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 Len. 'T is two or three, my lord, that bring you word, Macb. Fled to England? Macb. Time, thou anticipat'st my dread exploits: 140 Unless the deed go with it: From this moment, The firstlings of my hand. And even now, To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and done : 145 Seize upon Fife; give to the edge o' the sword That trace him in his line. No boasting like a fool, 150 Come, bring me where they are. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-Fife. A Room in Macduff's Castle. Enter LADY MACDUFF, her Son, and Rosse. land? Rosse. You must have patience, madam. He had none : His flight was madness: When our actions do not, 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; 160 The most diminutive of birds, will fight, Rosse. My dearest coz, The fits o' the season. I dare not speak much further: 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: L. Macd. Father'd he is, and yet he's fatherless. 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. 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. L. Macd. Thou speak'st with all thy wit; and yet, With wit enough for thee. Son. Was my father a traitor, mother? Son. What is a traitor? L. Macd. Why, one that swears and lies. 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. 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, I doubt, some danger does approach you nearly: 215 Be not found here; hence, with your little ones. To do worse to you were fell cruelty, Which is too nigh your person. Heaven preserve you! 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, 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 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. Mal. Let us seek out some desolate shade, and there 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, 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; 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), 260 Let not my jealousies be your dishonours, But mine own safeties:-You may be rightly just, 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 Mal. you. Be not offended; When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head, |