My former speeches have but hit your thoughts, Which can interpret further: only, I say, Things have been strangely borne. The gracious Duncan Was pitied of Macbeth: marry, he was dead: And the right-valiant Banquo walk’d too late; Whom, you may say, if’t please you, Fleance kill’d, For Fleance fled: men must not walk too late. Who cannot want the thought how monstrous It was for Malcolm and for Donalbain To kill their gracious father? damned fact! How it did grieve Macbeth! did he not straight In pious rage the two delinquents tear, That were the slaves of drink and thralls of sleep? Was not that nobly done? Ay, and wisely too; For ’twould have anger’d any heart alive To hear the men deny’t. So that, I say, He has borne all things well: and I do think That had he Duncan’s sons under his key⁠— As, an’t please heaven, he shall not⁠—they should find What ’twere to kill a father; so should Fleance. But, peace! for from broad words and ’cause he fail’d His presence at the tyrant’s feast, I hear Macduff lives in disgrace: sir, can you tell Where he bestows himself?