Mach. I will be fatisfy'd. Deny me this,

And an eternal curfe fall on you! let me know.

Why finks that cauldron? and what noife is this?

1 Witch. Shew!

[Hautby

2 Witch. Shew!

3 Witch. Shew!

All. Shew his eyes, and grieve his heart, Come like fhadows, fo depart.

[Eight Kings appear and pafs over in order, the laj holding a glass in his band: with Banquo following

them.

Mach. Thou art too like the spirit of Banquo; down! Thy crown does fear mine eye-balls.

And thy hair (Thou other gold-bound brow) is like the firft A third is like the former, filthy hags!

Why do you fhew me this?-A fourth? Start eye!
What, will the line ftretch out to th' crack of doom? -
Another yet?A feventh! I'll fee no more.
And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass,
Which fhews me many more; and fome I fee
That twofold balls and treble fcepters carry.
Horrible fight! nay, now I fee 'tis true,
For the blood-bolter'd Banquo fmiles upon me,
And points at them for his. What, is this fo?
1 Witch. Ay, Sir, all this is fo. But why
Stands Macbeth thus amazedly?

Come, fifters, chear we up his fprights,
And fhew the best of our delights;
I'll charm the air to give a found,
While you perform your antique round:
That this great King may kindly fay,

Our duties did his welcome pay.

[Mufick.

[The Witches dance and vanife.

Mach. Where are they? gone?-Let this pernicious

Stand ay accurfed in the kalendar.

Come in, without there!

[hour

Enter

Enter Lenox.

Len. What's your Grace's will?

Mach. Saw you the weïrd fifters?

Len. No, my Lord.

Mach. Came they not by you?

Len. No indeed, my Lord.

Mach. Infected be the air whereon they ride, And damn'd all those that trust them! I did hear The galloping of horfe. Who was❜t came by?

Len. 'Tis two or three, my Lord, that bring you word, Macduff is fled to England?

Mach. Fled to England?

Len. Ay, my good Lord.

Macb. Time, thou anticipat'ft my dread exploits: The flighty purpose ne'er is o'er-took

Unless the deed go with it. From this moment,

The very firftlings of my heart shall be

The firftlings of my hand. And even now

To crown my thoughts with acts, be't thought and done: The caftle of Macduff I will furprise,

Seize upon Fife, give to th' edge o' th' fword

His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate fouls

That trace him in his line. No boafting like a fool,
This deed I'll do before the purpose cool.

But no more fights. Where are these gentlemen?
Come, bring me where they are.

SCENE III.

Macduff's Caftle at Fife.

Enter Lady Macduff, ber Son, and Roffe.

[Exeunt.

L. Macd. What had he done, to make him fly the land? Roffe. You must have patience, Madam.

L. Macd. He had none;

4 this

Kk 4

His

His flight was madnefs; when our actions do not,
Our fears do make us traitors.

Roffe. You know not,

Whether it was his wifdom, or his fear.

L. Mecd. Wildom? to leave his wife, to leave his babe, His manfion, and his titles, in a place

From whence himself does fly? he loves us not,
He wants the nat'ral touch; for the poor wren,
The most diminutive of birds, will fight,
Her young ones in her neft, 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.

Roffe. Dearest coufin,

I pray you fchool your felf; but for your husband,
He's noble, wife, judicious, and best knows

The fits o' th' time. I dare not speak much further,

But cruel are the times, when we are traitors,

And do not 'know't our felves: when we hold rumour 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;
6T fhall not be long but I'll be here again:
Things at the worft will ceafe, or else climb upward
To what they were before: My pretty cousin,
Bleffing upon you!

L. Macd. Father'd he is, and yet he's fatherlefs.
Roffe. I am fo much a fool, fhould I ftay longer,
It would be my difgrace, and your discomfort.

I take my leave at once.

L. Macd. Sirrah, your father's dead,

[Exit Roffe.

And what will you do now? how will you live?

Son. As birds do, mother.

L. Macd. What, on worms and flies?

Son. On what I get, and fo do they.

[lime,

L. Macd. Poor bird! thou'dft never fear the net, nor

The pit-fall, nor the gin.

5 know

6 Shall

Son.

Son. Why fhould I, mother? poor birds they are not fet My father is not dead, for all your faying.

[for.

[ther?

L. Macd. Yes, he is dead; how wilt thou do for a faSon. 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 fell again.

L. Macd. Thou speak'ft 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 fwears and lies.
Son. And be all traitors that do fo?

L. Macd. Every one that does fo is a traitor, and must be hang'd.

Son. And must they all be hang'd that fwear and lie?
L. Macd. Every one.

Son. Who muft hang them?

L. Macd. Why, honeft men.

Son. Then the liars and fwearers are fools; for there are liars and fwearers enough to beat the honeft men, and hang up them.

L. Macd. 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 fign that I fhould quickly have a new father.

L. Macd. Poor pratler, how thou talk'st!

Enter a Mellenger.

Mef. Bless you, fair dame! I am not to you known, Though in your ftate of honour I am perfect;

I doubt fome 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 favage;
To do lefs, to you were fell cruelty,

7 worse,

Which

Which is too nigh your perfon. Heav'n preserve you! I dare abide no longer. [Exit Mallenge

L. Macd. Whither fhould I fly?

I've done no harm. But I remember now
I'm in this earthly world, where to do harm
Is often laudable, to do good fometime
Accounted dang'rous folly. Why then, alas,
Do I put up that womanly defence,

To fay I'd done no harm-what are these faces ?
Enter Murtherers.

Mur. Where is your husband?

L. Macd. I hope in no place fo unsanctified Where fuch as thou may'ft find him.

Mur. He's a traitor.

Son. Thou lyft, thou fhag-ear'd villain.

Mur. What, you egg?

Young fry of treachery?

Son. He 'as kill'd me, mother,

Run away, pray you.

[Stabbing bin.

[Exit Lady Macduff crying murther; Murtherers pr fue ber.

The King of England's Palace.

Enter Malcolm and Macduff.

Mal. LET us feek out fome defolate shade, and there Weep our fad bofoms empty.

Macd. Let us rather

Hold fast the mortal fword; and like good men
Beftride our downfal birth-doom: each new morn,
New widows howl, new orphans cry, new forrows
Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds
As if it felt with Scotland, and yell'd out
Like fyllables of dolour.

Mal.