Son.

As birds do, mother.

L. Mb. What, with worms, and flies?

Son. With what I get, I mean; and fo do they. L. Md. Poor bird! thou'dft never fear the net, nor line, The pit-fall, nor the gin.

Son.

Why fhould I, mother?

Poor birds they are not set for. But my father's
Not dead, for all your faying.

L. Md. Yes, he is dead:

How wilt thou do nom 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'ft 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. Md. Why, one that swears and lies.
Son. And be all traitors, that do fo?

L. Md. Every one, that does fo, is a traitor, and must be hang'd.

Son

And muft they all be hang'd, that swear and lye? L. Md. Every one.

Son. Who muft hang them?

L. Md. Why, the honest men.

Son. Then the liars and fwearers are fools: for there are liars and fwearers 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!

Mef.

Enter a Meffenger.

Blefs you, 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 savage;
To do lefs to you, were fell cruelty,

Which is too nigh your perfon. Heaven preserve you!
I dare abide no longer.
[Exit Meffenger.

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, fometime,
Accounted dangerous folly: Why then, alas,
Do I put up that womanly defence,

To fay, I have done no harm? - What are these faces?
Enter certain Murtherers.

1. M. Where is your husband?

L. Md. I hope, in no place fo unfanctify'd, Where fuch as thou may'st find him.

1. M.

Son.

He's a traitor.

Thou ly'ft, thou fhag-ear'd villain.

1. M. What, you egg?

Young fry of treachery?

Son.

He has kill'd me, mother;

14 do worfe to

[ftabbing him.

Run away, I pray you. [Dies. Exit Lady MACDUFF, crying Murther; Murtherers pursue her.

SCENE III. A Room in Edward the Confeffor's Palace. Enter MALCOLM, and MACDUFF.

MAL. Let us feek out fome defolate fhade, and there Weep our fad bosoms empty.

MACd. Let us rather

Hold faft the mortal fword; 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 yell'd out
Like fyllables of dolour.

MAL. What I believe, I'll wail;

What know, believe; and, what I can redress,
As I fhall find the time to friend, I will.

What you have spoke, it may be fo, perchance.
This tyrant, whose fole name blifters our tongues,
Was once thought honeft: you have lov'd him well;
He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young; but fomething
You 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 fhall crave your pardon;
That which you are, my thoughts cannot tranfpose :
Angels are bright ftill, though the brightest fell:
Though all things foul would wear the brows of
Yet grace muft ftill look fo.

grace,

14 Syllable

MɅed. I have loft my hopes.

[doubts.

MAL. Perchance, even there, where I did find my Why in that rawnefs left your wife, and children, (Those precious motives, those ftrong knots of love) Without leave-taking? I pray you,

Let not my jealoufies be your difhonours,

But mine own fafeties: you may be rightly juff,
Whatever I fhall think.

MACd. Bleed, bleed, poor country!

Great tyranny, lay thou thy bafis fure,

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'st,
For the whole space that's in the tyrant's grafp,
And the rich east to boot.

MAL. Be not offended:

I fpeak not as in abfolute 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 fhall tread upon the tyrant's head,
Or wear it on my fword, yet my poor country
Shall have more vices than it had before ;
More fuffer, and more fundry ways than ever,
By him that shall fucceed.

MACd. What should he be ?

MAL. It is myself I mean: in whom I know All the particulars of vice fo grafted,

That, when they fhall be open'd, black Macbeth

Will feem as pure as fnow; and the poor ftate
Efteem him as a lamb, being compar'd
With my confinelefs harms.

MAC Not, in the legions

Of horrid hell, can come a devil more damn'd
In ills, to top Macbeth.

MAL. I grant him bloody,

Luxurious, avaritious, falfe, deceitful,
Sudden, malicious, fmacking of every fin
That has a name: But there's no bottom, none,
In my voluptuoufnefs: your wives, your daughters,
Your matrons, and your maids, could not fill up
The ciftern of my luft; and my desire

All continent impediments would o'er-bear,
That did oppose my will: Better Macbeth,
Than fuch 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,
And yet feem cold; the time you may fo hoodwink:
We have willing dames enough; there cannot be
That vultur in you, to devour fo many

As will to greatness dedicate themselves,
Finding it fo inclin’d.

MAL. With this, there grows,

In my moft ill-compos'd affection, fuch
A ftanchless avarice, that, were I king,
I should cut off the nobles for their lands;
Desire his jewels, and this other's house: