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. 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 it thought and
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 his line. No boasting like a fool;
This deed I'll do, before this purpose cool:
But no more sights!-Where are these gentlemen?
[Exeunt.
Come, bring me where they are.
SCENE II.-Fife. A Room in Macduff's Castle.
Enter Lady MACDUFF, her Son, and Rosse.
Lady Maed. What had he done, to make him fly the
Rosse. You must have patience, madam. [land?
He had none :
His flight was madness: When our actions do not,
Our fears do make us traitors.
You know not,
Rosse.
Whether it was his wisdom, or his fear.
L. Maed. Wisdom! to leave his wife, to leave his
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,
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.
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
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,
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:
[Exit Rossz.
I take my leave at once.
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, 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,
The pit-fall, nor the gin.
Son. Why should I, mother? Poor birds they are not
My father is not dead, for all your saying. [set for.
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
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, 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 talkest.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. Bless you, fair dame! I am not to you known,
doubt, some danger does approach you nearly:
Though in your state of honour I am perfect.
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'
[Exit Messenger
I dare abide no longer.
Whither should I fly?
L. Macd.
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?—
Enter Murderers.
Mur. Where is your husband?
L. Macd. I hope, in no place, so unsanctified,
Where such as thou may 'st find him.
Mur.
Son. Thou ly'st, thou shag-ear'd villain.
What, you egg? [Stabbing him.
Mur.
Young fry of treachery?
Son.
He has kill'd me, mother:
[Dies.
Run away, I pray you.
[Exit Lady MACDUFF, crying murder,
and pursued by the murderers.
SCENE III.-England. A Room in the King's Palace.
Enter MALCOLM and MACDUuff.
Mal. Let us seek out some desolate shade, and there
Let us rather
Weep our sad bosoms empty.
Macd
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.
What I believe, I'll wail;
What know, believe; and, what I can redress,
What you have spoke, it may be so, perchance.
As I shall find the time to friend, I will.
This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues,
Was once thought honest, you have lov'd him well;
He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young, but something
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.
Mal.
But Macbeth is.
A good and virtuous nature may recoil,
In an imperial charge. But '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
Why in that rawness left you wife and child,
(Those precious motives, those strong knots of
Without leave-taking?-I pray you
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, [wrongs,
For goodness dares not check thee! wear thou thy
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.
Be not offended: I speak not as in absolute fear of you. 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 Of goodly thousands: 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.
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.
I grant him bloody,
Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful,
Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin
That has a name: But there's no bottom, none,
In my voluptuousness; your wives, your daughters,
Your matrons, and your maids, could not fill up
The cistern of my lust; and my desire
All continent impediments would o'er-bear,
That did oppose my will: Better Macbeth,
Than such a one to reign.
Macd.
Boundless intemperance In nature is a tyranny; it hath been The untimely emptying of the happy throne, And fall of many kings. But fear not yet To take upon you what is yours: you may Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty, And yet seem cold, the time you may so hood-wink. We have willing dames enough; there cannot be That vulture in you, to devour so many As will to greatness dedicate themselves, Finding it so inclin'd.
Mal.
In my most ill-compos'd affection, such
A stanchless avarice, that, were I king.
I should cut off the aobles for their lands;
Desire his jewels, and this other's house:
And my more-having would be as a sauce
To make me hunger more; that I should forge
Quarrels unjust against the good, and loyal,
Destroying them for wealth.
Macd.
This avarice
Sticks deeper; grows with more pernicious root
Than summer-seeding lust; and it hath been
The sword of our slain kings: Yet do not fear,
Scotland hath foysons to fill up your will,
Of your mere own: All these are portable,
With other graces weigh'd.
Mal. But I have none: The king-becoming graces,
As justice, verity, temperance, stableness,
Bounty, perséverance, mercy, lowliness,
Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude,
I have no relish of them; but abound
In the division of each several crime,
Acting it many ways. Nay, had I power, I should
Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell,
Uproar the universal peace, confound
All unity on earth.
O Scotland! Scotland! Mal. If such a one be fit to govern speak · I am as I have spoken. Macd.
No, not to live.-O nation miserable,
With an untitled tyrant, bloody-scepter'd,
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?-Thy royal father
Was a most sainted king: the queen that bore thee.
Oft'ner upon her knees than on her feet,
Died every day she lived. Fare thee well!
