Scene III

[England. Before the King's palace.]

Enter Malcolm and Macduff.

MALCOLM:

Let us seek out some desolate shade and there
Weep our sad bosoms empty.

MALCOLM:

Let’s look for some desolate shade and there
Cry our hearts out.

MACDUFF:

Let us rather
Hold fast the mortal sword, and like good men
Bestride our downfall'n birthdom. Each new morn(5)
New widows howl, new orphans cry, new sorrows
Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds
As if it felt with Scotland and yell'd out
Like syllable of dolor.

MACDUFF:

Let us rather
Stop the mortal sword quickly, and, like good men,
Climb over our down-fallen country. Each new morning,
New widows howl, new orphans cry, new sorrows
Strike heaven on the face so that it echoes
As if it felt Scotland’s pain, and yelled out
Like a sigh of sorrow.

MALCOLM:

What I believe, I'll wail;(10)
What know, believe; and what I can redress,
As I shall find the time to friend, I will.
What you have spoke, it may be so perchance.
This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues,
Was once thought honest. You have loved him well;(15)
He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young, but something
You may deserve of him through me, and wisdom
To offer up a weak, poor, innocent lamb
To appease an angry god.

MALCOLM:

For what I believe, I'll wail.
What I know, believe, and what I can put right again,
As I shall find the time to be my friend, I will.
What you have spoken may be so perhaps.
This tyrant, whose only name blisters our tongues,
Was once thought honest. You have loved him well;
He hasn’t touched you yet. I am young, only something
You may deserve of him through me, and wisdom
To offer up a weak, poor, innocent lamb
To appease an angry god.

MACDUFF:

I am not treacherous.(20)

MACDUFF:

I am not treacherous.

MALCOLM:

But Macbeth is.
A good and virtuous nature may recoil
In an imperial charge. But I shall crave your pardon;
That which you are, my thoughts cannot transpose.
Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell.(25)
Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace,
Yet grace must still look so.

MALCOLM:

But Macbeth is.
A good and virtuous nature may recoil
In an charge by a king. But I shall crave your pardon.
My thoughts cannot change which you are.
Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell.
Though all things disgustingly filthy would look like grace,
Yet grace must still look that way.

MACDUFF:

I have lost my hopes.

MACDUFF:

I have lost my hopes.

MALCOLM:

Perchance even there where I did find my doubts.
Why in that rawness left you wife and child,(30)
Those precious motives, those strong knots of love,
Without leave-taking? I pray you,
Let not my jealousies be your dishonors,
But mine own safeties. You may be rightly just,
Whatever I shall think.(35)

MALCOLM:

Perhaps even there, where I did find my doubts.
Why did you leave wife and child in that rawness,
Those precious motives, those strong knots of love,
Without leave-taking? I beg you,
Don’t let my jealousies be your dishonors,
Only my own safeties. You may be rightly just,
Whatever I shall think.

MACDUFF:

Bleed, bleed, poor country!
Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure,
For goodness dare not check thee. Wear thou thy wrongs;
The title is affeer'd. Fare thee well, lord.
I would not be the villain that thou think'st(40)
For the whole space that's in the tyrant's grasp
And the rich East to boot.

MACDUFF:

Bleed, bleed, poor country!
Great tyranny, lay your foundation solid,
Because goodness dare not challenge you! Wear your wrongs,
The title is settled. Fare you well, lord.
I do not wish to be the villain that you may think,
For the whole space that's in the tyrant's grasp
And the rich East to boot.

MALCOLM:

Be not offended;
I speak not as in absolute fear of you.
I think our country sinks beneath the yoke;(45)
It weeps, it bleeds, and each new day a gash
Is added to her wounds. I think withal
There would be hands uplifted in my right;
And here from gracious England have I offer
Of goodly thousands. But for all this,(50)
When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head,
Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country
Shall have more vices than it had before,
More suffer and more sundry ways than ever,
By him that shall succeed.(55)

MALCOLM:

Don’t be offended.
I don’t speak in absolute fear of you.
I think our country sinks beneath the yoke;
It weeps, it bleeds, and each new day, another gash
Is added to her wounds. I also think that
There would be hands uplifted in my defense,
And here, from gracious England, I have the offer
Of goodly thousands. Only, for all this,
When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head,
Or wear it on my sword, my poor country
Shall still have more vices than it had before,
More suffer, and in more ways than ever before,
By the man who shall succeed the king.

