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Fife. MACDUFF’S Castle. | |
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Enter LADY MACDUFF, her Son, and ROSS. | |
| L. Macd. What had he done to make him fly the land? | |
| Ross. You must have patience, madam. | |
| L. Macd. He had none: | 5 |
| His flight was madness: when our actions do not, | |
| Our fears do make us traitors. | |
| Ross. You know not | |
| Whether it was his wisdom or his fear. | |
| L. Macd. Wisdom! to leave his wife, to leave his babes, | 10 |
| 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. | 15 |
| All is the fear and nothing is the love; | |
| As little is the wisdom, where the flight | |
| So runs against all reason. | |
| Ross. My dearest coz, | |
| I pray you, school yourself: but, for your husband, | 20 |
| 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, | 25 |
| 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, | 30 |
| Blessing upon you! | |
| L. Macd. Father’d he is, and yet he’s fatherless. | |
| Ross. 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. | 35 |
| 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. | 40 |
| 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? | 45 |
| 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. | 50 |
| 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? | 55 |
| 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. | 60 |
| Son. Then the liars and swearers are fools, for there are liars and swearers enow 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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Enter a Messenger. | 65 |
| 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. | 70 |
| 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. | |
| L. Macd. Whither should I fly? | 75 |
| 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, | 80 |
| To say I have done no harm? | |
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Enter Murderers. | |
| What are these faces? | |
| Mur. Where is your husband? | |
| L. Macd. I hope in no place so unsanctified | 85 |
| Where such as thou mayst find him. | |
| Mur. He’s a traitor. | |
| Son. Thou liest, thou shag-hair’d villain. | |
| Mur. What! you egg. | |
| Young fry of treachery! [Stabbing him. | 90 |
| Son. He has killed me, mother: | |
| Run away, I pray you! [Dies. [Exit LADY MACDUFF, crying ‘Murder,’ and pursued by the Murderers. | |
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