Of goodly thousands. But, for all this,
When I fhall tread upon the tyrant's head,
Or wear it on my fword, yet my poor country
Shall have more vices than it had before;
More fuffer, and more fundry ways than ever,
By him that fhall fucceed.

Macd. What fhould he be ?

Mal. It is myself I mean; in whom I know
All the particulars of vice fo grafted,

That, when they fhall be open'd, black Macbeth
Will feem as pure as fnow; and the

poor ftate Efteem him as a lamb, being compar'd

With my confinelefs harms.

Macd. Not, in the legions

Of horrid hell, can come a devil more damn'd,
In evils to top Macbeth.

Mal. I grant him bloody,

Luxurious, avaricious, falfe, deceitful,
'Sudden, malicious, fmacking of every fin
That has a name: But there's no bottom, none,
In my voluptuoufnefs: your wives, your daughters,
Your matrons, and your maids, could not fill up
The ciftern of my luft; and my defire

All continent impediments would o'er-bear,
That did oppofe my will. Better Macbeth,
Than fuch an one to reign.

Macd. Boundless intemperance

In nature is a tyranny: it hath been
The untimely emptying of the happy throne,
And fall of many kings. But fear not yet
To take upon you what is yours: you may

It is myself I mean: in whom I know]

This conference of Malcolm with Macduff is taken out of the chronicles of Scotland. POPE.

Sudden, maiic ous.-] Sudden, for capricious, WARBUR. Rather violent, paffionate, hafty. JOHNSON.

Convey your pleasures in a fpacious plenty,
And yet icem cold, the time you may fo hood-wink,
We have willing dames enough; there cannot be
That vulture in you to devour fo many,

As will to greatnefs dedicate themfelves,
Finding it fo inclin'd.

Mal. With this, there grows,

In my moft ill-compos'd affection, fuch
A ftaunchless avarice, that, were I king,
I fhould cut off the nobles for their lands;
Defire his jewels, and this other's houfe:
And my more-having would be as a fauce
To make me hunger more; that I should forge
Quarrels unjust against the good and loyal,
Destroying them for wealth.

Macd. This avarice

Sticks deeper; grows with more pernicious root
Than fummer feeming luft: and it hath been
The fword of our flain kings: Yet do not fear;
Scotland hath foyfons to fill up your will,
Of your mere own.

All these are portable,

With other graces weigh'd.

•grows with more pernicious root
Than fummer-feeming luft;}

Summer-feeming has no manner of fenfe: correct,
Than fummer-teeming luft;

i. e. the paffion that lasts no longer than the beat of life, and
which goes off in the winter of age. WARBURTON.
When I was younger and bolder I corrected it thus,
Than fume, or feething luft.

that is, Than angry paffion, or boiling lutt. JOHNSON. Summer-feeming luft, is, I fuppofe, luft that feems as hot as fummer. STEEVENS.

3-foyfons,] Plenty. PorE.

So Puttenham in his Art of Poetry, 1589,

"As the good feeds fowen in fruitful foil

"Bring forth foyjon when barren doth them fpoil."

STEEVENS.

Mal.

1

Mal. But I have none: The king-becoming graces,
As justice, verity, temperance, stableness,
Bounty, perfeverance, mercy, lowliness,
Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude;
I have no relish of them; but abound
In the divifion of each feveral crime,

Acting it many ways. Nay, had I power, I fhould
Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell,
Uproar the univerfal peace, confound
All unity on earth.

Macd. Oh Scotland! Scotland!

Mal. If fuch a one be fit to govern, speak:

I am as I have spoken.

Macd. Fit to govern!

No, not to live.-O nation miserable,
With an untitled tyrant, bloody-fcepter'd,
When shalt thou fee thy wholesome days again?
Since that the trueft iffue of thy throne

By his own interdiction stands accurs'd,

And does blafpheme his breed?-Thy royal father
Was a most fainted king; the queen, that bore thee,
Oftner upon her knees than on her feet,

Dy'd every day fhe lived. Fare thee well!
Thefe evils, thou repeat'ft upon thyself,

Have banish'd me from Scotland.-O, my breast,
Thy hope ends here!

Mal. Macduff, this noble paffion,

Child of integrity, hath from my foul

Wip'd the black fcruples; reconcil'd my thoughts
To thy good truth and honour. Devilish Macbeth
By many of these trains hath fought to win me
Into his power and modeft wifdom plucks me
From over credulous hate: But God above
Deal between thee and me! for even now
I put myself to thy direction, and
Unfpeak mine own detraction; here abjure

The

The taints and blames I laid upon myself,
For ftrangers to my nature. I am yet
Unknown to woman; never was forfworn;
Scarcely have coveted what was mine own;
At no time broke my faith; would not betray
The devil to his fellow; and delight

No lefs in truth than life. My firft falfe fpeaking
Was this upon myself. What I am truly,

Is thine, and my poor country's, to command:
Whither, indeed, before thy here-approach,
Old Seyward with ten thousand war-like men,
+ All ready at a point, was fetting forth.
Now we'll together; and the chance of goodness

4 All ready at A POINT,`

-]

At a point, may mean all ready at a time; but Shakespeare meant more: He meant both time and place, and certainly wrote, All ready at APPOINT,

i. e. at the place appointed, at the rendezvous. WARBURTON. There is no need of change. JOHNSON.

The chance of goodness, as it is commonly read, conveys no fenfe. If there be not fome more important errour in the paffage, it fhould at least be pointed thus:

and the chance, of goodness,

Be like our warranted quarrel !

That is, may the event be, of the goodness of heaven, [pro juflitia divina] anfwerable to the cause.

The author of the Revifal conceives the fenfe of the paffage to be rather this: And may the fuccefs of that goodness, which is about to exert itself in my behalf, be fuch as may be equal to the juftice of my quarrel.

But I am inclined to believe that Shakespeare wrote,

and the chance, O goodness,

Be like our warranted quarrel!·

This fome of his transcribers wrote with a small o, which another imagined to mean of. If we adopt this reading, the sense will be, and Othou fovereign Goodness, to whom we now appeal, may our fortune answer to our caufe. JOHNSON.

Be

Be like our warranted quarrel! Why are you filent? Macd. Such welcome, and unwelcome things at

once,

'Tis hard to reconcile.

Enter a Doctor.

Mal. Well, more anon.-Comes the King forth, I pray you?

Doct. Ay, fir: there are a crew of wretched fouls, That stay his cure: their malady convinces The great affay of art. But, at his touch, Such fanctity hath Heaven given his hand, They prefently amend.

Mal. I thank you, Doctor.

Macd. What's the difeafe he means?
Mal. 'Tis call'd the Evil;

[Exit.

A moft miraculous work in this good king;
Which often fince my here-remain in England
I have feen him do. How he follicits Heaven,
Himself beft knows: but ftrangely-vifited people,
All fwoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye,
The mere defpair of furgery, he cures;
Hanging a golden ftamp about their necks,
Put on with holy prayers. 7 And 'tis spoken,
To the fucceeding royalty he leaves

6

convinces] i. e. overpowers, fubdues. So act i. fc.

glt. STEEVENS.

It must be own'd, that Shakespeare is often guilty of strange abfurdities in point of hiftory and chronology. Yet here he has artfully avoided one. He had a mind to hint, that the cure of the evil was to defcend to the fucceffors in the royal line in compliment to James the first. But the Confeffor was the first who pretended to this gift: How then could it be at that time generally fpoken of, that the gift was hereditary? this he has folved by telling us that Edward had the gift of prophecy along with it. WARBURTON. The