Shakespeare - First Folio facsimile (1910)/The Tragedy of Macbeth/Act 4 Scene 2

by William Shakespeare

Scena Secunda.

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Enter Macduffes Wife, her Son, and Rosse.

Wife.
What had he done, to make him fly the Land?

Rosse.
You must haue patience Madam.

Wife.
He had none:
His flight was madnesse: when our Actions do not,
Our feares do make vs Traitors.

Rosse.
You know not
Whether it was his wisedome, or his feare.

Wife.
Wisedom? to leaue his wife, to leaue his Babes,
His Mansion, and his Titles, in a place
From whence himselfe do's flye? He loues vs not,
He wants the naturall touch. For the poore Wren
(The most diminitiue of Birds) will fight,
Her yong ones in her Nest, against the Owle:
All is the Feare, and nothing is the Loue;
As little is the Wisedome, where the flight
So runnes against all reason.

Rosse.
My deerest Cooz,
I pray you schoole your selfe. But for your Husband,
He is Noble, Wise, Iudicious, and best knowes
The fits o'th'Season. I dare not speake much further,
But cruell are the times, when we are Traitors
And do not know our selues: when we hold Rumor
From what we feare, yet know not what we feare,
But floate vpon a wilde and violent Sea
Each way, and moue. I take my leaue of you:
Shall not be long but Ile be heere againe:
Things at the worst will cease, or else climbe vpward,
To what they were before. My pretty Cosine,
Blessing vpon you.

Wife.
Father'd he is,
And yet hee's Father-lesse.

Rosse.
I am so much a Foole, should I stay longer
It would be my disgrace, and your discomfort.
Exit Rosse.I take my leaue at once.

Wife.
Sirra, your Fathers dead,
And what will you do now? How will you liue?

Son.
As Birds do Mother.

Wife.
What with Wormes, and Flyes?

Son.
With what I get I meane, and so do they.

Wife.
Poore Bird,
Thou'dst neuer Feare the Net, nor Lime,
The Pitfall, nor the Gin.

Son.
Why should I Mother?
Poore Birds they are not set for:
My Father is not dead for all your saying.

Wife.
Yes, he is dead:
How wilt thou do for a Father?

Son.
Nay how will you do for a Husband?

Wife.
Why I can buy me twenty at any Market.

Son.
Then you'l by 'em to sell againe.

Wife.
Thou speak'st withall thy wit,
And yet I'faith with wit enough for thee.

Son.
Was my Father a Traitor, Mother?

Wife.
I, that he was.

Son.
What is a Traitor?

Wife.
Why one that sweares, and lyes.

Son.
And be all Traitors, that do so.

Wife.
Euery one that do's so, is a Traitor,
And must be hang'd.

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

Wife.
Euery one.

Son.
Who must hang them?

Wife.
Why, the honest men.

Son.
Then the Liars and Swearers are Fools: for there
are Lyars and Swearers enow, to beate the honest men,
and hang vp them.

Wife.
Now God helpe thee, poore Monkie:
But how wilt thou do for a Father?

Son.
If he were dead, youl'd weepe for him: if you
would not, it were a good signe, that I should quickely
haue a new Father.

Wife.
Poore pratler, how thou talk'st?

Enter a Messenger.

Mes.
Blesse you faire Dame: I am not to you known,
Though in your state of Honor I am perfect;
I doubt some danger do's approach you neerely.
If you will take a homely mans aduice,
Be not found heere: Hence with your little ones
To fright you thus. Me thinkes I am too sauage:
To do worse to you, were fell Cruelty,
Which is too nie your person. Heauen preserue you,
Exit MessengerI dare abide no longer.

Wife.
Whether should I flye?
I haue done no harme. But I remember now
I am in this earthly world: where to do harme
Is often laudable, to do good sometime
Accounted dangerous folly. Why then (alas)
Do I put vp that womanly defence,
To say I haue done no harme?
What are these faces?

Enter Murtherers.

Mur.
Where is your Husband?

Wife.
I hope in no place so vnsanctified,
Where such as thou may'st finde him.

Mur.
He's a Traitor.

Son.
Thou ly'st thou shagge-ear'd Villaine.

Mur.
What you Egge?
Yong fry of Treachery?

Son.
He ha's kill'd me Mother,
Exit crying Murther.Run away I pray you.

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