La. You lacke the season of all Natures, sleepe
Macb. Come, wee'l to sleepe: My strange & self-abuse Is the initiate feare, that wants hard vse: We are yet but yong indeed.
Exeunt.
Scena Quinta.
Thunder. Enter the three Witches, meeting Hecat.
1. Why how now Hecat, you looke angerly? Hec. Haue I not reason (Beldams) as you are? Sawcy, and ouer-bold, how did you dare To Trade, and Trafficke with Macbeth, In Riddles, and Affaires of death; And I the Mistris of your Charmes, The close contriuer of all harmes, Was neuer call'd to beare my part, Or shew the glory of our Art? And which is worse, all you haue done Hath bene but for a wayward Sonne, Spightfull, and wrathfull, who (as others do) Loues for his owne ends, not for you. But make amends now: Get you gon, And at the pit of Acheron Meete me i'th' Morning: thither he Will come, to know his Destinie. Your Vessels, and your Spels prouide, Your Charmes, and euery thing beside; I am for th' Ayre: This night Ile spend Vnto a dismall, and a Fatall end. Great businesse must be wrought ere Noone. Vpon the Corner of the Moone There hangs a vap'rous drop, profound, Ile catch it ere it come to ground; And that distill'd by Magicke slights, Shall raise such Artificiall Sprights, As by the strength of their illusion, Shall draw him on to his Confusion. He shall spurne Fate, scorne Death, and beare His hopes 'boue Wisedome, Grace, and Feare: And you all know, Security Is Mortals cheefest Enemie.
Musicke, and a Song.
Hearke, I am call'd: my little Spirit see Sits in Foggy cloud, and stayes for me.
Sing within. Come away, come away, &c.
1 Come, let's make hast, shee'l soone be Backe againe.
Exeunt.
Scaena Sexta.
Enter Lenox, and another Lord.
Lenox. My former Speeches, Haue but hit your Thoughts Which can interpret farther: Onely I say Things haue bin strangely borne. The gracious Duncan Was pittied of Macbeth: marry he was dead: And the right valiant Banquo walk'd too late, Whom you may say (if't please you) Fleans kill'd, For Fleans fled: Men must not walke too late. Who cannot want the thought, how monstrous It was for Malcolme, and for Donalbane To kill their gracious Father? Damned Fact, How it did greeue Macbeth? Did he not straight In pious rage, the two delinquents teare, That were the Slaues of drinke, and thralles of sleepe? Was not that Nobly done? I, and wisely too: For 'twould haue anger'd any heart aliue To heare the men deny't. So that I say, He ha's borne all things well, and I do thinke, That had he Duncans Sonnes vnder his Key, (As, and't please Heauen he shall not) they should finde What 'twere to kill a Father: So should Fleans. But peace; for from broad words, and cause he fayl'd His presence at the Tyrants Feast, I heare Macduffe liues in disgrace. Sir, can you tell Where he bestowes himselfe? Lord. The Sonnes of Duncane (From whom this Tyrant holds the due of Birth) Liues in the English Court, and is receyu'd Of the most Pious Edward, with such grace, That the maleuolence of Fortune, nothing Takes from his high respect. Thither Macduffe Is gone, to pray the Holy King, vpon his ayd To wake Northumberland, and warlike Seyward, That by the helpe of these (with him aboue) To ratifie the Worke) we may againe Giue to our Tables meate, sleepe to our Nights: Free from our Feasts, and Banquets bloody kniues; Do faithfull Homage, and receiue free Honors, All which we pine for now. And this report Hath so exasperate their King, that hee Prepares for some attempt of Warre
Len. Sent he to Macduffe? Lord. He did: and with an absolute Sir, not I The clowdy Messenger turnes me his backe, And hums; as who should say, you'l rue the time That clogges me with this Answer
Lenox. And that well might Aduise him to a Caution, t' hold what distance His wisedome can prouide. Some holy Angell Flye to the Court of England, and vnfold His Message ere he come, that a swift blessing May soone returne to this our suffering Country, Vnder a hand accurs'd
Lord. Ile send my Prayers with him.
Exeunt.