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That two-fold balls and treble sceptres carry :
What, is this so ?
[Music. The Witches dance, and
then vanish, with HECATE. Macb. Where are they? Gone? Let this per
nicious hour Stand
accursed in the calendar!
What's your grace's will?
No, indeed, my lord.
LEN. 'Tis two orthree, my lord, that bring you word
Fled to England !
No, my lord.
LEN. Ay, my good lord.
MACB. Time, thou anticipatest 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
cool. But no more sights !—Where are these gentlemen? Come, bring me where they are. [Exeunt.
Fife. Macduff's castle. Enter Lady MacDUFF, her Son, and Ross. L. 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,
My dearest coz,
school yourself: but for your husband,
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
discomfort: I take my leave at once.
[Exit. L, MACD.
Sirrah, your father's dead : And what will
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 'ldst never fear the
net nor lime, The pitfall nor the gin,
Son. Why should I, mother? Poor birds they
are not set for. My father is not dead, for all your saying. 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
a traitor, mother?
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. 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! But how wilt thou do for a father?
Son. If he were dead, you’ld weep for him : if
you would not, it were a good sign that I should
Enter a Messenger.
Whither should I fly?
What are these faces ?
L. Macd. I hope, in no place so unsanctified
He's a traitor.
What, you egg!