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?

He had none:

Rosse. You must have patience, madam. L. Macd. 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,

1. Macd. Yes, ne 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.

Son. And must they all be hang'd, 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 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,

you!

Which is too nigh your person. Heaven preserve [Exit Messenger. Whither should I fly?

I

dare abide no longer. L. Macd.

I have done no harm. But I remember now

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.
[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, motner? Poor birds they are not set for.

My father is not dead, for all your saying.

(1) Preventest, by taking away the opportunity. (2) Follow.

our treason.

(6) I am perfectly acquainted with your rank.

2

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 tongue,
Was once thought honest: you have lov'd him well;
He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young; b
something

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

Maed. I am not treacherous.
Mal.

But Macbeth is.

grace,

wrongs,

Thy title is affeer'd.4-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.

Be not offended:

Mal. I speak not as in 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 compar'd With my confineless harms.

Macd.

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

Mal.

(1) Birthright.

I grant him bloody,

(2) Befriend.

Macd.

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.
Boundless intemperance
In nature is a tyranny; it hath been
The untimely emptying of the happy throne,
And fall of many kings. But fear not yet
To take upon you what is yours: you may
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.

I

Mal.

With this, there grows,

In my most ill-compos'd affection, such
A stanchless avarice, that were I king,
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.

Macil.
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,
Of your mere own: All these are portable,"
With other graces weigh'd.

Mai. But I have none: The king-becoming
graces,

As justice, verity, temperance, stableness,
Bounty, perseverance, 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 shoul
Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell,'
Uproar the universal peace, confound
All unity on earth.

O Scotland! Scotland!

Maed. Mul. 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? Since that the truest issue of thy throne By his own interdiction stands accurs'd, And does blaspheme his breed?-Thy royal father Was a most sainted king; the queen, that bore thee, Ofner 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, Thy hope ends here! Mal. Macduff, this noble passion, Child of integrity, hath from my soul Wip'd the black scruples, reconcil'd my thoughts To thy good truth and honour. Devilish Macbeth By many of these trains hath sought to win me Into his power: and modest wisdom plucks me

(4) Legally settled by those who had the final adjudication."

From over-credulous haste:' But God above
Deal between thee and me! for even now
I put myself to thy direction, and
Unspeak mine own detraction, here abjure
The taints and blames I laid upon vet
myself,
For strangers to my nature.

Unknown to woman; never was forsworn;
Scarcely have coveted what was mine own;
At no time broke my faith; would not betray
The devil to his fellow; and delight

No less in truth, than life: my first false speaking
Was this upon myself: What I am truly,
Is thine, and my poor country's, to command:
Whither, indeed, before thy here-approach,
Old Siward, with ten thousand warlike men,
All ready at a point, was setting forth:
Now we'll together; And the chance, of goodness,
Be like our warranted quarrel! Why are you silent?
Macd. Such welcome and unwelcome things at

once,

'Tis hard to reconcile.

Enter a Doctor.

Mal. Well; more anon.-Comes the king forth, I pray you?

Doct. Ay, sir: there are a crew of wretched souls, That stay his cure their malady convinces The great assay of art; but, at his touch, Such sanctity hath heaven given his hand, They presently amend.

Mal I thank you, doctor. [Ex. Doct. Macd. What is the disease he means? Mal. 'Tis call'd the evil: A most miraculous work in this good king; Which often since my herc-remain in England, I have seen him do. How he solicits heaven, Himself best knows: but strangely-visited people, All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye, The mere despair of surgery, he cures ; Hanging a golden stamp3 about their necks, Put on with holy prayers: and 'tis spoken, To the succeeding royalty he leaves

The healing benediction. With this strange virtue,
He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy;

And sundry blessings hang about his throne,
That speak him full of grace.

tidings,

Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumour
Of many worthy fellows that were out;
Which was to my belief witness'd the rather,
For that I saw the tyrant's power a-foot:
Now is the time of help; your eye ir. Scotland
Would create soldiers, make our women fight,
To doff's their dire distresses.

Mal.
Be it their comfort,
We are coming thither: gracious England hath
Lent us good Siward, and ten thousand men ;
An older, and a better soldier, none,
That Christendom gives out.

Rosse.
"Would I could answer
This comfort with the like! But I have words,
That would be howl'd out in the desert air,
Where hearing should not latch them.
Macd.
What concern they?

The general cause? or is it a fee-grief,*
Due to some single breast?

Rosse.

No mind, that's honest But in it shares some wo; though the main part Pertains to you alone.

Macd.

