| ***The Project Gutenberg's Etext of Shakespeare's First Folio*** |
| ********************The Tragedie of Macbeth********************* |
| |
| This is our 3rd edition of most of these plays. See the index. |
| |
| |
| Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check |
| the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! |
| |
| Please take a look at the important information in this header. |
| We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an |
| electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. |
| |
| |
| **Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** |
| |
| **Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** |
| |
| *These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* |
| |
| Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and |
| further information is included below. We need your donations. |
| |
| |
| The Tragedie of Macbeth |
| |
| by William Shakespeare |
| |
| July, 2000 [Etext #2264] |
| |
| |
| ***The Project Gutenberg's Etext of Shakespeare's First Folio*** |
| ********************The Tragedie of Macbeth********************* |
| |
| *****This file should be named 0ws3410.txt or 0ws3410.zip****** |
| |
| Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, 0ws3411.txt |
| VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 0ws3410a.txt |
| |
| |
| Project Gutenberg Etexts are usually created from multiple editions, |
| all of which are in the Public Domain in the United States, unless a |
| copyright notice is included. Therefore, we usually do NOT keep any |
| of these books in compliance with any particular paper edition. |
| |
| |
| We are now trying to release all our books one month in advance |
| of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing. |
| |
| Please note: neither this list nor its contents are final till |
| midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement. |
| The official release date of all Project Gutenberg Etexts is at |
| Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A |
| preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment |
| and editing by those who wish to do so. To be sure you have an |
| up to date first edition [xxxxx10x.xxx] please check file sizes |
| in the first week of the next month. Since our ftp program has |
| a bug in it that scrambles the date [tried to fix and failed] a |
| look at the file size will have to do, but we will try to see a |
| new copy has at least one byte more or less. |
| |
| |
| Information about Project Gutenberg (one page) |
| |
| We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. The |
| time it takes us, a rather conservative estimate, is fifty hours |
| to get any etext selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright |
| searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. This |
| projected audience is one hundred million readers. If our value |
| per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2 |
| million dollars per hour this year as we release thirty-six text |
| files per month, or 432 more Etexts in 1999 for a total of 2000+ |
| If these reach just 10% of the computerized population, then the |
| total should reach over 200 billion Etexts given away this year. |
| |
| The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away One Trillion Etext |
| Files by December 31, 2001. [10,000 x 100,000,000 = 1 Trillion] |
| This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers, |
| which is only ~5% of the present number of computer users. |
| |
| At our revised rates of production, we will reach only one-third |
| of that goal by the end of 2001, or about 3,333 Etexts unless we |
| manage to get some real funding; currently our funding is mostly |
| from Michael Hart's salary at Carnegie-Mellon University, and an |
| assortment of sporadic gifts; this salary is only good for a few |
| more years, so we are looking for something to replace it, as we |
| don't want Project Gutenberg to be so dependent on one person. |
| |
| We need your donations more than ever! |
| |
| |
| All donations should be made to "Project Gutenberg/CMU": and are |
| tax deductible to the extent allowable by law. (CMU = Carnegie- |
| Mellon University). |
| |
| For these and other matters, please mail to: |
| |
| Project Gutenberg |
| P. O. Box 2782 |
| Champaign, IL 61825 |
| |
| When all other email fails. . .try our Executive Director: |
| Michael S. Hart <hart@pobox.com> |
| hart@pobox.com forwards to hart@prairienet.org and archive.org |
| if your mail bounces from archive.org, I will still see it, if |
| it bounces from prairienet.org, better resend later on. . . . |
| |
| We would prefer to send you this information by email. |
| |
| ****** |
| |
| To access Project Gutenberg etexts, use any Web browser |
| to view http://promo.net/pg. This site lists Etexts by |
