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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
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