I'll charm the air to give a sound, While you perform your antic round: 125 That this great king may kindly say, Our duties did his welcome pay.

[Music. The Witches dance, and vanish. Macb. Where are they? Gone ?-Let this pernicious

hour

No, indeed, my lord.

135

Len.

Macb. Came they not by you?

Len.

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. 'T is 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 flighty purpose never is o'ertook,

140 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 it thought and done :
The castle of Macduff I will surprise;

145 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?

150 Come, bring me where they are.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.-Fife. A Room in Macduff's Castle.

Enter LADY MACDUFF, her Son, and Rosse.
Lady Macd. What had he done, to make him fly the

land?

Rosse. 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.

155 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 natural touch: for the poor wren,

160 The most diminutive of birds, will fight,
Her young ones in her nest, against the owl.
All is the fear, and nothing is the love;
As little is the wisdom, where the flight
So runs against all reason.

Rosse.

My dearest coz,
165 I pray you, school yourself: But, for your husband,
He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows

The fits o' the season. I dare not speak much further:
But cruel are the times, when we are traitors,

And do not know ourselves; when we hold rumour 170 From what we fear; yet know not what we fear; But float upon a wild and violent sea

Each

way,

my

and move. I take leave of you:
Shall not be long but I'll be here again:
Things at the worst will cease, or else climb upward
175 To what they were before. My pretty cousin,
Blessing upon you!

L. Macd. Father'd he is, and yet he's fatherless.
Rosse. I am so much a fool, should I stay longer,
It would be my disgrace, and your discomfort :
I take my leave at once.

L. Macd.

[Exit ROSSE. Sirrah, your father's dead; 180 And what will you do now? How will you live?

Son. As birds do, mother.

L. Macd.

What, with worms and flies?

Son. With what I get, I mean; and so do they.
L. Macd. Poor bird! thou 'dst never fear the net, nor

lime,

185

190

195

200

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'st 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 so is a traitor, and must be hanged.

Son. And must they all be hanged that swear and lie?
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 swearers enough to beat the honest men, 205 and hang up them.

210

L. Macd. Now 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 prattler! how thou talkest!

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. 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,

215 Be not found here; hence, with your little ones.
To fright you thus, methinks, I am too savage;

To do worse to you were fell cruelty,

Which is too nigh your person. Heaven preserve you!
I dare abide no longer.

L. Macd.

Whither should I fly?

220 I have done no harm.

But I remember now

[Exit.

I am in this earthly world; where, to do harm,
Is often laudable; to do good, sometime
Accounted dangerous folly: why then, alas!
Do I put up that womanly defence,

225 To say, I have done no harm?—What are these faces?

Enter Murderers.

Mur. Where is your husband?

L. Macd. I hope, in no place so unsanctified
Where such as thou mayst find him.

Mur.

He's a traitor.

Son. Thou liest, thou shag-hair'd villain.

Mur.

230 Young fry of treachery! Son.

Run away, I pray you.

What, you egg! [Stabbing him.

He has kill'd me, mother:

[Dies.

[Exit LADY MACDUFF, crying "Murder," and pursued by the Murderers.

SCENE III-England. Before the King's Palace.
Enter MALCOLM and MACDUFF.

Mal. Let us seek out some desolate shade, and there
Weep our sad bosoms empty.

Macd.

Let us rather,

Hold fast the mortal sword; and, like good men, 235 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 I believe, I'll wail;

240 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 so, perchance.

This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues,

Was once thought honest: you have loved him well; 245 He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young, but some

thing

You may deserve of him through me; and wisdom

To offer up a weak, poor, innocent lamb

To appease an angry God.

Macd. I am not treacherous.

250 A good and virtuous nature may recoil

255

In an imperial charge. But I shall crave your pardon;
That which you are my thoughts cannot transpose:
Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell:
Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace,
Yet grace must still look so.

Macd.

I have lost my hopes.

Mal. Perchance even there where I did find my

doubts.

Why in that rawness left you wife and child

(Those precious motives, those strong knots of love),
Without leave-taking?-I pray you,

260 Let not my jealousies be your dishonours,

But mine own safeties:-You may be rightly just,
Whatever I shall think.

Macd.

Bleed, bleed, poor country!

Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure,

For goodness dare not check thee! wear thou thy wrongs.

265 Thy title is affeer'd.-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.

Mal.

you.

Be not offended;
I speak not as in absolute fear of
270 I think our country sinks beneath the yoke;
It weeps, it bleeds: and each new day a gash
Is added to her wounds: I think, withal,
There would be hands uplifted in my right;
And here, from gracious England, have I offer
275 Of goodly thousands: but, for all this,

When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head,