He wants the natural touch 5: 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. 6 I dare not speak much further:
But cruel are the times, when we are traitors,

And do not know ourselves 7; when we hold rumour 8
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.

[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.

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.

7

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 seem not to know ourselves.

8

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

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.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. Bless you, fair dame! I am not to you known,

Though in your state of honour I am perfect. 9
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.

L. Macd.

[Exit Messenger.

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,

Το

say, I have done no harm?

faces?

Enter Murderers.

Mur. Where is your husband?

What are these

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

Mur.

He's a traitor.

Son. Thou ly'st, thou shag-ear'd villain.
Mur.

What, you egg? [Stabbing him.

Young fry of treachery?
Son.

Run away, I pray you.

9

He has killed me, mother;

[Dies.

[Exit Lady MACDUFF, crying murder,

and pursued by the Murderers.

in your state of honour I am perfect.] i. e. I am perfectly

acquainted with your rank of honour.

SCENE III.

England. A Room in the King's Palace.

Enter MALCOLM and MACDUFF.

Mal. Let us seek out some desolate shade, and there Weep our sad bosoms empty.

Macd.
Let us rather
Hold fast the mortal sword; and, like good men,
Bestride our down-fall'n birthdom1: Each new morn,
New widows howl; new orphans cry; new sorrows
Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds
As if it felt with Scotland, and yell'd 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 friend2, 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 lov'd him well;
He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young, but some-
thing

You may deserve of him through me; and wisdom3
To offer up a weak, poor, innocent lamb,
To appease an angry God.

Macd. I am not treacherous.

1 Bestride our down-fall'n birthdom:] The allusion is to a man from whom something valuable is about to be taken by violence, and who, that he may defend it without incumbrance, lays it on the ground, and stands over it with his weapon in his hand. Our birthdom, or birthright, says he, lies on the ground; let us, like men who are to fight for what is dearest to them, not abandon it, but stand over it and defend it. This is a strong picture of obstinate resolution. to friend,] i. e, to befriend.

2

3

and wisdom-] That is, and 'tis wisdom.

Mal.

But Macbeth is.

A good and virtuous nature may recoil,

In an imperial charge. But crave your pardon;†
That which you are, my thoughts cannot transpose:
Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell;

would wear the brows of grace,

Though all things foul
Yet grace must still look so.
Macd.

I have lost my hopes.

Mal. Perchance, even there, where I did find my doubts.

Why in that rawness left you wife, and child, (Those precious motives, those strong knots of love,) Without leave-taking? - I pray you,

Let not my jealousies be your dishonours,

But mine own safeties:

Whatever I shall think.

Macd.

You may be rightly just,

Bleed, bleed, poor country!

Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure,

For goodness dares not check thee! wear thou thy

wrongs,

Thy title is affeer'd'! - Fare thee well, lord:

I would not be the villain that thou think'st

For the whole space that's in the tyrant's grasp,
And the rich East to boot.

Mal.

Be not offended:

I speak not as in absolute fear of

you.

+"But I shall crave your pardon ;" - MALONE.

4 A good and virtuous nature may recoil,

In an imperial charge.] A good mind may recede from goodness in the execution of a royal commission. JOHNSON.

5 Though all things foul, &c.] This is not very clear. The meaning, perhaps, is this: My suspicions cannot injure you, if you be virtuous, by supposing that a traitor may put on your virtuous appearance. I do not say that your virtuous appearance proves you a traitor; for virtue must wear its proper form, though that form be counterfeited by villainy. JOHNSON.

6 Why in that rawness-] Without previous provision, without due preparation, without maturity of counsel.

7 Thy title is affeer'd!] Affeer'd, a law term for confirm'd.