Page:Macbeth (1918) Yale.djvu/78

66

As if it felt with Scotland and yell'd out

Like syllable of dolour.

Mal. What I believe I'll wail,

What know believe, and what I can redress,

As 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 lov'd him well;

He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young; but something

You may discern of him through me, and wisdom

To offer up a weak, poor, innocent lamb

To appease an angry god.

Macd. I am not treacherous.

Mal. But Macbeth is.

A 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,

Yet grace must still look so.

Macd. I have lost my hopes.

Mal. Perchance even there where I did find my doubts.

Why in that rawness left you wife and child—

Those precious motives, those strong knots of love—

Without leave-taking? I pray you,

Let not my jealousies be your dishonours,

But mine own safeties: you may be rightly just,

Whatever I shall think.

 8 dolour: sorrow

10 to friend: favorable

13–16 Cf. n.

19 recoil: turn to evil

20 imperial charge: king's service

24 so: i.e., gracious

26 rawness: rash haste

29 jealousies: suspicions