MACDUFF:

What should he be?

MACDUFF:

Who would that be?

MALCOLM:

It is myself I mean, in whom I know
All the particulars of vice so grafted
That, when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth
Will seem as pure as snow, and the poor state(60)
Esteem him as a lamb, being compared
With my confineless harms.

MALCOLM:

It is myself, I mean, in whom I know
All the particulars of vice are so grafted
That, when they shall be opened, black Macbeth
Will seem as pure as snow, and the poor state
Will respect him as a lamb, being compared
With my unlimited evils.

MACDUFF:

Not in the legions
Of horrid hell can come a devil more damn'd
In evils to top Macbeth.(65)

MACDUFF:

Not in the legions
Of horrid hell can come a devil more damned
In evils to top Macbeth.

MALCOLM:

I grant him bloody,
Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful,
Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin
That has a name. But there's no bottom, none,
In my voluptuousness. Your wives, your daughters,(70)
Your matrons, and your maids could not fill up
The cistern of my lust, and my desire
All continent impediments would o'erbear
That did oppose my will. Better Macbeth
Than such an one to reign.(75)

MALCOLM:

I will grant you he is bloody,
Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful,
Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin
That has a name. Only there's no bottom, none,
In my own evils. Your wives, your daughters,
Your matrons, and your maids, could not fill up
The cistern of my lust, and my desire would overcome
All international factions
That did oppose my will. Better Macbeth
Than such an one like me to reign over Scotland.

MACDUFF:

Boundless intemperance
In nature is a tyranny; it hath been
The untimely emptying of the happy throne,
And fall of many kings. But fear not yet
To take upon you what is yours. You may(80)
Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty
And yet seem cold, the time you may so hoodwink.
We have willing dames enough; there cannot be
That vulture in you, to devour so many
As will to greatness dedicate themselves,(85)
Finding it so inclined.

MACDUFF:

Boundless intemperance
In nature is a tyranny. It has been
The untimely murder of Duncan,
And fall of many kings. Only don’t be afraid
To take upon you what is yours. You may
Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty,
And yet seem cold, the time you may so deceive.
We have willing dames enough, so there cannot be
That vulture in you, to devour so many
As will dedicate themselves to greatness,
Finding greatness so inclined.

MALCOLM:

With this there grows
In my most ill-composed affection such
A stanchless avarice that, were I King,
I should cut off the nobles for their lands,(90)
Desire his jewels and this other's house,
And my more-having would be as a sauce
To make me hunger more, that I should forge
Quarrels unjust against the good and loyal,
Destroying them for wealth.(95)

MALCOLM:

With this there grows,
In my most ill-composed affection, such
A unbendable greed, that, if I were king,
I should seize the nobles’ lands,
Desire their jewels, and their houses,
And my wanting to have more would be as a sauce
To make me hunger more, that I should start
Unfair quarrels against the good and loyal,
Destroying them for wealth.

MACDUFF:

This avarice
Sticks deeper, grows with more pernicious root
Than summer-seeming lust, and it hath been
The sword of our slain kings. Yet do not fear;
Scotland hath foisons to fill up your will(100)
Of your mere own. All these are portable,
With other graces weigh'd.

MACDUFF:

This sin of greediness
Digs in deeper; grows with a more dangerous root
Than summer-seeming lust; and it has been
The sword of our slain kings. Still, don’t be afraid
Scotland has harvests enough to satisfy you,
Of your very own. All these are bearable,
When weighed against other graces.

MALCOLM:

But I have none. The king-becoming graces,
As justice, verity, temperance, stableness,
Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness,(105)
Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude,
I have no relish of them, but abound
In the division of each several crime,
Acting it many ways. Nay, had I power, I should
Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell,(110)
Uproar the universal peace, confound
All unity on earth.

MALCOLM:

But I have none. I have no knowledge
Of the king-becoming graces, such as justice, verity,
Temperance, stableness, bounty, perseverance,
Mercy, lowliness, devotion, patience, courage, fortitude,
But I only abound
In the division of each several crime,
Acting it many ways. No, if I had power, I should
Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell,
Disturb the universal peace, confuse
All unity on earth.

