Macduff lives in disgrace: Sir, can you tell Where he bestows himself?

Lord.

The son of Duncan, From whom this tyrant holds the due of birth, Lives in the English court; and is receiv'd Of the most pious Edward with such grace, That the malevolence of fortune nothing Takes from his high respect: Thither Macduff Is gone to pray the holy king, on his aid To wake Northumberland, and warlike Siward: That, by the help of these, (with Him above To ratify the work,) we may again Give to our table meat, sleep to our nights; Free from our feasts and banquets bloody knives; Do faithful homage and receive free honors," All which we pine for now: And this report

Hath so exasperate the king, that he
Prepares for some attempt of war.
Len,
Sent he to Macduff?
Lord. He did: and with an absolute, Sir, not I,
The cloudy messenger turns me his back,
And hums; as who should say, You'll rue the time
That clogs me with this answer.
Len.
And that well might
Advise him to a caution, to hold what distance
His wisdom can provide. Some holy angel
Fly to the court of England, and unfold
His message ere he comes: That a swift blessing
May soon return to this our suffering country
Under a hand accurs'd!
Lord.

My prayers with him! [Exeunt.

Thunder. Enter the Three Witches.

1 Witch. Thrice the brinded cat hath mew❜d.

2 Witch. Thrice; and once the hedge-pig whined. 3 Witch. Harper cries:-'Tis time, 'tis time.

1 Witch. Round about the cauldron go;

In the poison'd entrails throw.—
Toad, that under coldest stone,
Days and nights hast thirty-one
Swelter'd venom sleeping got,
Boil thou first i'the charmed pot!

All. Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire, burn; and, cauldron, bubble.
2 Witch. Fillet of a fenny snake,
In the cauldron boil and bake:
Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting,
Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing,
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.

All. Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire, burn; and, cauldron, bubble.

3 Witch. Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf;
Witches' mummy; maw, and gulf,
Of the ravin'd salt-sea shark;

Root of hemlock, digg'd i'the dark;
Liver of blaspheming Jew;
Gall of goat, and slips of yew,
Sliver'd in the moon's eclipse;
Nose of Turk, and Tartar's lips;
Finger of birth-strangled babe,
Ditch-deliver'd by a drab,
Make the gruel thick and slab:
Add thereto a tiger's chaudron,
For the ingredients of our cauldron.

All. Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire, burn; and, cauldron, bubble.

2 Witch. Cool it with a baboon's blood, Then the charm is firm and good

Enter HECATE.

Hec. O, well done! I commend your pains; And every one shall share i'the gains. And now about the cauldron sing, Like elves and fairies in a ring,

Enchanting all that you put in.

SONG.

Black spirits and white,
Blue spirits and grey;
Mingle, mingle, mingle,

You that mingle may.

2. Witch. By the pricking of my thumbs, Something wicked this way comes:

Open locks, whoever knocks.

Enter MACBETH.

Macb. I conjure you, by that which you profess, (Howe'er you come to know it,) answer me: Though you untie the winds, and let them fight Against the churches; though the yesty waves Confound and swallow navigation up; Though bladed corn be lodg'd and trees blown down;

Though castles topple1 on their warders' heads; Though palaces, and pyramids, do slope

Their heads to their foundations; though the treasure
Of nature's germins tumble all together,

Even till destruction sicken, answer me
To what I ask you.

1 Witch.

2 Witch.

3 Witch.

Speak.

Demand.

We'll answer.

Thunder. An Apparition of a Child crowned, with a tree in his hand, rises.

That rises like the issue of a king;

What is't you do?

All.

And top of sovereignty?

1 Tumble.

All.

Listen, but speak not.

A deed without a name.

Laid flat by wind or rain.

2 Seeds which have begun to sprout.

3 Adroitly.

Touched on a passion as a harper touches a string.

App. Be lion-mettled, proud; and take no care Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are: Macbeth shall never vanquish'd be, until Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill Shall come against him.

Much.

[Descends. That will never be: Who can impress the forest; bid the tree Unfix his earth-bound root? sweet bodements! good! Rebellious head, rise never, till the wood Or Birnam rise, and our high-placed Macbeth Shall live the lease of nature, pay his breath To time and mortal custom.-Yet my heart Throbs to know one thing: Tell me, (if your art Can tell so much,) shall Banquo's issue ever Reign in this kingdom?

