FIRST WITCH.Ay, sir, all this is so:—but whyStands Macbeth thus amazedly?—Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprites,And show the best of our delights.I’ll charm the air to give a sound,While you perform your antic round;That this great king may kindly say,Our duties did his welcome pay.
[_Music. The Witches dance, and vanish._]
MACBETH.Where are they? Gone?—Let this pernicious hourStand aye accursed in the calendar!—Come in, without there!
Enter Lennox.
LENNOX.What’s your Grace’s will?
MACBETH.Saw you the Weird Sisters?
LENNOX.No, my lord.
MACBETH.Came they not by you?
LENNOX.No, indeed, my lord.
MACBETH.Infected be the air whereon they ride;And damn’d all those that trust them!—I did hearThe galloping of horse: who was’t came by?
LENNOX.’Tis two or three, my lord, that bring you wordMacduff is fled to England.
MACBETH.Fled to England!
LENNOX.Ay, my good lord.
MACBETH.Time, thou anticipat’st my dread exploits:The flighty purpose never is o’ertookUnless the deed go with it. From this momentThe very firstlings of my heart shall beThe firstlings of my hand. And even now,To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and done:The castle of Macduff I will surprise;Seize upon Fife; give to th’ edge o’ th’ swordHis wife, his babes, and all unfortunate soulsThat trace him in his line. No boasting like a fool;This deed I’ll do before this purpose cool:But no more sights!—Where are these gentlemen?Come, bring me where they are.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE II. Fife. A Room in Macduff’s Castle.
Enter Lady Macduff her Son and Ross.
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.
ROSS.You know notWhether it was his wisdom or his fear.
LADY MACDUFF.Wisdom! to leave his wife, to leave his babes,His mansion, and his titles, in a placeFrom whence himself does fly? He loves us not:He wants the natural touch; for the poor wren,The most diminutive of birds, will fight,Her young ones in her nest, against the owl.All is the fear, and nothing is the love;As little is the wisdom, where the flightSo runs against all reason.
ROSS.My dearest coz,I pray you, school yourself: but, for your husband,He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knowsThe fits o’ th’ season. I dare not speak much further:But cruel are the times, when we are traitors,And do not know ourselves; when we hold rumourFrom what we fear, yet know not what we fear,But float upon a wild and violent seaEach way and move—I take my leave of you:Shall not be long but I’ll be here again.Things at the worst will cease, or else climb upwardTo what they were before.—My pretty cousin,Blessing upon you!
LADY MACDUFF.Father’d he is, and yet he’s fatherless.
ROSS.I am so much a fool, should I stay longer,It would be my disgrace and your discomfort:I take my leave at once.
[_Exit._]
LADY MACDUFF.Sirrah, your father’s dead.And what will you do now? How will you live?
SON.As birds do, mother.
LADY MACDUFF.What, with worms and flies?
SON.With what I get, I mean; and so do they.
LADY MACDUFF.Poor bird! thou’dst never fear the net nor lime,The pit-fall nor the gin.
SON.Why should I, mother? Poor birds they are not set for.My father is not dead, for all your saying.
LADY MACDUFF.Yes, he is dead: how wilt thou do for a father?
SON.Nay, how will you do for a husband?
LADY MACDUFF.Why, I can buy me twenty at any market.
SON.Then you’ll buy ’em to sell again.
LADY MACDUFF.Thou speak’st with all thy wit;And yet, i’ faith, with wit enough for thee.
SON.Was my father a traitor, mother?
LADY MACDUFF.Ay, that he was.
SON.What is a traitor?
LADY MACDUFF.Why, one that swears and lies.
SON.And be all traitors that do so?
LADY MACDUFF.Every one that does so is a traitor, and must be hanged.
SON.And must they all be hanged that swear and lie?
LADY MACDUFF.Every one.
SON.Who must hang them?
LADY MACDUFF.Why, the honest men.
SON.Then the liars and swearers are fools: for there are liars and swearersenow to beat the honest men and hang up them.
LADY MACDUFF.Now, God help thee, poor monkey! But how wilt thou do for a father?
SON.If he were dead, you’ld weep for him: if you would not, it were a goodsign that I should quickly have a new father.
