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Son. As birds do, mother.
L. Mo. What, with worms, and fies?
Son. With what I get, I mean ; and fo do they.
L. Md. Poor bird! thou’dst never fear the net, nor line,
The pit-fall, nor the gin.
Son. Why should I, mother?
Poor birds they are not set for. But my father's
Not dead, for all your saying.
L. Md. Yes, he is dead :
How wilt thou do now for a father?
How will you do for a husband?
L.M". Why, I can buy me
Twenty at any market.
Son. Then you'll buy 'em To fell again.
L. M. Thou speak' it with all thy wit;
And yet, i'faith, with wit enough for thee.
Son. Was my father a traitor, mother
L. Md. Ay, that he was.
Son. What is a traitor ?
L.M'. Why, one that swears and lies.
Son. And be all traitors, that do so?
L. M4. Every one, that does fo, is a traitor, and must be hang’d.
Son And must they all be hang'd, that swear and lyed
L.Md. Every one.
Son. Who must hang them?
L. Md. 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. Md. 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. Md. Poor pratler, how thou talk'st!
Enter a Messenger. Mef. Bless
fair dame! I am not to you known, Though in your state of honour I am perfect. I doubt, fome 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 favage; To do less to you, were fell cruelty, Which is too nigh your person. Heaven preserve you! I dare abide no longer.
[Exit Messenger. L.Md. 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, alas, Do I'put up that womanly defence, To say, I have done no harm ? – What are these faces ?
Enter certain Murtherers. 1. M. Where is
L.Md. I hope, in no place so unfanétify'd,
Where such as thou may'st find him.
1. M. He's a traitor.
Son. Thou ly'ft, thou shag-ear'd villain.
1. M. What, you egg?
[fabbing him. Young fry of treachery? Son.
He has kill'd me, mother;
Run away, I pray you. (Dies. Exit Lady MACDUFF,
crying Murther; Murtherers pursue ber. SCENE III. A Room in Edward the Confessor's Palace.
Enter MALCOLM, and MACDUFF.
MAL. Let us seek out some desolate shade, and there
Weep our sad bosoms empty.
Mace. Let us rather
Hold fast the mortal sword; and, like good men,
Bestride our down-fall birthdom : Each new morn,
New widows howl; new orphans cry; new forrows
Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds
As if it felt with Scotland, and yelld out
Like syllables of dolour.
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 fo, perchance.
This tyrant, whose fole 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
may discern of him through me: and wisdom, To offer up a weak, poor, innocent lamb, To appease an angry god.
MAC". I am not treacherous.
MAL, But Macbeth is. A good and virtuous nature may recoil, In an imperial charge. But I shall crave your pardon ; That which you are, my thoughts cannot transpose : Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell : Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace, Yet grace
must still look fo.
Macd. I have lost my hopes.
Mal. Perchance, even there, where I did find my
Why in that rawness left your wife, and children,
(Those precious motives, those strong knots of love)
Without leave-taking? I pray you,
Let not my jealoufies be your dishonours,
But mine own fafeties : you may be rightly just,
Whatever I shall think.
Mace. Bleed, bleed, poor country!
Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure,
For goodness dare not check thee! wear thou thy wrongs,
The title is afeard !_Fare thee well, lord:
I would not be the villain that thou think it,
For the whole space that's in the tyrant's grasp,
And the rich east to boot.
MAL. Be not offended :
I speak not as in absolute fear of you.
I think, our country finks beneath the yoak;
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 fuffer, and more sundry ways
By him that shall succeed.
Maca. What should he be ?
MAL. It is myself I mean : in whom I know
All the particulars of vice so grafted,
That, when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth
Will seem as pure as snow; and the poor ftate
Esteem him as a lamb, being compar'd
Macd. Not, in the legions
Of horrid hell, can come a devil more damn'd
In ills, to top Macbeth.
Mar. 'I grant him bloody,
Luxurious, avaritious, false, deceitful,
Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin
That has a name: But there's no bottom, none,
In my voluptuousness : your wives, your daughters,
Your matrons, and your maids, could not fill up
The cistern of my luft; and my desire
All continent impediments would o'er-bear,
That did oppose my will: Better Macbeth,
Than such a one to reign.
Mac". Boundless intemperance
In nature is a tyranny : it hath been
The untimely emptying of the happy throne,
And fall of many kings. But fear not yet
To take upon you what is yours: you may
Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty,
yet seem cold; the time you may so hoodwink:
We have willing dames enough ; there cannot be
T'hat vultur in you, to devour so many
As will to greatness dedicate themselves,
Finding it fo 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 :