Malcolm, the heir apparent, engages in a lengthy coversation with MacDuff, to determine the feelings of each about who should be the future king of Scotland if and when Macbeth is deposed, disposed of, and decomposed: but Malcom is testing Macduff.
Malcolm. I feel like finding some desolate shade
and just crying my eyes out over this mess we are in.
I'm almost willing to switch my place for anyone else's.
How about you?
Macduff. Not me. I'd rather fight than switch.
You are the rightful heir, and though
this has been a bad heir day, we can make it right, somehow.
Every day, there's another widow howling,
additional orphans galore, new suffering, pains, agony.
I'm sore just thinking about it all.
I'm as mad as hell and I'm not going to take it any more.
Scotland has gone to pot, so to speak;
so has the world, the universe, the whole lot of us.
Malcolm. What I believe I'll scream from the mountain tops.
I know what I know and believe that what I know
is what I believe I know, I think.
And whatever I can make up for in any way, I will.
I definitely won't shrink away.
What you say may certainly be true; maybe not.
Macbeth was honest, once, you say;
but, he hasn't gotten to you yet. Or has he?
He might offer you some nice reward,
to make the pot sweet, to get rid of me.
That is a possibility.
Macduff. I am not a criminal.
Malcolm. Ah, no? But Macbeth is! Is that not so?
Even the best of men bend under the power
of a cruel and evil leader.
I am sorry to be thinking this way.
You are what you are no matter
what I may think you are.
Nothing can change you.
Think back.
Lucifer was the brightest of the angels;
look what happened to him -- to us because of him.
Bad things make themselves look good,
and good things already look good.
How are we supposed to tell the difference?
We should.
Macduff. It's all so hopeless. We are helpless.
Malcolm. While we're on the subject of helpless,
why did you leave your wife and child alone?
They were two great reasons to stay with them,
if not for causes grown from love,
at least protect them from the knife,
the club, or death by bloody glove.
Those are events that made me have my doubts
and chilled me to the bone.
Remember, these are not attacks on you.
They are protection for my body, too.
Macduff. Scotland, you are bleeding to your death, indeed.
Nothing that is good can stop you now, Macbeth;
your name and title have been by all agreed
and none can take it from you till your death.
As for you, Malcolm, if what you say is what you believe,
then, for you, too, I sorely grieve.
I would not hurt you for all of Europe, Africa, Asia Minor,
nor any land, or sky, or sea, and all the tea in China.
Malcolm. I didn't mean it that way. It's not that I'm afraid of you.
It's Macbeth. The country's buckling in to him. We're sick
with grief, pain, torment, torture, sickness, and poverty, too;
every day opens a new wound before we had the time to lick
the old ones; but I have a plan that just might work.
My countrymen are ready to rebel against the overlord
and England's armies all regard him as a jerk;
both sides are ready, willing, and able to come aboard
with us. I get an awful feeling though, if he is dead,
the country will be no better off than now because
the next king after him may fill us more with dread
with worse conditions and more oppressive laws.
Macduff. What king are you talking about?
When Macbeth is dead, who's the head?
Malcolm. I am referring to me.
You don't know me as well as I do. I'm rude,
socially unacceptable, acquainted with all the evil ways, and crude
enough than when my past is opened up for all to see,
Macbeth will look so virgin white as angel's purity.
Macduff. You? Is this a joke? You're kidding, right? Just say it isn't so!
Macbeth's the worst; baddest of the bad; lowest of the low.
There is no devil in the deepest depths of hell
more evil than Macbeth who makes most bloody death look well.
Malcolm. That's all so very true but doesn't touch my resumeʹ;
Macbeth is a bloody liar, violent, cruel, greedy, nasty, mean,
murderous, sly, suspicious, the total pits; a nightmare in the day.
Compared to me, none nicer have you ever seen.
I'd rape your wife, maid, mistress, daughter with such lust
you'd vomit at the sight of it, then watch me eat the crust
and puke the rest upon anyone who dared defy my will.
To have Macbeth as king again would be far better, still.
Macduff. Gosh! Nobody's perfect. You may have been a little bad,
but I'm sure we can work something out. Being extreme
with drink, or sex, or violence -- getting really mad
about nothing -- Ha! Perfection's just a dream
we all strive for and wish we had.
Don't worry 'bout those problems, big or small.
Be the king you ought to be. Just take it all.
You want some shameless sex with fun and games,
we'll send to you a hundred -- more, a thousand dames
to bounce your uglies till you drop them dry
and send you hundreds more till you cry, "Hold! No more!"
Bottom line: You're not so hard to satisfy -- your needs --
that we cannot come to terms with words and deeds.
Malcolm. You still don't get it, do you? Just call me irresponsible.
I want money: silver, jewels, platinum, gold -- any kind
and anything else of value. My greed is insatiable.
I'd take my noble's treasures, pets, land -- all I could find
all for myself, if I were king. The more I have, the more I need.
I'd make friend fight friend, destroy loyalty and trust.
Life would be misery with me as king, the demon seed.
Find another man to be your king. You must.
