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MACDUFF. Fit to govern? No, not to live.—O nation miserable, With an untitled tyrant bloody-scepter’d, When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again, Since that the truest issue of thy throne By his own interdiction stands accus’d, And does blaspheme his breed? Thy royal father Was a most sainted king. The queen that bore thee, Oft’ner upon her knees than on her feet, Died every day she lived. Fare thee well! These evils thou repeat’st upon thyself Have banish’d me from Scotland.—O my breast, Thy hope ends here!