SCENE II. Macb. Thou art too like the spirit of Banquo; Thy crown does sear mine eye-balls:-and thy air, What! will the line stretch out to the crack of Another yet? A seventh? - I'll see no more :- For the blood-boltered Banquo smiles upon me, 1st Witch. Ay, sir, all this is so: but why [Music. The Witches dance, and vanish. Mach. Where are they? Gone? Let this pernicious hour Stand aye accurséd in the calendar !- But no more sights!- Where are these gentlemen? SCENE II. Fife. A Room in MACDUFF's Castle. Lady Macd. What had he done, to make him Rosse. You must have patience, madam. He had none: His flight was madness: When our actions do not, L. Macd. Wisdom! to leave his wife, to leave His mansion, and his titles, in a place (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, further: But cruel are the times when we are traitors, Things at the worst will cease, or else climb up- To what they were before. --My pretty cousin, L. Macd. Fathered he is, and yet he's father- Rosse. I am so much a fool, should I stay longer, L. Macd. Sirrah, your father's dead : L. Macd. What, with worms and flies? 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 My father is not dead, for all your saying. 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. SCENE III.-England. A Room in the King's Palace. Enter MALCOLM and MACDUFF. Mal. Let us seek out some desolate shade, and there Weep our sad bosoms empty. Macd. Let us rather Hold fast the mortal sword; and, like good men, Bestride onr down-fall'n birthdom: each new morn, New widows howl; new orphans cry; new sor rows Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds As if it felt with Scotland, and yelled 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 loved him well; He hath not touched you yet. I am young; but something You may deserve of him through me : and wisdom Macd. I am not treacherous. But Macbeth is. A good and virtuous nature may recoil, pardon; That which you are, my thoughts cannot trans pose: 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, SCENE 111. L But mine own safeties: you may be rightly just, Macd. Bleed, bleed, poor country! For goodness dares not check thee! wear thou Thy title is affeered! - Fare thee well, lord : 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; More suffer, and more sundry ways than ever, 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 opened, 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 damned In evils, to top Macbeth. Mal. I grant him bloody, Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful, Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin In my voluptuousness: your wives, your daugh ters, Your matrons, and your maids, could not fill up 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, 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 Mal. With this, there grows, Fit to govern! No, not to live.----O, nation miserable, With an untitled tyrant bloody-sceptered, When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again; Since that the truest issue of thy throne By his own interdiction stands accursed, And does blaspheme his breed? - Thy royal father Mal. Macduff, this noble passion, Child of integrity, hath from my soul Wiped the black scruples, reconciled 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 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 myself, For strangers to my nature. I am yet Unknown to woman; never was forsworn; Scarcely have coveted what was mine own; At no time broke my faith; would not betray |