If it be mine,

Savagely slaughter'd: to relate the manner, Were, ca the quarry of these murder'd deer, To add the death of you.

Mal.

Merciful heaven!-.

What, man! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows;
Give sorrow words: the grief, that does not speak,
Whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it break.
Macd. My children too?
Rosse.

That could be found.
Macd.
My wife kill'd too?
Rosse.
Mal.

Wife, children, servants, all And I must be from thence!

I have said.

Be comforted. Let's make us med'cines of our great revenge, To cure this deadly grief.

Macd. He has no children.-All my pretty ones!
Did you say, all?-0, hell-kite!-A!
What, all my pretty chickens, and their dam,
At one fell swoop?

Mal. Dispute it like a man.
Macd.

But I must also feel it as a man:

I shall do so;

I cannot but remember such things were,

(5) Put off.

(4) Common distress of mind. (6) Catch. (7) A grief that has a single owner. (8) The game after it is killed.

Well, march we on, To give obedience where 'tis truly ow'd: Meet we the medicin' of the sickly weal; And with him pour we, in our country's purge, Each drop of us. Or so much as it needs, To dew the sovereign flower, and drown the weeds. Make we our march towards Birnam.

Len.

[Exeunt, marching. SCENE III.-Dunsinane. A room in the castle. Enter Macbeth, Doctor, and attendants. Macb. Bring me no more reports; let them fly all;

Till Birnam wood remove to Dunsinane,

I cannot taint with fear. What's the boy Malcolm?
Was he not born of woman? The spirits that know
All mortal consequents, pronounc'd me thus:
Fear not, Macbeth; no man, that's born of woman,
Shall e'er have power on thee.--Then fly, false
thanes,

And mingle with the English epicures:
The mind I sway by, and the heart I bear,
Shall never sagg with doubt, nor shake with fear.
Enter a Servant.

The devil damn thee black, thou cream-fac'd loon ;3
Where got'st thou that goose-look?
Serv. There is ten thousand-
Macb.

Geese, villain?
Serv.
Soldiers, sir.
Macb. Go, prick thy face, and over-red thy fear,
Thou lily-liver'd boy. What soldiers, patch 24
Death of thy soul! those linen cheeks of thine
Are counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whey-face?
Serv. The English force, so please you.
Macb. Take thy face hence.-Seyton!-I am
sick at heart,

When I behold-Seyton, I say!-This push
Will cheer me ever, or disseat me now.
I have liv'd long enough: my way of life
Is fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf:
And that which should accompany old age,
As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends,
I must not look to have; but, in their stead,
Curses, not loud, but deep, mouth-honour, breath,
Which the poor heart would fain deny, but dare not.
Seyton!-

Enter Seyton.

As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies, That keep her from her rest.

Macb.
Cure her of that:
Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd;
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow;
Raze out the written troubles of the brain;
And, with some sweet oblivious antidote,
Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff
Which weighs upon the heart?

Doct.
Must minister to himself.

Therein the patient

Macb. Throw physic to the dogs, I'll none of it.Come, put mine armour on; give me my staff:Seyton, send out.-Doctor, the thanes fly from me:Come, sir, despatch:-If thou could'st, doctor, cast The water of my land, find her disease, And purge it to a sound and pristine health, I would applaud thee to the very echo, That should applaud again.-Pull't off, I say.What rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drug, Would scour these English hence?-Hearest thou of them?

I

Doct. Ay, my good lord; your royal preparation Makes us hear something.

Macb.

[Exit.

Bring it after me.-will not be afraid of death and bane, Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane. Doct. Were I from Dunsinane away and clear, Profit again should hardly draw me here. [Exil. SCENE IV.-Country near Dunsinane: A wood in view. Enter, with drum and colours, Malcolm, Old Siward and his Son, Macduff, Menteth, Cathness, Angus, Lenox, Rosse, and Soldiers, marching.

Mal. Cousins, I hope, the days are near at hand That chambers will be safe. Ment. We doubt it nothing. Siw. What wood is this before us? Ment.

The wood of Birnam. Mal. Let every soldier hew him down a bough, And bear't before him; thereby shall we shadow The numbers of our host, and make discovery Err in report of us.

It shall be done.

Sold. Siw. We learn no other, but the confident tyrant Keeps still in Dunsinane, and will endure Our setting down befor't.

Mal.

'Tis his main hope: For where there is advantage to be given, Both more and less' have given him the revolt; And none serve with him but constrained things, Whose hearts are absent too.

Macd.

(6) Scour. (8) Determine.

(7) i. e. Greater and less.