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

That rises like the issue of a king;

And wears upon his baby brow the round
And top of sovereignty ?1

All.

Listen, but speak not. 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.

Mach.

[Descends.

That will never be;

Who can impress the forest;2 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 noise3 is this?

1 Witch. Show!

2 Witch. Show!

3 Witch. Show!

[Hautboys.

All. Show his eyes, and grieve his heart; Come like shadows, so depart.

Eight Kings appear, and pass over the stage in

(1) The round is that part of a crown which encircles the head: the top is the ornament which rises above it.

(2) Who can command the forest to serve him like a soldier impressed? (3) Music.

order; the last with a glass in his hand; Banquo following.

Macb. 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 ?1

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'd2 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 sprights,3
And show the best of our delights;
I'll charm the air to give a sound,
While you perform your antique round:
That this great king may kindly say,
Our duties did his welcome pay.

[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? Len. 'Tis two or three, my lord, that bring you word,

Macduff is fled to England.
Macb.

Len. Ay, my good lord.

Fled to England?

Macb. Time, thou anticipat'st' my dread ex

ploits :

The flighty

Unless the deedse never is o'ertook,

go with it: From this moment, The very firstlings of my heart shall be

The firstlings of iny 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 trace2 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.3

Rosse.

You know not, Whether it was his wisdom, or his fear.

L. Macd. Wisdom! to leave his wife, to leave

his babes,

(1) Preventest, by taking away the opportunity. (2) Follow.

(3) i. e. Our flight is considered as evidence of

our treason.

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 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. 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,2 your father's dead; And what will you do now? How will you live? Son. As birds do, mother.

L. Macd.

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.

(1) Natural affection.

(2) Sirrah was not in our author's time a term of reproach.

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 hang'd, 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 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.1
I doubt, some danger does approach you nearly:
If
you will take a homely man's advice,

(1) I am perfectly acquainted with your rank.