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Thefe dreadful fummoners grace. I am a man More finn'd against than finning.

Kent. Alack, bare-headed!

Gracious my lord, hard by here is a hovel;

Some friendship will it lend you 'gainst the tempeft..

So diftribution should undo excess,
And each man have enough.

Patience and Sorrow.
Patience and forrow ftrove

Which fhould exprefs her good lieft. You have seen
Sunthine and rain at once: her smiles and tears

Lear. Thou think'st 'tis much, that this Were like a better May: those happy fmiles,

Contentious form

Invades us to the skin: fo 'tis to thee;
But where the greater inalady is fix'd,
The leffer is fearce felt. Thou 'dft fhun a bear;
But if thy flight lay toward the raging sea,
Thou 'dit meet the bear i' the mouth. When
the mind's free,

mind

The body's delicate; the tempeft in my
Doth from my fenfes take all feeling elfe
Save what beats there.-Filial ingratitude
Is it not as this mouth fhould tear this hand
For lifting food to 't -But I'll punish home.
No, I will weep no more.-In fuch a night,
To fhut me out!-Pour on; I will endure.
In fuch a night as this !-O Regan, Goneril!
Your old kind father, whofe frank heart gave
all-

O, that way madne fs lics; let me fhun that;
No more of that--

Kent. Good my lord, enter here.

Lear. Pr'ythee, go in thyfelf; feck thine own eafe;

This tempeft will not give me leave to ponder
On things would hurt me more-but I'll go in:
In, boy; go fift. You houfelefs poverty-
Nay, get thee in. I'll pray, and then I'll fleep
Poor naked wretches, wherefoc'er you are,
That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm,
How fhall your houfelefs heads, and unfed fides,
Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you

From feafons fuch as thefe-O, I have ta'en
Too little care of this! Take phyfic, pomp;
Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel;
That thou mayft shake the fuperflux to them,
And fhew the heavens more just.

Enter Edgar, difguifed like a Madman.
Lear. Haft thou given all to thy two daughters:

And art thou come to this ?

Didft thou give them all? Now, all the plagues that in the pendulous air Hang fated o'er men's faults, light on thy daughters' Kent. He hath no daughters, Sir. Lear. Death, traitor! nothing could have fub

dued nature

To fuch a lowncfs, but his unkind daughters.
Is it the fathion, that difcarded fathers
Should have thus little mercy on their flesh?
Judicious punishment! 'twas this flesh begot
Thofe pelican daughters.

The Juftice of Providence.

That I am wretched,

That play'd on her ripe lip, feem'd not to know What guests were in her eyes; which parted thence,

As pearls from diamonds dropp'd.-In brief,
Sorrow would be a rarity most belov'd, if all
Could fo become it.

Defcription of Lear diftra&ted.

Alack, 'tis he! why, he was met even now As mad as the vex'd fea; finging aloud; Crown'd with rank fumiter, and furrow weeds, With harlocs, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers, Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow In our fuftaining corn.

Defcription of Dover-Cliff.

Come on, fir; here's the place :-stand ftill :: how fearful

[air,

And dizzy 'tis, to caft one's eyes fo low !
The crows, and choughs, that wing the midway
Shew fearce fo grofs as beetles: half way down
Hangs one that gathers famphire; dreadful trade!
Methinks he feems no bigger than his head :
Appear like mice; and yon tall anchoring bark,
The fishermen, that walk upon the beach,

Diminish'd to her cock; her cock, a buoy
Almoft too finall for fight: the murmuring furge,
That on th' unnumber'd idle pebbles chafes,
Cannot be heard fo high: I'll look no more,
my brain turn, and the deficient fight

Left

Topple down headlong.

Glofler's Farewel to the World.

O you mighty gods!

This world I do renounce; and, in your fights,
Shake patiently my great affliction off:
If I could bear it longer, and not fall

My inuff, and loathed part of nature, should
To quarrel with your great opposeless wills,
If Edgar live, O blefs him!

