App. Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! beware Macduff;

Beware the thane of Fife.-Dismiss me:-Enough.

[Descends.

Macb. What-e'er thou art, for thy good caution,

thanks;

Thou hast harp'd' my fear aright:-But one word

more:

1 Witch. He will not be commanded: Here's

another,

More potent than the first.

Thunder. An Apparition of a bloody Child rises.

App.

Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth !—

Macb. Had I three ears, I'd hear thee.

App. Be bloody, bold, And resolute: laugh to scorn the power of man, For none of woman born shall harm Macbeth.

[Descends.

Macb. Then live, Macduff; What need I fear

of thee?

But yet I'll make assurance double sure,

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

Thunder. An Apparition of a Child crowned, with a Tree in his Hand, rises.

That rises like the issue of a king;

And wears upon his baby brow the round
And top of sovereignty?

All.
Listen, but speak not.
App. Be lion-mettled, proud; and take no care
Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are:

Thou hast harp'd-] To harp, is to touch on a passion as a harper touches a string.

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.

[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 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.

lie?

Son. And must they all be hanged, that swear and

L. Macd. Every one.

Son. Who must hang them?

L. Macd. Why, the honest men.

Son. Then the liars and swearers are fools: for

VOL. IV.

F F

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.

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,
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 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.

9 — in your state of honour I am perfect.] i. e. I am perfectly acquainted with your rank of honour.

Mur.

He's a traitor.

What, you egg? [Stabbing him.

Son. Thou ly'st, thou shag-ear'd villain.

Mur.

Young fry of treachery?

Son.

Run away, I pray you.

He has killed me, mother:

[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,2 I will.

1 Bestride our down-fall'n birthdom:] The allusion is to a man from whom something valuable is about to be taken by violence, and who, that he may defend it without incumbrance, lays it on the ground, and stands over it with his weapon in his hand. Our birthdom, or birthright, says he, lies on the ground; let us, like men who are to fight for what is dearest to them, not abandon it, but stand over it and defend it. This is a strong picture of obstinate resolution.

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 does 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 rumours
From what we fear, vet 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!

— natural touch:] Natural sensibility. He is not touched with natural affection. JOHNSON.

"The fits o'the season.] What is most fitting to be done in every conjuncture.

And do not know ourselves;] When we are considered by the state as traitors, while at the same time we are unconscious of guilt; when we appear to others so different from what we really are, that we seem not to know ourselves.

8

when we hold rumour-] i. e. believe rumour.