OLD MAN ’Tis unnatural,
Even like the deed that’s done. On Tuesday last
A falcon, tow’ring in her pride of place,
Was by a mousing owl hawked at and killed.
ROSS And Duncan’s horses, a thing most strange and certain,
Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race,
Turned wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out,
Contending ’gainst obedience as they would
Make war with mankind.
OLD MAN ’Tis said they ate each other.
ROSS They did so, to th’amazement of mine eyes
That looked upon’t. (2.3.10-20)
This gloomy day, as if the sun hasn’t risen properly, ’tis unnatural, even like the deed that’s done. So the Old Man does know about the murder of the King: news is travelling fast. Killing a king violates the natural order; no wonder everything’s out of kilter, with all these strange happenings, portentous events. The Old Man might be taking a grim satisfaction in relaying this, as well as wondering at it: last Tuesday (I love the specificity; of course, we have no idea what day it is when the action is taking place), a falcon, tow’ring in her pride of place, at the zenith of her flight, about to plummet for the kill, was by a mousing owl hawked at and killed. That is, the owl was mousing, hunting mice (this is a description of its activity, not a particular variety of owl)—but it went after the falcon and killed it in mid-air, on the wing, completely overturning the hierarchy of such birds, as well as doing something extraordinary; owls don’t fly as high as hawks, and they certainly don’t hunt them, let alone kill them. (The image of the lowlier bird killing the loftier is, of course, apt here.) Ross can top that particular nature note, though: the King’s horses went mad, it was crazy, they’re thoroughbreds, highly trained, absolute darlings, top quality horseflesh—they kicked out like wild horses, broke out of their stables. No one could control them, and they wouldn’t take orders from anyone. It was as if they would make war with mankind. The Old Man’s heard about this already, and he can go one better: ’Tis said they ate each other. Cannibal horses! Now there’s a good subject for gossip. And Ross has to admit it’s true, this particularly creepy detail that he might have been concealing from the common folk. The horses did indeed eat each other, to the amazement of mine eyes that looked upon’t. I saw it myself (so, here he’s trumping the Old Man’s hearsay, a bit of one-upmanship again). I was there.