Buin itfelf out.

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And the ftrong lance of juftice hurtlefs breaks: Arm it in rags, a pigmy's ftraw doth pierce it.

Makes thee the happier:-heavens, deal fo ftill! None does offend, none, I fay, none; I'll able 'em:

Let the fuperfluous and luft-dieted man,
That flaves your ordinance, that will not fee
Becaufe ne does not feel, feel your pow'r
quickly;

Take that of me, my friend, who have the pow'r
To feal th' accufer's lips. Get thee glass eyes;
And, like a fcurvy politician, feem
To fee the things thou doft not.

Cordelia

Cordelia on the Ingratitude of her Sifters.
O, my dear father! Reftoration, hang
Thy medicine on my lips; and let this kifs
Repair thofe violent harms, that my two fifters
Have in thy reverence made!

Had

you not been their father, thefe white flakes
Had challeng'd pity of them. Was this a face
To be expos'd against the warring winds?
To ftand against the deep, dread-bolted thunder:
In the most terrible and nimble stroke

Of quick crofs lightning? to watch (poor perdu!)
Within this thin helm? Mine enemy's dog,
Though he had bit me, should have stood that night
Againft my fire; and waft thou fain, poor father,
To hovel thee with fwine, and rogues forlorn,
In fhort and mufty ftraw? Alack, alack!
'Tis wonder that thy life and wits at once
Had not concluded all.

Scene between Lear and Cordelia.

Cord. How does my royal lord? how fares your
Majefty?

Lear. You do me wrong to take me out o' the

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Phyf. He's fcarce awake; let him alone awhile.
Lear. Where have I been? where am I

Fair day-light!

[pity
I am mightily abus'd.—I should even die with
To fee another thus.-I will not swear
Thefe are my hands.

Cord. O look upon me, Sir,

And hold your hands in benediction o'er me:
No, Sir, you must not kneel.

Lear. Prav, do not mock me:
I am a very foolish fond old man,
Fourfcore and upward: and, to deal plainly,
I fear I am not in my perfect mind.
Methinks, I fhould know you, and know this

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Lear. Do not abuse me.

You fee, is cur'd in him and yet it is danger
To make him even o'er the time he has loft.
Defire him to go in ; trouble him no more
Till further fettling.

Cord. Will't please your Highness walk?
Lear. You must bear with me.

Pray you now, forget and forgive: I am old, and
foolish.

Lear to Cordelia, when taken Prisoners.

No, no, no, no! come, let's away to prison:
We two alone will fing like birds i' the cage:
When thou doft afk me bleffing, I'll kneel down,
And afk of thee forgivenefs: fo we 'll live,
And pray, and fing, and tell old tales, and laugh
At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues
Talk of court news; and we 'll talk with them

too

Who lofes, and who wins; who's in, who's out-
And take upon us the mystery of things,
As if we were God's fpies: and we'll wear out,
In a wall'd prifon, packs and fects of great ones,
That ebb and flow by the moon,

Edm. Take them away.

Lear. Upon fuch facrifices, my Cordelia
The gods themselves throw incenfe.

The Juftice of the Gods.

The gods are juft, and of our pleasant vices
Make inftruments to fcourge us,

Edgar's Account of his discovering himself to biş
Father, c.
Lift a brief tale :-
And, when 'tis told, O that my

burft!

heart woul!

The bloody proclamation to escape,
That follow'd me fo near (O our lives fweetness!
That with the pain of death would hourly die,
Rather than die at once !), taught me to fhift
Into a madman's rags; to affume a femblance
That very dogs difdain'd: and in this habit
Met I my father, with his bleeding rings,
Their precious ftones new loft; became his guide,
Led him, begg'd for him, fav'd him from de-
fpair;

Never (O fault!) reveal'd myfelf unto him,
Until fome half-hour paft, when I was arm'd,
Not fure, tho' hoping, of this good fuccefs,
I afk'd his bleffing, and from firft to laft
Told him my pilgrimage: but his flaw'd heart,
(Alack, too weak the conflict to fupport!)
Twixt two extremes of paffion, joy and grief,
Burst fmilingly.

