Thy crown does sear mine eye-balls:-And thy
hair,

Thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first:-
A third is like the former:-Filthy hags!
Why do you show me this?-A fourth-Start,
eyes!

see,

What! will the line stretch out to the crack of doom?
Another yet?-A seventh ?-I'll see no more:-
And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass,
Which shows me many more: and some I
That two-fold balls and treble sceptres carry:
Horrible sight!-Ay, now, see, 'tis true;
For the brood-bolter'd' Banquo smiles upon me,
And point 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 sprites,
And show the best of our delights;
I'll charm the air to give a sound,
While you perform vour antique round:
That this great king nay kindly say,
Our duties did his welcome pay.

[Music. The Witches dance, and vanish. Macb. Where are they? Gone?-Let this per

nicious hour

What's your grace's will?
Macb. Saw you the weird sisters?
Len.
No, my lord.
Mucb. Came they not by you?
No, indeed, my lord.
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 anticipat'st' my dread exploits:
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;
Seize upon Fife; give to the edge o'the sword
His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls
That trace his line. No boasting like a fool;
This deed I'll do, before this purpose cool:
But no more sights!-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.

Besmeared with blood.

• Proventest, by taking away the opportunity.

He had none:

L. Macd.
His flight was madness: When our actions do not,
Our fears do make us traitors.
You know not,

Rosse.

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,
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 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!

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?

[ket.

Son. Nay, how will you do for a husband?
L. Macd. Why, I can buy me twenty at any mar-
Son. Then you'll buy 'em to sell again.
L. Macd. Thou speak'st with all thy wit; and
With wit enough for thee.
[yet, i'faith,

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.

Son. And must they all be hanged, that swear
L. Macd. Every one.

Son. Who must hang them?

L. Macd. Why, the honest men.

[and lie?

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 quick ly 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 honor 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, [you!
Which is too nigh your person. Heaven preserve
I dare abide no longer.
[Exit Messenger.
L. Maed.
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, sometimes,
Accounted dangerous folly: Why, then, alas!
Do I put up that womanly defence,

[faces? To say, I have done no harm?- What are these

Enter Murderers.

Mur. Where is your husband?

L. Macd. I hope, in no place so unsanctified,
Where such as thou mayst find him.
Mur.

He's a traitor.
Son. Thou ly'st, thou shag-ear'd villain.
Mur. What, you egg? [Stabbing him.
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
Weep our sad bosoms empty.
[there
Macd.
Let us rather
Hold fast the mortal sword; and, like good men,
Bestride our downfall'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 dolor.

Mal.

What I believe, I'll wail;
What know, believe; and, what I can redress,
As I shall find the time to friend, I will.
What you have spoke, it may be so, perchance.
This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues,
Was once thought honest: you have lov'd him well;
He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young; but
something

You may deserve of him through me; and wisdom
To offer up a weak, poor, innocent lamb,
To appease an angry god.

Macd. I am not treacherous.
Mal.

But Macbeth is.

A good and virtuous nature may recoil,
In an imperial charge.' But crave your pardon;
That which you are, my thoughts cannot transpose:
Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell:
Though all things foul would bear the brows of grace,
Yet grace must still look so.
Macd.

I have lost my hopes. [doubts.
Mal. Perchance, even there, where I did find my
Why in that rawness left you wife, and child,
(Those precious motives, those strong notes of love,)
Without leave-taking?-I pray you,
Let not my jealousies be your dishonors,

Maed.
Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure,
For goodness dares not check thee! wear thou thy

Bleed, bleed, poor country.

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,
And the rich East to boot.
Mal.

Be not offended:
I speak not as in an absolute fear of you.
I think our country sinks beneath the yoke;
It weeps, it bleeds; and each new day a gash
Is added to her wounds: I think, withal,
There would be hands uplifted in my right;
And here from gracious England, have I offer
Of goodly thousands: But, for all this,
When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head,
Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country
Shall have more vices than it had before;
More suffer, and more sundry ways than ever,
By him that shall succeed.

Macd.
What should he be?
Mal. It is myself I mean: in whom I know
All the particulars of vice so grafted,
That, when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth
Will seem as pure as snow; and the poor state
Esteem him as a lamb, being compared
With my confineless harms.
Macd.

Not in the legions
Of horrid hell, can come a devil more damın'd
In evils, to top Macbeth.

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,
In my voluptuousness: your wives, your daughters,
Your matrons, and your maids, could not fill up
The cistern of my lust; and my desire
All continent impediments would o'er-bear,
That did oppose my will: Better Macbeth,
Than such a one to reign.

Macd.

Boundless intemperance
In nature is a tyranny; it hath been
The untimely emptying of the happy throne,
To take upon you what is yours: you may
And fall of many kings. But fear not yet
Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty,
And yet seem cold, the time you may so hood-wink.
We have willing dames enough; there cannot be
That vulture in you, to devour so many
As will to greatness dedicate themselves,
Finding it so inclin'd.

Mal.

With this, there grows,
In my most ill-compos'd affection, such
A stanchless avarice, that, were I king,
I should cut off the nobles for their lands;
Desire his jewels, and this other's house:
And my more-having would be as a sauce
To make me hunger more; that I should forge
Quarrels unjust against the good, and loyal,
Destroying them for wealth.

Macd.
This avarice
Sticks deeper; grows with more pernicious root
Than summer-seeding lust: and it hath been
The sword of our slain kings: Yet do not fear;
Scotland hath foysons' to fill up your will,

But mine own safeties:-You may be rightly just, Of your mere own: All these are portable,"
Whatever I shall think.

I am perfectly acquainted with your rank. • Befriend. i.e. A good mind may recede from goodness in the ex

ecution of a royal commission.

With other graces weigh'd.

Legally settled by those who had the final adjudication
Passionate.
1 Plenty.
May be endured

Mal. But I have none: The king-becoming | Himself best knows; but strangely visited people, As justice, verity, temperance, stableness, [graces, 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 power, I should Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell, Uproar the universal peace, confound

But I must also feel it as a man:
Humph! I guess at it. I cannot but remember such things were,

That were most precious to me. Did heaven look on,
And would not take their part? Sinful Macduff,
They were all struck for thee! naught that I am,
Not for their own demerits, but for mine,
Fell slaughter on their souls: Heaven rest them now!

Mal. Be this the whetsone of your sword: let grief
Convert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage it.
Macd. O, I could play the woman with mine eyes,
And braggart with my tongue!But, gentle
heaven,

Cut short all intermission; front to front,

And I must be from thence! Bring thou this fiend of Scotland, and myself;
Within my sword's length set him; if he 'scape,
Heaven forgive him too!

ACT V.

Doct. Hark, she speaks: I will set down what Enter a Doctor of Physic, and a waiting Gentle- comes from her, to satisfy my remembrance the