Act 4 - Scene 2
Fife. Macduff's castle.
Enter LADY MACDUFF, her Son, and ROSS
What had he done, to make him fly the land?
You must have patience, madam.
He had none:
His flight was madness: when our actions do not,
Our fears do make us traitors.
You know not
Whether it was his wisdom or his fear.
Wisdom! to leave his wife, to leave his babes,
His mansion and his titles in a place
From whence himself
does fly? He loves us not;
He wants the natural touch: for the poor wren,
The most diminutive of birds,
Her young ones in her nest, against the owl.
All is the fear and nothing is the love;
As little is the
wisdom, where the flight
So runs against all reason.
My dearest coz,
I pray you, school yourself: but for your husband,
He is noble, wise, judicious, and best
The fits o' the season. I dare not speak
But cruel are the times, when we are traitors
do not know ourselves, when we hold rumour
From what we fear, yet know not what we fear,
upon a wild and violent sea
Each way and move. I take my leave of you:
Shall not be long but I'll be
Things at the worst will cease, or else climb upward
To what they were before. My pretty
Blessing upon you!
Father'd he is, and yet he's fatherless.
I am so much a fool, should I stay longer,
It would be my disgrace and your discomfort:
I take my leave at
Sirrah, your father's dead;
And what will you do now? How will you live?
As birds do, mother.
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