Can tell so much,-shall Banquo's issue ever
Reign in this kingdom?
All.
Mach. I will be satisfied: deny me this,

Seek to know no more.

And an eternal curse fall on you! Let me know:-
Why sinks that caldron? and what noise is this?

1 Witch. Show!

2 Witch. Show!

[Hautboys.

3 Witch. Show!

All. Show his eyes, and grieve his heart;

Come like shadows, so depart!

Eight Kings appear, and pass over in order, the last with a glass in his hand; BANQUO following.

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 first :-
A third is like the former.-Filthy hags!

Why do you show me this?-A fourth? Start, eyes!
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 see
That twofold balls and treble sceptres carry :
Horrible sight!--Now, I see, 'tis true;
For the blood-bolter'd Banquo smiles upon me,
And points 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 your antic round;
That this great king may kindly say,
Our duties did his welcome pay.

[Music. The Witches dance, and then vanish.

Macb. Where are they? Gone?-Let this pernicious Stand aye accursed in the calendar!——

Come in, without there.

[hour

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.

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 him in 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 Ross. Lady Macd. What had he done, to make him fly the

land?

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

He had none:

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

Ross.

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.

Ross.

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,
And do not know ourselves; 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:
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.
Ross. 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. Sirrah, your father's dead;
And what will you do now?
Son. As birds do, mother.

L. Macd.

How will you live?

[Exit.

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 My father is not dead, for all your saying.

[set for.

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?
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 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 enow to beat the honest men, and hang up them.

L. Macd. Now, God help thee, poor monkey! how wilt thou do for a father?

But

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
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,
Which is too nigh your person.
I dare abide no longer.

will take a homely man's advice,

L. Macd.

Heaven preserve you!

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, sometime
Accounted dangerous folly: why then, alas,
Do I put up that womanly defence,

I have done no harm?-What are these faces?

Enter Murderers.

1 Mur. Where is your husband?

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

He's a traitor.

1 Mur.
Son. Thou liest, thou shag-hair'd villain.
1 Mur.

Young fry of treachery!
Son.

Run away, I pray you!

[Exit.

What, you egg? [Stabbing him.

He has kill'd me, mother:

[Dies.

[Exit Lady MACDUFF, crying Murder, and pursued by the Murderers.

SCENE III.-ENGLAND. Before 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.
Hold fast the mortal sword, and, like good men,
Bestride our down-fall'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 dolour.

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 I shall crave your pardon;
That which you are, my thoughts cannot transpose;
Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell:

Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace
Yet grace must still look so.

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,
Whatever I shall think.

Macd.

Bleed, bleed, poor country!

Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure,

For goodness dare 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,
And the rich East to boot.

Mal.
Be not offended:
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