| author and by title, and includes information about how |
| to get involved with Project Gutenberg. You could also |
| download our past Newsletters, or subscribe here. This |
| is one of our major sites, please email hart@pobox.com, |
| for a more complete list of our various sites. |
| |
| To go directly to the etext collections, use FTP or any |
| Web browser to visit a Project Gutenberg mirror (mirror |
| sites are available on 7 continents; mirrors are listed |
| at http://promo.net/pg). |
| |
| Mac users, do NOT point and click, typing works better. |
| |
| Example FTP session: |
| |
| ftp sunsite.unc.edu |
| login: anonymous |
| password: your@login |
| cd pub/docs/books/gutenberg |
| cd etext90 through etext99 |
| dir [to see files] |
| get or mget [to get files. . .set bin for zip files] |
| GET GUTINDEX.?? [to get a year's listing of books, e.g., GUTINDEX.99] |
| GET GUTINDEX.ALL [to get a listing of ALL books] |
| |
| *** |
| |
| **Information prepared by the Project Gutenberg legal advisor** |
| |
| (Three Pages) |
| |
| |
| ***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS**START*** |
| Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers. |
| They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with |
| your copy of this etext, even if you got it for free from |
| someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our |
| fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement |
| disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how |
| you can distribute copies of this etext if you want to. |
| |
| *BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS ETEXT |
| By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm |
| etext, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept |
| this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive |
| a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this etext by |
| sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person |
| you got it from. If you received this etext on a physical |
| medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request. |
| |
| ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM ETEXTS |
| This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG- |
| tm etexts, is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor |
| Michael S. Hart through the Project Gutenberg Association at |
| Carnegie-Mellon University (the "Project"). Among other |
| things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright |
| on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and |
| distribute it in the United States without permission and |
| without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth |
| below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this etext |
| under the Project's "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark. |
| |
| To create these etexts, the Project expends considerable |
| efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain |
| works. Despite these efforts, the Project's etexts and any |
| medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other |
| things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or |
| corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other |
| intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged |
| disk or other etext medium, a computer virus, or computer |
| codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment. |
| |
| LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES |
| But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below, |
| [1] the Project (and any other party you may receive this |
| etext from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext) disclaims all |
| liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including |
| legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR |
| UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT, |
| INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE |
| OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE |
| POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES. |
| |
| If you discover a Defect in this etext within 90 days of |
| receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) |
| you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that |
| time to the person you received it from. If you received it |
| on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and |
| such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement |
| copy. If you received it electronically, such person may |
| choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to |
| receive it electronically. |
| |
| THIS ETEXT IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER |
| WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS |
| TO THE ETEXT OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT |
| LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A |
| PARTICULAR PURPOSE. |
| |
| Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or |
| the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the |
| above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you |
| may have other legal rights. |
| |
| INDEMNITY |
| You will indemnify and hold the Project, its directors, |
| officers, members and agents harmless from all liability, cost |
| and expense, including legal fees, that arise directly or |
| indirectly from any of the following that you do or cause: |
| [1] distribution of this etext, [2] alteration, modification, |
| or addition to the etext, or [3] any Defect. |
| |
| DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm" |
| You may distribute copies of this etext electronically, or by |
| disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this |
| "Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg, |
| or: |
| |
| [1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, this |
| requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the |
| etext or this "small print!" statement. You may however, |
| if you wish, distribute this etext in machine readable |
| binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form, |
| including any form resulting from conversion by word pro- |
| cessing or hypertext software, but only so long as |
| *EITHER*: |
| |
| [*] The etext, when displayed, is clearly readable, and |
| does *not* contain characters other than those |
| intended by the author of the work, although tilde |
| (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may |
| be used to convey punctuation intended by the |
| author, and additional characters may be used to |
| indicate hypertext links; OR |
| |
| [*] The etext may be readily converted by the reader at |
| no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent |
| form by the program that displays the etext (as is |
| the case, for instance, with most word processors); |
| OR |
| |
| [*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at |
| no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the |
| etext in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC |
| or other equivalent proprietary form). |
| |
| [2] Honor the etext refund and replacement provisions of this |
| "Small Print!" statement. |
| |
| [3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Project of 20% of the |
| net profits you derive calculated using the method you |
| already use to calculate your applicable taxes. If you |
| don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are |
| payable to "Project Gutenberg Association/Carnegie-Mellon |
| University" within the 60 days following each |
| date you prepare (or were legally required to prepare) |
| your annual (or equivalent periodic) tax return. |
| |
| WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? |
| The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time, |
| scanning machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty |
| free copyright licenses, and every other sort of contribution |
| you can think of. Money should be paid to "Project Gutenberg |
| Association / Carnegie-Mellon University". |
| |
| *END*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| Project Gutenberg's Etext of Shakespeare's The Tragedie of Macbeth |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| Executive Director's Notes: |
| |
| In addition to the notes below, and so you will *NOT* think all |
| the spelling errors introduced by the printers of the time have |
| been corrected, here are the first few lines of Hamlet, as they |
| are presented herein: |
| |
| Barnardo. Who's there? |
| Fran. Nay answer me: Stand & vnfold |
| your selfe |
| |
| Bar. Long liue the King |
| |
| *** |
| |
| As I understand it, the printers often ran out of certain words |
| or letters they had often packed into a "cliche". . .this is the |
| original meaning of the term cliche. . .and thus, being unwilling |
| to unpack the cliches, and thus you will see some substitutions |
| that look very odd. . .such as the exchanges of u for v, v for u, |
| above. . .and you may wonder why they did it this way, presuming |
| Shakespeare did not actually write the play in this manner. . . . |
| |
| The answer is that they MAY have packed "liue" into a cliche at a |
| time when they were out of "v"'s. . .possibly having used "vv" in |
| place of some "w"'s, etc. This was a common practice of the day, |
| as print was still quite expensive, and they didn't want to spend |
| more on a wider selection of characters than they had to. |
| |
| You will find a lot of these kinds of "errors" in this text, as I |
| have mentioned in other times and places, many "scholars" have an |
