That this great king may kindly say,

Our duties did his welcome pay.

[The Witches dance, and then vanish.

Macb. Where are they? Gone?-Let this pernicious

No indeed, my lord.

Mach. Came they not by you?
Len.

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.

Len. Ay, my good lord.

Fled to England?

Macb. Time, thou anticipat'st my dread exploits

The flighty purpose never is o'ertook

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, be't thought and

done :

The castle of Macduff I will surprise;

Seize upon Fife; give to the edge o' the sword.

His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls.

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.

Hold fast the mortal sword, and like good men

Bestride our down-fall'n birthdom: 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 yell'd out

Like syllable of dolour.

Mal. What you have spoke, it

perchance ;

may be

SO

I think our country sinks beneath the yoke;
It weeps, it bleeds; and each new day a gash
Is added to her wounds:

But, for all this,

When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head,

Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country
Shall have more vices than it had before;
More suffer, and more sundry ways than ever,
By him that shall succeed.

Macd.

What should he be?

Mal. It is myself I mean: in whom I know
All the particulars of vice so grafted,

That, when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth
Will seem as pure as snow; and the poor state
Esteem him as a lamb, being compar'd

With my confineless harms.

Macd

Not in the legions

Of horrid hell can come a devil more damn'd

In evils to top Macbeth.

Mal.

With this there grows,

In my most ill-compos'd affection, such

A stanchless avarice, that, were I king,

I should cut off the nobles from their lands;
Desire his jewels and this other's house :
And my more-having would be as a sauce
To make me hunger more.

Macd.

O, Scotland, Scotland

Mal. If such a one be fit to govern, speak.
Macd.

No, not to live.-O nation miserable,
With an untitled tyrant bloody-scepter'd,

Fit to govern!

When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again
Since that the truest issue of thy throne

By his own interdiction stands accurs'd,

And does blaspheme his breed !-Fare thee well!
These evils thou repeat'st upon thyself

Have banished me from Scotland.-O my breast,
Thy hope ends here!

Mal.

Macduff, this noble passion,

Child of integrity, hath from my soul

Wip'd the black scruples, reconcil'd my thoughts
To thy good truth and honour. My first

False speaking was this upon myself.

What I am truly,

Is thine and my poor country's to command!
Why are you silent?

Macd. Such welcome and unwelcome things at

once,

'Tis hard to reconcile.

See, who comes here?

Mal. My countryman ; but yet I know him not.

Enter Ross.

Macd. My ever-gentle cousin, welcome hither. Mal. I know him now : good God, betimes remove The means that makes us strangers!

Ross.

Macd. Stands Scotland where it did?
Ross.

Sir, amen.

Alas, poor country,

Almost afraid to know itself! It cannot
Be call'd our mother, but our grave; where nothing,
But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile;

Where sighs, and groans, and shrieks that rend the air
Are made, not mark'd: the dead man's knell

Is there scarce ask'd, for who; and good men's lives Expire before the flowers in their caps,

Ross. That of an hour's age does hiss the speaker;

Each minute teems a new one.

Macd. The tyrant has not batter'd at their peace? Ross. No; they were well at peace when I did

leave 'em.

Macd. Be not a niggard of your speech; how goes't?

Ross. When I came hither to transport the tidings, Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumour Of many worthy fellows that were out; Which was to my belief witness'd the rather, For that I saw the tyrant's power a-foot : Now is the time of help; your eye in Scotland Would create soldiers, make our women fight, To doff their dire distresses.

Mal.

Be't their comfort

We are coming thither: gracious England hath
Lent us good Siward and ten thousand men ;
An older and a better soldier none

That Christendom gives out.

Ross.

This comfort with the like!

Would I could answer

But I have words

What would be howl'd out in the desert air,
Where hearing should not latch them.

Macd.

What concern they?

The general cause? or is it a fee-grief
Due to some single breast?

Ross.

No mind that's honest

But in it shares some woe; though the main part
Pertains to you alone.

Keep it not from me; quickly let me have it.

Ross. Let not your ears despise my tongue for ever, Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound That ever yet they heard.

Macd.

Hum! I guess at it.

Ross. Your castle is surpris'd; your wife and babes Savagely slaughter'd: to relate the manner,

Were, on the quarry of these murder'd deer,

To add the death of you.

Mal.

Merciful heaven!

What, man! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows;
Give sorrow words: the grief that does not speak
Whispers the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break.
Macd. My children too?