University of Virginia Library

SCENE VIII.

Macbeth, Seaton, and Baudron.
MACBETH.
Well! what new chance hath so amaz'd thy wits,
That they seem ready in thy straining eyes
To leap from some great jeopardy?

SEATON.
My lord,
The tartan'd Celts that from the western isles,
And the fierce Donalds from Benevis' side,
Who lay upon the heath, have left their ground,
And with th'outrageous insolence of pipes,
Are seen by all the wardens on the walls,
Precipitously hurrying to the foe.

MACBETH.
Well, let them run; I little priz'd their faith.
These mountain aborigines have been
The stubbornest to tame, of all beneath
The antient scepter of the scottish kings.
This waste in loyalty smites the great arm
Of royal vengeance with paralysis,
And makes the tasks that press upon our time,
Of heavy labour and uncertain fruit.—
Seaton, why stand you here?—

SEATON.
I have but half
The errand of my coming-in reported.

MACBETH.
What hast thou more? Who else deserts from us?

SEATON.
By urgent summons from the queen herself,
The chieftains lodged within the keep attend
Your highness' presence in the council-hall.

MACBETH.
We shall be there anon—Seaton command
The armourer to have my mail prepared.