| |
[Forres. The palace]
Enter LENNOX and another Lord
Len. My former speeches have but hit your thoughts, | |
| Which can interpret farther; only, I say, | |
| Things have been strangely borne. 1 The gracious Duncan | |
| Was pitied of Macbeth; marry, he was dead: | 4 |
| And the right-valiant Banquo walk’d too late; | |
| Whom, you may say, if ’t please you, Fleance kill’d, | |
| For Fleance fled; men must not walk too late. | |
| Who cannot want 2 the thought how monstrous | 8 |
| It was for Malcolm and for Donalbain | |
| To kill their gracious father? Damned fact! | |
| How it did grieve Macbeth! Did he not straight | |
| In pious rage the two delinquents tear, | 12 |
| That were the slaves of drink and thralls of sleep? | |
| Was not that nobly done? Ay, and wisely too; | |
| For ’twould have anger’d any heart alive | |
| To hear the men deny ’t. So that, I say, | 16 |
| He has borne all things well; and I do think | |
| That had he Duncan’s sons under his key— | |
| As, an ’t please Heaven, he shall not—they should find | |
| What ’twere to kill a father; so should Fleance. | 20 |
| But, peace! for from broad 3 words, and ’cause he fail’d | |
| His presence at the tyrant’s feast, I hear | |
| Macduff lives in disgrace. Sir, can you tell | |
| Where he bestows himself? | 24 |
| Lord. The son of Duncan, | |
| From whom this tyrant holds the due of birth, | |
| Lives in the English court, and is receiv’d | |
| Of the most pious Edward with such grace | 28 |
| That the malevolence of Fortune nothing | |
| Takes from his high respect. Thither Macduff | |
| Is gone to pray the holy king, upon his aid | |
| To wake Northumberland and warlike Siward; | 32 |
| That, by the help of these—with Him above | |
| To ratify the work—we may again | |
| Give to our tables meat, sleep to our nights, | |
| Free from our feasts and banquets bloody knives, | 36 |
| Do faithful homage and receive free honours; | |
| All which we pine for now: and this report | |
| Hath so exasperate their king that he | |
| Prepares for some attempt of war. | 40 |
| Len. Sent he to Macduff? | |
| Lord. He did; and with 4 an absolute “Sir, not I,” | |
| The cloudy messenger turns me his back, | |
| And hums, as who should say, “You’ll rue the time | 44 |
| That clogs me with this answer.” | |
| Len. And that well might | |
| Advise him to a caution, to hold what distance | |
| His wisdom can provide. Some holy angel | 48 |
| Fly to the court of England and unfold | |
| His message ere he come, that a swift blessing | |
| May soon return to this our suffering country | |
| Under a hand accurs’d! | 52 |
| Lord. I’ll send my prayers with him. Exeunt. | |
