falling upon him. When at last brought to bay in his strong hold, the opinion of his madness is positively expressed : “Great Dunsinane he strongly fortifies: Some say, he's mad; others, that lesser hate him, Do call it valiant fury: but, for certain, He cannot buckle his distemper'd course Within the belt of rule.”
The cause of his reputed madness is conscience. “Who then shall blame
His pester'd senses to recoil, and start, When all that is within him does condemn
Itself for being there 7” The defiant fierceness of his resistance is not within the belt
of rule. He'll fight till from his bones the flesh is hacked; put on his armour before 'tis needed; “Send out more horses, skir the country round ; Hang those that talk of fear.”
But with all this valiant fury, he is sick at heart, oppressed with profound weariness of life: “I’gin to be a-weary of the sun.” What exquisite pathos in the melancholy passages: “My May of life Is fall’n into the sear, the yellow leaf; And that which should accompany old age, 22
As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, I must not look to have ; but, in their stead, Curses not loud, but deep, mouth-honour, breath,
Which the poor heart would fain deny, but dare not.” And in this, so Hamlet like : “She should have died hereafter, There would have been a time for such a word.—
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle ! Life's but a walking shadow ; a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more : it is a tale
