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His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls
cool : But no more sights !-Where are these gentlemen ? Come, bring me where they are.
Fife. A Room in Macduff's Castle.
He had none : His flight was madness : When our actions do not, Our fears do make us traitors. Rosse.
You know not,
My dearest coz',
I pray you, school yourself: But, for your husband,
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.
[Erit Rosse. L. Macd.
Sirrah, your father's dead; And what will you do now? How will you live?
Son. As birds do, mother.
What, with worms and flies?
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
Son. Was my father a traitor, mother?
L. Macd. Every one that does so, is a traitor, and must be hang'd.
Son. And must they all be hang’d, that swear and lie?
L. Macd. Every one.
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.
[Exit Messenger. L. Viacd.
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
Mur. Where is your husband ?
L. Macd. I hope, in no place so unsanctified,
He's a traitor. ,
What, you egg? [stabbing him. Young fry of treachery? Son.
He has kill'd me, mother : Run away, I pray you. [Dies. Exit L. Macduff,
crying murder, and pursued by the murderers.
England. A Room in the King's Palace.
Enter MALCOLM and MacDUFF 51.
Mal. Let 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 Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds As if it felt with Scotland, and yell’d out Like syllable 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 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
Mucd. I am not treacherous.
But Macbeth is.