Old Man: 'Tis unnatural,
Even like the deed that's done. On Tuesday last,
A falcon, towering in her pride of place,
Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at and kill'd.
ROSS: And Duncan's horses--a thing most strange and certain--
Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race, 
Turn'd wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out,
Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would make
War with mankind.
Old Man: 'Tis said they eat each other.
ROSS: They did so, to the amazement of mine eyes
That look'd upon't. Here comes the good Macduff.