ROSS

God save the King. From Fiffe, great King, Where the Norweyan Banners flout the Sky, And fan our people cold. Norway himself, with terrible numbers, Assisted by that most disloyal Traitor, The Thane of Cawdor, began a dismal Conflict, Till that Bellona's Bridegroom, leapt in proof, Confronted him with selfe-comparisons, Point against Point, rebellious Arm against Arm, Curbing his lavish spirit: and to conclude, The Victory fell on us. That now Sweno, the Norways King, Craves composition: Nor would we deign him burial of his men, Till he disbursed, at Saint Colmes ynch, Ten thousand Dollars, to our general use. I'll see it done. The King hath happily received, Macbeth The news of thy success: and when he reads Thy personal Venture in the Rebels fight, His Wonders and his Praises do contend, Which should be thine, or his: silenced with that, In viewing over the rest of the selfsame day, He finds thee in the stout Norweyan Ranks Nothing afeard of what thy self didst make Strange Images of death, as thick as Tale Can post with post, and every one did bear Thy praises in his Kingdoms great defence, And poured them down before him. And for and earnest of a greater Honour, He bade me, from him, call thee Thane of Cawdor: In which addition, hail most worthy Thane, For it is thine. Would, good Father, Thou seest the Heavens, as troubled with men Act, Threatens his bloody Stage: by the Clock it's Day, And yet dark Night strangles the travailing Lamp: Is't Nights predominance, or the Days shame, That Darkness does the face of Earth entomb, When living Light should kiss it? And Duncans Horses, (A thing most strange, and certain) Beauteous, and swift, the Minions of their Raze, Turned wild in nature, broke their S lls, flung out, Contending against Obedience, as they would Make War with Mankind. They did so: To the amazement of mine eyes that looked vpon't. Here comes the good Macduff. How goes the world Sir, now? against Nature still, Thriftless Ambition, that will raven up Thine own lives means: Then it's most Like, The Sovereignty will fallen upon Macbeth. Where is Duncans body? Will you to Scone? Well, I will thither. Farewell, Father. His absence (Sir) Lays blame upon his promise. Pleas't your Highness To grace us with your Royal Company? Gentlemen rise, his Highness is not well. What sights, my Lord? You must have patience Madam. You know not Whither it was his wisdom, or his fear. My dearest Cooz, I pray you school your self. But for your Husband, He is Noble, Wise, Judicious, and best knows The fits of the Season. I dare not speak much further, But cruel are the times, when we are Traitors And do not know our selves: when we hold Rumor From what we fear, yet know not what we fear, But float upon a wild and violent Sea Each way, and move. I take my leave of you: Shall not be long but I'll be here again: Things at the worst will cease or else climb upward, To what they were before. My pretty Cosine, Blessing upon you. I am so much a Fool, should I stay longer It would be my disgrace, and your discomfort. I take my leave at once. Sir, Amen. Alas poor Country, Almost afraid to know it self. It cannot Be called our Mother, but our Grave; where nothing But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile: Where sighs, and groans, and shrieks that rend the air Are made, not marked: Where violent sorrow seems A Modern ecstasy: The Deadmans knell, Is there scarce asked for who, and good men's lives Expire before the Flowers in their Caps, Dying, or ere they sicken. That of and hours age, does hiss the speaker, Each minute teems a new one. Why well. Well too. No, they were well at peace, when I did leave they When I came hither to transport the Tidings Which I have heavily born, there ran a Rumour Of many worthy Fellows, that were out, Which was to my belief witnest the rather, For that I saw the Tyrants Power afoot. Now is the time of help: your eye in Scotland Would create Soldiers, make our women fight, To doff their dire distresses. Would I could answer This comfort with the Like. But I have words That would be howled out in the desert air, Where hearing should not latch them. No mind that's honest But in it shares some woe, though the main partly Pertains to you alone. Let not your ears despise my tongue for ever, Which shall possess them with the heaviest found That ever yet they herd. I have said. Your son my Lord, ha paid a soldiers debt, He only lived but till he was a man, The which no sooner had his Prowess confirmed In the unshrinking station where he fought, But Like a man he died. I, and brought off the field: your cause of sorrow Must not be measured by his worth, for then It hath no end. I, on the Front. Is't known who did this more then bloody deed? Alas the day, What good could they pretend? Your Castle is surprised: your Wife, and Babes Savagely slaughtered: To relate the manner Were on the Quarry of these murdered Dear To add the death of you. Wife, Children, Servants, all that could be found.