And what will you do now? how will live? you

Son. As birds do, mother.

L. Macd. What, on worms and flies?

Son. On what I get, I mean, and fo do they.

L. Macd. Poor bird! thou'dit never fear the net, nor The pit-fall, nor the gin.

[lime: Son. Why fhould I, mother? poor birds they are not fet for.

My father is not dead, for all your faying.

L. Macd. Yes, he is dead; how wilt thou do for a father?

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

L. Macd. Why, I can buy me twenty at any market. Son. Then you'll buy 'em to fell again.

L. Macd. Thou speak'ft with all thy wit, and yet, With wit enough for thee.

Son. Was my father a traitor, mother?
L. Macd. Ay, that he was.

Son. What is a traitor?

L. Macd. Why, one that fwears and lies.
Son. And be all traitors, that do fo?

[i' faith

L. Mard. Every one, that does fo, is a traitor, and

must be hang'd.

Son. And muft they all be hang'd, that fwear and lie?
L. Macd. Every one.

Son. Who muft hang them?

L. Macd. Why, the honeft men.

Son. Then the liars and fwearers are fools; for there are liars and fwearers enow to beat the honest men, and hang up them.

L. Macd. 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 fign that I should quickly

have a new father.

L. Macd. Poor pratler! how thou talk'st ?

Enter a Meffenger.

Mef. Blefs you, fair dame! I am not to you known, Though in your state of honour I am perfect;

I doubt, fome 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 favage:
To do worse to you were fell cruelty,

Which is too nigh your perfon. Heav'n preferve your
I dare abide no longer.
[Exit Mefjenger.,

L. Macd. Whither fhould I fly?

I've done no harm. But I remember now,
I'm in this earthly world, where to do harm
Is often laudable; to do good, fometime
Accounted dang 'rous folly. Why then, alas!
Do I put up that womanly defence,

To fay, I'd done no harm?what are thefe faces -
Enter Murderers.

Mur. Where is your husband?

L. Macd. I hope, in no place fo unfanctified, Where fuch as thou may' find him.

Mur. He's a traitor.

Son. Thou ly'ft, thou fhag-ear'd villain.

Mur, What, you egg

Young fry of treachery?

Son. He 'as kill'd me, mother,

[Stabbing him

Run away, pray you. [Exit L. Macduff, crying murder:

[Murderers purfue her.

SCENE changes to the King of England's Palace.

Enter Malcolm and Macduff.

Mal. Weep our fad bofoms empty.
ML

ET us feek out fome defolate fhade, and there

Macd. Let us rather

Hold fast the mortal fword; and, like good men,
Beftride our downfal birth doom: each new morn,
New widows howl, new orphans cry; new forrows
Strike heaven on the face, that it refounds

As if it felt with Scotland, and yell'd out
Like fyllables of dolour.

Mal. What I believe, I'll wail;

What know, believe; and what I can redress,
As I shall find the time to friend, I will.

What you have fpoke, it may be fo, perchance;
This tyrant, whofe fole name blifters our tongues,
Was once thought honeft; you have lov'd him well,
He hath not touch'd you yet. I'm young; but fome→
thing (36)

You may deferve of him through me, and wifdom
To offer up a weak, poor, innocent lamb,
T' appeafe an angry God.

Macd. I am not treacherous,

Mal. But Macbeth is.

A good and virtuous nature may recoil

In an imperial charge. I crave your pardon :
That which you are, my thoughts cannot tranfpofe;
Angels are bright ftill, though the brighteft fell :
Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace,
Yet grace muft ftill look fo.

Macd. I've loft my hopes.

Mal. Perchance, ev'n.there, where I did find my doubts. Why in that rawness left you wife and children? Thofe precious motives, thofe ftrong knots of love, Without leave-taking?-I pray you,

Let not my jealoufies be your dishonours,

But mine own fafeties: you may be rightly juft,.
Whatever I fhall think.

Macd. Bleed, bleed, poor country!

Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis fure,.