MACDUFF:

O Scotland, Scotland!

MACDUFF:

O Scotland, Scotland!

MALCOLM:

If such a one be fit to govern, speak.
I am as I have spoken.(115)

MALCOLM:

If there is any one fit to govern, speak.
I am as I have spoken.

MACDUFF:

Fit to govern?
No, not to live. O nation miserable!
With an untitled tyrant bloody-scepter'd,
When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again,
Since that the truest issue of thy throne(120)
By his own interdiction stands accursed,
And does blaspheme his breed? Thy royal father
Was a most sainted king: the queen that bore thee,
Oftener upon her knees than on her feet,
Died every day she lived. Fare thee well!(125)
These evils thou repeat'st upon thyself
Have banish'd me from Scotland. O my breast,
Thy hope ends here!

MACDUFF:

Fit to govern!
No, not to live! O nation miserable,
With an untitled tyrant holding a bloody scepter,
When shall you see your wholesome days again,
Since that the truest heir to your throne,
By his own admission, stands cursed
And blasphemes his heritage? Your royal father
Was a most sainted king, the queen that bore you,
Oftener upon her knees than on her feet,
Died every day she lived. Fare-you-well!
These evils you repeat upon yourself
Have banished me from Scotland. O my heart,
Your hope ends here!

MALCOLM:

Macduff, this noble passion,
Child of integrity, hath from my soul(130)
Wiped the black scruples, reconciled my thoughts
To thy good truth and honor. Devilish Macbeth
By many of these trains hath sought to win me
Into his power, and modest wisdom plucks me
From over-credulous haste. But God above(135)
Deal between thee and me! For even now
I put myself to thy direction and
Unspeak mine own detraction; here abjure
The taints and blames I laid upon myself,
For strangers to my nature. I am yet(140)
Unknown to woman, never was forsworn,
Scarcely have coveted what was mine own,
At no time broke my faith, would not betray
The devil to his fellow, and delight
No less in truth than life. My first false speaking(145)
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,
Already at a point, was setting forth.(150)
Now we'll together, and the chance of goodness
Be like our warranted quarrel! Why are you silent?

MALCOLM:

Macduff, this noble passion,
Child of integrity, has wiped the
Black scruples from my soul, and reconciled my thoughts
To your good truth and honor. Devilish Macbeth
Has sought to win me into his power
By many of these thoughts, and modest wisdom keeps me
From over-believing haste. Only God above
Deal between you and me! for even now
I put myself to your direction, and
Take back my own detraction of myself; here renounce
The taints and blames I laid upon myself,
As strangers to my nature. I am still
A virgin; I have never gone back on my word,
Scarcely have wanted what was my own,
At no time broke a promise, would not betray
The devil to his fellow, and delight
More in truth than life. My first lie ever
Was these things I said about myself. What I am, truly,
Is your and my poor country's to command,
Where, indeed, before you came here,
Old Siward, with ten thousand warlike men
Already at a point, was coming to.
Now we'll fight together, and the chance of goodness
Will like our necessary quarrel! Why are you silent?

MACDUFF:

Such welcome and unwelcome things at once
’Tis hard to reconcile.

MACDUFF:

Such welcome and unwelcome things at once
Are hard to reconcile.

Enter a Doctor.

MALCOLM:

Well, more anon. Comes the King forth, I pray you?(155)

MALCOLM:

Well, more in a minute. Is the king coming, I beg you?

DOCTOR:

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.(160)

DOCTOR:

Yes, sir. There’s a group of wretched souls
That wait for his healing touch. Their malady overcomes
The best effort of art. They can only be cured
By his touch, such is the sanctity has heaven given his hand.

MALCOLM:

I thank you, Doctor.

MALCOLM:

I thank you, doctor.

Exit.

MACDUFF:

What's the disease he means?

MACDUFF:

What's the disease he means?

MALCOLM:

’Tis call'd the evil:
A most miraculous work in this good King,
Which often, since my here-remain in England,(165)
I have seen him do. How he solicits heaven,
Himself best knows; but strangely-visited people,
All swol'n and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye,
The mere despair of surgery, he cures,
Hanging a golden stamp about their necks,(170)
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(175)
That speak him full of grace.

