All.

Seek to know no more.

Macb. I will be satisfied: deny me this,

And an eternal curse fall on you! Let me know :Why sinks that caldron ? and what noise is this? [Hautboys. 1 Witch. Show! 2 Witch. Show! 3 Witch. Show! All. Show his eyes, and grieve his heart; Come like shadows, so depart.

Eight Kings appear, and pass over the Stage in order; the last with a Glass in his hand; BANQUO following.

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

Thy crown does sear mine eyeballs :-And thy hair,
Thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first :-
A third is like the former :-Filthy hags!

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 sceptres carry :
Horrible sight!-Now, I see, 't is true;
For the blood-bolter'de Banquo smiles upon me,
And points at them for his.-What, is this so?

1 Witch. Ay, sir, all this is so :-But why Stands Macbeth thus amazedly?

a Noise. This is the music of the hautboys, the word noise being synonymous with the sound of instruments. It was so little understood, even by John Kemble, that under his management a shriek was here heard.

b Hair. This is the original word; but the modern reading is air. Monck Mason acutely defends the old reading: "It implies that their hair was of the same colour, which is more likely to mark a family likeness than the air, which depends on habit."

• Blood-bolter'd.-Bolter'd is a word of the midland counties, meaning begrimed, besmeared.

Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprites,
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.

[Music. The Witches dance, and vanish.

Macb. Where are they? Gone?-Let this pernicious

hour

Stand aye accursed in the calendar!

Come in, without there!

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. "T is 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;

Sei ze upon Fife; give to the edge o' the sword
His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls
That trace him in his line.

This deed I'll do before this

No boasting like a fool; 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. Lady Macd. What had he done to make him fly the land?

Rosse. You must have patience, madam.

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

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.

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

Son. As birds do, mother.

[Exit Rosse.

How will you live?

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 talkest!

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. Bless you, fair dame!

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 mayst find him.

Mur.
Son. Thou liest, thou shag-ear'da villain.
Mur.

He's a traitor.

What, you egg! [Stabbing him.

He has kill'd me, mother:

pray you.

[Dies.

Young fry of treachery!

Son.

Run away,

[Exit LADY MACDUFF, crying "Murder," and pursued by the Murderers.

a Shag-ear'd.-This should be probably shag hair'd, a form of abuse found in old plays, and even in law reports.