 | Lady Macbeth |  |
SCENE XIII.
Lady, Macbeth, and Baudron.LADY.
How now, Macbeth, what dost thou from thy post?
Forth to the men; nor in thy fury slack,
'Till thou hast swept with iron besoming,
The impeded course of our regality.
MACBETH.
My fate is verified. No man of them
Withstands the flash and tempest of my sword.
Back from the gates they all recoiling roll,
A bloody rubbish: wounded, dead and dying,
Lie heap'd a hideous pile.
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My valiant king!
Back to the revels of grim Mars again,
And gorge thy valour.
MACBETH.
Ah! my dearest love,
I have, alas, encountered there a foe,
More terrible than all of woman born;
And ere again I breast the battles surge,
I would hold parley with the old man here.
LADY.
Fye, fye, Macbeth, thou dalliest with our fate.
MACBETH.
I oft in childhood roamed the haunted glens,
And heard the rustle of the bard-sung ghosts;
In bolder youth, all lonely, I have scaled
The windy summits of our wildest hills,
And heard the whisp'ring of contriving sprites:
But, nor in childhood, nor in pensive youth,
Nor when the sisters on the blasted heath,
With supernatural prediction hail'd;
Nor all the spectral visions I have seen,
By night, or noon, or in the witches' cave,
Ere struck such chill into my daunted heart,
As the creations of my guilt to-day.
LADY.
By what new goblin hast thou been amaz'd?
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Each wound I gave, seem'd Duncan's gash renew'd;
Each groan I heard, sounded like his expire.
Whene'er I turn'd, to praise my valiant men,
In their brave exhibition, I discern'd
Th'accusing semblance of the murder'd Banquo,
As when he fought with me against the Dane.
All the encrimson'd secrets of my life,
Glar'd in my sight; and though to madness driv'n,
I rush'd to meet destruction every where,
The bolts flew harmless o'er my charmed head,
And pointed spears fell blunted from my mail.
Oh! that which promis'd me a safe long life,
Inflicts more anguish than a thousand deaths.
LADY.
There is no remedy for us, Macbeth.
MACBETH.
Help, help; she dies!—fly, help—the doctor; fly.
LADY.
He has no lenitives for my disease;
Nostrum nor simple can remove my pain.
| Lady Macbeth | |