LADY MACDUFF.Poor prattler, how thou talk’st!
Enter a Messenger.
MESSENGER.Bless you, fair dame! I am not to you known,Though in your state of honour 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,Which is too nigh your person. Heaven preserve you!I dare abide no longer.
[_Exit._]
LADY MACDUFF.Whither should I fly?I have done no harm. But I remember nowI am in this earthly world, where to do harmIs often laudable; to do good sometimeAccounted dangerous folly: why then, alas,Do I put up that womanly defence,To say I have done no harm? What are these faces?
Enter Murderers.
FIRST MURDERER.Where is your husband?
LADY MACDUFF.I hope, in no place so unsanctifiedWhere such as thou mayst find him.
FIRST MURDERER.He’s a traitor.
SON.Thou liest, thou shag-ear’d villain!
FIRST MURDERER.What, you egg!
[_Stabbing him._]
Young fry of treachery!
SON.He has kill’d me, mother:Run away, I pray you!
[_Dies. Exit Lady Macduff, crying “Murder!” and pursued by theMurderers._]
SCENE III. England. Before the King’s Palace.
Enter Malcolm and Macduff.
MALCOLM.Let us seek out some desolate shade and thereWeep our sad bosoms empty.
MACDUFF.Let us ratherHold fast the mortal sword, and, like good men,Bestride our down-fall’n birthdom. Each new mornNew widows howl, new orphans cry; new sorrowsStrike heaven on the face, that it resoundsAs if it felt with Scotland, and yell’d outLike syllable of dolour.
MALCOLM.What I believe, I’ll wail;What know, believe; and what I can redress,As I shall find the time to friend, I will.What you have spoke, it may be so, perchance.This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues,Was once thought honest: you have loved him well;He hath not touch’d you yet. I am young; but somethingYou may deserve of him through me; and wisdomTo offer up a weak, poor, innocent lambTo appease an angry god.
MACDUFF.I am not treacherous.
MALCOLM.But Macbeth is.A good and virtuous nature may recoilIn an imperial charge. But I shall crave your pardon.That which you are, my thoughts cannot transpose.Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell:Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace,Yet grace must still look so.
MACDUFF.I have lost my hopes.
MALCOLM.Perchance even there where I did find my doubts.Why in that rawness left you wife and child,Those precious motives, those strong knots of love,Without leave-taking?—I pray you,Let not my jealousies be your dishonours,But mine own safeties. You may be rightly just,Whatever I shall think.
MACDUFF.Bleed, bleed, poor country!Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure,For goodness dare not check thee! wear thou thy wrongs;The title is affeer’d.—Fare thee well, lord:I would not be the villain that thou think’stFor the whole space that’s in the tyrant’s graspAnd the rich East to boot.
MALCOLM.Be not offended:I speak not as in absolute fear of you.I think our country sinks beneath the yoke;It weeps, it bleeds; and each new day a gashIs added to her wounds. I think, withal,There would be hands uplifted in my right;And here, from gracious England, have I offerOf goodly thousands: but, for all this,When I shall tread upon the tyrant’s head,Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor countryShall have more vices than it had before,More suffer, and more sundry ways than ever,By him that shall succeed.
MACDUFF.What should he be?
MALCOLM.It is myself I mean; in whom I knowAll the particulars of vice so graftedThat, when they shall be open’d, black MacbethWill seem as pure as snow; and the poor stateEsteem him as a lamb, being compar’dWith my confineless harms.
MACDUFF.Not in the legionsOf horrid hell can come a devil more damn’dIn evils to top Macbeth.
MALCOLM.I grant him bloody,Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful,Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sinThat has a name: but there’s no bottom, none,In my voluptuousness: your wives, your daughters,Your matrons, and your maids, could not fill upThe cistern of my lust; and my desireAll continent impediments would o’erbear,That did oppose my will: better MacbethThan such an one to reign.
MACDUFF.Boundless intemperanceIn nature is a tyranny; it hath beenTh’ untimely emptying of the happy throne,And fall of many kings. But fear not yetTo take upon you what is yours: you mayConvey your pleasures in a spacious plenty,And yet seem cold—the time you may so hoodwink.We have willing dames enough; there cannot beThat vulture in you, to devour so manyAs will to greatness dedicate themselves,Finding it so inclin’d.
