As little is the wisdom, where the flight My dearest coz', Rosse. The fits o' the season. I dare not speak much farther: And do not know ourselves; when we hold rumour 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. [Exit Rosse. L. Macd. lime, The pit-fall, nor the gin. Son. Why should 1, 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? 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. Son. Who must hang them? L. Maed. 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, B not found here; hence, with your little ones. Which is too nigh your person. Heaven preserve you! L. Macd. Whither should I fly ? I have done no harm. But I remember now To say, I have done no harm?-What are these faces ? 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 liest, thou shag-ear'd villain. 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. Let us rather Macd. As if it felt with Scotland, and yell'd out Mal. What I believe, I'll wall; 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 'erave your pardon; Macd. I have lost my hopes. Mal. Perchance, even there, where I did find my doubts. Why in that rawness left you wife and child, (Those precious motives, those strong knots of love,) Without leave-taking?-I pray you, Let not my jealousies be your dishonours, But mine own safeties: You may be rightly just, Macd. Bleed, bleed, poor country! Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure, For goodness dares not check thee! wear thou thy wrongs. Thy title is affeer'd!-Fare thee well, lord: I would not be the villain that thou think'st For the whole space that 's in the tyrant's grasp, Mal. Be not offended: I speak not as in absolute fear of you. There would be hands uplifted in my right; When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head, Mued. What should he be? That, when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth With my confineless harms. Not in the legions Mach. Mal. I grant him bloody, Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful, Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin That has a name: But there's no bottom, none, All continent impediments would o'erbear, Macd. Boundless intemperance In nature is a tyranny; it hath been The untimely emptying of the happy throne, And yet seem cold, the time you may so hood-wink. As will to greatness dedicate themselves, Mal. F Macd. This avarice Sticks deeper; grows with more pernicious root Of your mere own: All these are portable, Mal. But I have none: The king-becoming graces, As justice, verity, temperance, stableness, Bounty, perséverance, mercy, lowliness, Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude, I have no relish of them; but abound In the division of each several crime, Acting it many ways. Nay, had I a power, I should Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell, Uproar the universal peace, confound All unity on earth. Macd. O Scotland! Scotland! Mal. If such a one be fit to govern, speak: I am as I have spoken. Macd. Fit to govern! No, not to live.- O nation miserable, With an untitled tyrant bloody-scepter'd, When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again? By his own interdiction stands accursed, And does blaspheme his breed?-Thy royal father Was a most sainted king; the queen, that bore thee, Oft'ner upon her knees than on her feet, Died every day she lived. Fare thee well! These evils, thou repeat'st upon thyself, Have banish'd me from Scotland.-O, my breast, Mal. Macduff, this noble passion, Child of integrity, hath from my soul Wiped the black scruples, reconciled my thoughts |