University of Virginia Library

SCENE XVI.

Macbeth, Baudron, Seaton &c.
MACBETH.
Come, stand apart, and let me look on her.
Tears ill would suit the stern magnificence
That should attend thy bier: such drops as these
Red trickling from my sword, should fall for thee.
For thou wast made of such courageous stuff,
That the heroic when compar'd with thine,
Prov'd minor metal form'd for meaner use.
Yes, noble lady, thou hast died a queen;
Invidious Fortune would have bent thee down,
But thy undaunted spirit aw'd the fiend,
And with triumphant royalty has left
Its frail corporeal mantle as it rose,
To rouse me to great things. Baudron thou said'st,
That the same sun that saw the queen a corse,
Would ne'er on me bestow a setting beam.
Lo! there she lies!—And hark, the storm without
Thunders prelusive to the dread finale.
Fate do thy worst, I dare thee to the beard;
Nor life, nor crown, nor victory, nor fame,
Inspire my great intent. For death I fight;
And will the black tremendous trophy gain,
Ere this last consummating day be done.
Pull down the royal standard from the tower,
And in its stead unfurl the funeral pall;
The ensign of my cause. To all adieu.
Dull guestless mansion of my love farewell;
I go to meet her, though it be in Hell!