MALCOLM.With this there growsIn my most ill-compos’d affection suchA staunchless avarice, that, were I king,I should cut off the nobles for their lands;Desire his jewels, and this other’s house:And my more-having would be as a sauceTo make me hunger more; that I should forgeQuarrels unjust against the good and loyal,Destroying them for wealth.
MACDUFF.This avariceSticks deeper; grows with more pernicious rootThan summer-seeming lust; and it hath beenThe sword of our slain kings: yet do not fear;Scotland hath foisons to fill up your will,Of your mere own. All these are portable,With other graces weigh’d.
MALCOLM.But I have none: the king-becoming graces,As justice, verity, temp’rance, stableness,Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness,Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude,I have no relish of them; but aboundIn the division of each several crime,Acting it many ways. Nay, had I power, I shouldPour the sweet milk of concord into hell,Uproar the universal peace, confoundAll unity on earth.
MACDUFF.O Scotland, Scotland!
MALCOLM.If such a one be fit to govern, speak:I am as I have spoken.
MACDUFF.Fit to govern?No, not to live.—O nation miserable,With an untitled tyrant bloody-scepter’d,When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again,Since that the truest issue of thy throneBy his own interdiction stands accus’d,And does blaspheme his breed? Thy royal fatherWas a most sainted king. The queen that bore thee,Oft’ner upon her knees than on her feet,Died every day she lived. Fare thee well!These evils thou repeat’st upon thyselfHave banish’d me from Scotland.—O my breast,Thy hope ends here!
MALCOLM.Macduff, this noble passion,Child of integrity, hath from my soulWiped the black scruples, reconcil’d my thoughtsTo thy good truth and honour. Devilish MacbethBy many of these trains hath sought to win meInto his power, and modest wisdom plucks meFrom over-credulous haste: but God aboveDeal between thee and me! for even nowI put myself to thy direction, andUnspeak mine own detraction; here abjureThe taints and blames I laid upon myself,For strangers to my nature. I am yetUnknown to woman; never was forsworn;Scarcely have coveted what was mine own;At no time broke my faith; would not betrayThe devil to his fellow; and delightNo less in truth than life: my first false speakingWas this upon myself. What I am truly,Is thine and my poor country’s to command:Whither, indeed, before thy here-approach,Old Siward, with ten thousand warlike men,Already at a point, was setting forth.Now we’ll together, and the chance of goodnessBe like our warranted quarrel. Why are you silent?
MACDUFF.Such welcome and unwelcome things at once’Tis hard to reconcile.
Enter a Doctor.
MALCOLM.Well; more anon.—Comes the King forth, I pray you?
DOCTOR.Ay, sir. There are a crew of wretched soulsThat stay his cure: their malady convincesThe great assay of art; but at his touch,Such sanctity hath heaven given his hand,They presently amend.
MALCOLM.I thank you, doctor.
[_Exit Doctor._]
MACDUFF.What’s the disease he means?
MALCOLM.’Tis call’d the evil:A most miraculous work in this good king;Which often, since my here-remain in England,I have seen him do. How he solicits heaven,Himself best knows, but strangely-visited people,All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye,The mere despair of surgery, he cures;Hanging a golden stamp about their necks,Put on with holy prayers: and ’tis spoken,To the succeeding royalty he leavesThe healing benediction. With this strange virtue,He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy;And sundry blessings hang about his throne,That speak him full of grace.
Enter Ross.
MACDUFF.See, who comes here?
MALCOLM.My countryman; but yet I know him not.
MACDUFF.My ever-gentle cousin, welcome hither.
MALCOLM.I know him now. Good God, betimes removeThe means that makes us strangers!
ROSS.Sir, amen.
MACDUFF.Stands Scotland where it did?
ROSS.Alas, poor country,Almost afraid to know itself! It cannotBe call’d our mother, but our grave, where nothing,But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile;Where sighs, and groans, and shrieks, that rent the air,Are made, not mark’d; where violent sorrow seemsA modern ecstasy. The dead man’s knellIs there scarce ask’d for who; and good men’s livesExpire before the flowers in their caps,Dying or ere they sicken.
