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SCENE VI.-Fores. A Room in the Palace.

Enter LENOX and another Lord. Len. My former speeches have but hit your thoughts,

Which can interpret further: only, I say, Things have been strangely borne. The gracious Duncan

Was pitied of Macbeth :-marry, he was dead:
And the right-valiant Banquo walked too late;
Whom, you may say, if it please you, Fleance
killed,

For Fleance fled. Men must not walk too late.
Who cannot want the thought, how monstrous
It was for Malcolm and for Donalbain
To kill their gracious father? damnéd fact!
How it did grieve Macbeth! did he not straight,
In pious rage, the two delinquents tear,

That were the slaves of drink, and thralls of sleep?

Was not that nobly done? Ay, and wisely too; For 't would have angered any heart alive, To hear the men deny it. So that, I say, He has borne all things well: and I do think, That, had he Duncan's sons under his key (As, an't please heaven, he shall not), they should find

What 't were to kill a father: so should Fleance. But peace!-for from broad words, and 'cause he failed

His presence at the tyrant's feast, I hear
Macduff lives in disgrace: sir, can you tell
Where he bestows himself?

The son of Duncan,

Lord. From whom this tyrant holds the due of birth, Lives in the English court; and is received Of the most pious Edward with such grace, That the malevolence of fortune nothing Takes from his high respect: thither Macduff is gone

To pray the holy king, upon his aid,

To wake Northumberland and warlike Siward:
That, by the help of these (with Him above
To ratify the work), we may again
Give to our tables meat, sleep to our nights;
Free from our feasts and banquets bloody knives;
Do faithful homage, and receive free honours;
All which we pine for now: and this report
Hath so exasperate the King, that he
Prepares for some attempt of war.
Sent he to Macduff?

Len.

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SCENE I.-A dark Cave. In the middle, a Cauldron boiling. Thunder. Enter the three Witches.

1st Witch. Thrice the brinded cat hath mewed.
2nd Witch. Thrice; and once the hedge-pig whined.
3rd Witch. Harper cries:-'T is time, 't is time.
1st Witch. Round about the cauldron go;

In the poisoned entrails throw.-
Toad, that under the cold stone,
Days and nights hast thirty-one
Sweltered venom sleeping got,
Boil thou first i' the charmed pot!
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.
2nd Witch. Fillet of a fenny snake,

All.

All.

In the cauldron boil and bake :
Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting,
Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing,
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.
3rd Witch. Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf,
Witch's mummy; maw and gulf
Of the ravined salt-sea shark;
Root of hemlock, digged i' the dark;
Liver of blaspheming Jew;
Gall of goat, and slips of yew
Silvered in the moon's eclipse;
Nose of Turk, and Tartar's lips;
Finger of birth-strangled babe,
Ditch-delivered by a drab,
Make the gruel thick and slab :
Add thereto a tiger's chawdron,
For the ingredients of our cauldron.
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.
2nd Witch. Cool it with a baboon's blood,
Then the charm is firm and good.

All.

25

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Be bloody, bold,

Macb. Had I three ears, I'd hear thee. App. And resolute; laugh to scorn the power of man; For none of woman born shall harm Macbeth. [Descends.

Macb. Then live, Macduff: What need I fear of thee?

But yet I'll make assurance double sure,
And take a bond of fate: thou shalt not live;
That I may tell pale-hearted fear, it lies,
And sleep in spite of thunder.-What is this,
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?

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Macb. Thou art too like the spirit of Banquo; down!

Thy crown does sear mine eye-balls :—and thy air,
Thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first:-
A third is like the former :-Filthy hags!
Why do you shew 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 shews me many more; and some I see
That twofold balls and treble sceptres carry :
Horrible sight!-Ay, now I see 'tis true;
For the blood-boltered Banquo smiles upon me,
And points at them for his.-What, is this so?
1st Witch. Ay, sir, all this is so: but why
Stands Macbeth thus amazédly?
Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprights,
And shew 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 per

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Macb. Infected be the air whereon they ride; And damned 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.

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 him in his line. No boasting like a

fool;

This deed I'll do before this purpose cool:

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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.

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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 up-

ward

To what they were before.-My pretty cousin, Blessing upon you!

L. Macd. Fathered he is, and yet he's father

less.

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, 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, 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 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.

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Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds
As if it felt with Scotland, and yelled 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 loved him
well;

He hath not touched you yet. I am young; but something

You may deserve of him through me: and wisdom
To offer up a weak, poor, innocent lamb,
To appease an angry god.

Macd. I am not treacherous.
Mal.
But Macbeth is.

A good and virtuous nature may recoil,

In an imperial charge. But I shall crave your

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