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Though bladed corn be lodg'd and trees blown
Though castles topple on their warders' heads;
Of nature's germens tumble all together,
Rebellion's head, rise never till the wood
First Witch. Say if thou'dst rather hear it from our mouths,
First Witch. Show!
Third Witch. Show!
All. Show his eyes, and grieve his heart; 110
A show of Eight Kings, the last with a glass in
Thy crown does sear mine eye-balls: and thy
Thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first:
What will the line stretch out to the crack of
Another yet! A seventh! I'll see no more:
That two-fold balls and treble sceptres carry.
I pray you, school yourself: but for your husband,
But cruel are the times, when we are traitors
Music. The Witches dance, and then vanish with HECATE. Macb. Where are they? Gone? Let this pernicious hour
Stand aye accursed in the calendar!
SCENE II.-Fife. MACDUFF's Castle. Enter Lady MACDUFF, her Son, and Ross.
L. Macd. What had he done, to make him fly
Ross. You must have patience, madam.
He had none :
You know not
The pitfall nor the gin.
Son. Why should I, mother? Poor birds they
My father is not dead, for all your saying.
Son. Nay, how will you do for a husband?
Son. Then you'll buy 'em to sell again.
With wit enough for thee.
Son. Was my father a traitor, mother?
Son. What is a traitor?
L. Macd. Why, one that swears and lies.
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 enough 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
Whether it was his wisdom or his fear.
His mansion and his titles in a place
L. Macd. Poor prattler, how thou talk'st!
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. Bless you, fair dame! I am not to you known,
First Mur. Where is your husband?
Young fry of treachery!
He has kill'd me, mother: Run away, I pray you. Dies. Exit Lady MACDUFF, crying Murder,' and pursued by the Murderers.
SCENE III.-England. Before the King's Palace.
Enter MALCOLM and MACDUFF.
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 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. Let us seek out some desolate shade, and Esteem him as a lamb, being compar'd
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 lov'd him well;
He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young; but something
You may deserve of him through me, and wisdom
Macd. I am not treacherous.
But Macbeth is.
That which you are my thoughts cannot trans
With my confineless harms.
Your matrons, and your maids, could not fill up
This avarice Sticks deeper, grows with more pernicious root Than summer-seeming lust, and it hath been The sword of our slain kings: yet do not fear; Scotland hath foisons 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,
Fit to govern!
By many of these trains hath sought to win me
Doct. Ay, sir; there are a crew of wretched souls
That stay his cure; their malady convinces
Mal. I thank you, doctor. Exit Doctor.
All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye,
The healing benediction. With this strange virtue,
He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy,
And sundry blessings hang about his throne
The means that makes us strangers!
But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile; Where sighs and groans and shrieks that rend the air
Are made, not mark'd; where violent sorrow
What's the newest grief?
Ross. That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker;
Each minute teems a new one.
Ross. Well too.
And all my children!
Macd. The tyrant has not batter'd at their
Ross. No; they were well at peace when I did leave 'em.
Macd. Be not a niggard of your speech: how goes 't?
Ross. When I came hither to transport the tidings,
Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumour
What! man; ne'er pull your hat upon your brows;
Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak 210 Whispers the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break.
Macd. My children too?
Wife, children, servants, all
That could be found.
My wife kill'd too?
A Room in the Castle. Enter a Doctor of Physic and a Waiting-Gentle
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 seen her rise from her bed, throw her nightgown upon her, unlock her closet, take forth paper, fold it, write upon 't, 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 slumbery agitation, besides her walking and other actual performances, what, at any time, have you heard her say?
Gent. That, sir, which I will not report after
her. Doct. You may to me, and 'tis most meet you should.
Gent. Neither to you nor any one, having no witness to confirm my speech.
Enter Lady MACBETH, with a taper. Lo you! here she comes. This is her very And I must be from thence! guise; and, upon my life, fast asleep. Observe her; stand close.
I have said.
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
Mal. Dispute it like a man.
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
Gent. It is an accustomed action with her, to seem thus washing her hands. I have known her continue in this a quarter of an hour. Lady M. Yet here's a spot. Doct. Hark! she speaks. I will set down what comes from her, to satisfy my remem. brance the more strongly.
Lady M. Out, damned spot! out, I say! One; two: why, then 'tis time to do 't. Hell is murky! Fie, my lord, fie! a soldier, and afeard? What need we fear who knows it, when none can call our power to account? Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?
Doct. Do you mark that?
Lady M. The Thane of Fife had a wife: where is she now? What! will these hands ne'er be clean? No more o' that, my lord, no more o' that you mar all with this starting.