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94 Macbeth [Act IV 

Quarrels unjust against the good and loyal, 
Destroying them for wealth. 

Macduff. This avarce 

Sticks deeper, grows with more pernicious root 
Than summer-seeming lust, and it hath been 
The 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. go 

Malcolm. But I have none: the king-becoming 
graces, 
As justice, verity, temperance, stableness, 
Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness, 
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 into hell, 
Uproar the universal peace, confound 
All unity on earth. 

Macduff. O Scotland, Scotland ! 100 

Malcolm. If such a one be fit to govern, speak ; 
I am as I have spoken. 

Macduff. Fit to govern ! 

No, not to live. O nation miserable ! 
With an untitled tyrant bloody-sceptred, 
When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again, 
Since that the truest issue of thy throne 
By his own interdiction stands accurs'd