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And take a bond of fate : thou shalt not live;
That I may tell pale-hearted fear, it lies,
And sleep in spight of thunder.-What is this,



3d Apparition, a Child crowned, with a Tree in his Hand.
That rises like the issue of a king;
And wears upon his baby brow the round
And top of sovereignty?

AU. Listen, bút speak not to't.

App. Be lion-inettled, proud; and take no care
Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are:
Macbeth shall never vanquish'd be, until
Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill
Shall come against him.

Mac, That will never be;
Who can impress the forest; bid the tree
Unfix his earth-bound root? sweet bodements ! good!
Rebellious head, rise never, till the wood
Of Birnam rise, and our high-plac'd Macbeth
Shall live the lease of nature, pay his breath
To time, and mortal custom.---Yet my heart
Throbs to know one thing ; tell me (if your art
Can tell so much), shall Banquo's issue ever
Reign in this kingdom ?

All. Seek to know no more.

Mac. I will be satisfy'd: deny me this,
And an eternal curse fall on you! let me know :
Why sinks that cauldron ? and what noise is this?


1 Witch,



i Witch, Shew !
2 Witch. Shew!
3 Witch. Shew!

All. Shew his eyes, and grieve his heart;
Come like shadows, so depart.

[ A shew of eight Kings, and BANQUO; the last

with a Glass'in his Hand. Mac. Thou art too like the spirit of Banquo; down! Thy crown does sear mine eye-balls:-And thy air, Thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first :A third is like the former :-Filthy hags : Why do you shew me this? --A fourth ?-Start, eyes! What! will the line stretch out to the crack of doom?

Another yet 1-A seventh ? --I'll see no more :-
And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass,
Which shews me many more : and some I see,
That twofold 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?

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

[Musick. (The Witches dance and vanish.



Mac. Where are they? Gone !--Let this pernicious

hour Stand aye

accursed in the calendar! Come in, without there!

Enter Lenox.

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

Len. No, my lord.
Mac. Came they not by you ?
Len. No, indeed, my lord.

Mac. 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

Macduff is fled to England.

Mac. Fled to England ?
Len. Ay, my good lord.

Mac. Time, thou anticipat'st my dread exploits :
The flighty purpose never is o'er-took,
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: 171 But no more sights !--Where are these gentlemen ? Come, bring me where they are.



: 180

Enter Macduff's Wife, her Son, and Rosse. L. Macd. What had he done, to make him fy the

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

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 wrent,
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',

190 I pray you, school yourself : but, for


husband He is noble, wise, judicious, and best know The fits o'the season. I dare not speak much further :




and your

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. so much a fool, should I stay longer, It would be my disgrace,

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, wit worms and Ates ?
Son. With what I get. I mean; and so do they.
Ļ. Macd. Poor bird ! thou'dst never fear the net nor

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,

1, Macd.



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