Unit 4: The Tragedy of Macbeth, Acts 2–3

So I lose none
In seeking to augment it

I see thee yet, in form as palpable
As this which now I draw.

...and wither’d Murther,
Alarum’d by his sentinel, the wolf,
Whose howl’s his watch, thus with his stealthy pace,
With Tarquin’s ravishing strides, towards his design
Moves like a ghost.

No; this my hand will rather
The multitudinous seas incarnadine,
Making the green one red.

Faith, here’s an equivocator, that could swear in both the scales against either scale, who committed treason enough for God’s sake, yet could not equivocate to heaven.

Fears and scruples shake us.

If there come truth from them—
As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine—
Why, by the verities on thee made good,
May they not be my oracles as well,
And set me up in hope?

’Tis much he dares,
And to that dauntless temper of his mind,
He hath a wisdom that doth guide his valor
To act in safety.

There’s comfort yet, they are assailable.
Then be thou jocund

Thou art the best o’ th’ cut-throats,
Yet he’s good that did the like for Fleance.
If thou didst it, thou art the nonpareil.

The son of Duncan
(From whom this tyrant holds the due of birth)
Lives in the English court, and is receiv’d
Of the most pious Edward with such grace
That the malevolence of fortune nothing
Takes from his high respect.