Every one that does so is a traitor, and must be hang'd.
SON. And must they all be hang'd 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 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'ld 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 honor 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 defense,
To say I have done no harm?
Enter Murtherers.
What are these faces?
[1.] MUR.
Where is your husband?
L. MACD.
I hope, in no place so unsanctified
Where such as thou mayst find him.
[1.] MUR.
He's a traitor.
SON.
Thou li'st, thou shag-ear'd villain!
[1.] MUR.
What, you egg!
[Stabbing him.]
Young fry of treachery!
SON.
He has kill'd me, mother:
Run away, I pray you!
[Dies.]
Exit [Lady Macduff] crying »Murther!« [and pursued by the Murderers].
Scene III
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 downfall birthdom. 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 dolor.
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 lov'd him well;
He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young, but something
You may discern of him through me, and wisdom
To offer up a weak, poor, innocent lamb
T' 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 pardon;
That which you are, my thoughts cannot transpose:
Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell.
Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace,
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 dishonors,
But mine own safeties. You may be rightly just,
What ever I shall think.
MACD.
Bleed, bleed, poor country!
Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure,
For goodness dare not check thee; wear thou thy wrongs,
The 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.
I think our country sinks beneath the yoke:
It weeps, it bleeds, and each new day a gash
Is added to her wounds.
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