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1 Witch. Ay, Sir, all this is fo. But why
Stands Macbeth thus amazedly?
Come, fifters, chear we up his fprights,
And fhew the best of our delights:
I'll charm the air to give a found,
While you perform your antick round:
That this great King may kindly fay,
Our duties did his welcome pay.

[Mufick.

[The witches dance and vanish. Macb. Where are they! gone!-Let this pernicious hour Stand ay accurfed in the calendar!

Come in, without there!

Enter Lenox.

Len. What's your Grace's will?

Macb. Saw you the weird fifters ?
Len. No, my Lord.

Macb. Came they not by you?

Len. No, indeed my Lord.

Macb. Infected be the air whereon they ride, And damn'd all thofe that truft them! I did hear The galloping of horfe. Who was't came by?

Len.'Tis 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'it my dread exploits : The flighty purpose never is o'er-took,

Unless the deed go with it. From this moment,

The very firftlings of my heart fhall be

The firftlings of my hand. And even now

To crown my thoughts with acts, be't thought and done!
The caftle of Macduff I will furprise,

Seize upon Fife, give to the edge o' th' fword
His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate fouls

That trace him in his line. No boasting like a fool,
This deed I'll do before this purpose cool.

But no more fights. Where are thefe gentlemen?
Come, bring me where they are.

P 3

[Exeunt.

SCENE

SCENE, changes to Macduff's Caftle at Fife.

L. Macd.

Enter Lady Macduff, her Son, and Roffe.

WHAT had he done, to make him fly the

land?

Roffe. 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.

Reffe. You know not,

Whether it was his wifdom, or his fear..

Macd. Wifdom? to leave his wife, to leave his babes, His manfion, and his titles, in a place

From whence himself does fly? he loves us hot,
He wants the nat'ral touch; for the poor wren,
The moft diminutive of birds, will fight,
Her young ones in her neft, against the owl:
All is the fear, and nothing is the love;
As little is the wifdom, where the flight
So runs against all reafon.

Roffe. My dearest Coufin,

I pray you, fchool yourfelf; but for your husband,
He's noble, wife, judicious, and best knows

The fits o' the feafon. 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 fea

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 Coufin,
Bleffing upon you!

L. Macd. Fathered he is, and yet he's fatherless.
Roffe. I am fo much a fool, fhould I ftay longer,
It would be my difgrace, and your difcomfort.
I take my leave at once.

L. Mard. Sirrah, your father's dead,

[Exit Roffe.

And

And what will you do now? how will you live?
Son. As birds do, mother.

L. Macd. What, on worms and flies?

Son. On what I get, I mean, and fo do they.

L. Macd. Poor bird! thou'dft never fear the net, nor The pit-fall, nor the gin.

[lime : Son. Why fhould I, mother? poor birds they are not

fet for.

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My father is not dead, for all your faying.

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 fell again.

L. Macd. Thou speak'ft 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 fwears and lies.
Son. And be all traitors, that do fo?

[i' faith,

L. Macd. Every one, that does fo, is a traitor, and must be hang'd.

Son. And muft they all be hang'd, that fwear and lie? L. Macd. Every one.

Son. Who muft hang them?

L. Macd. Why, the honeft men.

Son. Then the liars and fwearers are fools; for there are liars and fwearers enow to beat the honeft men, and hang up them.

L. Macd. 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 fign that I fhould quickly have a new father.

L. Macd. Poor pratler! how thou talk'st ?

Enter a Mefenger

Mef. Blefs you, fair dame! I am not to you known, Though in your state of honour I am perfect;

I doubt, fome 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 favage:
To do worfe to you were fell cruelty,

Which is too nigh your perfon. Heav'n preferve you!
I dare abide no longer.
[Exit Meflenger.

L. Macd. Whither fhould I fly?

I've done no harm. But I remember now,
I'm in this earthly world, where to do harm
Is often laudable; to do good, fometime
Accounted dang'rous folly. Why then, alas!
Do I put up that womanly defence,

To fay, I'd done no harm what are thefe faces ?
Enter Murderers.

Mur. Where is your husband?

L. Macd. I hope, in no place fo unfanctified, Where fuch as thou may'ft find him.

Mur. He's a traitor.

Son. Thou ly', thou fhag-ear'd villain.

Mur. What, you egg?

Young fry of treachery?

Son. He 'as kill'd me, mother,

[Stabbing him

Run away, pray you. [Exit L. Macduff, crying murder;

[Murderers purfue her.

SCENE changes to the King of England's Palace.

Enter Malcolm and Macduff.

LET' us feek out fome defolate fhade, and there

Mal.L

Weep our fad bosoms empty.

Macd. Let us rather

Hold faft the mortal fword; and, like good men,
Beftride our downfal birth doom: each new morn,
New widows howl, new orphans cry; new forrows
Strike heaven on the face, that it refounds
As if it felt with Scotland, and yell'd out
Like fyllables of dolour.

Mal

Mal. What I believe, I'll wail;

What know, believe; and what I can redrefs,'
As I fhall find the time to friend, I will.

What you have spoke, it may be fo, perchance;
This tyrant, whofe fole name blifters our tongues,
Was once thought honeft; you have lov'd him well,
He hath not touch'd you yet. I'm young; but fome
thing (36)

You may deferve of him through me, and wifdom
To offer up a weak, poor, innocent lamb,
T' appeafe an angry God.

Macd. I am not treacherous.

Mal. But Macbeth is.

A good and virtuous nature may recoil

In an imperial charge. I crave your pardon:

That which you are, my thoughts cannot tranfpofe; Angels are bright ftill, though the brighteft fell:

Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace, Yet grace muft ftill look fo.

Macd. I've loft my hopes.

doubts

Mal. Perchance, ev'n there, where I did find my Why in that rawnefs left you wife and children? Thofe precious motives, thofe ftrong knots of love, Without leave-taking?-I pray you,

Let not my jealoufies be your difhonours,

But mine own fafeties: you may be rightly juft,
Whatever I fhall think.

Macd. Bleed, bleed, poor country!

Great tyranny, lay thou thy bafis fure,

For goodness dares not check thee! wear thou thy wrongs,

(36)

I'm young, but fom thing

You may difcern of bim through me, &c.] If the whole tenour of the context could not have convinced our blind editors, that we ought to read deferve inftead of difcern, (as I have corrected in the text,) yet Macduff's anfwer, fure, might have given them fome light,I am not treacherous. There is another paffage, in which vice verja the fame error has been committed upon the other word:

K. Lear. (old 4to in 1608)

Thine honour from thy fuff'ring. where the fenfe evidently demands, difcerning

an eye deferving

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