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Scene II] Macbeth 87 

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, 20 

But float upon a wild and violent sea 

Each way and move. I take my leave of you : 

Shall not be long but I'll be here again. 

Things at the worst will cease, or else climb upward 

To what they were before. My pretty cousin, 

Blessing upon you ! 

Lady Macduff. Father'd he is, and yet he's fath- 
erless. 

Ross. I am so much a fool, should I stay longer, 
It would be my disgrace and your discomfort ; 
I take my leave at once. [Exit. 

Lady Macduff. Sirrah, your father's dead : 30 

And what will you do now? How will you live? 

Son. As birds do, mother. 

Lady Macduff. What, with worms and flies ? 

Son. With what I get, I mean ; and so do they. 

Lady Macduff. Poor bird ! thou'dst never fear 
the net nor lime, 
The pitfall nor the gin. 

Son. Why should I, mother? Poor birds they 

are not set for. 
My father is not dead, for all your saying. 
Lady Macduff. Yes, he is dead : how wilt thou 

do for a father? 
Son. Nay, how will you do for a husband?