Page:Macbeth (1918) Yale.djvu/74

62 

L. Macd. What had he done to make him fly the land?

Ross. You must have patience, madam.

L. Macd. He had none:

His flight was madness: when our actions do not,

Our fears do make us traitors.

Ross. You know not

Whether it was his wisdom or his fear.

L. Macd. 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, will fight—

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.

Ross. My dearest coz,

I pray you, school yourself: but, for your husband,

He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows

The fits o' the season. I dare not speak much further:

But cruel are the times, when we are traitors

And do not know ourselves, when we hold rumour

From what we fear, yet know not what we fear,

But float upon a wild and violent sea

 7 titles: rightful possessions

9 wants the natural touch: lacks natural affection

14 coz: cousin

17 fits: disorders

19 know ourselves: i.e., to be such

hold: interpret