MACDUFF.O, relationToo nice, and yet too true!
MALCOLM.What’s the newest grief?
ROSS.That of an hour’s age doth hiss the speaker;Each minute teems a new one.
MACDUFF.How does my wife?
ROSS.Why, well.
MACDUFF.And all my children?
ROSS.Well too.
MACDUFF.The tyrant has not batter’d at their peace?
ROSS.No; they were well at peace when I did leave ’em.
MACDUFF.Be not a niggard of your speech: how goes’t?
ROSS.When I came hither to transport the tidings,Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumourOf many worthy fellows that were out;Which was to my belief witness’d the rather,For that I saw the tyrant’s power afoot.Now is the time of help. Your eye in ScotlandWould create soldiers, make our women fight,To doff their dire distresses.
MALCOLM.Be’t their comfortWe are coming thither. Gracious England hathLent us good Siward and ten thousand men;An older and a better soldier noneThat Christendom gives out.
ROSS.Would I could answerThis comfort with the like! But I have wordsThat would be howl’d out in the desert air,Where hearing should not latch them.
MACDUFF.What concern they?The general cause? or is it a fee-griefDue to some single breast?
ROSS.No mind that’s honestBut in it shares some woe, though the main partPertains to you alone.
MACDUFF.If it be mine,Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it.
ROSS.Let not your ears despise my tongue for ever,Which shall possess them with the heaviest soundThat ever yet they heard.
MACDUFF.Humh! I guess at it.
ROSS.Your castle is surpris’d; your wife and babesSavagely slaughter’d. To relate the mannerWere, on the quarry of these murder’d deer,To add the death of you.
MALCOLM.Merciful heaven!—What, man! ne’er pull your hat upon your brows.Give sorrow words. The grief that does not speakWhispers the o’er-fraught heart, and bids it break.
MACDUFF.My children too?
ROSS.Wife, children, servants, allThat 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 med’cines of our great revenge,To cure this deadly grief.
MACDUFF.He has no children.—All my pretty ones?Did you say all?—O hell-kite!—All?What, all my pretty chickens and their damAt one fell swoop?
MALCOLM.Dispute it like a man.
MACDUFF.I shall do so;But I must also feel it as a man:I cannot but remember such things were,That were most precious to me.—Did heaven look on,And would not take their part? Sinful Macduff,They were all struck for thee! Naught that I am,Not for their own demerits, but for mine,Fell slaughter on their souls: heaven rest them now!
MALCOLM.Be this the whetstone of your sword. Let griefConvert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage it.
MACDUFF.O, I could play the woman with mine eyes,And braggart with my tongue!—But, gentle heavens,Cut short all intermission; front to front,Bring thou this fiend of Scotland and myself;Within my sword’s length set him; if he ’scape,Heaven forgive him too!
MALCOLM.This tune goes manly.Come, go we to the King. Our power is ready;Our lack is nothing but our leave. MacbethIs ripe for shaking, and the powers abovePut on their instruments. Receive what cheer you may;The night is long that never finds the day.
[_Exeunt._]
ACT V
SCENE I. Dunsinane. A Room in the Castle.
Enter a Doctor of Physic and a Waiting-Gentlewoman.
DOCTOR.I have two nights watched with you, but can perceive no truth in yourreport. When was it she last walked?
GENTLEWOMAN.Since his Majesty went into the field, I have seen her rise from herbed, throw her nightgown upon her, unlock her closet, take forth paper,fold it, write upon’t, read it, afterwards seal it, and again return tobed; yet all this while in a most fast sleep.
DOCTOR.A great perturbation in nature, to receive at once the benefit ofsleep, and do the effects of watching. In this slumbery agitation,besides her walking and other actual performances, what, at any time,have you heard her say?
GENTLEWOMAN.That, sir, which I will not report after her.
DOCTOR.You may to me; and ’tis most meet you should.
GENTLEWOMAN.Neither to you nor anyone; having no witness to confirm my speech.
Enter Lady Macbeth with a taper.
Lo you, here she comes! This is her very guise; and, upon my life, fastasleep. Observe her; stand close.
DOCTOR.How came she by that light?