All.

Seek to know no more. Mach. I will be satisfied: deny me this,. And an eternal curse fall on you! Let me know:Why sinks that cauldron? and what noise is this! [Hautboys. 1 Witch. Show! 2 Witch. Show! 3 Wich. Show! All. Show his eyes, and grieve his heart; Come like shadows, so depart. Eight Kings appear, and pass over the stage in order; the last with a glass in his hand; BANQuo following.

Macs. 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 two-fold balls and treble sceptres carry:
Horrible sight!-Ay, 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;

Macduff is filed to England. Mucb.

Len. Ay, my good lord.

Fled to England!

Mach. 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 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 ROSSE.
L. Macd. What had he done, to make him fly the

land?

Besmeared with blood.

"Proventest, by taking away the opportunity.

Rosse. 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.
Rosse.
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.
Rosse.

My dearest coz,

I pray you, school yourself: But, for your husband,
He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows
The tits 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 rumor
From what we fear, yet know not what we fear;
But float upon a wild and violent sca,
Shall not be long but I'll be here again;
Each way, and move.-I take my leave of you:
Things at the worst will cease, or else climb upward
To what they were before.-My pretty cousin,
Blessing upon you!

L. Mac. Father'd he is, and yet he's fatherless.
Rosse. 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 ROSSE.
Sirrah, your father's dead;
And what will you do now? How will you live?
Son. As birds do, mother.
L. Mact.

L. Macd.

What, with worms and flies? Son. With what I get, I mean; and so do they. L. Maci. 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 set for.

My father is not dead, for all your saying.

L. Mucd. 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. Mach. 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. Mac. 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 tho 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.

Boundless intemperance

The untimely emptying of the happy throne,
In nature is a tyranny; it hath been
And fall of many kings. But fear not yet
To take upon you what is yours: you may

there

Hold fast the moral sword; and, like good men,
Bestride our downfall'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 dolor.

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 love'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 lainb,
To appease an angry god.

Macd. I am not treacherous.
Mal.

But Macbeth is.

A good and virtuos nature may recoil,
In an imperial charge. But crave your pardon;
That which you are, my thoughts cannot transpose:
Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell:
Though all things foul would bear 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 your wife, and child,
(Those precious motives, those strong notes of love,)
Without leave-taking?-I pray you,

Let not my jealousies be your dishonors,
But mine own safeties:-You may be rightly just,
Whatever I shall think.
Bleed, bleed, poor country.
Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure,
For goodness dares not check thee! wear thou thy

Macd.

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.

I speak not as in an 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
Shall have more vices than it had before;
More suffer, and more sundry ways than ever,
By him that shall succeed.
Macd.
What should he be?
Mal. It is myself I mean: in whom I know

And yet seem cold, the time you may so hood-wink.
We have willing dames enough; there cannot be
That vulture in you, to devour so many
As will to greatness dedicate themselves,
Finding it so inclin'd.

Mal.

With this, there grows,

In my most ill-compos'd affection, such
A stanchless avarice, that, were I king,
I should cut off the nobles for their lands;
Desire his jewels, and this other's house:
And my more-having would be as a sauce
To make me hunger more; that I should forge
Quarrels unjust against the good, and loyal,
Destroying them for wealth."

Macd.

This avarice

Sticks deeper; grows with more pernicious root
Than summer-sceding lust: and it hath been
The sword of our slain kings: Yet do not fear;
Scotland hath foysons to fill up your will,
Of your mere own: All these are portable,
With other graces weigh'd.

Mal. But I have none: The king-becoming graces,
As justice, verity, temperance, stableness,
Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness,
Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude,
I have no relish of them; but abound'
In the division of cach several crime,
Acting in many ways. Nay, had I power, I should
Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell,
Uproar the universal peace, confound
All unity on earth.

Macd.
O Scotland! Scotland!
Mal. If such a one be fit to govern, speak:
I am as I have spoken.
Macd.

