quo: down! Thy crown does sear mine eye-balls. 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: ish.] What, is this so? First Witch. Ay, sir, all this is so: but why Stands Macbeth thus amazedly ? 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 antic round: That this great king may kindly say, Our duties did his welcome pay. 130 [Music. The witches dance and then vanish, with Hecate. Mach. Where are they? Gone? Let this pernicious hour Stand aye accursed in the calendar Come in, without there! SCENE II. Fife. Macduff's castle. Our fears do make us traitors. 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, But cruel are the times, when we are traitors And do not know ourselves, when we hold rumor 20 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 fa therless. I speak not as in absolute fear of you. 41 I think our country sinks beneath the yoke; Macd. What should he be? Mal. It is myself I mean: in whom I know All the particulars of vice so grafted That, when they shall be open'd, black Mac beth 51 I should cut off the nobles for their lands, forge Quarrels unjust against the good and loyal, Sticks deeper, grows with more pernicious root Than summer-seeming lust, and it hath been 90 Mal. But I have none the king-becoming Macd. Fit to govern! No, not to live. O nation miserable, With an untitled tyrant bloody-scepter'd, When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again, Since that the truest issue of thy throne father Was a most sainted king: the queen that Have banish'd me from Scotland, breast, Thy hope ends here! Mal. thoughts me O my Macduff, this noble passion, Child of integrity, hath from my soul |