MACDUFF      Bleed, bleed poor country!

Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure,

For goodness dare not check thee; wear thou thy wrongs,

The title is affeered. Fare thee well, lord.

I would not be the villain that thou think’st

For the whole space that’s in the tyrant’s grasp,

And the rich East to boot.

MALCOLM      Be not offended.

I speak not as in absolute fear of you.         (4.3.32-39)

The uneasy back-and-forth between the two men continues, as they circle around, testing each other. Macduff’s despair again: bleed, bleed poor country! a vivid reminder of the play’s violence; it’s so often been Macbeth’s language in which blood has steeped and pooled and clotted, but now Macduff imagines Scotland itself as a body, terribly wounded, apparently without hope of aid. Great tyranny—Macbeth in particular, as well as tyranny in the abstract: you’ve won, and you can now consolidate your gains and your position, properly establish yourself, lay thou thy basis sure. Goodness dare not check thee: no one’s going to stand in your way, and even the virtuous have given up. Wear thou thy wrongs, not as obvious as the borrowed robes to which Macbeth himself compared his first gain, the title of Thane of Cawdor, but part of the same conceit: more and more, Macbeth is owning the state, the titles, the garments—the crown—the power of kingship. It’s becoming fact. He seems to have got away with it, this theft, this usurpation, and the title is affeered, confirmed—here that title is both that of king, and of tyrant, now interchangeable. Without opposition or challenge, Macbeth can openly tyrannise, and terrorise, his people.

So Macduff gives up, perhaps even makes to leave: fare thee well, lord. There’s no point my being here. But he makes a final protestation: you’ve got me totally wrong. I would not be the villain that thou think’st for the whole space that’s in the tyrant’s grasp, and the rich East to boot. You could offer me all of Scotland, and the wealth of the orient into the bargain, and I wouldn’t be a traitor. I couldn’t ever be that man. Malcolm becomes more conciliatory; this dance of wary testing and tense, incremental assessment moves into a new phase. Be not offended—nothing personal—I speak not as in absolute fear of you. It’s not that I’ve completely made up my mind not to trust you. But he’s got one gambit yet to play…