Mach. 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. Len. Ay, my good lord. Fled to England? Mach. Time, thou anticipat'st my dread exploits : Unless the deed go with it. From this moment, 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 That trace him in his line. No boasting like a fool; But no more sights.-Where are these gentlemen? [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? 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: The most diminutive of birds, will fight, Rosse. My dearest coz', I pray you, school yourself: but, for your husband, The fits o' the season. I dare not speak much farther: And do not know ourselves; when we hold rumour 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. [Exit ROSSE. Sirrah, your father's dead: And what will you do now? How will you live? 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. L. Macd. Thou speak'st with all thy wit; 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! I dare abide no longer. L. Macd. [Exit Messenger. Whither should I fly? I have done no harm; but I remember now I am in this earthly world, where, to do harm To say I have done no harm?-What are these faces? 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. What, you egg, [Stabbing him. Young fry of treachery? pray you. 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 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 Mal. What I believe, I'll wail; What know, believe; and what I can redress, What you have spoke, it may be so, perchance. thing You may deserve' of him through me, and wisdom To appease an angry god. Macd. I am not treacherous. 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. |