Too cruel any where. Dear Duff, I prithee, contradict thyself, And say it is not so. Had I but died an hour before this chance, I had lived a blessed time; for, from this instant, There 's nothing serious in mortality: All is but toys: renown and grace is dead; The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees Is left this vault to brag of. What is amiss? You are, and do not know't: The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood Is stopp'd; the very source of it is stopp'd. Your royal father 's murder'd. O, by whom? Those of his chamber, as it seem'd, had done 't: Their hands and faces were an badged with blood; So were their daggers, which unwiped we found Upon their pillows: They stared, and were distracted; no man's life Was to be trusted with them. O, yet I do repent me of my fury, That I did kill them. Wherefore did you so? Who can be wise, amazed, temperate and furious, Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man: The expedition my violent love Outrun the pauser, reason. Here lay Duncan, His silver skin laced with his golden blood; And his gash'd stabs look'd like a breach in nature For ruin's wasteful entrance: there, the murderers, Steep'd in the colours of their trade, their daggers Unmannerly breech'd with gore: who could refrain, That had a heart to love, and in that heart Courage to make 's love known? Help me hence, ho! Look to the lady. Why do we hold our tongues, That most may claim this argument for ours? What should be spoken here, where our fate, Hid in an auger-hole, may rush, and seize us? Let 's away; Our tears are not yet brew'd. Nor our strong sorrow Upon the foot of motion. Look to the lady: And when we have our naked frailties hid, That suffer in exposure, let us meet, And question this most bloody piece of work, To know it further. Fears and scruples shake us: In the great hand of God I stand; and thence Against the undivulged pretence I fight Of treasonous malice. And so do I. So all. Let's briefly put on manly readiness, And meet i' the hall together. Well contented. What will you do? Let's not consort with them: To show an unfelt sorrow is an office Which the false man does easy. I'll to England. To Ireland, I; our separated fortune Shall keep us both the safer: where we