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Mer. My child? unhurt ?....
Only by over joy.
Mer. Art thou, then, come?
Never to part again.
LORD TALBOT, EARL OF SHREWSBURY
JOHN HIS SON
and shall I fly? O, if you love my mother,
dishonour not her honourable name,
to make a bastard and a slave of me!
Tal. Fly, to revenge my death, if I be slain.
Joh. He that flies so will ne'er return again.
Tal. If we both stay, we both are sure to die.
Joh. Then let me stay; and, father, do you fly:
your loss is great, so your regard should be;
my worth unknown, no loss is known in me.
Upon my death the French can little boast;
in yours they will, in you all hopes are lost.
Flight cannot stain the honour you have won;
but mine it will, that no exploit have done:
you fled for vantage every one will swear;
but, if I bow, they'll say—it was for fear,
There is no hope that ever I will stay,
if, the first hour, I shrink and run away.
Here, on my knee, I beg mortality,
rather than life preserved with infamy.
1105 Tal. Shall all thy mother's hopes lie in one tomb?
Joh. Ay, rather than I'll shame my mother's womb.
Tal. Upon my blessing I command thee go.
Joh. To fight I will, but not to fly the foe.
Tal. Part of thy father may be saved in thee.
Joh. No part of him but will be shame in me.
Tal. Thou never hadst renown, nor canst not lose it.
Joh. Yes, your renownéd name; shall flight abuse it?
Tal. Thy father's charge shall clear thee from that stain.
Joh. You cannot witness for me, being slain.
If death be so apparent, then both fly.
Tal. And leave my followers here, to fight and die?
My age was never tainted with such shame.
Joh. And shall my youth be guilty of such blame?
No more can I be sever'd from your side,
than can yourself yourself in twain divide:
stay, go, do what you will, the like do I;
for live I will not, if my father die.
Tal. Then here I take my leave of thee, fair son,
born to eclipse thy life this afternoon.
Come, side by side together live and die;
and soul with soul from France to heaven fly.
F it were done, when 'tis done, then 'twere well
could trammel up the consequence, and catch,
with his surcease, success; that but this blow
might be the be-all and the end-all here,
but here, upon this bank and shoal of time,-
we'd jump the life to come.—But in these cases,
we still have judgement here; that we but teach
bloody instructions, which, being taught, return
to plague the inventor: this even-handed justice
commends the ingredients of our poisoned chalice
to our own lips. He's here in double trust:
first, as I am his kinsman and his subject,
strong both against the deed; then, as his host,
who should against his murderer shut the door,
not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan
hath borne his faculties so 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 blast, or heaven's cherubim, horsed
upon the sightless couriers of the air,
shall blow the horrid deed in every eye,
that tear's shall drown the wind.—I have no spur
to prick the sides of my intent, but only
vaulting ambition, which o'er-leaps itself,
and falls on the other.—How now, what news? 1107 L.M. He has almost supp'd; why have you left the
Mac. Hath he asked for me?
Know you not, he has?
Mac. We will proceed no further in this business;
he hath honoured me of late; and I have bought
golden opinions from all sorts of people,
which would be worn now in their newest gloss,
not cast aside so soon. L. M.
Was the hope drunk, wherein you dressed yourself? hath it slept since? and wakes it now, to look so green and pale at what it did so freely? From this time such I account thy love. Art thou afeard to be the same in thine own act and valour, as thou art in desire? Would'st thou have that which thou esteem'st the ornament of life, and live a coward in thine own esteem, letting, “I dare not’ wait upon ‘I would,'
like the poor cat i'the adage? Mac.
I dare do all that may become a man;
who dares do more, is none. L., M.
What beast was 't then, that made you break this enterprise to me? when you durst do it, then you were a man ; and, to be more than what you were, you would be so much more the man. Nor time nor place did then adhere, and yet you would make both: they have made themselves, and that their fitness now does unmake you. I have given suck, and know how tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me: I would, while it was smiling in my face, have plucked my nipple from his boneless gums, and dashed the brains out, had I so sworn as you
have done to this. 1108 Mac.
If we should fail, L. M.
We fail! but screw your courage to the sticking-place, and we'll not fail. When Duncan is asleep, (whereto the rather shall his day's hard journey soundly invite him,) his two chamberlains will I with wine and wassail so convince, that memory, the warder of the brain, shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason a limbec only; when in swinish sleep
their drenched natures lie as in a death,
what cannot you and I perform upon
the unguarded Duncan? what not put upon
his spongy officers, who shall bear the guilt
of our great quell? Nac.
Bring forth men-children only; for thy undaunted mettle should compose nothing but males. Will it not be received, when we have marked with blood those sleepy two of his own chamber, and used their very daggers,
that they have done 't? L. M.
Who dares receive it other, as we shall make our griefs and clamour roar
upon his death? fac.
I am settled, and bend up each corporal agent to this terrible feat. Away, and mock the time with fairest show: false face must hide what the false heart doth know.
S this a dagger which I see before me,
the handle toward my hand ? Come, let me clutch
I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible
to feeling as to sight? or art thou but
a dagger of the mind, a false creation,
proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
I see thee yet, in form as palpable
as this which now I draw.
Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going;
and such an instrument I was to use.
Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses,
or else worth all the rest: I see thee still;
and on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood,
which was not so before.—There's no such thing;
it is this bloody business, which informs
thus to mine eyes.—Now o'er the one-half world
nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse
the curtain'd sleep; (now) witchcraft celebrates
pale Hecate's offerings; and wither'd murder,
alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf,
whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace,
with Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design
moves like a ghost.—Thou sure and firm-set earth,
hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear
thy very stones prate of my whereabout,
and take the present horror from the time,
which now suits with it. Whiles I threat, he lives;
words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives.
I go, and it is done; the bell invites me.
Hear it not, Duncan; for it is a knell
that summons thee to heaven, or to hell.
ET not your ears despise my tongue for ever,
which shall possess them with the heaviest sound, that ever yet they heard. Macd.
Humph! I guess at it. Rosse Your castle is surprised; your wife and babes
savagely slaughtered : to relate the manner,
were, on the quarry of these murdered deer,
to add the death of you. Mal.
Merciful heaven !What, man! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows; give sorrow words: the grief that does not speak
whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it break. Macd. My children too? Rosse
Wife, children, servants, all that could be found. Macd.
And I must be from thence ! My wife killed too? Rosse
I have said. Mal.
Be comforted : let's make us medicines of our great revenge,
to cure this deadly grief.
Macd. He has no children.--All my pretty ones ?
did you say, all ?—0, hell-kite !--All ?
What, all my pretty chickens and their dam
at one fell swoop ?
IIII Mal. Dispute it like a man.
I shall do so ;
but I must also feel it as a man :
I cannot but remember such things were,