MALCOLM:

It is called “the evil,”
A most miraculous work in this good king,
Which often, since my stay in England,
I have seen him do. How he prays for help from heaven,
Only he knows best, because he cures strangers,
All swollen and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye,
And with no hope of surgery,
Hanging a golden stamp about their necks,
Put on them with holy prayers, and, it is said,
He leaves the healing benediction.
To the succeeding royalty.
With this strange virtue,
He has a heavenly gift of prophecy,
And various blessings hang about his throne,
That say he is full of grace.

Enter Ross.

MACDUFF:

See, who comes here?

MACDUFF:

See, who comes here?

MALCOLM:

My countryman: but yet I know him not.

MALCOLM:

My countryman, but I still don’t know him.

MACDUFF:

My ever gentle cousin, welcome hither.

MACDUFF:

My ever-gentle cousin, welcome here.

MALCOLM:

I know him now. Good God, betimes remove(180)
The means that makes us strangers!

MALCOLM:

Now I know him now. Good God, soon we’ll remove
The thing that makes us strangers!

ROSS:

Sir, amen.

ROSS:

Sir, amen.

MACDUFF:

Stands Scotland where it did?

MACDUFF:

Is the situation in Scotland the same?

ROSS:

Alas, poor country,
Almost afraid to know itself! It cannot(185)
Be call'd 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 mark'd; where violent sorrow seems
A modern ecstasy. The dead man's knell(190)
Is there scarce ask'd for who, and good men's lives
Expire before the flowers in their caps,
Dying or ere they sicken.

ROSS:

Alas, poor country,
Almost afraid to know itself! It cannot
Be called our mother, only our grave. where nothing,
But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile,
Where sighs, and groans, and shrieks, that tear at the air,
Are made, not marked, where violent sorrow seems
A modern ecstasy. No one hardly asks who
The dead man's knell is for, and good men's lives
Expire before the flowers in their caps,
Dying before the flowers show signs of sickness.

MACDUFF:

O, relation
Too nice, and yet too true!(195)

MACDUFF:

O, kinsman
Too nice, and yet too true!

MALCOLM:

What's the newest grief?

MALCOLM:

What's the newest grief?

ROSS:

That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker;
Each minute teems a new one.

ROSS:

The news accuses the speaker;
Each minute turns up a new one.

MACDUFF:

How does my wife?

MACDUFF:

How is my wife?

ROSS:

Why, well.(200)

ROSS:

Why, well.

MACDUFF:

And all my children?

MACDUFF:

And all my children?

ROSS:

Well too.

ROSS:

Well too.

MACDUFF:

The tyrant has not batter'd at their peace?

MACDUFF:

The tyrant has not taken action against them?

ROSS:

No; they were well at peace when I did leave ’em.

ROSS:

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

MACDUFF:

Be not a niggard of your speech. How goes't?(205)

MACDUFF:

Don’t mince words: how is it going?

ROSS:

When I came hither to transport the tidings,
Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumor
Of many worthy fellows that were out,
Which was to my belief witness'd the rather,
For that I saw the tyrant's power a-foot:(210)
Now is the time of help; your eye in Scotland
Would create soldiers, make our women fight,
To doff their dire distresses.

ROSS:

When I came here to transport the tidings,
Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumor
Of many worthy fellows that were in the field,
Which I know to be true by surmising the enemy was marching,
because I saw Macbeth’s men were marching.
Now is help is coming. Your person in Scotland
Would create soldiers, make our women fight,
To take off their pitiful miseries.

MALCOLM:

Be't their comfort
We are coming thither. Gracious England hath(215)
Lent us good Siward and ten thousand men;
An older and a better soldier none
That Christendom gives out.

MALCOLM:

Let it be their comfort that
We are coming there. Gracious England has
Lent us good Siward and ten thousand men.
Christendom doesn’t have
An older or a better soldier.

ROSS:

Would I could answer
This comfort with the like! But I have words(220)
That would be howl'd out in the desert air,
Where hearing should not latch them.

ROSS:

I wish I could answer
This comfort with a similar one! But I have words
That would be howled out into the desert air,
Where hearing should not catch them.

MACDUFF:

What concern they?
The general cause? Or is it a fee-grief
Due to some single breast?(225)

MACDUFF:

What concern are they?
The general cause? Or is it a grief owned
Entirely by one person?