Macduff. No, no, no! Everyone wants more than he could ever get.
for greed is natural. Just look back at Eve and Adam.
There, the two had everything in paradise, and yet,
they wanted more and caused us all to hit the bottom.
It's true that money has caused the death of many crowns
unseating kings and queens themselves from thrones
destroying castles, cities, homes, and towns
interring with them all their subjects bones.
Scotland has enough to satisfy your every whim
and more than that to give if you consent to stay.
With all your faults, you're still ahead of him
who rules us cruelly to this very day.
Malcolm. Macduff, take a good look at me. Do you see royal quality?
I think NOT! You need a king who is just, truthful, brave,
honest, stable, moderate, in control and willing to show mercy.
he must be humble, patient, and devoted. I do not crave
these characteristics. They are just not me. I have a diabolic mind
and like to see the bowels of hell erupt and cover all the earth
with wars, corruption, sickness, death rather than to find
myself a gentle, meek and mild kind of king of greater worth.
Macduff. If it is true, all that you said, alas, poor Scotland, you are dead.
Malcolm. If I am still your choice --
and I am as I have said I am --
to be your ruler, tell me, now.
Macduff. To be our ruler? Hah! One like that is not fit to even live.
Oh, Scotland! There is no one left for me to give
you hope. Your leader is a bloody murderer, and worse,
the one who should be king, Malcolm here, is but a curse
upon the kingly name and queen that gave him life.
Oh, Malcolm, if all I heard you say is true,
there's nothing left for me to do
than leave this place and find another home
so not to witness once again the Fall of Rome.
Malcolm. [Catching him off guard before he can run away]
Wait, Macduff. Just wait a minute. I have more to say.
Your passion has convinced me that you are not a spy.
Macbeth has tried to get to me by tricks in every way;
but wisdom and experienced had forced me to try
to break you down, just to be absolutely sure
that this was not another of the madman's traps.
The conversation that we had is so secure
that only God and you and I (and, perhaps
some kingly ghosts) could hear these raunchy lies
I told, all of which I readily take back, for sure.
I never stole a thing, nor lied before today; my eyes
had never looked upon a woman, yet; I'm pure
as virgin snow, and never broke a promise that I made
to anyone, and truth is my foundation, way of life;
what I am to you is not to anyone what I have said.
My armies, thousands, are prepared to battle strife.
Siward, too, is also ready with ten-thousand men.
It's time we go against Macbeth, better now than then.
Why are you so quiet? Are you confused?
Macduff. Such news was bad, then turned to good.
My mind has been abused.
Poetry by NotaDeadPoet
Read 888 times
Written on 2007-01-21 at 17:09
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Macbeth, Act IV, sc. iii A Question of Loyalty
[Malcolm and Macduff enter from somewhere.]Malcolm. I feel like finding some desolate shade
and just crying my eyes out over this mess we are in.
I'm almost willing to switch my place for anyone else's.
How about you?
Macduff. Not me. I'd rather fight than switch.
You are the rightful heir, and though
this has been a bad heir day, we can make it right, somehow.
Every day, there's another widow howling,
additional orphans galore, new suffering, pains, agony.
I'm sore just thinking about it all.
I'm as mad as hell and I'm not going to take it any more.
Scotland has gone to pot, so to speak;
so has the world, the universe, the whole lot of us.
Malcolm. What I believe I'll scream from the mountain tops.
I know what I know and believe that what I know
is what I believe I know, I think.
And whatever I can make up for in any way, I will.
I definitely won't shrink away.
What you say may certainly be true; maybe not.
Macbeth was honest, once, you say;
but, he hasn't gotten to you yet. Or has he?
He might offer you some nice reward,
to make the pot sweet, to get rid of me.
That is a possibility.
Macduff. I am not a criminal.
Malcolm. Ah, no? But Macbeth is! Is that not so?
Even the best of men bend under the power
of a cruel and evil leader.
I am sorry to be thinking this way.
You are what you are no matter
what I may think you are.
Nothing can change you.
Think back.
Lucifer was the brightest of the angels;
look what happened to him -- to us because of him.
Bad things make themselves look good,
and good things already look good.
How are we supposed to tell the difference?
We should.
Macduff. It's all so hopeless. We are helpless.
Malcolm. While we're on the subject of helpless,
why did you leave your wife and child alone?
They were two great reasons to stay with them,
if not for causes grown from love,
at least protect them from the knife,
the club, or death by bloody glove.
Those are events that made me have my doubts
and chilled me to the bone.
Remember, these are not attacks on you.
They are protection for my body, too.
Macduff. Scotland, you are bleeding to your death, indeed.
Nothing that is good can stop you now, Macbeth;
your name and title have been by all agreed
and none can take it from you till your death.
As for you, Malcolm, if what you say is what you believe,
then, for you, too, I sorely grieve.
I would not hurt you for all of Europe, Africa, Asia Minor,
nor any land, or sky, or sea, and all the tea in China.
Malcolm. I didn't mean it that way. It's not that I'm afraid of you.
It's Macbeth. The country's buckling in to him. We're sick
with grief, pain, torment, torture, sickness, and poverty, too;
every day opens a new wound before we had the time to lick
the old ones; but I have a plan that just might work.
