Malcolm (cont.)
Whispers the o’er-fraught heart and bids it break.
Macduff
My children too?
Ross
Wife, children, servants, all
That could be found.
Macduff
And I must be from thence!
My wife kill’d too?
Ross
I have said.
Malcolm
Be comforted:
Let’s make us medicines of our great revenge,
To cure this deadly grief.
Macduff
He has no children. All my pretty ones?