[Fife, Macduff's castle. Enter Ross and an old Man]
Threescore and ten I can remember well,
Within the volume of which time I have seen
Hours dreadful and things strange, but this sore night
Hath trifled former knowings.
Thou seest the heavens, as troubled with man's act,
Threaten his bloody stage. By the clock 'tis day,
And yet dark night strangles the traveling lamp.
Is't night's predominance, or the day's shame,
That darkness does the face of earth entomb,
When living light should kiss it?
Even like the deed that's done. On Tuesday last,
A falcon, towering in her pride of place,
Was by a mousing owl hawked at and killed.
And Duncan's horses — a thing most strange and certain —
Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race,
Turned wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out,
Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would make
'Tis said they ate each other.
They did so, to the amazement of mine eyes
That looked upon't. Here comes the good Macduff.
How goes the world, sir, now?
Is't known who did this more than bloody deed?
Those that Macbeth hath slain.
What good could they pretend?
Malcolm and Donalbain, the king's two sons,
Are stolen away and fled, which puts upon them
Thriftless ambition that wilt raven up
Thine own life's means – then 'tis most like
The sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth.
He is already named, and gone to Scone
The sacred storehouse of his predecessors,
And guardian of their bones.
No, cousin, I'll to Fife.
Well, may you see things well done there — adieu —
Lest our old robes sit easier than our new.
God's benison go with you, and with those
That would make good of bad, and friends of foes.