brandished by man that's of a Woman born. Why should I play the Roman Fool, and die On mine own sword? while I see lives, the gashes Do better upon them. Of all men else I have avoided thee: But get thee back, my soul is too much charged With blood of thine already. Thou loosest labour, As easy mayest thou the intrenchant Air With thy keen Sword impress, as make me bleed: Let fallen thy blade on vulnerable Crests, I bear a charmed Life, which must not yield To one of woman born. Accursed be that tongue that tells me so; For it hath Cowed my better partly of man: And be these Juggling Fiends no more believed, That palter with us in a double sense, That keep the word of promise to our ear, And break it to our hope. I'll not fight with thee. I will not yield To kiss the ground before young Malcolmes feet, And to be baited with the Rabbles curse. Though Byrnane wood be come to Dunsinane, And thou opposed, being of no woman born, Yet I will try the last. Before my body, I throw my warlike Shield: Lay on Macduff, And damned be him, that first cries hold, enough. Speak if you can: what are you? Hath he asked for me? We will proceed no further in this Business: He hath Honoured me of late, and I have bought Golden Opinions from all sorts of people, Which would be worn now in their newest gloss, Not cast aside so soon. Being unprepared, Our will became the servant to defect, Which else should free have wrought. This is a sorry sighed. But wherefore could not I pronounce Amen? I had most needs of Blessing, and Amen stuck in my throat. Thou art the best of the Cutthroats, Yet he's good that did the Like for Fleans : If thou didst it, thou art the Non-pareill. Avant, & quit my sighed, let the earth hide thee: Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold: Thou hast no speculation in those eyes Which thou dost glare with. Then live Macduff : what needs I fear of thee? But yet I'll make assurance: double sure, And take a Bound of Fate: thou shalt not live, That I may tell pale-hearted Fear, it lies; And sleep in spite of Thunder. What is this, that rises Like the issue of a King, And wears upon his Baby-brow, the round And top of Sovereignty? Fit to govern? No not to live. Oh Natio ̄ miserable! With and untitled Tyrant, bloody Sceptred, When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again? Since that the truest Issue of thy Throne By his own Interdiction stands accused, And do's blaspheme his breed? Thy Royal Father Was a most Sainted-King: the Queen that boar thee, Oftener upon her knees, then on her feet, Died every day she lived. Fare thee well, These Evils thou repeatest upon thy self, Hath banished me from Scotland. Oh my Breast, Thy hope ends here. I'll bring you to him. Prithee see there: Behold, look, lo, how say you: Why what care I, if thou canst nod, speak too. If Charnel houses, and our Graves must send Those that we bury, back; our Monuments Shall be the Maws of Kites.