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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 his line. No boasting like a fool; This deed I'll do, before this purpose cool : But no more sights !-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 Rosse. L. Macd. What had he done, to make him fly the

land ?

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Rosse. 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.

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 doth 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.

Rosse. 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 !

Lady 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:
I take my leave at once.

[Exit Rosse. 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 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 mar

ket. 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.

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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 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 : 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! I dare abide no longer.

[Exit Messenger. 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 fa

ces ?

Enteri 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 ly’st, thou shag-ear’d villain.
Mur. What, you egg?

[Stabbing him. Young fry of treachery?

Son. He has killed me, mother: Run away, I pray you.

[Dies. [Exit Lady MACDUFF, crying murder, and

pursued by the Murderers.

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,
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;
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,

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