| extreme attachment to these errors, and many have accorded them a |
| very high place in the "canon" of Shakespeare. My father read an |
| assortment of these made available to him by Cambridge University |
| in England for several months in a glass room constructed for the |
| purpose. To the best of my knowledge he read ALL those available |
| . . .in great detail. . .and determined from the various changes, |
| that Shakespeare most likely did not write in nearly as many of a |
| variety of errors we credit him for, even though he was in/famous |
| for signing his name with several different spellings. |
| |
| So, please take this into account when reading the comments below |
| made by our volunteer who prepared this file: you may see errors |
| that are "not" errors. . . . |
| |
| So. . .with this caveat. . .we have NOT changed the canon errors, |
| here is the Project Gutenberg Etext of Shakespeare's The Tragedie |
| of Macbeth. |
| |
| Michael S. Hart |
| Project Gutenberg |
| Executive Director |
| |
| |
| *** |
| |
| |
| Scanner's Notes: What this is and isn't. This was taken from |
| a copy of Shakespeare's first folio and it is as close as I can |
| come in ASCII to the printed text. |
| |
| The elongated S's have been changed to small s's and the |
| conjoined ae have been changed to ae. I have left the spelling, |
| punctuation, capitalization as close as possible to the |
| printed text. I have corrected some spelling mistakes (I have put |
| together a spelling dictionary devised from the spellings of the |
| Geneva Bible and Shakespeare's First Folio and have unified |
| spellings according to this template), typo's and expanded |
| abbreviations as I have come across them. Everything within |
| brackets [] is what I have added. So if you don't like that |
| you can delete everything within the brackets if you want a |
| purer Shakespeare. |
| |
| Another thing that you should be aware of is that there are textual |
| differences between various copies of the first folio. So there may |
| be differences (other than what I have mentioned above) between |
| this and other first folio editions. This is due to the printer's |
| habit of setting the type and running off a number of copies and |
| then proofing the printed copy and correcting the type and then |
| continuing the printing run. The proof run wasn't thrown away but |
| incorporated into the printed copies. This is just the way it is. |
| The text I have used was a composite of more than 30 different |
| First Folio editions' best pages. |
| |
| If you find any scanning errors, out and out typos, punctuation |
| errors, or if you disagree with my spelling choices please feel |
| free to email me those errors. I wish to make this the best |
| etext possible. My email address for right now are haradda@aol.com |
| and davidr@inconnect.com. I hope that you enjoy this. |
| |
| David Reed |
| |
| The Tragedie of Macbeth |
| |
| Actus Primus. Scoena Prima. |
| |
| Thunder and Lightning. Enter three Witches. |
| |
| 1. When shall we three meet againe? |
| In Thunder, Lightning, or in Raine? |
| 2. When the Hurley-burley's done, |
| When the Battaile's lost, and wonne |
| |
| 3. That will be ere the set of Sunne |
| |
| 1. Where the place? |
| 2. Vpon the Heath |
| |
| 3. There to meet with Macbeth |
| |
| 1. I come, Gray-Malkin |
| |
| All. Padock calls anon: faire is foule, and foule is faire, |
| Houer through the fogge and filthie ayre. |
| |
| Exeunt. |
| |
| |
| Scena Secunda. |
| |
| Alarum within. Enter King Malcome, Donalbaine, Lenox, with |
| attendants, |
| meeting a bleeding Captaine. |
| |
| King. What bloody man is that? he can report, |
| As seemeth by his plight, of the Reuolt |
| The newest state |
| |
| Mal. This is the Serieant, |
| Who like a good and hardie Souldier fought |
| 'Gainst my Captiuitie: Haile braue friend; |
| Say to the King, the knowledge of the Broyle, |
| As thou didst leaue it |
| |
| Cap. Doubtfull it stood, |
| As two spent Swimmers, that doe cling together, |
| And choake their Art: The mercilesse Macdonwald |
| (Worthie to be a Rebell, for to that |
| The multiplying Villanies of Nature |
| Doe swarme vpon him) from the Westerne Isles |
| Of Kernes and Gallowgrosses is supply'd, |
| And Fortune on his damned Quarry smiling, |
| Shew'd like a Rebells Whore: but all's too weake: |
| For braue Macbeth (well hee deserues that Name) |
| Disdayning Fortune, with his brandisht Steele, |
| Which smoak'd with bloody execution |
| (Like Valours Minion) caru'd out his passage, |
| Till hee fac'd the Slaue: |
| Which neu'r shooke hands, nor bad farwell to him, |
| Till he vnseam'd him from the Naue toth' Chops, |
| And fix'd his Head vpon our Battlements |
| |
| King. O valiant Cousin, worthy Gentleman |
| |
| Cap. As whence the Sunne 'gins his reflection, |
