Macduff's Son

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.

He wants the natural touch; for the poor wren,
The most diminutive of birds,
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Messenger
Bless you, fair dame. I am not to you known,
Though in your state of honor I am perfect.
I doubt some danger does approach you nearly.
If you will take a homely man’s advice,
Be not found here. Hence with your little ones!
To fright you thus methinks I am too savage;
To do worse to you were fell cruelty,
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