L. M^d.
What had he done, to make him fly the land?

Ros.
You must have patience, madam.

L. M^d.
He had none:

His flight was madness: When our actions do not,
Our fears do make us traitors.

Ros.
You know not,
Whether it was his wisdom, or his fear.

L. M^d.
Wisdom! to leave his wife, to leave his babes,
His mansion, and his titles, in a place
From whence himself does fly? He loves us not;
He wants the natural touch: 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.

Ros.
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. I dare not speak much further:
But cruel are the times, when we are traitors,
And do not know ^note ourselves; when we hold rumour
From what we fear, yet know not what we fear;
But float upon a wild and violent sea,
And move each way. ^note14Q0522 I take my leave of you:
Shall ^note 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. M^d.
Father'd he is, and yet he's fatherless.

Ros.
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. M^d.
Sirrah, your father's dead;
And what will you do now? How will you live?

Son.
As birds do, mother.

L. M^b.
What, with worms, and flies?

Son.
With what I get, I mean ^note; and so do they.

L. M^d.
Poor bird! thou'dst never fear the net, nor line, ^note
The pit-fall, nor the gin.

Son.
Why should I, mother?
Poor birds they are not set for. But my father's
Not dead, for all your saying.

L. M^d.
Yes, he is dead:
How wilt thou do now for a father?

Son.
Nay,
How will you do for a husband?

L. M^d.
Why, I can buy me
Twenty at any market.

Son.
Then you'll buy 'em
To sell again.

L. M^d.
Thou speak'st with all ^note thy wit;
And yet, i'faith, with wit enough for thee.

Son.
Was my father a traitor, mother?

L. M^d.
Ay, that he was.

Son.
What is a traitor?

L. M^d.
Why, one that swears and lies.

Son.
And be all traitors, that do so?

L. M^d.

Every one, that does so, is a traitor, and must be hang'd.

Son.

And must they all be hang'd, that swear and lye?

L. M^d.

Every one.

Son.

Who must hang them?

L. M^d.

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. M^d.

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. M^d.
Poor ^note pratler, how thou talk'st! Enter a Messenger.

Mes.
Bless you, fair dame! I am not to you known,
Though in your state of honour 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 less to ^note you,14Q0523 were fell cruelty,
Which is too nigh your person. Heaven preserve you!
I dare abide no longer. [Exit Messenger.

L. M^d.
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 ^note no harm?—What are these faces? Enter certain Murtherers. ^note

1. M.
Where is your husband?

L. M^d.
I hope, in no place so unsanctify'd,
Where such as thou may'st find him.

1. M.
He's a traitor.

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

1. M.
What, you egg? [stabbing him.
Young fry of treachery?

Son.
He has kill'd me, mother;

Run away, I pray you. [Dies. Exit Lady ^note Macduff, crying Murther; Murtherers ^note pursue her.

Previous section

Next section