Scene 6
SCENE changes to a chamber.
Enter Lenox, and another Lord.
Len.
My former speeches have but hit your thoughts,
Which can interpret farther: only, I say,
Things have been strangely borne. The gracious Duncan
Was pitied of Macbeth—marry, he was dead:—
And the right-valiant Banquo walk'd too late.
Whom you may say, if't please you, Fleance kill'd,
For Fleance fled: men must not walk too late.
Who cannot want the thought, how monstrous too
It was for Malcolm, and for Donalbaine
To kill their gracious father? damned fact!
How did it grieve Macbeth? did he not straight
In pious rage the two delinquents tear,
That were the slaves of drink, and thralls of sleep?
Was not that nobly done? ay, wisely too;
For 'twould have anger'd any heart alive
To hear the men deny't. So that I say,
He has borne all things well; and I do think,
That had he Duncan's sons under his key,
(As, and't please heav'n, he shall not;) they should find
-- 437 --
What 'twere to kill a father: so should Fleance.
But peace! for from broad words, and 'cause he fail'd
His presence at the tyrant's feast, I hear,
Macduff lives in disgrace. Sir, can you tell
Where he bestows himself?
Lord.
The Son of Duncan,(30) note
From whom this tyrant holds the due of Birth,
Lives in the English Court; and is receiv'd
Of the most pious Edward, with such grace,
That the malevolence of fortune nothing
Takes from his high respect. Thither Macduff
Is gone to pray the King upon his aid
To wake Northumberland, and warlike Seyward;
That by the help of these, (with Him above
To ratifie the work,) we may again
Give to our tables meat, sleep to our nights;
Free from our feasts and banquets bloody knives;
Do faithful homage, and receive free honours,
All which we pine for now. And this report
-- 438 --
Hath so exsp'rated their King, that he
Prepares for some attempt of War.
Len.
Sent he to Macduff?
Lord.
He did; and with an absolute, Sir, not I,
The cloudy messenger turns me his back,
And hums; as who should say, “you'll rue the time,
“That clogs me with this answer.
Len.
And that well might
Advise him to a care to hold what distance
His wisdom can provide. Some holy Angel
Fly to the Court of England, and unfold
His message ere he come! that a swift Blessing
May soon return to this our suffering Country,
Under a hand accurs'd!
Lord.
I'll send my pray'rs with him.
[Exeunt.
Lewis Theobald [1733], The works of Shakespeare: in seven volumes. Collated with the Oldest Copies, and Corrected; With notes, Explanatory and Critical; By Mr. Theobald (Printed for A. Bettesworth and C. Hitch [and] J. Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S11201].
