 | Lady Macbeth |  |
SCENE VII.
Macbeth and Baudron.MACBETH.
Thy look is weary, Baudron, and thine eyes
Seem as if grief had meddled with thy rest.
BAUDRON.
My feeble rag of life can ill endure
The perturbation that besets me here.
These lengthen'd vigils prey upon my strength,
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Too freely, with her majesty, I fear.
MACBETH.
She will forgive thee—I will speak to her;
And when this traitorous investment's o'er,
Which circumscribes us to the castle here,
Thou shalt have 'tendance and the softest down,
To breathe in peace thy latter days away.—
But tell me, Baudron, by what marks to know
The fall and ebbing fortune of a king?
BAUDRON.
Then I must speak what prudence would conceal,
And things relate of harsh ungrateful note
To the sooth'd ear of flatter'd majesty.
MACBETH.
Fear not—my hearing has accustom'd grown
To tidings of adversity; and I
Can listen, to the worst that may befall,
Calm as the swain that hears the fading leaves
Whisp'ring that Winter hastens to disperse.
BAUDRON.
Alas! your highness hath already learnt
The dismal knowledge of your own estate.
The deep low discontents, throughout the land,
Have long been murmuring prelude to the clang
Of foreign war, which now so loudly dins
The dirge and knell of your departed power.
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But I am safe the weird sisters said,
Till Birnam wood shall come to Dunsinane;
And by their greeting upon Forres moor,
Have I not found that they predict the truth?
Nature hath turns that in the plainest course
Perplex our wisdom: and may I not hope,
Who hath received such proof of special fate,
That those sad signals which are wont to show
Disast'rous change to others, shall to me
Prove but precursors to a passing care?
As night is harbinger to the gay morn,
And boist'rous Winter heralds forth the Spring.
| Lady Macbeth | |