My countrymen are ready to rebel against the overlord
and England's armies all regard him as a jerk;
both sides are ready, willing, and able to come aboard
with us. I get an awful feeling though, if he is dead,
the country will be no better off than now because
the next king after him may fill us more with dread
with worse conditions and more oppressive laws.
Macduff. What king are you talking about?
When Macbeth is dead, who's the head?
Malcolm. I am referring to me.
You don't know me as well as I do. I'm rude,
socially unacceptable, acquainted with all the evil ways, and crude
enough than when my past is opened up for all to see,
Macbeth will look so virgin white as angel's purity.
Macduff. You? Is this a joke? You're kidding, right? Just say it isn't so!
Macbeth's the worst; baddest of the bad; lowest of the low.
There is no devil in the deepest depths of hell
more evil than Macbeth who makes most bloody death look well.
Malcolm. That's all so very true but doesn't touch my resumeʹ;
Macbeth is a bloody liar, violent, cruel, greedy, nasty, mean,
murderous, sly, suspicious, the total pits; a nightmare in the day.
Compared to me, none nicer have you ever seen.
I'd rape your wife, maid, mistress, daughter with such lust
you'd vomit at the sight of it, then watch me eat the crust
and puke the rest upon anyone who dared defy my will.
To have Macbeth as king again would be far better, still.
Macduff. Gosh! Nobody's perfect. You may have been a little bad,
but I'm sure we can work something out. Being extreme
with drink, or sex, or violence -- getting really mad
about nothing -- Ha! Perfection's just a dream
we all strive for and wish we had.
Don't worry 'bout those problems, big or small.
Be the king you ought to be. Just take it all.
You want some shameless sex with fun and games,
we'll send to you a hundred -- more, a thousand dames
to bounce your uglies till you drop them dry
and send you hundreds more till you cry, "Hold! No more!"
Bottom line: You're not so hard to satisfy -- your needs --
that we cannot come to terms with words and deeds.
Malcolm. You still don't get it, do you? Just call me irresponsible.
I want money: silver, jewels, platinum, gold -- any kind
and anything else of value. My greed is insatiable.
I'd take my noble's treasures, pets, land -- all I could find
all for myself, if I were king. The more I have, the more I need.
I'd make friend fight friend, destroy loyalty and trust.
Life would be misery with me as king, the demon seed.
Find another man to be your king. You must.
Macduff. No, no, no! Everyone wants more than he could ever get.
for greed is natural. Just look back at Eve and Adam.
There, the two had everything in paradise, and yet,
they wanted more and caused us all to hit the bottom.
It's true that money has caused the death of many crowns
unseating kings and queens themselves from thrones
destroying castles, cities, homes, and towns
interring with them all their subjects bones.
Scotland has enough to satisfy your every whim
and more than that to give if you consent to stay.
With all your faults, you're still ahead of him
who rules us cruelly to this very day.
Malcolm. Macduff, take a good look at me. Do you see royal quality?
I think NOT! You need a king who is just, truthful, brave,
honest, stable, moderate, in control and willing to show mercy.
he must be humble, patient, and devoted. I do not crave
these characteristics. They are just not me. I have a diabolic mind
and like to see the bowels of hell erupt and cover all the earth
with wars, corruption, sickness, death rather than to find
myself a gentle, meek and mild kind of king of greater worth.
Macduff. If it is true, all that you said, alas, poor Scotland, you are dead.
Malcolm. If I am still your choice --
and I am as I have said I am --
to be your ruler, tell me, now.
Macduff. To be our ruler? Hah! One like that is not fit to even live.
Oh, Scotland! There is no one left for me to give
you hope. Your leader is a bloody murderer, and worse,
the one who should be king, Malcolm here, is but a curse
upon the kingly name and queen that gave him life.
Oh, Malcolm, if all I heard you say is true,
there's nothing left for me to do
than leave this place and find another home
so not to witness once again the Fall of Rome.
Malcolm. [Catching him off guard before he can run away]
Wait, Macduff. Just wait a minute. I have more to say.
Your passion has convinced me that you are not a spy.
Macbeth has tried to get to me by tricks in every way;
but wisdom and experienced had forced me to try
to break you down, just to be absolutely sure
that this was not another of the madman's traps.
The conversation that we had is so secure
that only God and you and I (and, perhaps
some kingly ghosts) could hear these raunchy lies
I told, all of which I readily take back, for sure.
I never stole a thing, nor lied before today; my eyes
had never looked upon a woman, yet; I'm pure
as virgin snow, and never broke a promise that I made
to anyone, and truth is my foundation, way of life;
what I am to you is not to anyone what I have said.
My armies, thousands, are prepared to battle strife.
Siward, too, is also ready with ten-thousand men.
It's time we go against Macbeth, better now than then.
Why are you so quiet? Are you confused?
Macduff. Such news was bad, then turned to good.
My mind has been abused.
Poetry by NotaDeadPoet
Read 888 times
Written on 2007-01-21 at 17:09
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text