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Macb. I will be satisfy'd. Deny me this,
And an eternal curse fall on you! let me know.
Why sinks that cauldron? and what noise is this?

[Hautbys. 1 Witch. Shew! 2 Witcb. Shew! 3 Witch. Shew!

All. Shew his eyes, and grieve his heart, Come like shadows, so depart.

[Eight Kings appear and pass over in order, tbe la

holding a glass in bis band: with Banquo following

them. Macb. Thou art too like the spirit of Banquo; down! Thy crown does sear mine eye-balls. And thy hair (Thou other gold-bound brow) is like the firstÀ third is like the former, filthy hags! Why

do

you Thew me this?-A fourth? Start eye!
What, will the line stretch out to th'crack of doom? -
Another yet? —A seventh! I'll see no more
And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass,
Which shews me many more; and some I see
That twofold balls and treble scepters carry.
Horrible light! nay, now I see 'tis true,
For the blood-bolter'd Banquo smiles upon me,
And points at them for his. What, is this fo?

1 Witch. Ay, Sir, all this is so. But why
Stands Macbeth thus amazedly?
Come, listers, chear we up his sprights,
And shew 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 vanijk. Macb. Where are they gone?—Let this pernicious Stand ay accursed in the kalendar.

[hour Come in, without there!

Enter

Enter Lenox.
Len. What's your Grace's will ?
Macb. Saw you the weird fifters ?
Len. No, my Lord.

.
Macb. Came they not by you?
Len. 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. Fled to England ?
Len. Ay, my good Lord.

Macb. Time, thou anticipat'st my dread exploits :
The flighty purpose ne'er is o'er-took
Unless the deed go with it. From this moment,
The very firstlings 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 castle of Macduff I will surprise,
Seize upon Fife, give to th’ edge o' th' sword
His wite, his babes, and all unfortunate fouls
That trace him in bis line. No boasting like a fool,
This deed I'll do before the purpose cool.
But no more sights. Where are these gentlemen?
Come, bring me where they are.

[Exeunt.

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Macduff's Castle at Fife.

Enter Lady Macduff, ber Son, and Rolle.
L. Macd. WHat had he done, to make him fly the land? ?

Rolle. You must have patience, Madam
L. Macd. He had none;

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

Role. You know noi,
Whether it was his wisdom, or his fear.

L. Mocd. Wildom? to leave his wife, to leave his babs,
His mansion, 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.

Rolle. Dearest cousin, I pray you school your felf; but for your husband, He's noble, wise, 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 s'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 ; 6''Thall 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.

Rolse. 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 Roffe. 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, on worms and fies?
Son. On what I get, and so do they.
L. Macd. Poor bird! thou’dst never fear the net, nor

[lime, The pit-fall, nor the gin.

Son, 6 Shall

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Son. Why should I, mother? poor birds they are not set My father is not dead, for all your saying.

[ for. L. Macd. Yes, he is dead; how wilt thou do for a fa: Son. Nay, how will you do for a husband ? [ther?

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 C# 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 fo ?

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

Son. And must they all be hang'd that swear and lie?
L. Macd. Every one.
Son. Who must hang them?
L. Macd. Why, 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. 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 pratler, how thou talk't!

Enter a Messenger.
Mef. Bless you, fair dame! I am not to you known,
Though in your state 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 7 less,' to you were fell cruelty, !

Which 7 worse,

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Which is too nigh your person. Heav'n preserve you! I dare abide no longer.

(Exit Molenga L. Macd. Whither should 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 say I'd done no harm-what are these faces ?

Enter Murtberers. Mur. Where is your husband?

L. Macd. I hope in no place so unfanctified
Where such as thou may'st find him.

Mur. He's a traitor.
Son. Thou ly'st, thou shag.eard villain.
Mur. What, you egg?

[Stabbing bis. Young fry of treachery?

Son. He'as kill'd me, mother, Run away, pray you,

[Exit Lady Macduff crying murtber; Murtherers per

fue ber.

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The King of England's Palace.

Enter Malcolm and Macduff.
Mal. LET us feck out fome defolate thade, and there

Weep our sad bosoms empty.
Macd. Let us rather
Hold fast the mortal sword; and like good men
Bestride 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 yelld ouç
Like syllables of dolour.

Mal.

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