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Gent. Be comforted, good madam; the great To amplify too much, would make much more,

rage

And top extremity.

Whilst I was big in clamour, came there in a man,
Who having feen me in my worst estate,
Shunn'd my abhorr'd fociety; but, then, finding
Who 't was that fo endur'd, with his ftrong arms
He faften'd on my neck, and bellow'd out
As he'd burst heaven; threw him on my father:
Told the moft piteous tale of Lear and him
That ever ear receiv'd; which in recounting
His grief grew puiffant, and the ftrings of life
Began to crack:-twice then the trumpet founded,

And there I left him tranc'd.

Lear on the Death of Cordelia.

Howl, howl, howl, howl! O you are men of ftones;

Had I your tongues and eyes, I'd use them fo That heaven's vault should crack.-O, fhe is gone for ever:

I know when one is dead, and when one lives; She's dead at earth: lend me a looking-glafs; If that her breath will mift or ftain the stone, Why, then the lives.

This feather ftirs; fhe lives! If it be fo,

It is a chance which does redeem all forrows,
That ever I have felt.

Kent. O, my good mafter!
Lear. Pr'ythee away.—

A plague upon you, murderers, traitors all!
I might have fav'd her; but the 's gone for ever!
Cordelia, Cordelia ftay a little. Ha!
What is 't thou fay'ft-Her voice was ever foft,
Gentle, and low.

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Lady Macbeth, on the News of Duncan's Approach.
The raven himself is hoarfe,

That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan
Under my battlements. Come, you spirits,
That tend on mortal thoughts, unfex me here,
And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full
Of direft cruelty make thick my blood,
Stop up th' accefs and passage to remorse;
That no compunctious vifitings of nature
Shake my fell purpofe, nor keep peace between
The effect and it! Come to my woman's breafts,
And take my milk for gall, you murd'ring mi-
vifters,

So wither'd, and fo wild in their attire, That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth, And yet are on 't ---Live you? or are you aught That man may queftion? You feem to underftand

me,

By cach at once her choppy finger laying
Upon her skinny lips :---You should be women;
And yet your beards forbid me to interpret
That you are fo.

Macbeth's Temper.

Yet do I fear thy nature;

It is too full o' the milk of human kindness,
To catch the neareft way: thou wouldst be great;
Art not without ambition, but without

The illness fhould attend it. What thou wouldst
highly,

That would thou holily; wouldst not play false,
And yet wouldft wrongly win.

Wherever in your fightless fubftances

You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick night, And pall thee in the dunneft fmoke of hell, That my keen knife fee not the wound it makes; Nor Heaven peep thro' the blanket of the dark, To cry, "Hold, hold !”.

Macbeth's Irrefolution.

If it were done, when 't is done, then 't were well It were done quickly: if the affaffination Could trammel up the confequence, and catch, With his furceafe, fuccefs; that but this blow Might be the be-all and the end-all here, But here, upon this bank and fhoal of time, We'd jump the life to come. But, in thefe cafes, We fill have judgment here; that we but teach Bloody inftructions, which, being taught, return To plague the inventor: this even-handed juftice Commends the ingredients of our poifon'd chalice To our own lips. He's here in double trust: Fift, as I am his kinfman and his fubject, Strong both against the deed; then, as his hoft, Who fhould against his murderer fhut the door, Not bear the knife myfelf. Befides, this Duncan Hath borne his faculties fo 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-born babe, Striding the blaft, or heaven's cherubin, hors'd Upon the fightlefs couriers of the air, Shall blow the horrid deed in ev'ry eye, That tears fhall drown the wind.---I have no fpur To prick the fides of my intent, but only Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself, And falls on the other.

