And on thy blade, and dudgeon,* gouts of blood, Thus to mine eyes.-Now o'er the one half world, Whose howl's his watch, thus, with his stealthy pace, Hear it not, Duncan; for it is a knell LESSON CXCV. Dialogue from Macbeth.-SHAKSPEARE SCENE.-MALCOLM and MACDUFF, in the king's palace in England;-Enter ROSSE from Scotland. Macduff. See, who comes here? Malcolm. My countryman; but yet I know him not. Mal. I know him now: Good God, betimes remove Rosse. Sir, Amen. Macd. Stands Scotland where it did? Rosse. Alas, poor country; Almost afraid to know itself! It cannot Be called our mother, but our grave: where nothing, Where sighs, and groans, and shrieks that rent the air, Is there scarce asked, for who; and good men's lives Dying, or ere they sicken. *Haft, handle. + Drops. [gouttes, French.] "Gut for drop is still used in Scotland by physicians."-Johnson. The diphthong ou in gouts has the sound of oo, as'in croup and group. Macd. O, relation, Too nice, and yet too true! Mal. What is the newest grief? Rosse. That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker; Each minute teems a new one. Macd. How does my wife? Rosse. Why, well. Macd. And all my children? Rosse. Well too. Macd. The tyrant has not battered at their peace? Rosse. No; they were well at peace, when I did leave them. Macd. Be not a niggard of your speech: how goes it? Rosse. When I came hither to transport the tidings, Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumour Of many worthy fellows that were out; Which was to my belief witnessed the rather,.. For that I saw the tyrant's power afoot: Now is the time of help; your eye in Scotland Would create soldiers, make our women fight, To doff their dire distresses. Mal. Be it their comfort, We are coming thither: gracious England hath That Christendom gives out. Rosse. Would I could answer This comfort with the like! But I have words, Macd. What concern they? The general cause? or is it a fee-grief,t Rosse. No mind, that's honest, But in it shares some wo; though the main part Pertains to you alone. Macd. If it be mine, Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it. Rosse. Let not your ears despise my tongue for ever, Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound That ever yet they heard. Macd. Humph! I guess at it. * Catch. A grief that has a single owner. This interjection, implying doubt and deliberation, and more co rectly written hum, is sounded inarticulately, with the lips closed. Rosse. Your castle is surprised; your wife, and babes, Savagely slaughtered: to relate the manner, Were, on the quarry of these murdered deer, To add the death of you. Mal. Merciful heaven! What! man, ne'er pull your hat upon your brows; Rosse. Wife, children, servants, all That could be found. Macd. And I must be from thence! My wife killed too! Rosse. I have said. Mal. Be comforted: Let's make us medicines of our great revenge, Macd. He has no children.-All my pretty ones? What, all my pretty chickens, and their dam, Mal. Dispute it like a man. Macd. I shall do so; But I must also feel it as a man: I cannot but remember such things were, That were most precious to me.-Did heaven look on Fell slaughter on their souls:-Heaven rest them now! Macd. O, I could play the woman with mine eyes, Bring thou this fiend of Scotland, and myself; Mal. This tune goes manly. Come, go we to the king; our power is ready; Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer you may; The night is long, that never finds the day. [Exeunt. LESSON CXCVI. The Passions.-An Ode.-COLLINS. WHEN Musick, heavenly maid, was young, Low sullen sounds his grief beguiled :- A soft responsive voice was heard at every close; And longer had she sung-but, with a frown, He threw his blood-stained sword in thunder down; The war-denouncing trumpet took, And blew a blast so loud and dread, Were ne'er prophetick sounds so full of wo; And, ever and anon, he beat The doubling drum with furious heat: And though, sometimes, each dreary pause between, Her soul-subduing voice applied, Yet still he kept his wild unaltered mien, While each strained ball of sight seemed bursting from his head. Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fixed; Sad proof of thy distressful state : Of differing themes the veering song was mixed: And, now it courted Love; now, raving, called on Hate. With eyes up-raised, as one inspired, Pale Melancholy sat retired; And, from her wild sequestered seat, Poured through the mellow horn her pensive soul: Bubbling runnels joined the sound: Through glades and glooms, the mingled measure stole, Or o'er some haunted streams with fond delay, (Round a holy calm diffusing, Love of peace, and lonely musing) In hollow murmurs died away. But, O! how altered was its sprightlier tone, When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, Her bow across her shoulder flung, Her buskins gemmed with morning dew, Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung!- The oak-crowned Sisters, and their chaste-eyed Queen, Satyrs and sylvan boys were seen, Peeping from forth their alleys green: Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear, And Sport leaped up, and seized his beechen spear. |