Scene II
Fife. Macduff’s castle.
Lady Macduff
What had he done, to make him fly the land?
Ross
You must have patience, madam.
Lady Macduff
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.
Lady Macduff
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.