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Macb. One cried, "God blefs us!" and
"Amen!" the other;

As they had feen me, with thefe hangman's hands,
Liftening their fear. I could not fay, Amen,
When they did fay, God blefs us.
Lady. Confider it not fo deeply.
Macb. But wherefore could not I
I had moft need of bleffing, and Amen
Stuck in my throat.

[Amen?

pronounce

Thou marshall'ft me the way that I was going;
And fuch an inftrument I was to use.
Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other fenfes,
Or elie worth all the reft:-I fee thee ftill;
And on thy blade, and dudgeon, gouts of blood,
Which was not fo before. There's no fuch thing.
It is the bloody bufinefs, which informs
Thus to mine eyes.-Now o'er the one half world
Nature feems dead, and wicked dreams abufe
The curtain'd fleep; now witchcraft celebrates
Pale Hecate's offerings; and wither'd murder,
Alarum'd by his fentinel, the wolf, f pace,
Whofe howl's his watch, thus with his ftealthy
With Tarquin's ravishing fides, tow'rds his defign “ Macbeth doth murder fleep, the innocent fleep;
Moves like a ghoft.--Thou fure and firm-fet earth," Sleep, that knits up the ravell'd fleeve of care,
Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear. The death of each day's life, fore labour's bath,
Thy very ftones prate of my where-about,
And take the prefent horror from the time,
Which now fuits with it.-Whiles I threat, he

lives

[A bell rings.
I go, and it is done; the bell invites me.
Hear it not, Duncan; for it is a knell
That fummons thee to heaven, or to hell. [Exit.
Enter Lady.

Lady. That which hath made them drunk, hath
made me bold:

What hath quench'd them, hath giv`n me fire:-
Hark! peace!

It was the owl that shriek'd, the fatal bell-man,
Which gives the ftern'ft good-night.-He is about

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Lady. Ay.

[cry.

Lady. Thefe deeds must not be thought
After thefe ways; fo, it will make us mad,
Macb. Methought I heard a voice cry,
"no more!

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Sleep

"Balm of hurt minds, great nature's fecond course, "Chief nourisher in life's feast."

[houfe:

Lady. What do you mean? Marb. Still it cried, "Sleep no more!" to all the "Glamis hath murder'd fleep; and therefore "Cawdor

[more!" "Shall fleep no more, Macbeth fhall fleep no Lady. Who was it, that thus cried? Why,

worthy Thane,

You do unbend your noble strength, to think
So brain-fickly of things: go, get some water,
And wash this filthy witnefs from your hand.
Why did you bring thefe daggers from the place?
They must lie there: go, carry them; and imear
The fleepy grooms with blood.

Macb. I'll go no more:

I am afraid to think what I have done
Look on 't again, I dare not.

Lady. Infirm of purpose !

Give me the daggers: the fleeping, and the dead,
Are but as pictures: 'tis the eye of childhood,
That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed,
For it muft feem their guilt.
I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal,

Knocking within.

[Exit.

Mach. Whence is that knocking? [Starting.
How is 't with me, when ev'ry noife appals me
What hands are here? Ha! they pluck out mine
cyes!

Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood
Clean from my hand? No; this my hand will rather
Thy multitudinous feas incarnardine,
Making the green one red.-
Re-enter Lady.

Lady. My hands are of your colour; but I
[Knock.

fhame

Macb. Hark who lies i' the fecond chamber: To wear a heart fo white. I hear a knocking

Lady. Donalbain.
Macb. This is a forry fight!

[Looks on his bands. Lady. A foolish thought! to fay a forry fight. Marb. There's one did laugh in his fleep, and one cried" murder!"

That they did wake each other; I ftood and heard
them:

But they did fay their prayers, and addrefs'd them
Again to fleep.

Lady. There are two lodg'd together.