GENTLEWOMAN.Why, it stood by her: she has light by her continually; ’tis hercommand.
DOCTOR.You see, her eyes are open.
GENTLEWOMAN.Ay, but their sense are shut.
DOCTOR.What is it she does now? Look how she rubs her hands.
GENTLEWOMAN.It is an accustomed action with her, to seem thus washing her hands. Ihave known her continue in this a quarter of an hour.
LADY MACBETH.Yet here’s a spot.
DOCTOR.Hark, she speaks. I will set down what comes from her, to satisfy myremembrance the more strongly.
LADY MACBETH.Out, damned spot! out, I say! One; two. Why, then ’tis time to do’t.Hell is murky! Fie, my lord, fie! a soldier, and afeard? What need wefear who knows it, when none can call our power to account? Yet whowould have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?
DOCTOR.Do you mark that?
LADY MACBETH.The Thane of Fife had a wife. Where is she now?—What, will these handsne’er be clean? No more o’ that, my lord, no more o’ that: you mar allwith this starting.
DOCTOR.Go to, go to. You have known what you should not.
GENTLEWOMAN.She has spoke what she should not, I am sure of that: heaven knows whatshe has known.
LADY MACBETH.Here’s the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia willnot sweeten this little hand. Oh, oh, oh!
DOCTOR.What a sigh is there! The heart is sorely charged.
GENTLEWOMAN.I would not have such a heart in my bosom for the dignity of the wholebody.
DOCTOR.Well, well, well.
GENTLEWOMAN.Pray God it be, sir.
DOCTOR.This disease is beyond my practice: yet I have known those which havewalked in their sleep, who have died holily in their beds.
LADY MACBETH.Wash your hands, put on your nightgown; look not so pale. I tell youyet again, Banquo’s buried; he cannot come out on’s grave.
DOCTOR.Even so?
LADY MACBETH.To bed, to bed. There’s knocking at the gate. Come, come, come, come,give me your hand. What’s done cannot be undone. To bed, to bed, tobed.
[_Exit._]
DOCTOR.Will she go now to bed?
GENTLEWOMAN.Directly.
DOCTOR.Foul whisp’rings are abroad. Unnatural deedsDo breed unnatural troubles: infected mindsTo their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets.More needs she the divine than the physician.—God, God, forgive us all! Look after her;Remove from her the means of all annoyance,And still keep eyes upon her. So, good night:My mind she has mated, and amaz’d my sight.I think, but dare not speak.
GENTLEWOMAN.Good night, good doctor.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE II. The Country near Dunsinane.
Enter, with drum and colours Menteith, Caithness, Angus, Lennox andSoldiers.
MENTEITH.The English power is near, led on by Malcolm,His uncle Siward, and the good Macduff.Revenges burn in them; for their dear causesWould to the bleeding and the grim alarmExcite the mortified man.
ANGUS.Near Birnam woodShall we well meet them. That way are they coming.
CAITHNESS.Who knows if Donalbain be with his brother?
LENNOX.For certain, sir, he is not. I have a fileOf all the gentry: there is Siward’s sonAnd many unrough youths, that even nowProtest their first of manhood.
MENTEITH.What does the tyrant?
CAITHNESS.Great Dunsinane he strongly fortifies.Some say he’s mad; others, that lesser hate him,Do call it valiant fury: but, for certain,He cannot buckle his distemper’d causeWithin the belt of rule.
ANGUS.Now does he feelHis secret murders sticking on his hands;Now minutely revolts upbraid his faith-breach;Those he commands move only in command,Nothing in love: now does he feel his titleHang loose about him, like a giant’s robeUpon a dwarfish thief.
MENTEITH.Who, then, shall blameHis pester’d senses to recoil and start,When all that is within him does condemnItself for being there?
CAITHNESS.Well, march we on,To give obedience where ’tis truly ow’d:Meet we the med’cine of the sickly weal;And with him pour we, in our country’s purge,Each drop of us.
LENNOX.Or so much as it needsTo dew the sovereign flower, and drown the weeds.Make we our march towards Birnam.
[_Exeunt, marching._]
SCENE III. Dunsinane. A Room in the Castle.