Fit to govern!
No, not to live.-O nation miserable,
With an untitled tyrant bloody-sceptred,
When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again?
Since that the truest issue of thy throne
By his own interdiction stands accurs'd,
And does blaspheme his breed?-Thy royal father
Was a most sainted king; the queen, that bore thee,
Oftner upon her knees than on her feet,
Died every day she lived. Fare thee well!
These evils, thou repeat'st upon thyself,
Have banish'd me from Scotland.-O, my breast,
Thy hope ends here!

Mal. Macduff, this noble passion,
Child of integrity, hath from my soul

Wiped the black scruples, reconciled my thoughts
To the good truth and honor. Devlish 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 my self 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
The devil to his fellow; and delight

No less in truth than life: my first false speaking
Was this upon myself: What I am truly,
Is thine, and my poor country's, to command:
Whither, indeed, before thy here approach,
Old Siward, with ten thousand warlike men,
All ready at a point, was setting forth:
Now we'll together; and the chance of goodness,
Be like our warranted quarrel! Why are you silent?
Macd. Such welcome and unwelcome things at

once,

'Tis hard to reconcile.

Enter a Doctor.

Mal. Well; more anon.-Comes the king forth, I pray you?

Doct. Ay, sir: there are a crew of wretched souls That stay his cure: their malady convinces The great assay of art: but, at his touch, Such sanctity hath heaven given his hand, They presently amend. Mal.

I thank you, doctor.

[Exit Doctor. Macd. What's the disease he means? Mal. 'Tis call'd the evil: A most miraculous work in this good king; Which often, since my here-remain in England, I have seen him do. How he solicits heaven, Himself best knows; but strangely visited people, All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye, The mere despair of surgery, he cures; Hanging the golden stamp about their necks Put on with holy prayer: and 'tis spoken, To the succeeding royalty he leaves

The healing benediction. With this strange virtue,
He had a heavenly gift of prophecy;

And sundry blessings hang about his throne,
That speak him full of grace.

Sir, Amen.

Macd. Stands Scotland where it did? Rosse. Alas, poor country: Almost afraid to know itself! It cannot Be call'd our mother, but our grave: where nothing, But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile; Where sighs and groans, and shrieks that rent the air, Are made, not mark'd; where violent sorrow seems A modern ecstacy; the dead man's knell Is there scarce ask'd, for who; and good men's lives Expire before the flowers in their caps, Dying, or ere they sicken.

Macd.

O, relation,

Too nice, and yet too true!
Mal.

What is the newest grief?
Rosse. That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker,
Each minute teems a new one.
Mach.
Rosse. Why, well.
Macd.

How does my wife? And all my children?

Rosse. Well too. Macd. The tyrant has not batter'd at their peace? Russe. No; they were well at peace, when I did

leave them.

Macd. Be not a niggard of your speech; goes it?

How

Rosse. When I came hither to transport the tidings, Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumor Of many worthy fellows that were out.

Macd.

My wife kill'd too?

Rosse. Mal.

Wife, children, servants, all

And I must be from thence!

I have said.

Be comforted: Let's make us medicines of our great revenge, To cure this deadly grief.

Macd. He has no children.-All my pretty ones? Did you say, all?-O, hell-kite!-All?

What, all my pretty chickens, and their dam,
At one fell swoop?

Mal. Dispute it like a man.
Macd.

I shall do so;
But I must also feel it as a man:

I cannot but remember such things were,
That were most precious to me. Did heaven look on,
They were all struck for thee! naught that I am,
And would not take their part? Sinful Macduff,
Not for their own demerits, but for mine,
Fell slaughter on their souls: Heaven rest them now!
Mal. Be this the whetstone of your sword: let grief
Convert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage it.
Macd. O, I could play the woman with mine eyes,
And braggard with my tongue! But, gentle
heaven,

woman.

Doct. I have two nights watched with you, but can perceive no truth in your report. When was it she last walked?

Gent. Since his majesty went into the field, I have

Overpowers, subdues. 7 The coin called an angel. 8 Common distress of mind.

upon her, unlock her closet, take forth paper, fold it, write upon it, read it, afterwards seal it, and again return to bed: yet all this while in a most fast sleep.

Doct. A great perturbation in nature! to receive at once the benefit of sleep, and do the effects of watching. In this slumbry agitation, besides her 9 Put off 1 Catch.

2 A grief that has a single owner. The game after it is killed.