| Shipwracking Stormes, and direfull Thunders: |
| So from that Spring, whence comfort seem'd to come, |
| Discomfort swells: Marke King of Scotland, marke, |
| No sooner Iustice had, with Valour arm'd, |
| Compell'd these skipping Kernes to trust their heeles, |
| But the Norweyan Lord, surueying vantage, |
| With furbusht Armes, and new supplyes of men, |
| Began a fresh assault |
| |
| King. Dismay'd not this our Captaines, Macbeth and |
| Banquoh? |
| Cap. Yes, as Sparrowes, Eagles; |
| Or the Hare, the Lyon: |
| If I say sooth, I must report they were |
| As Cannons ouer-charg'd with double Cracks, |
| So they doubly redoubled stroakes vpon the Foe: |
| Except they meant to bathe in reeking Wounds, |
| Or memorize another Golgotha, |
| I cannot tell: but I am faint, |
| My Gashes cry for helpe |
| |
| King. So well thy words become thee, as thy wounds, |
| They smack of Honor both: Goe get him Surgeons. |
| Enter Rosse and Angus. |
| |
| Who comes here? |
| Mal. The worthy Thane of Rosse |
| |
| Lenox. What a haste lookes through his eyes? |
| So should he looke, that seemes to speake things strange |
| |
| Rosse. God saue the King |
| |
| King. Whence cam'st thou, worthy Thane? |
| Rosse. From Fiffe, great King, |
| Where the Norweyan Banners flowt the Skie, |
| And fanne our people cold. |
| Norway himselfe, with terrible numbers, |
| Assisted by that most disloyall Traytor, |
| The Thane of Cawdor, began a dismall Conflict, |
| Till that Bellona's Bridegroome, lapt in proofe, |
| Confronted him with selfe-comparisons, |
| Point against Point, rebellious Arme 'gainst Arme, |
| Curbing his lauish spirit: and to conclude, |
| The Victorie fell on vs |
| |
| King. Great happinesse |
| |
| Rosse. That now Sweno, the Norwayes King, |
| Craues composition: |
| Nor would we deigne him buriall of his men, |
| Till he disbursed, at Saint Colmes ynch, |
| Ten thousand Dollars, to our generall vse |
| |
| King. No more that Thane of Cawdor shall deceiue |
| Our Bosome interest: Goe pronounce his present death, |
| And with his former Title greet Macbeth |
| |
| Rosse. Ile see it done |
| |
| King. What he hath lost, Noble Macbeth hath wonne. |
| |
| Exeunt. |
| |
| |
| Scena Tertia. |
| |
| Thunder. Enter the three Witches. |
| |
| 1. Where hast thou beene, Sister? |
| 2. Killing Swine |
| |
| 3. Sister, where thou? |
| 1. A Saylors Wife had Chestnuts in her Lappe, |
| And mouncht, & mouncht, and mouncht: |
| Giue me, quoth I. |
| Aroynt thee, Witch, the rumpe-fed Ronyon cryes. |
| Her Husband's to Aleppo gone, Master o'th' Tiger: |
| But in a Syue Ile thither sayle, |
| And like a Rat without a tayle, |
| Ile doe, Ile doe, and Ile doe |
| |
| 2. Ile giue thee a Winde |
| |
| 1. Th'art kinde |
| |
| 3. And I another |
| |
| 1. I my selfe haue all the other, |
| And the very Ports they blow, |
| All the Quarters that they know, |
| I'th' Ship-mans Card. |
| Ile dreyne him drie as Hay: |
| Sleepe shall neyther Night nor Day |
| Hang vpon his Pent-house Lid: |
| He shall liue a man forbid: |
| Wearie Seu'nights, nine times nine, |
| Shall he dwindle, peake, and pine: |
| Though his Barke cannot be lost, |
| Yet it shall be Tempest-tost. |
| Looke what I haue |
| |
| 2. Shew me, shew me |
| |
| 1. Here I haue a Pilots Thumbe, |
| Wrackt, as homeward he did come. |
| |
| Drum within. |
| |
| 3. A Drumme, a Drumme: |
| Macbeth doth come |
| |
| All. The weyward Sisters, hand in hand, |
| Posters of the Sea and Land, |
| Thus doe goe, about, about, |
| Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine, |
| And thrice againe, to make vp nine. |
| Peace, the Charme's wound vp. |
| Enter Macbeth and Banquo. |
| |
| Macb. So foule and faire a day I haue not seene |
| |
| Banquo. How farre is't call'd to Soris? What are these, |
| So wither'd, and so wilde in their attyre, |
| That looke not like th' Inhabitants o'th' Earth, |
| And yet are on't? Liue you, or are you aught |
| That man may question? you seeme to vnderstand me, |
| By each at once her choppie finger laying |
| Vpon her skinnie Lips: you should be Women, |
| And yet your Beards forbid me to interprete |
| That you are so |
| |
| Mac. Speake if you can: what are you? |
| 1. All haile Macbeth, haile to thee Thane of Glamis |
| |
| 2. All haile Macbeth, haile to thee Thane of Cawdor |
| |
| 3. All haile Macbeth, that shalt be King hereafter |
| |
| Banq. Good Sir, why doe you start, and seeme to feare |
| Things that doe sound so faire? i'th' name of truth |
| Are ye fantasticall, or that indeed |
| Which outwardly ye shew? My Noble Partner |
| You greet with present Grace, and great prediction |
| Of Noble hauing, and of Royall hope, |
| That he seemes wrapt withall: to me you speake not. |
| If you can looke into the Seedes of Time, |
| And say, which Graine will grow, and which will not, |