Enter Macbeth, Doctor and Attendants.
MACBETH.Bring me no more reports; let them fly all:Till Birnam wood remove to DunsinaneI cannot taint with fear. What’s the boy Malcolm?Was he not born of woman? The spirits that knowAll mortal consequences have pronounc’d me thus:“Fear not, Macbeth; no man that’s born of womanShall e’er have power upon thee.”—Then fly, false thanes,And mingle with the English epicures:The mind I sway by, and the heart I bear,Shall never sag with doubt nor shake with fear.
Enter a Servant.
The devil damn thee black, thou cream-fac’d loon!Where gott’st thou that goose look?
SERVANT.There is ten thousand—
MACBETH.Geese, villain?
SERVANT.Soldiers, sir.
MACBETH.Go prick thy face and over-red thy fear,Thou lily-liver’d boy. What soldiers, patch?Death of thy soul! those linen cheeks of thineAre counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whey-face?
SERVANT.The English force, so please you.
MACBETH.Take thy face hence.
[_Exit Servant._]
Seyton!—I am sick at heart,When I behold—Seyton, I say!—This pushWill cheer me ever or disseat me now.I have liv’d long enough: my way of lifeIs fall’n into the sere, the yellow leaf;And that which should accompany old age,As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends,I must not look to have; but, in their stead,Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honour, breath,Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not.Seyton!—
Enter Seyton.
SEYTON.What’s your gracious pleasure?
MACBETH.What news more?
SEYTON.All is confirm’d, my lord, which was reported.
MACBETH.I’ll fight till from my bones my flesh be hack’d.Give me my armour.
SEYTON.’Tis not needed yet.
MACBETH.I’ll put it on.Send out more horses, skirr the country round;Hang those that talk of fear. Give me mine armour.—How does your patient, doctor?
DOCTOR.Not so sick, my lord,As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies,That keep her from her rest.
MACBETH.Cure her of that:Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas’d,Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow,Raze out the written troubles of the brain,And with some sweet oblivious antidoteCleanse the stuff’d bosom of that perilous stuffWhich weighs upon the heart?
DOCTOR.Therein the patientMust minister to himself.
MACBETH.Throw physic to the dogs, I’ll none of it.Come, put mine armour on; give me my staff:Seyton, send out.—Doctor, the Thanes fly from me.—Come, sir, despatch.—If thou couldst, doctor, castThe water of my land, find her disease,And purge it to a sound and pristine health,I would applaud thee to the very echo,That should applaud again.—Pull’t off, I say.—What rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drug,Would scour these English hence? Hear’st thou of them?
DOCTOR.Ay, my good lord. Your royal preparationMakes us hear something.
MACBETH.Bring it after me.—I will not be afraid of death and bane,Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane.
[_Exeunt all except Doctor._]
DOCTOR.Were I from Dunsinane away and clear,Profit again should hardly draw me here.
[_Exit._]
SCENE IV. Country near Dunsinane: a Wood in view.
Enter, with drum and colours Malcolm, old Siward and his Son, Macduff,Menteith, Caithness, Angus, Lennox, Ross and Soldiers, marching.
MALCOLM.Cousins, I hope the days are near at handThat chambers will be safe.
MENTEITH.We doubt it nothing.
SIWARD.What wood is this before us?
MENTEITH.The wood of Birnam.
MALCOLM.Let every soldier hew him down a bough,And bear’t before him. Thereby shall we shadowThe numbers of our host, and make discoveryErr in report of us.
SOLDIERS.It shall be done.
SIWARD.We learn no other but the confident tyrantKeeps still in Dunsinane, and will endureOur setting down before’t.
MALCOLM.’Tis his main hope;For where there is advantage to be given,Both more and less have given him the revolt,And none serve with him but constrained things,Whose hearts are absent too.
MACDUFF.Let our just censuresAttend the true event, and put we onIndustrious soldiership.
SIWARD.The time approaches,That will with due decision make us knowWhat we shall say we have, and what we owe.Thoughts speculative their unsure hopes relate,But certain issue strokes must arbitrate;Towards which advance the war.
[_Exeunt, marching._]
SCENE V. Dunsinane. Within the castle.
