Lady Macbeth A Tragedy |
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| 3. | SCENE III. |
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 | Lady Macbeth |  |
SCENE III.
LADY.Oh! shall I never know a calm again;
But like the sea, urged by the charter'd storms,
Bursting embarkments, still o'er pass my will
In billowy violence of troubled thought.
The old man, skilful, by Experience taught,
Discerns my soul's conceal'd and cureless sore.
But the afflicting cancer of remorse,
Makes scarcely half my sum of misery.
Macbeth, enchanted by his fatal credence
In the prognostics of bewild'ring lore,
Foregoes the occupation of a king,
For uncouth riddles and phantastic orgies,
Nor, with his wonted prescience, provides
For the dire shock of England's feudal streams,
Which flood the lowlands, to the Granpian's base;
And, swelling with the torrents of our clans,
Impetuous roll to insulate us here.
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Young Malcom seize us in this last retreat,
And cage us for an ignominious show,
Like savages that feed on human carn!
| Lady Macbeth | |