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Lady Macduff:
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.
First Murderer:
Where is your husband?
Lady Macduff:
I hope, in no place so unsanctified
Where such as thou mayst find him.
First Murderer:
He’s a traitor.
Son:
Thou liest, thou shag-ear’d villain!
First Murderer:
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 “Murder!” and pursued by the Murderers.)
Scene Three. England. Before the King’s Palace.
Enter Malcolm and Macduff.
Malcolm:
Let us seek out some desolate shade and there
Weep our sad bosoms empty.
Macduff:
Let us rather
Hold fast the mortal sword, and, like good men,
Bestride our down-fall’n 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 dolour.
Malcolm:
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 loved him well;
He hath not touch’d you yet. I am young; but something
You may deserve of him through me; and wisdom
To offer up a weak, poor, innocent lamb
To appease an angry god.
Macduff:
I am not treacherous.
Malcolm:
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.
Macduff:
I have lost my hopes.
Malcolm:
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. You may be rightly just,
Whatever I shall think.