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