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,
All ready 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 once,

'Tis hard to reconcile.

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. [Exit Doctor.
Macd. What's the disease he means?
Mal.
"Tis called 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, he 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 grace.

Rosse. No; they were well at peace when I did leave them.

Macd. Be not a niggard of your speech: how goes it?

Rosse. 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 witnessed 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.

This comfort with the like! But I have words That would be howled out in the desert air, Where hearing should not latch them.

Macd. The general cause? or is it a fee-grief, Due to some single breast?

What concern they?

Rosse.

No mind that 's honest But in it shares some woe; though the main part Pertains to you alone.

Keep it not from me; quickly let me have it. Rosse. Let not your ears despise my tongue

for ever,

Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound That ever yet they heard.

Savagely slaughtered: to relate the manner,

SCENE I.-Dunsinane. A Room in the Castle.

Enter a Doctor of Physic, and a waiting
Gentlewoman.

Doct. I have two nights watched with you, but can perceive no truth in your report. When was it she last walked?

Gent. Since his majesty went into the field, I have seen her rise from her bed, throw her night-gown upon her, unlock her closet, take forth paper, fold it, write upon it, read it, afterwards seal it, and again return to bed; yet all this while in a most fast sleep.

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

Gent. That, sir, which I will not report after her. Doct. You may to me; and 't is most meet you should.

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

Enter LADY MACBETH, with a taper.

Lo you, here she comes! This is her very guise; and, upon my life, fast asleep. Observe her; stand close.

Doct. How came she by that light?

Gent. Why, it stood by her: she has light by her continually; 'tis her command. Doct. You see her eyes are open.

Gent. Ay, but their sense is shut.

Doct. What is it she does now? Look how she rubs her hands.

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

Lady M. Yet here's a spot.

Doct. Hark, she speaks: I will set down what comes from her, to satisfy my remembrance the more strongly.

Lady M. Out, damned spot! out, I say!-One; two; why, then 't is time to do 't:- Hell is murky!-Fie, my lord, fie! a soldier and afeard? 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 so much blood in him.

Doct. Do you mark that?

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

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

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