| Speake then to me, who neyther begge, nor feare |
| Your fauors, nor your hate |
| |
| 1. Hayle |
| |
| 2. Hayle |
| |
| 3. Hayle |
| |
| 1. Lesser than Macbeth, and greater |
| |
| 2. Not so happy, yet much happyer |
| |
| 3. Thou shalt get Kings, though thou be none: |
| So all haile Macbeth, and Banquo |
| |
| 1. Banquo, and Macbeth, all haile |
| |
| Macb. Stay you imperfect Speakers, tell me more: |
| By Sinells death, I know I am Thane of Glamis, |
| But how, of Cawdor? the Thane of Cawdor liues |
| A prosperous Gentleman: And to be King, |
| Stands not within the prospect of beleefe, |
| No more then to be Cawdor. Say from whence |
| You owe this strange Intelligence, or why |
| Vpon this blasted Heath you stop our way |
| With such Prophetique greeting? |
| Speake, I charge you. |
| |
| Witches vanish. |
| |
| Banq. The Earth hath bubbles, as the Water ha's, |
| And these are of them: whither are they vanish'd? |
| Macb. Into the Ayre: and what seem'd corporall, |
| Melted, as breath into the Winde. |
| Would they had stay'd |
| |
| Banq. Were such things here, as we doe speake about? |
| Or haue we eaten on the insane Root, |
| That takes the Reason Prisoner? |
| Macb. Your Children shall be Kings |
| |
| Banq. You shall be King |
| |
| Macb. And Thane of Cawdor too: went it not so? |
| Banq. Toth' selfe-same tune and words: who's here? |
| Enter Rosse and Angus. |
| |
| Rosse. The King hath happily receiu'd, Macbeth, |
| The newes of thy successe: and when he reades |
| Thy personall Venture in the Rebels sight, |
| His Wonders and his Prayses doe contend, |
| Which should be thine, or his: silenc'd with that, |
| In viewing o're the rest o'th' selfe-same day, |
| He findes thee in the stout Norweyan Rankes, |
| Nothing afeard of what thy selfe didst make |
| Strange Images of death, as thick as Tale |
| Can post with post, and euery one did beare |
| Thy prayses in his Kingdomes great defence, |
| And powr'd them downe before him |
| |
| Ang. Wee are sent, |
| To giue thee from our Royall Master thanks, |
| Onely to harrold thee into his sight, |
| Not pay thee |
| |
| Rosse. And for an earnest of a greater Honor, |
| He bad me, from him, call thee Thane of Cawdor: |
| In which addition, haile most worthy Thane, |
| For it is thine |
| |
| Banq. What, can the Deuill speake true? |
| Macb. The Thane of Cawdor liues: |
| Why doe you dresse me in borrowed Robes? |
| Ang. Who was the Thane, liues yet, |
| But vnder heauie Iudgement beares that Life, |
| Which he deserues to loose. |
| Whether he was combin'd with those of Norway, |
| Or did lyne the Rebell with hidden helpe, |
| And vantage; or that with both he labour'd |
| In his Countreyes wracke, I know not: |
| But Treasons Capitall, confess'd, and prou'd, |
| Haue ouerthrowne him |
| |
| Macb. Glamys, and Thane of Cawdor: |
| The greatest is behinde. Thankes for your paines. |
| Doe you not hope your Children shall be Kings, |
| When those that gaue the Thane of Cawdor to me, |
| Promis'd no lesse to them |
| |
| Banq. That trusted home, |
| Might yet enkindle you vnto the Crowne, |
| Besides the Thane of Cawdor. But 'tis strange: |
| And oftentimes, to winne vs to our harme, |
| The Instruments of Darknesse tell vs Truths, |
| Winne vs with honest Trifles, to betray's |
| In deepest consequence. |
| Cousins, a word, I pray you |
| |
| Macb. Two Truths are told, |
| As happy Prologues to the swelling Act |
| Of the Imperiall Theame. I thanke you Gentlemen: |
| This supernaturall solliciting |
| Cannot be ill; cannot be good. |
| If ill? why hath it giuen me earnest of successe, |
| Commencing in a Truth? I am Thane of Cawdor. |
| If good? why doe I yeeld to that suggestion, |
| Whose horrid Image doth vnfixe my Heire, |
| And make my seated Heart knock at my Ribbes, |
| Against the vse of Nature? Present Feares |
| Are lesse then horrible Imaginings: |
| My Thought, whose Murther yet is but fantasticall, |
| Shakes so my single state of Man, |
| That Function is smother'd in surmise, |
| And nothing is, but what is not |
| |
| Banq. Looke how our Partner's rapt |
| |
| Macb. If Chance will haue me King, |
| Why Chance may Crowne me, |
| Without my stirre |
| |
| Banq. New Honors come vpon him |
| Like our strange Garments, cleaue not to their mould, |
| But with the aid of vse |
| |
| Macb. Come what come may, |
| Time, and the Houre, runs through the roughest Day |
| |
| Banq. Worthy Macbeth, wee stay vpon your leysure |
| |
| Macb. Giue me your fauour: |
| My dull Braine was wrought with things forgotten. |
| Kinde Gentlemen, your paines are registred, |
| Where euery day I turne the Leafe, |
| To reade them. |
| Let vs toward the King: thinke vpon |
| What hath chanc'd: and at more time, |
| The Interim hauing weigh'd it, let vs speake |
| Our free Hearts each to other |
| |
