Enter MALCOLM and
Let us seek out some desolate shade and there
Weep our sad bosoms empty.
Hold fast the mortal sword and, like good men,
Bestride our downfall'n birthdom. Each new morn
5New widows howl, new orphans cry, new sorrows
Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds
As if it felt with Scotland and yelled out
Like syllable of dolor.
I believe I’ll wail;
What know believe, and what I can redress,
10As I shall find the time to friend, I will.
What you have spoke, it may be so perchance.
This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues,
Was once thought honest. You have loved him well.
He hath not touched you yet. I am young, but something
15You may deserve of him through me, and wisdom
To offer up a weak, poor, innocent lamb
T' appease an angry god.
I am not treacherous.
But Macbeth is.
20A good and virtuous nature may recoil
In an imperial charge. But I shall crave your pardon.
That which you are, my thoughts cannot transpose.
Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell.
Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace,
25Yet grace must still look so.