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With them they think on? Things without all remedy

Should be without regard: what's done, is done.
Mach. We have scotch'd the fnake, not kill'd it;
She'll clofe, and be herfelf; whilft our poor malice
Remains in danger of her former tooth.
Butlet the frame of things disjoint, both the worlds
fuffer,

Ere we will eat our meal in fear, and fleep

In the affliction of these terrible dreams

That shake us nightly. Better be with the dead,
Whom we, to gain our place, have fent to peace,
Than on the torture of the mind to lie
In teftlefs ecftafy.-Duncan is in his grave;
After life's fitful fever, he fleeps well;
Treafon has done his worst: nor fteel, nor poifon,
Malice domeftic, foreign levy, nothing
Can touch him further!

O, full of fcorpions is my inind, dear wife! Thou know'ft that Banquo and his Fleance lives. Lady. But in them nature's copy's not eterne.

Mach. Here had we now our country's honour roof'd,

Whom may I rather challenge for unkindness,
Were the grac'd perfon of our Banquo prefent;
Than pity for mifchance!
Roffe. His abfence, Sir,

Lays blame upon his promife. Please it your highnels

To grace us with your royal company?
Macb. The table 's full!

Len. Here is a place referv'd, Sir.
Mach. Where?

Len. Here, my good lord.
What is 't that moves your highness?
Macb. Which of you have done this?
Lords. What, my good lord?

[Starting:

Macb. Thou canst not fay, I did it: never shake Thy gory locks at me.

Roffe. Gentlemen, rife; his highness is not well. Lady. Sit, worthy friends :-my lord is often

thus,

And hath been from his youth: pray you, keep feat;
He will again be well: if much you note him,
The fit is momentary; upon a thought
You fhall offend him, and extend his paflion:
Feed, and regard him not.-Are you a man?
[To Macb. afide.
Mach. Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on
Which might appal the devil.
[that
Lady. O proper stuff!

[Afide.

Mach. There's comfort yet, they are affailable; This is the very painting of your fear: Then be thou jocund: ere the bat hath flown This is the air-drawn dagger, which, you faid, His cloifter'd flight; ere, to black Hecate's fum-Led you to Duncan. O thefe flaws and starts

mons,

The fhard-borne beetle, with his drowly hums, Hath rung night's yawning peal, there fhall be done A deed of dreadrul note.

Lady. What's to be done?

Macb. Be innocent of the knowledge, dearcft chuck,

Till thou applaud the deed. Come, feeling night,
Skarf the tender eye of pitiful day;
up
And, with thy bloody and invifible hand,
Cancel, and tear to pieces, that great bond
Which keeps me pale! Light thickens;and the crow
Makes wing to the rooky wood:

Good things of day begin to droop and drowse; Whiles night's black agents to their preys do roufe.

Scene, a Room of State. Banquet prepared. Macbeth, Lady, Roft, Lenox. Lords, and Attendants.

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Impeitors to true fear) would well become
A woman's story, at a winter's fire,
Authoriz'd by her grandam. Shame itfelf!
Why do you make fuch faces? when all's done,
You look but on a fool.

Mach. Pr'ythee fee there!
Behold! look! lo! how fay you?

[Pointing to the Ghost: Why,what care I if thou canst nod, fpeak too. If charnel-houfes and our graves must send Shall be the maws of kites. [The Ghoft vanifbes. Thofe, that we bury, back-our monuments Lady. What! quite unmann'd in folly ? Macb. If I ftand here, I faw him. Lady. Fie, for Thame!

[time, Macb. Blood hath been fhed ere now,i' the olden Ere human ftatute purg'd the gen'ral weal; Ay, and fince too, murders have been perform'd Too terrible for the ear; the times have been, That, when the brains were out,the nan would die, And there an end: but now they rife again, With twenty mortal murders on their crowns, And push us from our ftools: this is more strange

Than fuch a murder is.

Lady. My worthy lord, Your noble friends do lack you.

Macb. I do forget:

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