The Same. Without the Castle. |
|
Enter ROSS and an Old Man. |
Old Man. Threescore and ten I can remember well; |
Within the volume of which time I have seen |
Hours dreadful and things strange, but this sore night |
Hath trifled former knowings. |
Ross. Ah! good father, |
Thou seest, the heavens, as troubled with man's act, |
Threaten his bloody stage: by the clock 'tis day, |
And yet darknight strangles the travelling lamp. |
Is 't night's predominance, or the day's shame, |
That darkness does the face of earth entomb, |
When living light should kiss it? |
Old Man. '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,—a thing most strange and certain,— |
Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race, |
Turn'd wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out, |
Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would |
Make war with mankind. |
Old Man. 'Tis said they eat each other. |
Ross. They did so; to the amazement of mine eyes, |
That look'd upon 't. Here comes the good Macduff. |
|
Enter MACDUFF |
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 suborn'd. |
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 ravin up |
Thine own life's means! Then 'tis most like |
The sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth. |
Macd. He is already nam'd, and gone to Scone |
To be invested. |
Ross. Where is Duncan's body? |
Macd. Carried to Colmekill; |
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 you see things well done there: adieu! |
Lest our old robes sit easier than our new! |
Ross. Farewell, father. |
Old Man. God's benison go with you; and with those |
That would make good of bad, and friends of foes! [Exeunt. |
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