These evils thou repeat'st upon thyself,
Have banish'd 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. Devilish Macbet
By many of these trains hath sought to win me
Into his power; and modest wisdom plucks me
From over-credulous haste: But God above
Deal between thee and me! for even now
I put myself to thy direction, and
Unspeak mine own detraction; here abjure
The taints and blames I laid upon myself,
For strangers to my nature. am yet
Unknown to woman; never was forsworn;
Scarcely have coveted what was mine own;
At no time broke my faith; would not betray
The devil to his fellow; and delight
No less in truth, than life: my first false speaking
Was this upon myself: What I am truly,
Is thine, and my poor country's, to command.
Whither, indeed, before thy here-approach,
Old Siward, with ten thousand warlike men,
All ready at a point, was setting forth :
Now we'll together; And the chance, of goodness
Be like our warranted quarrel! Why are you silen
Macd. Such welcome and unwelcome things at oues
"Tis hard to reconcile.
Mal. Well; more anon.-Comes the king forth, I pray you?
Doct. Ay, sir. there are a crew of wretched souls, That stay his cure: their malady convinces The great assay of art; but, at his touch, Such sanctity hath heaven given in his hand, They presently amend.
Mal. I thank you, doctor.
Macd. What's the disease he means? Mal. 'Tis call'd the evil. A most miraculous work in this good king: Which often, since my here-remain in England, I have seen him do. How he solicits heaven, Himself best knows: but strangely-visited people, All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye, The mere despair of surgery, he cures ; Hanging a golden stamp about their necks, Put on with holy prayers: and 'tis spoken, To the succeeding royalty he leaves
The healing benediction." With this strange virtue,
He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy;
And sundry blessings hang about his throne,
That speak him full of grace.
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Macd. Stands Scotland where it did? Rosse. 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 rent the air, Are made, not mark'd; where violent sorrow seems A modern ecstacy; the dead man's knell Is there scarce ask'd, for who; and good men's lives Expire before the flowers in their caps, Dying, or ere they sicken. Macd.
Too nice, and yet too true!
Mal.
What is the newest grief?
Rosse. That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker;
Each minute teems a new one.
Macd.
Rosse. Why, well.
How does my wife? And all my children?
Well too. Maed. The tyrant has not batter'd at their peace? Rosse. No; they were well at peace, when I did leave them. [it? Macd. Be not a niggard of your speech; How goes Rosse. 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 it 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.
That could be found. Macd.
My wife kill'd too?
Wife, children, servants, ail
And I must be from thence! I have said.
Be comforted Let's make us med'cines of our great revenge, To cure this deadly grief.
Macd. He has no children.-All my pretty ones? Did you say, all ?-O, hell-kite!—All ? What, all my pretty chickens, and their dam, At one fell swoop?
Mal. Dispute it like a man.
I shall do so;
But I must also feel it as a man:
I cannot but remember such things were,
That were most precious to me.-Did heaven look on,
And would not take their part? Sinful Macduff,
They were all struck for thee! naught that I am,
Not for their own demerits, but for mine,
Fell slaughter on their souls: Heaven rest them now!
Mal. Be this the whetstone of your sword: let grief
Convert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage it.
Macd. O, I could play the woman with mine eyes,
And braggart with my tongue!--But gentle heaven,
Cut short all intermission; front to front,
Bring thou this fiend of Scotland, and myself;
Within my sword's length set him; if he 'scape,
Heaven forgive him too!
This tune goes manly.
Come, go we to the king; our power is ready;
Our lack is nothing but our leave: Macbeth'
Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above [may
Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer you
The night is long, that never finds the day. [Exeunt.
SCENE I.-Dunsinane. A Room in the Castle. Enter a Doctor of Physic, and a waiting Gentlewoman Doct. I have two nights watched with you, but can perceive no truth in your report. When was it she fast walked ?
Gent. Since his majesty went into the field, I have seen her rise from her bed, throw her night-gown upon her, unlock her closet, take forth paper, fold it, write upon it, read it, afterwards seal it, and again return to bed; yet all this while in a most fast sleep. Doct. A great perturbation in nature! to receive What concern they? at once the benefit of sleep, and do the effects of watching. In this slumbry agitation, besides her
'Would I could answer This comfort with the like! But I have words, That would be howl'd out in the desert air, Where hearing should not latch them.
The general cause? or is it a fee-grief,
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