Rosse. You must have patience, madam. L. Macd. He had none: His flight was madness. When our actions do not, Rosse. 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 : Rosse. My dearest coz', I pray you, school yourself: but, for your husband, The fits o' the season. I dare not speak much farther: But float upon a wild and violent sea, Each way and move.-I take my leave of you: Things at the worst will cease, or else climb upward L. Macd. Father'd he is, and yet he's fatherless. L. Macd. And what will you do now? Son. As birds do, mother. your discomfort. [Exit Rosse. L. Macd. What, with worms and flies? 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 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. 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! 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: Be not found here; hence, with your little ones. Which is too nigh your person. Heaven preserve you! L. Macd. [Exit Messenger. Whither should I fly? 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, Where such as thou may'st find him. Mur. He's a traitor. Son. Thou liest, thou shag-ear'd villain. Young fry of treachery? Son. Run away, I pray you. What, you egg, [Stabbing him. He has killed me, mother: [Dies". [Exit Lady MACDUFF, crying murder, and pursued by the Murderers. ' Dies.] There is no such stage-direction in the old copies, which, after this speech by the son, have only "Exit, crying murder ;" but the meaning probably is, that only Lady Macduff goes out exclaiming, leaving the boy dead. She is, of course, followed by the assassins. VOL. VII. M SCENE III. England. A Room in 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 As if it felt with Scotland, and yell'd out What I believe, I'll wail; Mal. What you have spoke, it may be so, perchance. You may deserve' of him through me, and wisdom 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: 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, Bestride our DOWN-FALL'N birthdom.] The old copies have down-fall. 7 You may DESERVE-] The folios read discerne, an easy misprint, which Theobald corrected. Yet grace must still look so. 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, 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 dares not check thee! wear thou thy wrongs; The title is affeer'd'!-Fare thee well, lord: I would not be the villain that thou think'st, Mal. Be not offended: Macd. What should he be? The title is AFFEER'D!] The old copies spell the law term, "affeer'd," affeared. To affeer, in the proceedings of manor courts, is to confirm; and the meaning of the whole passage is," Great tyranny, be thou confident, for goodness dares not oppose thee: do what wrong thou wilt; thy title is confirmed." Perhaps we ought also to read Thy for "The." |