| [Enter ROSS and an old Man] | |
| 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. |
| ROSS | Ah, good father, 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 travelling 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? |
| Old Man | 'Tis unnatural, Even like the deed that's done. On Tuesday last, A falcon, towering in her pride of place, Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at and kill'd. |
| ROSS | And Duncan's horses--a thing most strange and certain-- Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race, Turn'd wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out, Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would make War with mankind. |
| Old Man | 'Tis said they eat each other. |
| ROSS | They did so, to the amazement of mine eyes That look'd upon't. Here comes the good Macduff. |
| [Enter MACDUFF] | |
| How goes the world, sir, now? | |
| MACDUFF | Why, see you not? |
| ROSS | Is't known who did this more than bloody deed? |
| MACDUFF | Those that Macbeth hath slain. |
| ROSS | Alas, the day! What good could they pretend? |
| MACDUFF | They were suborn'd: Malcolm and Donalbain, the king's two sons, Are stol'n away and fled; which puts upon them Suspicion of the deed. |
| ROSS | 'Gainst nature still! Thriftless ambition, that wilt ravin up Thine own life's means! Then 'tis most like The sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth. |
| MACDUFF | He is already named, and gone to Scone To be invested. |
| ROSS | Where is Duncan's body? |
| MACDUFF | Carried to Colmekill, The sacred storehouse of his predecessors, And guardian of their bones. |
| ROSS | Will you to Scone? |
| MACDUFF | No, cousin, I'll to Fife. |
| ROSS | Well, I will thither. |
| MACDUFF | Well, may you see things well done there: adieu! Lest our old robes sit easier than our new! |
| ROSS | Farewell, father. |
| Old Man | God's benison go with you; and with those That would make good of bad, and friends of foes! |
| [Exeunt] |