Enter with drum and colours, Macbeth, Seyton and Soldiers.
MACBETH.Hang out our banners on the outward walls;The cry is still, “They come!” Our castle’s strengthWill laugh a siege to scorn: here let them lieTill famine and the ague eat them up.Were they not forc’d with those that should be ours,We might have met them dareful, beard to beard,And beat them backward home.
[_A cry of women within._]
What is that noise?
SEYTON.It is the cry of women, my good lord.
[_Exit._]
MACBETH.I have almost forgot the taste of fears.The time has been, my senses would have cool’dTo hear a night-shriek; and my fell of hairWould at a dismal treatise rouse and stirAs life were in’t. I have supp’d full with horrors;Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts,Cannot once start me.
Enter Seyton.
Wherefore was that cry?
SEYTON.The Queen, my lord, is dead.
MACBETH.She should have died hereafter.There would have been a time for such a word.Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,To the last syllable of recorded time;And all our yesterdays have lighted foolsThe way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!Life’s but a walking shadow; a poor player,That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,And then is heard no more: it is a taleTold by an idiot, full of sound and fury,Signifying nothing.
Enter a Messenger.
Thou com’st to use thy tongue; thy story quickly.
MESSENGER.Gracious my lord,I should report that which I say I saw,But know not how to do’t.
MACBETH.Well, say, sir.
MESSENGER.As I did stand my watch upon the hill,I look’d toward Birnam, and anon, methought,The wood began to move.
MACBETH.Liar, and slave!
MESSENGER.Let me endure your wrath, if’t be not so.Within this three mile may you see it coming;I say, a moving grove.
MACBETH.If thou speak’st false,Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive,Till famine cling thee: if thy speech be sooth,I care not if thou dost for me as much.—I pull in resolution; and beginTo doubt th’ equivocation of the fiend,That lies like truth. “Fear not, till Birnam woodDo come to Dunsinane;” and now a woodComes toward Dunsinane.—Arm, arm, and out!—If this which he avouches does appear,There is nor flying hence nor tarrying here.I ’gin to be aweary of the sun,And wish th’ estate o’ th’ world were now undone.—Ring the alarum bell!—Blow, wind! come, wrack!At least we’ll die with harness on our back.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE VI. The same. A Plain before the Castle.
Enter, with drum and colours, Malcolm, old Siward, Macduff and theirArmy, with boughs.
MALCOLM.Now near enough. Your leafy screens throw down,And show like those you are.—You, worthy uncle,Shall with my cousin, your right noble son,Lead our first battle: worthy Macduff and weShall take upon’s what else remains to do,According to our order.
SIWARD.Fare you well.—Do we but find the tyrant’s power tonight,Let us be beaten, if we cannot fight.
MACDUFF.Make all our trumpets speak; give them all breath,Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE VII. The same. Another part of the Plain.
Alarums. Enter Macbeth.
MACBETH.They have tied me to a stake. I cannot fly,But, bear-like I must fight the course.—What’s heThat was not born of woman? Such a oneAm I to fear, or none.
Enter young Siward.
YOUNG SIWARD.What is thy name?
MACBETH.Thou’lt be afraid to hear it.
YOUNG SIWARD.No; though thou call’st thyself a hotter nameThan any is in hell.
MACBETH.My name’s Macbeth.
YOUNG SIWARD.The devil himself could not pronounce a titleMore hateful to mine ear.
MACBETH.No, nor more fearful.
YOUNG SIWARD.Thou liest, abhorred tyrant. With my swordI’ll prove the lie thou speak’st.
[_They fight, and young Siward is slain._]
MACBETH.Thou wast born of woman.But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn,Brandish’d by man that’s of a woman born.
[_Exit._]
Alarums. Enter Macduff.
MACDUFF.That way the noise is.—Tyrant, show thy face!If thou be’st slain and with no stroke of mine,My wife and children’s ghosts will haunt me still.I cannot strike at wretched kerns, whose armsAre hired to bear their staves. Either thou, Macbeth,Or else my sword, with an unbatter’d edge,I sheathe again undeeded. There thou shouldst be;By this great clatter, one of greatest noteSeems bruited. Let me find him, Fortune!And more I beg not.
