1 Witch. Ay, sir, all this is so.-But why Stands Macbeth thus amazedly?

Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprights,
And show 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.

[music. The Witches dance, and vanish.

Macb. Where are they? Gone?-Let this pernicious hour

Stand aye accursed in the calendar!—

Come in, without there!

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.

Len. Ay, my good lord.

Fled to England?

Macb. Time, thou anticipatest1 my dread ex

ploits :

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;

Seise 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! 2—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?

Rosse. You must have patience, madam.

L. Macd.

He had none :

His flight was madness. When our actions do not,

1 Preventest, by taking away the opportunity.
"Magical illusions.

Our fears do make us traitors.1

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;
He wants the natural touch: 2 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.

My dearest coz,

Rosse.
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
farther:

But cruel are the times, when we are traitors,
And do not know ourselves; when we hold rumor
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!

Our flight is considered as an evidence of our treason.
Natural affection.

L. 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.

L. Macd.

[Exit Rosse. 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 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.