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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 9 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 call'd the evil:
Mal. I know him now : Good God, betimes remove The means that make us strangers !
Rosse. Sir, Amen.
Rosse. Alas, poor country ;
 i. e. overpowers, subdues. STEEV. [!) To rext is an ancient verb, which has been long ago disused. STEEV.
37 VOL. III.
A modern ecstacy ;? the dead man's knell
Macd. O, relation,
Mal. What is the newest grief?
Rosse. That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker ; Each minute teems a new one.
Macd. How does my wife ?
Rosse. When I came hither to transport the tidings,
Mal. Be it their comfort,
Rosse. Would I could answer
Macd. What concern they?
Rosse. No mind, that's honest,
 That is, no more regarded than the contorsions that fanatics throw themselves into. The author was thinking of those of his own times. WARB.  To latch (in the North country dialect) signifies the same as to catch.
STEEV.  A peculiar sorrow; a grief that hath a single owner. The expression is, at least to our ears, very harsh. JOHNSON.
Macd. If it be mine,
Rosse. Let not your ears despise my tongue for ever,
Macd. Humph ! I guess at it.
Rosse. Your castle is surpriz’d; your wife, and babes,
Mal. Merciful heaven !
Macd. My children too?
Rosse. Wife, children, servants, all That could be found.
Macd. And I must be from thence ! My wife kill'd too?
Rosse. I have said.
Mal. Be comforted:
Macd. He has no children. 6 -All my pretty ones?
Mal. Dispute it like a man. 8
Macd. 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, 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!
Mal. Be this the whetstone of your sword : let grief
 Quarry is a term used both in hunting and falconry. In both sports it means the game after it is killed. STEEV.
 It has been observed by an anonymous critic, that this is not said of Macbeth, who had children, but of Malcolm, who, having none, supposes a father can be so easily comforted. JOHNS.
 Swoop is the descent of a bird of prey on his quarry. STEEV.  i, e. contend with your present sorrow like a man. STEEV.
Convert to anger ; blunt not the heart, enrage it.
Macd. O, I could play the woman with mine eyes, And braggart with my tongue !-But, gentle heaven, Cut short all intermission ; front to front, Bring thou this fiend of Scotland, and myself ; Within my sword's length set him ; if he 'scape, Heaven forgive him too!
Mal. This tune goes manly. Come, go we to the king; our power is ready ; Our lack is nothing but our leave : Macbeth Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer you may i The night is long, that never finds the day. (Exeunt.
SCENE I.-- Dunsinane. A Room in the Castle. Enter a Doctor of Physic, and a waiting Gentlewoman.
Doctor. I HAVE twonights 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.
Doc. 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
? Gent. That, sir, which I will not report after her. Doc. You may, to me ; and 'tis 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.
Doc. How came she by that light?
 See St. John's Revelation, ch. xiv. v. 15.
Gent. Why, it stood by her : she has light by her continually ; 'tis her command.
Doc. You see, her eyes are open.
Doc. 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.
Doc. 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 'tis time to do't :-Hell is murky!
-Fie, my lord, fie ! a soldier, and afеar'd ?' 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 ?
Doc. 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.
Doc. 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).
Lady M. Here's the smell of the blood still : all the perfumes of Arabia will not.sweeten this little hand. Oh ! oh ! oh!
Doc.What a sigh is there! The heart is sorely charged.
Gent. I would not have such a heart in my bosom, for the dignity of the whole body.
Doc. Well, well, well,
 Lady Macbeth is acting over, in a dream, the business of the murder of Duncan, and encouraging her husband, as when awake. She therefore would not have even hinted the terrors of hell to one whose conscience she saw was too much alarmed already for her purpose. She certainly imagines herself here talking to Macbeth, who (she supposes) had just said Hell is murky, (i. e. hell is a dismal place to go to in consequence of such a deed) and repeats his words in contempt of his cowardice,
Hell is murky ! Fie, my lord, fie ! a soldier, and afеar'd ? This explanation, I think, gives a spirit to the passage, which has hitherto appeared languid, being, perhaps, misapprehended by those who placed a fall point at the conclusion of it. STEEV.