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Seek to know no more.
[Hautboys. 1 Witch. Show! 2 Witch. Show! 3 Witch. Show!
AU. Show his eyes, and grieve his heart; Come like shadows, so depart. Eight kings appear, and pass over the stage in order ; the
last with a glass in his hand; Banquo following.
1 Witch. Ay, sir, all this is so.—But why
[Music. The Witches dance, and vanish. Macb. Where are they? Gone?—Let this pernicious
hour Stand aye accursed in the calendar! Come in, without there!
What's your grace's will ?
No, my lord.
No, indeed, my lord. Macb. Infected be the air whereon they ride;
And damned all those that trust them !- I did hear
Len. 'Tis two or three, my lord, that bring you word,
Fled to England ? Len. Ay, my good lord.
Macb. T'ime, 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 it 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.
SCENE II. Fife. A Room in Macduff's Castle.
Enter LADY MACDUFF, her Son, and RossE. L. 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. Rosse.
You know not, Whether it was his wisdom, or his fear.
L. Macd. Wisdom ! to leave his wife, to leave his babes,
for the poor wren,
My dearest coz,
From what we fear, yet know not what we fear;
L. Macd. Fathered 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.
[Erit ROSSE. L. Macd.
Sirrah, your father's dead; And what will you do now? How will you live?
Son. As birds do, mother.
What, with worms and flies?
lime, The pit-fall, nor the gin. Son. Why should I, mother? Poor birds they are not
L. Macd. Yes, he is dead; how wilt thou do for a father?
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. Every one that does so, is a traitor, and must be hanged.
Son. And must they all be hanged, that swear and lie?
Son. Then the liars and swearers are fools; for there are liars and swearers enough to beat the honest men, and hang up them.
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 talk'st!
Enter a Messenger. Mess. Bless you, fair dame! I am not to you known, Though in your state of honor 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 savage; To do worse to you, were fell cruelty, Which is too nigh your person. Heaven preserve you! I dare abide no longer.
[Exit Messenger. L. Macd.
Whither should I fly? I have done no harm. But I remember now 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, To say, I have done no harm ? What are these faces ?
L. Macd. I hope, in no place so unsanctified,
He's a traitor.
What, you egg! [Stabbing him. Young fry of treachery! Son.
He has killed me, mother; Run away, I pray you.
[Dies. [Exit Lady MACDUFF, crying murder,
and pursued by the Murderers.
SCENE III. England. A Room in the King's Palace.
Enter MALCOLM and MACDUFF.
Let us rather
As if it felt with Scotland, and yelled out
What I believe, I'll wail ;
Macd. I am not treacherous.
But Macbeth is.
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, Let not my jealousies be your dishonors, But mine own safeties.-You may be rightly just, Whatever I shall think, Macd.
Bleed, bleed, poor country!
Be not offended;
VOL. II. – 16