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Section: ACT III.  SCENE VI.

                                                                                                                                                                                                

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ACT III.  SCENE VI.


Forres. The palace.


Enter Lennox and another Lord.



  LENNOX. My former speeches have but hit your thoughts,

    Which can interpret farther; only I say

    Thing's 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,

    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!

    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,

    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-

    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,

    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,

    Lives in the English court and is received

    Of the most pious Edward with such grace

    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;

    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,

    Do faithful homage, and receive free honors-

    All which we pine for now. And this report

    Hath so exasperate the King that he

    Prepares for some attempt of war.


  LENNOX. Sent he to Macduff?


  LORD. He did, and with an absolute "Sir, not I,"

    The cloudy messenger turns me his back,

    And hums, as who should say, "You'll rue the time

    That clogs me with this answer."


  LENNOX. And that well might

    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

    May soon return to this our suffering country

    Under a hand accursed!


  LORD. I'll send my prayers with him.

                                                         Exeunt.




                                                                                                                                                                                                

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