| Banq. Very gladly |
| |
| Macb. Till then enough: |
| Come friends. |
| |
| Exeunt. |
| |
| |
| Scena Quarta. |
| |
| Flourish. Enter King, Lenox, Malcolme, Donalbaine, and |
| Attendants. |
| |
| King. Is execution done on Cawdor? |
| Or not those in Commission yet return'd? |
| Mal. My Liege, they are not yet come back. |
| But I haue spoke with one that saw him die: |
| Who did report, that very frankly hee |
| Confess'd his Treasons, implor'd your Highnesse Pardon, |
| And set forth a deepe Repentance: |
| Nothing in his Life became him, |
| Like the leauing it. Hee dy'de, |
| As one that had beene studied in his death, |
| To throw away the dearest thing he ow'd, |
| As 'twere a carelesse Trifle |
| |
| King. There's no Art, |
| To finde the Mindes construction in the Face. |
| He was a Gentleman, on whom I built |
| An absolute Trust. |
| Enter Macbeth, Banquo, Rosse, and Angus. |
| |
| O worthyest Cousin, |
| The sinne of my Ingratitude euen now |
| Was heauie on me. Thou art so farre before, |
| That swiftest Wing of Recompence is slow, |
| To ouertake thee. Would thou hadst lesse deseru'd, |
| That the proportion both of thanks, and payment, |
| Might haue beene mine: onely I haue left to say, |
| More is thy due, then more then all can pay |
| |
| Macb. The seruice, and the loyaltie I owe, |
| In doing it, payes it selfe. |
| Your Highnesse part, is to receiue our Duties: |
| And our Duties are to your Throne, and State, |
| Children, and Seruants; which doe but what they should, |
| By doing euery thing safe toward your Loue |
| And Honor |
| |
| King. Welcome hither: |
| I haue begun to plant thee, and will labour |
| To make thee full of growing. Noble Banquo, |
| That hast no lesse deseru'd, nor must be knowne |
| No lesse to haue done so: Let me enfold thee, |
| And hold thee to my Heart |
| |
| Banq. There if I grow, |
| The Haruest is your owne |
| |
| King. My plenteous Ioyes, |
| Wanton in fulnesse, seeke to hide themselues |
| In drops of sorrow. Sonnes, Kinsmen, Thanes, |
| And you whose places are the nearest, know, |
| We will establish our Estate vpon |
| Our eldest, Malcolme, whom we name hereafter, |
| The Prince of Cumberland: which Honor must |
| Not vnaccompanied, inuest him onely, |
| But signes of Noblenesse, like Starres, shall shine |
| On all deseruers. From hence to Envernes, |
| And binde vs further to you |
| |
| Macb. The Rest is Labor, which is not vs'd for you: |
| Ile be my selfe the Herbenger, and make ioyfull |
| The hearing of my Wife, with your approach: |
| So humbly take my leaue |
| |
| King. My worthy Cawdor |
| |
| Macb. The Prince of Cumberland: that is a step, |
| On which I must fall downe, or else o're-leape, |
| For in my way it lyes. Starres hide your fires, |
| Let not Light see my black and deepe desires: |
| The Eye winke at the Hand: yet let that bee, |
| Which the Eye feares, when it is done to see. |
| Enter. |
| |
| King. True worthy Banquo: he is full so valiant, |
| And in his commendations, I am fed: |
| It is a Banquet to me. Let's after him, |
| Whose care is gone before, to bid vs welcome: |
| It is a peerelesse Kinsman. |
| |
| Flourish. Exeunt. |
| |
| |
| Scena Quinta. |
| |
| Enter Macbeths Wife alone with a Letter. |
| |
| Lady. They met me in the day of successe: and I haue |
| learn'd by the perfect'st report, they haue more in them, then |
| mortall knowledge. When I burnt in desire to question them |
| further, they made themselues Ayre, into which they vanish'd. |
| Whiles I stood rapt in the wonder of it, came Missiues from |
| the King, who all-hail'd me Thane of Cawdor, by which Title |
| before, these weyward Sisters saluted me, and referr'd me to |
| the comming on of time, with haile King that shalt be. This |
| haue I thought good to deliuer thee (my dearest Partner of |
| Greatnesse) that thou might'st not loose the dues of reioycing |
| by being ignorant of what Greatnesse is promis'd thee. Lay |
| it to thy heart and farewell. |
| Glamys thou art, and Cawdor, and shalt be |
| What thou art promis'd: yet doe I feare thy Nature, |
| It is too full o'th' Milke of humane kindnesse, |
| To catch the neerest way. Thou would'st be great, |
| Art not without Ambition, but without |
| The illnesse should attend it. What thou would'st highly, |
| That would'st thou holily: would'st not play false, |
| And yet would'st wrongly winne. |
| Thould'st haue, great Glamys, that which cryes, |
| Thus thou must doe, if thou haue it; |
| And that which rather thou do'st feare to doe, |
| Then wishest should be vndone. High thee hither, |
| That I may powre my Spirits in thine Eare, |
| And chastise with the valour of my Tongue |
| All that impeides thee from the Golden Round, |
| Which Fate and Metaphysicall ayde doth seeme |
| To haue thee crown'd withall. |
| Enter Messenger. |