ROSS:

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

ROSS:

Only a mind that's honest
Could share some of this woe, although the main part
Pertains to you alone.

MACDUFF:

If it be mine,
Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it.(230)

MACDUFF:

If it’s mine,
Don’t keep it from me. Let me have it quickly.

ROSS:

Let not your ears despise my tongue for ever,
Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound
That ever yet they heard.

ROSS:

Don’t let your ears hate what I’m going to say forever,
Which will hit them with the heaviest sound
That they have ever heard.

MACDUFF:

Humh! I guess at it.

MACDUFF:

Hmm… I guess at it.

ROSS:

Your castle is surprised; your wife and babes(235)
Savagely slaughter'd. To relate the manner
Were, on the quarry of these murder'd deer,
To add the death of you.

ROSS:

There’s been a surprise attack on your castle. Your wife and babies
Savagely slaughtered. To relate the details
Would be, on the numbers of these murdered deer,
To add to your own death.

MALCOLM:

Merciful heaven!
What, man! Ne'er pull your hat upon your brows;(240)
Give sorrow words. The grief that does not speak
Whispers the o'er fraught heart, and bids it break.

MALCOLM:

Merciful heaven!
What, man! Don’t cover your face with only a sad look.
Give your sorrow words. The grief that does not speak
Builds up softly in the heart, and bids it break.

MACDUFF:

My children too?

MACDUFF:

My children too?

ROSS:

Wife, children, servants, all
That could be found.(245)

ROSS:

Wife, children, servants, all
That could be found.

MACDUFF:

And I must be from thence!
My wife kill'd too?

MACDUFF:

And I had to be away from home!
My wife killed too?

ROSS:

I have said.

ROSS:

I have said it.

MALCOLM:

Be comforted.
Let's make us medicines of our great revenge,(250)
To cure this deadly grief.

MALCOLM:

Be comforted.
Let's make us medicines of our great revenge,
To cure this deadly grief.

MACDUFF:

He has no children. All my pretty ones?
Did you say all? O hell-kite! All?
What, all my pretty chickens and their dam
At one fell swoop?(255)

MACDUFF:

He has no children. All my pretty ones?
Did you say all? O hell-kite! All?
What, all my pretty chickens and their mother
At one fell swoop?

MALCOLM:

Dispute it like a man.

MALCOLM:

Revenge it like a man.

MACDUFF:

I shall do so;
But I must also feel it as a man.
I cannot but remember such things were,
That were most precious to me. Did heaven look on,(260)
And would not take their part? Sinful Macduff,
They were all struck for thee! Naught that I am,
Not for their own demerits, but for mine,
Fell slaughter on their souls. Heaven rest them now!

MACDUFF:

I shall do so;
Only I must also feel it as a man.
I cannot only remember such things that were,
That were most precious to me. Did heaven look on
And would not take their side? Sinful Macduff,
They were all struck for you! Nothing that I am,
Not for their own sins, only for mine,
Cruel slaughter on their souls. Heaven rest them now!

MALCOLM:

Be this the whetstone of your sword. Let grief(265)
Convert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage it.

MALCOLM:

Let this act be the stone that sharpens your sword. Let grief
Convert to anger. Don’t soothe the heart. Enrage it.

MACDUFF:

O, I could play the woman with mine eyes,
And braggart with my tongue! But, gentle heavens,
Cut short all intermission; front to front
Bring thou this fiend of Scotland and myself;(270)
Within my sword's length set him; if he 'scape,
Heaven forgive him too!

MACDUFF:

O, I could cry like a woman with my eyes,
And brag with my tongue! But, gentle heavens,
Cut short all pauses in the action. Bring this fiend of Scotland
And myself face to face;
Put him within my sword's length; if he escapes,
Heaven might forgive him too!

MALCOLM:

This tune goes manly.
Come, go we to the King; our power is ready;
Our lack is nothing but our leave. Macbeth(275)
Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above
Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer you may;
The night is long that never finds the day.

MALCOLM:

Now you sound like a man.
Come, let’s go to the king; our power is ready;
The only thing is missing is our leaving. Macbeth
Is ready to fall, and the powers above
Show us the way. Receive what cheer you may.
Day follows night.

Exeunt.