Who can impress the forest; bid the tree.
Unfix his earth-bound root? sweet bodements! good!
Rebellious head, rise never, till the wood'
Of Birnam rise; and our high-plac'd 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.

Macb. 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 Witch. Show! All. Show his eyes, and grieve his heart;

Come like shadows, so depart.

A show of eight Kings, and BANQUO last, with a Glass in his Hand.

Macb. Thou art too like the spirit of Banquo: down!

Thy crown does sear mine eye-balls:

Thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first: :

A third is like the former:

and thy hair,

Start, eyes!

Filthy hags!

Why do you show me this? A fourth?

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! Now, I see, 't is 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.

I'll charm the air to give a sound,
While you perform your antic round;
That this great king may kindly say,
Our duties did his welcome pay.

[Music. The Witches dance, and vanish. Let this pernicious hour

Macb. Where are they? Gone?

Stand aye accursed in the calendar!

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?

Len. 'T is two or three, my lord, that bring you word, Macduff is fled to England.

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 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?
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 fits o' the season. I dare not speak much farther:
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.
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.

L. Macd.

Sirrah, your father's dead: And what will you 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 '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.

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 '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!

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.

Whither should I fly?

I have done no harm; 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,
Do I put up that womanly defence,

alas!

[Exit Messenger.

To say I have done no harm? What are these faces?

Enter Murderers.

Mur. Where is your husband?

L. Macd. I hope, in no place so unsanctified, Where such as thou may'st find him.

Mur.

Son. Thou liest, thou shag-ear'd villain.

Mur.

Young fry of treachery?

Son.

Run away, I pray you.

Mal.

He's a traitor.

What, you egg, [Stabbing him.

[Exit Lady MACDUFF, crying murder, and pursued

by the Murderers.

SCENE III.

England. A Room in the King's Palace.

Enter MALCOLM and MACDUFF.

Let u 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