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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.

My dearest coz,

Ross. 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.

[Exit.

Sirrah, your father's dead:
How will you live?

And what will you do now?

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 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! 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 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 will take a homely man's advice,

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. Heaven preserve you! I dare abide no longer.

L. MACD.

I have done no harm.

[Exit.

Whither should I fly?

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,

Το

say

I have done no harm?

Enter Murderers.

What are these faces?

FIRST MUR. Where is your husband?

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

FIRST MUR.

SON. Thou liest, thou shag-hair'd villain!
FIRST MUR.

He's a traitor.

What, you egg

!

[Stabbing him.

F

Young fry of treachery!
SON.

Run away, I pray you!

He has kill'd me, mother:

[Dies.

[Exit LADY MACDUFF, crying Murder! Exeunt Murderers, following her.

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.

MACD.

Let us rather

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 loved 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.

recoil

A good and virtuous nature may
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:
Thoughall 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;

The 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

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