For goodnefs dares not check thee! wear thou thy wrongs,,

(36)

I'm young, but fomething

You may difcern of him through me, &c.] If the whole tanour of the context could not have convinced our blind editors, that we ought to read deferve inftead of difcern, (as I have corrected in the text,) yet Macduff s anfwer, fure, might have given them fome light,-.-I am not treacherous. There is another paffage, in which vice verfa the fame error has been committed upon the other word:

K. Lear. (old 4to in 1608)

an eye deferving,

Thine honour from thy fuff 'ring. where the fenfe evidently demands, difcerning

P.5

His

His title is affear'd. Fare thee well, Lord:
I would not be the villain that thou think'ft,
For the whole space that's in the tyrant's grafp,
And the rich, Eaft to boot.

Mal. Be not offended;

I fpeak not as in abfolute fear of you.
I think, our country finks beneath the yoke;
I weeps, it bleeds, and each new day a gafh
Is added to her wounds. I think withal,
There would be hands up-lifted in my right:
And here from gracious England have I offer
Of goodly thoufands. But for all this,
When I fhall tread upon the tyrant's head,
O wear it on my fword, yet my poor country
Shall have more vices than it had before;
More fuffer, and more fundry ways than ever,
By him that fhall fucceed.

Macd. What fhould he be ?

Mal. It is myfelf I mean, in whom I know All the particulars of vice fo grafted,

ftate

That when they fhall be open'd, black Macbeth
Will ferm as pure as fnow, and the poor
Efteem him as a lamb, being compar'd
With my confineless harms.

Macd. Not in the legions

Of horrid hell can come a deyil more damn'd,
In evils to top Macbeth.

Mal. I grant him bloody,
Luxurious, avaricious, falfe, deceitful,

Sudden, malicious, fmacking of ev'ry fin
'That has a name. But there's no bottom, none,
In my voluptuoufnefs: your wives, your daughters,
Your matrons, and your maids, could not fill up
The ciftern of my luft; and my defire

All continent impediments would o'er-bear,
That did oppofe my will. Better Macbeth,
Than fuch an one to reign.

Macd. Boundless intemperance

In nature is a tyranny; it hath been

Th' untimely emptying of the happy throne,

And

And fall of many Kings. But fear not yet
To take upon you what is yours: you may
Convey your pleasures in a fpacious plenty,

And yet feem cold, the time you may fo hoodwink g
We've willing dames enough; there cannot be
That vulture in you to devour fo many,

As will to greatnefs dedicate themselves,
Finding it fo inclin'd.

Mal. With this, there grows,

In my moft ill-compos'd affection, fuch
A ftanchless avarice, that, were I King,
I fhould cut off the nobles for their lands;
Defire his jewels, and this other's house;
And my more-having would be as a fauce
To make me hunger more; that I fhould forge
Quarrels unjuft against the good and loyal,
Deftroying them for wealth.

Macd. This avarice

Sticks deeper; grows with more pernicious root (37).
Than fummer-teeming luft; and it hath been

The fword of our flain Kings: yet do not fear;
Scotland hath foyfons to fill up your will

Of your mere own. All thefe are portable,
With other graces weigh'd.

(37)

grows with more pernicious root

Than fummer-feeming luft.] Mr. Warburton concurr'd with me in obferving, that fummer-feeming has no manner of sense: We there fore both corrected conjecturally,

Than fummer-teeming luft.

i. e. the paffion, which lafts no longer than the beat of life, and which goes off in the winter of age. Befides, the metaphor is much more: juft by our emendation; for fummer is the feafon in which weeds get、 strength, grow rank, and dilate themselves.

2 Henry VI:

Now 'tis the fpring;

And reeds are fhallow-rooted; fuffer them now,

And they'll o'ergrow the garden.

The fame image our author in another paffage conveys by an equi→ valent epithet, fummer-fwelling.

2. Gent. of Verona.

Disdain to root the fummer-fwelling flow'r,

And make rough winter everlastingly.

Mal.