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Why do you show me this?-A fourth?—Start,

eyes! What! will the line stretch out to the crack of

doom?"
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 scepters carry:
Horrible sight!-Ay, now, I see, 'tis true;
For the blood-bolter'd Banquo? smiles upon me,
And points at them for his. -What, is this so?

i Witch. Ay, sir, all this is so: But why
Stands Macbeth thus amazedly?-
Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprights,
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.

[Musick. The Witches dance, and vanish. Macb. Where are they? Gone!-Let this per

nicious hour Stand aye accursed in the calendar!Come in, without there!

Enter Lenox. Len.

What's your grace's will? Macb. Saw you the weird sisters?

9 — to the crack of doom?] i. e. the dissolution of nature. Crack has now a mean signification. It was anciently employed in a more exalted sense.

i That two-fold balls and treble scepters carry:] This was intended as a compliment to King James the First, who first united the two islands and the three kingdoms under one head; whose house too was said to be descended from Banquo.

the blood-bolter'd Banquo--) To bolter, in Warwickshire, signifies to daub, dirty, or begrime. s c heer we up his sprights,] i. e. spirits.

Len.

No, my lord. Macb. Came they not by you? Len.

. No, indeed, my lord. 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 filed to England. Macb.

Fled to England? Len. Ay, my good lord. Macb. Time, thou anticipat’st my dread exploits : The flighty purpose never is o'ertook, Unless the deed go with it: From this moment, The very firstlings of my heart shall be The firstlings of my 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 trace 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. That trace his line.] i. e. follow, succeed in it.

his bab his titles, Au? He lover wren,

L. Macd.

He had none: His flight was madness: When our actions do not, Our fears do make us traitors. Rosse.

You know not, Whether it was his wisdom, or his fear. L. Macd. Wisdom! to leave his wife, to leave

his babes, 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 fur

ther: 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!

5- natural touch:) Natural sensibility. He is not touched with natural affection. Johnson.

6 The fits o'the season.] What is most fitting to be done in every conjuncture. 1 when we are traitors,

And do not know ourselves;] When we are considered by the state as traitors, while at the same time we are unconscious of guilt; when we appear to others so different from what we really are, that we secm not to know ourselves.

- when we hold rumour --] i. e. believe rumour.

· 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. L. Macd. Sirrah, your father's dead; And what will you do now? How will you live?

Son. As birds do, mother.
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,

The pit.,, nor lim bird! tho mean; anorms and fin

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

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 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
VOL. IV.

FF

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. I doubt, some 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 worse to you, were fell cruelty, Which is too nigh your person. Heaven preserve

you! I dare abide no longer.

[Exit Messenger. L. Macd.

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 Murderers.
Mur. Where is your husband ?

L. Macd. I hope, in no place so unsanctified,
Where such as thou may'st find him.

I - in your state of honour I am perfect.] i, e. I am perfectly acquainted with your rank of honour.

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