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A third is like the former---filthy hags!
Why do you shew me this? - A fourth?

-Start,

eye!

.

What ! will the line stretch out to th'crack of Doom?
Another yet?

A seventh ! I'll see no more
And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass,
Which shews me many more; and some I see,
That twofold balls and treble scepters carry.
Horrible light ! nay, now, I see, 'tis true ;
For the blood-bolter'd Banquo smiles upon me,
And points at them for his. What, is this so?

1 Witch. Ay, Sir, all this is so. But why
Stands Macbeth thus amazedly?
Come, sisters, chear we up his sprights,
And shew the best of our delights ;
I'll charm the Air to give a Sound,
While you perform your antick round:
That this great King my kindly say,
Our duties did his welcome pay.

[Musick. [The witches dance and vanish. Macb. Where are they? gone? --Let this pernicious

hour
Stand accursed in the kalendar!
Come in, without there !

Enter Lenox.
Len. What's your Grace's will ?
Macb. Saw you the weïrd sisters ?
Len. No, my lord.
Macb. Came they not by you ?
Len. No, indeed, my lord.

Macb. Infected be the air whereon they ride,
And damn'd all those that trust them! I did hear
The galloping of horse. Who was’t came by?
Len. 'Tis two or three, my lord, that bring you

word,
Macduff is fled to England.

Macb. Fled to England?
Len. Ay, my good lord.
Macb. Time, thou anticipat'st my dread exploits:

The

ay

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The flighty purpose never is o'er-took,
Unless the deed go with it. From this moment,
The very firstlings of my heart shall be
The firstlings of my hand. And even now
To crown my thoughts with acts, bet thought and

done!
The Castle of Macduff I will furprise,
Seize upon Fife, give to the edge o' th' sword
His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate fouls
That trace him in his line. No boasting like a fool,
This deed I'll do before this purpose cool.
But no more sights. Where are these gentlemen ?
Come bring me where they are.

[Exeunt.

SCENE changes to Macduff's Castle at Fife.

Enter Lady Macduff, her son, and Roffe.
L. Macd. HAT had he done, to make him fly

the Land ?
Roffe. You must have patience, Madam.

L. Macd. He had none;
His flight was madness; when our actions do not,
Our fears do make us traitors.

Rolle. You know not,
Whether it was his wisdom, or his fear.
L. Macd. Wisdom to leave his wife, to leave his

babes,
His mansion, and his titles, in a place
From whence himself does fly? he loves us not,
He wants the nat'ral touch ; for the poor wren,
'The most diminutive of birds, will fight,
Her young ones in her neft, againft the owl:
All is the fear, and nothing is the love ;
As little is the wisdom, where the flight
So runs against all reason.

Refe. My Dearest Coufin,
I pray you, school your self; but for your husband,
He's noble, wise, judicious, and best knows
The fits Q' th' season. I dare not speak much further,

But

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But cruel are the times, when we are traitors,
And do not know our selves : when we hold rumour
From what we fear, yet know not what we fear;
But float upon a wild and violent sea
Each way, and move.

I take

my
leave of

you ;
Shall not be long but I'll be here again :
Things at the worst will cease, or else climb upward
To what they were before : My pretty Cousin,
Bleffing upon you !

L. Macd. Father'd he is, and yet he's fatherless.

Role. I am so much a fool, should I stay longer,
It would be my disgrace, and your discomfort,
I take

my
leave at once.

[Exit Roffe. L. Macd. Sirrah, your father's dead, And what will you do now? how will you live ?

Son. As birds do, Mother.
L. Macd. What, on worms and Aies ?
Son. On what I get, I mean; and fo do they.

L. Macd. Poor bird! Thou'dft never fear the net, nos lime: The pit-fall, nor the gin.

Son. Why should I, Mother ? poor birds, they are not set for, My father is not dead for all your Saying.

L. Macd. Yes, he is dead; how wilt thou do for a father?

Son. Nay, how will you do for a husband?
L. Macd. Why, I can buy me twenty at any market,
Son. Then you'll buy 'em to sell again.

L. Macd. Thou speak'ft with all thy wit, and yet, i' faith, With wit enough for thee.

Son. Was my father a traitor, mother?
L. Macd. Ay, that he was.
Son. What is a traitor?
L. Macd. Why, one that swears and lies.
Son. And be all traitors, that do so?

L. Macd. Every one, that does fo, is a traitor, and must be hang'd. Son. And must they all be hang'd, that swear and lie?

L. Mard.

L. Macd. Every one.
Son. Who must hang them?
L. Macd. Why, the honest men.

Son. Then the liars and swearers are fools ; for there are liars and fwearers enow to beat the honest men,

and hang up them.

L. Macd. God help thee, poor monkey! but how, wilt thou do for a father ?

Son. If he were dead, you'd weep for him: if you would not, it were a good sign that I should quickly have a new father. L. Macd. Poor pratler ! how thou talk't?

Enter a Messenger. Mef. Bless you, fair dame! I am not to you known, Though in your state of honour I am perfect; I doubt, some danger does approach you nearly. If you will take a homely man's advice, Be not found here ; hence with your little ones. To fright you thus, methinks, I am too favage; To do worse to you were fell cruelty, Which is too nigh your person. Heav'n preserve you! I dare abide no longer.

(Exit Messenger.
L. Macd. Whither should I fly?
I've done no harm. But I remember now,
I'm in this earthly world, where to do harm
Is often laudable ; to do good, sometime
Accounted dang'rous folly. Why then, alas !
Do I put up that womanly defence,
To say, I'd done no harm? -what are these faces ?.

Enter Murtherers.
Mur. Where is your husband ?

L. Macd. I hope, in no place so unfanctified,
Where such as thou may'st find him.

Mur. He's a traitor.
Son. Thou ly'ft, thou fhag-ear'd villain.
Mur. What, you egg?

[Stabbing him. Young fry of treachery?

Som.

Son. He'as kill'd me, mother. Run away, pray you.

Exit L. Macduff, crying Murther ; Murtherers

pursue her.

SCENE changes to the King of England's

Palace.

Enter Malcolm and Macduff.
ET us seek out some desolate shade, and there

Mal. L Weep our fad bofoms empty.

Macd. Let us rather
Hold fast the mortal sword; and, like good men,
Beitride our downfal birth-doom : each new morn,
New widows howl, new orphans cry ; new sorrows
Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds
As if it felt with Scotland, and yelld out
Like fyllables of dolour.

Mal. What I believe, I'll wail ;
What know, believe ; and, what I'can redress,
As I shall find the time to friend, I will.
What you have spoke, it may be fo, perchance ;
This tyrant, whofe fole name blisters our tongues,
Was once thought honeft : you have lov'd him well,
He hath not touch'd you yet. I'm young ; but some

thing (22)
You may deserve of him through me, and wisdom
To offer up a weak, poor, innocent lamb,
T'appeafe an angry God.

Macd. I am not treacherous.

Mal. But Macbeth is.
A good and virtuous nature may recoil
In an imperial Charge. I crave your pardon :

(22)

I'm young, but something You may discern of him through me, &c.] If the whole Tenour of the Context could not have convinced our blind Editors, that we ought to read deserve instead of discern, (as I bave corrected in the Text,) yet Macduff's Answer, sure, might have given them some light, -I am not treacherous.

That

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