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First Witch. Show!
Sec. Witch. Show !
Third Witch. Show !

All. Show his eyes, and grieve his heart;
Come like shadows, so depart!
Eight Kings appear, and pass over in order, the last with a glass

in his hand; BANQUO following.
Macb. Thou art too like the spirit of Banquo; down!
Thy crown does sear mine eye-balls :—and thy hair,(56)
Thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first :-
A third is like the former.-Filthy hags!
Why do you show me this?—A fourth ?-Start, eyes !-
What, will the line stretch out to the crack of doom?-
Another yet?-A seventh ?—I'll see no more:-
And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass
Which shows me many more;

and some I see
That two-fold balls and treble sceptres carry:
Horrible sight!-Now, I see, 'tis true;
For the blood-bolter'd Banquo smiles upon me,
And points at them for his.What, is this so?

First Witch. Ay, sir, all this is so :—but why
Stands Macbeth thus amazedly ?-
Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprites,
And show the best of our delights:
I'll charm the air to give a sound,
While you perform your antic round;
That this great king may kindly say,
Our duties did his welcome pay.

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

hour
Stand aye accursed in the calendar!-
Come in, without there!

Enter LENNOX.
Len.

What's your grace's will?
Macb. Saw you the weird sisters ?
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 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.

Fled to England !
Len. Ay, my good lord.

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 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! (57)—Where are these gentlemen ? Come, bring me where they are.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II. Fife. A room in Macduff's castle.

Enter Lady MACDUFF, her Son, and Ross. L. Macd. What had he done, to make him fly the land ? Ross. 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. Ross.

You know not 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, 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.
Ross.

My dearest coz,
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.

Ross. I am so much a fool, should I stay longer,
It would be my disgrace and your discomfort:
I take my leave at once.

[Exit. 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 pitfall 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 enow 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!

If you

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:

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. 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 ?

Enter Murderers.
First Mur. Where is your husband ?

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

He's a traitor.
Son. Thou liest, thou shag-hair'd (58) villain !
First Mur.

What, you egg!

[Stabbing kim. Young fry of treachery! Son.

He has kill'd me, mother: Run away, I pray you!

[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,
Bestride our down-fall’n (59) 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 ;
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 lov'd him well;
He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young; but something
You may deserve (6) 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 I shall crave your pardon;

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