Old M.
Threescore and ten I can remember well:
Within the volume of which time I have ^note seen
Hours dreadful and things strange, but this sore night
Hath trifled former knowings.

Ross.
Ah ^note, good father,
Thou seest, the heavens, as troubled with man's act,
Threaten ^note his ^note bloody stage ^note: by the clock 'tis day,
And yet dark night strangles the travelling ^note lamp:
Is't night's predominance, or the day's shame,

That darkness does the face of earth entomb,
When living light should ^note kiss it?

Old M.
'Tis unnatural,
Even like the deed that's done. On Tuesday last
A falcon towering in her pride of place
Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at and kill'd.

Ross.
And Duncan's horses ^note—a thing most strange and certain ^note—
Beauteous and swift, the minions of their ^note race,
Turn'd wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung ^note out,
Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would make
War ^note with mankind ^note.

Old M.
'Tis said they eat ^note each other.

Ross.
They did so, to the amazement of mine eyes,
That look'd upon't. Enter Macduff. ^note
Here comes the good Macduff. ^note
How goes the world, sir, now?

Macd.
Why, see you not?

Ross.
Is't known who did this more than bloody deed?

Macd.
Those that Macbeth hath slain.

Ross.
Alas, the day!
What good could they pretend?

Macd.
They were ^note suborn'd ^note:
Malcolm and Donalbain, the king's two sons,
Are stol'n away and fled, which puts upon them
Suspicion of the deed.

Ross.
'Gainst nature still:
Thriftless ambition, that wilt ^note ravin up ^note

Thine ^note own life's ^note means! Then 'tis ^note most like
The sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth.

Macd.
He is already named, and gone ^note to Scone
To be invested.

Ross.
Where is Duncan's body?

Macd.
Carried to Colme-kill ^note,
The sacred storehouse of his predecessors
And guardian of their bones.

Ross.
Will you to Scone?

Macd.
No, cousin, I'll to Fife.

Ross.
Well, I will thither.

Macd.
Well, may ^note you see things well done there: adieu!
Lest our old robes sit easier than our new!

Ross.
Farewell, father.

Old M.
God's benison go with you ^note, and with those
That would make good of bad and friends of foes! [Exeunt. ^note

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