Yong fry of
Treachery?
shakespeare-macbeth
Heauen preserue you,
I dare abide no longer.
Exit Messenger
Wife. Whether should I flye?
I haue done no harme. But I remember now
I am in this earthly world: where to do harme
Is often laudable, to do good sometime
Accounted dangerous folly. Why then (alas)
Do I put vp that womanly defence,
To say I haue done no harme?
What are these faces?
Enter Murtherers.
Mur. Where is your Husband?
Wife. I hope in no place so vnsanctified,
Where such as thou may'st finde him
Mur. He's a Traitor
Son. Thou ly'st thou shagge-ear'd Villaine
Mur. What you Egge?
Yong fry of Treachery?
Son. He ha's kill'd me Mother,
Run away I pray you.
Exit crying Murther.
Scaena Tertia.
Enter Malcolme and Macduffe.
Mal. Let vs seeke out some desolate shade, & there
Weepe our sad bosomes empty
Macd. Let vs rather
Hold fast the mortall Sword: and like good men,
Bestride our downfall Birthdome: each new Morne,
New Widdowes howle, new Orphans cry, new sorowes
Strike heauen on the face, that it resounds
As if it felt with Scotland, and yell'd out
Like Syllable of Dolour
Mal. What I beleeue, Ile waile;
What know, beleeue; and what I can redresse,
As I shall finde the time to friend: I wil.
What you haue spoke, it may be so perchance.
This Tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues,
Was once thought honest: you haue lou'd him well,
He hath not touch'd you yet. I am yong, but something
You may discerne of him through me, and wisedome
To offer vp a weake, poore innocent Lambe
T' appease an angry God
Macd. I am not treacherous
Malc. But Macbeth is.
A good and vertuous Nature may recoyle
In an Imperiall charge.
I dare abide no longer.
Exit Messenger
Wife. Whether should I flye?
I haue done no harme. But I remember now
I am in this earthly world: where to do harme
Is often laudable, to do good sometime
Accounted dangerous folly. Why then (alas)
Do I put vp that womanly defence,
To say I haue done no harme?
What are these faces?
Enter Murtherers.
Mur. Where is your Husband?
Wife. I hope in no place so vnsanctified,
Where such as thou may'st finde him
Mur. He's a Traitor
Son. Thou ly'st thou shagge-ear'd Villaine
Mur. What you Egge?
Yong fry of Treachery?
Son. He ha's kill'd me Mother,
Run away I pray you.
Exit crying Murther.
Scaena Tertia.
Enter Malcolme and Macduffe.
Mal. Let vs seeke out some desolate shade, & there
Weepe our sad bosomes empty
Macd. Let vs rather
Hold fast the mortall Sword: and like good men,
Bestride our downfall Birthdome: each new Morne,
New Widdowes howle, new Orphans cry, new sorowes
Strike heauen on the face, that it resounds
As if it felt with Scotland, and yell'd out
Like Syllable of Dolour
Mal. What I beleeue, Ile waile;
What know, beleeue; and what I can redresse,
As I shall finde the time to friend: I wil.
What you haue spoke, it may be so perchance.
This Tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues,
Was once thought honest: you haue lou'd him well,
He hath not touch'd you yet. I am yong, but something
You may discerne of him through me, and wisedome
To offer vp a weake, poore innocent Lambe
T' appease an angry God
Macd. I am not treacherous
Malc. But Macbeth is.
A good and vertuous Nature may recoyle
In an Imperiall charge.
