What should he be?
It is myself I mean: in whom I know
All the particulars of vice so grafted
That, when they shall be open'd,
Will seem as pure as snow, and the poor state
Esteem him as a lamb, being compared
my confineless harms.
Not in the legions
Of horrid hell can come a devil more damn'd
In evils to top Macbeth.
I grant him bloody,
Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful,
Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin
has a name: but there's no bottom, none,
In my voluptuousness: your wives, your daughters,
and your maids, could not fill up
The cistern of my lust, and my desire
All continent impediments would
That did oppose my will: better Macbeth
Than such an one to reign.
In nature is a tyranny; it hath been
The untimely emptying of the happy throne
fall of many kings. But fear not yet
To take upon you what is yours: you may
Convey your pleasures in a
And yet seem cold, the time you may so hoodwink.
We have willing dames enough: there
That vulture in you, to devour so many
As will to greatness dedicate themselves,
Finding it so
With this there grows
In my most ill-composed affection such
A stanchless avarice that, were I king,
cut off the nobles for their lands,
Desire his jewels and this other's house:
And my more-having would be
as a sauce
To make me hunger more; that I should forge
Quarrels unjust against the good and loyal,
them for wealth.
Sticks deeper, grows with more pernicious root
Than summer-seeming lust, and it hath been
sword of our slain kings: yet do not fear;
Scotland hath foisons to fill up your will.
Of your mere own: all
these are portable,
With other graces weigh'd.
But I have none: the king-becoming graces,
As justice, verity, temperance, stableness,
Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude,
I have no relish of them, but abound
In the division
of each several crime,
Acting it many ways. Nay, had I power, I should
Pour the sweet milk of concord
Uproar the universal peace, confound
All unity on earth.
O Scotland, Scotland!
If such a one be fit to govern, speak:
I am as I have spoken.
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