1 Witch. Ay, sir, all this is so.-But why Stands Macbeth thus amazedly? Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprights, I'll charm the air to give a sound, [music. The Witches dance, and vanish. Macb. Where are they? Gone?-Let this pernicious hour Stand aye accursed in the calendar!— Come in, without there! 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? word, Macduff is fled to England. Macb. Len. Ay, my good lord. Fled to England? Macb. Time, thou anticipatest1 my dread ex ploits : The flighty purpose never is o'ertook, Unless the deed go with it. From this moment, 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; Seise 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! 2—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? Rosse. You must have patience, madam. L. Macd. He had none : His flight was madness. When our actions do not, 1 Preventest, by taking away the opportunity. Our fears do make us traitors.1 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; My dearest coz, Rosse. But cruel are the times, when we are traitors, 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! Our flight is considered as an evidence of our treason. L. Macd. 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. L. Macd. [Exit Rosse. Sirrah, your father's dead; And what will you do now? How will you live? L. Macd. 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 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. |