[_Exit. Alarums._]
Enter Malcolm and old Siward.
SIWARD.This way, my lord;—the castle’s gently render’d:The tyrant’s people on both sides do fight;The noble thanes do bravely in the war,The day almost itself professes yours,And little is to do.
MALCOLM.We have met with foesThat strike beside us.
SIWARD.Enter, sir, the castle.
[_Exeunt. Alarums._]
SCENE VIII. The same. Another part of the field.
Enter Macbeth.
MACBETH.Why should I play the Roman fool, and dieOn mine own sword? whiles I see lives, the gashesDo better upon them.
Enter Macduff.
MACDUFF.Turn, hell-hound, turn!
MACBETH.Of all men else I have avoided thee:But get thee back; my soul is too much charg’dWith blood of thine already.
MACDUFF.I have no words;My voice is in my sword: thou bloodier villainThan terms can give thee out!
[_They fight._]
MACBETH.Thou losest labour:As easy mayst thou the intrenchant airWith thy keen sword impress, as make me bleed:Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests;I bear a charmed life, which must not yieldTo one of woman born.
MACDUFF.Despair thy charm;And let the angel whom thou still hast serv’dTell thee, Macduff was from his mother’s wombUntimely ripp’d.
MACBETH.Accursed be that tongue that tells me so,For it hath cow’d my better part of man!And be these juggling fiends no more believ’d,That palter with us in a double sense;That keep the word of promise to our ear,And break it to our hope!—I’ll not fight with thee.
MACDUFF.Then yield thee, coward,And live to be the show and gaze o’ th’ time.We’ll have thee, as our rarer monsters are,Painted upon a pole, and underwrit,“Here may you see the tyrant.”
MACBETH.I will not yield,To kiss the ground before young Malcolm’s feet,And to be baited with the rabble’s curse.Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane,And thou oppos’d, being of no woman born,Yet I will try the last. Before my bodyI throw my warlike shield: lay on, Macduff;And damn’d be him that first cries, “Hold, enough!”
[_Exeunt fighting. Alarums._]
Retreat. Flourish. Enter, with drum and colours, Malcolm, old Siward,Ross, Thanes and Soldiers.
MALCOLM.I would the friends we miss were safe arriv’d.
SIWARD.Some must go off; and yet, by these I see,So great a day as this is cheaply bought.
MALCOLM.Macduff is missing, and your noble son.
ROSS.Your son, my lord, has paid a soldier’s debt:He only liv’d but till he was a man;The which no sooner had his prowess confirm’dIn the unshrinking station where he fought,But like a man he died.
SIWARD.Then he is dead?
ROSS.Ay, and brought off the field. Your cause of sorrowMust not be measur’d by his worth, for thenIt hath no end.
SIWARD.Had he his hurts before?
ROSS.Ay, on the front.
SIWARD.Why then, God’s soldier be he!Had I as many sons as I have hairs,I would not wish them to a fairer death:And so his knell is knoll’d.
MALCOLM.He’s worth more sorrow,And that I’ll spend for him.
SIWARD.He’s worth no more.They say he parted well and paid his score:And so, God be with him!—Here comes newer comfort.
Enter Macduff with Macbeth’s head.
MACDUFF.Hail, King, for so thou art. Behold, where standsTh’ usurper’s cursed head: the time is free.I see thee compass’d with thy kingdom’s pearl,That speak my salutation in their minds;Whose voices I desire aloud with mine,—Hail, King of Scotland!
ALL.Hail, King of Scotland!
[_Flourish._]
MALCOLM.We shall not spend a large expense of timeBefore we reckon with your several loves,And make us even with you. My thanes and kinsmen,Henceforth be earls, the first that ever ScotlandIn such an honour nam’d. What’s more to do,Which would be planted newly with the time,—As calling home our exil’d friends abroad,That fled the snares of watchful tyranny;Producing forth the cruel ministersOf this dead butcher, and his fiend-like queen,Who, as ’tis thought, by self and violent handsTook off her life;—this, and what needful elseThat calls upon us, by the grace of Grace,We will perform in measure, time, and place.So thanks to all at once, and to each one,Whom we invite to see us crown’d at Scone.
[_Flourish. Exeunt._]