| |
| What is your tidings? |
| Mess. The King comes here to Night |
| |
| Lady. Thou'rt mad to say it. |
| Is not thy Master with him? who, wer't so, |
| Would haue inform'd for preparation |
| |
| Mess. So please you, it is true: our Thane is comming: |
| One of my fellowes had the speed of him; |
| Who almost dead for breath, had scarcely more |
| Then would make vp his Message |
| |
| Lady. Giue him tending, |
| He brings great newes, |
| |
| Exit Messenger. |
| |
| The Rauen himselfe is hoarse, |
| That croakes the fatall entrance of Duncan |
| Vnder my Battlements. Come you Spirits, |
| That tend on mortall thoughts, vnsex me here, |
| And fill me from the Crowne to the Toe, top-full |
| Of direst Crueltie: make thick my blood, |
| Stop vp th' accesse, and passage to Remorse, |
| That no compunctious visitings of Nature |
| Shake my fell purpose, nor keepe peace betweene |
| Th' effect, and hit. Come to my Womans Brests, |
| And take my Milke for Gall, you murth'ring Ministers, |
| Where-euer, in your sightlesse substances, |
| You wait on Natures Mischiefe. Come thick Night, |
| And pall thee in the dunnest smoake of Hell, |
| |
| That my keene Knife see not the Wound it makes, |
| Nor Heauen peepe through the Blanket of the darke, |
| To cry, hold, hold. |
| Enter Macbeth. |
| |
| Great Glamys, worthy Cawdor, |
| Greater then both, by the all-haile hereafter, |
| Thy Letters haue transported me beyond |
| This ignorant present, and I feele now |
| The future in the instant |
| |
| Macb. My dearest Loue, |
| Duncan comes here to Night |
| |
| Lady. And when goes hence? |
| Macb. To morrow, as he purposes |
| |
| Lady. O neuer, |
| Shall Sunne that Morrow see. |
| Your Face, my Thane, is as a Booke, where men |
| May reade strange matters, to beguile the time. |
| Looke like the time, beare welcome in your Eye, |
| Your Hand, your Tongue: looke like th' innocent flower, |
| But be the Serpent vnder't. He that's comming, |
| Must be prouided for: and you shall put |
| This Nights great Businesse into my dispatch, |
| Which shall to all our Nights, and Dayes to come, |
| Giue solely soueraigne sway, and Masterdome |
| |
| Macb. We will speake further, |
| Lady. Onely looke vp cleare: |
| To alter fauor, euer is to feare: |
| Leaue all the rest to me. |
| |
| Exeunt. |
| |
| |
| Scena Sexta. |
| |
| Hoboyes, and Torches. Enter King, Malcolme, Donalbaine, |
| Banquo, Lenox, |
| Macduff, Rosse, Angus, and Attendants. |
| |
| King. This Castle hath a pleasant seat, |
| The ayre nimbly and sweetly recommends it selfe |
| Vnto our gentle sences |
| |
| Banq. This Guest of Summer, |
| The Temple-haunting Barlet does approue, |
| By his loued Mansonry, that the Heauens breath |
| Smells wooingly here: no Iutty frieze, |
| Buttrice, nor Coigne of Vantage, but this Bird |
| Hath made his pendant Bed, and procreant Cradle, |
| Where they must breed, and haunt: I haue obseru'd |
| The ayre is delicate. |
| Enter Lady. |
| |
| King. See, see our honor'd Hostesse: |
| The Loue that followes vs, sometime is our trouble, |
| Which still we thanke as Loue. Herein I teach you, |
| How you shall bid God-eyld vs for your paines, |
| And thanke vs for your trouble |
| |
| Lady. All our seruice, |
| In euery point twice done, and then done double, |
| Were poore, and single Businesse, to contend |
| Against those Honors deepe, and broad, |
| Wherewith your Maiestie loades our House: |
| For those of old, and the late Dignities, |
| Heap'd vp to them, we rest your Ermites |
| |
| King. Where's the Thane of Cawdor? |
| We courst him at the heeles, and had a purpose |
| To be his Purueyor: But he rides well, |
| And his great Loue (sharpe as his Spurre) hath holp him |
| To his home before vs: Faire and Noble Hostesse |
| We are your guest to night |
| |
| La. Your Seruants euer, |
| Haue theirs, themselues, and what is theirs in compt, |
| To make their Audit at your Highnesse pleasure, |
| Still to returne your owne |
| |
| King. Giue me your hand: |
| Conduct me to mine Host we loue him highly, |
| And shall continue, our Graces towards him. |
| By your leaue Hostesse. |
| |
| Exeunt. |
| |
| Scena Septima. |
| |
| Hoboyes. Torches. Enter a Sewer, and diuers Seruants with Dishes |
| and |
| Seruice ouer the Stage. Then enter Macbeth |
| |
| Macb. If it were done, when 'tis done, then 'twer well, |
| It were done quickly: If th' Assassination |
| Could trammell vp the Consequence, and catch |
| With his surcease, Successe: that but this blow |
| Might be the be all, and the end all. Heere, |
| But heere, vpon this Banke and Schoole of time, |
| Wee'ld iumpe the life to come. But in these Cases, |
| We still haue iudgement heere, that we but teach |
| Bloody Instructions, which being taught, returne |
| To plague th' Inuenter, this euen-handed Iustice |
| Commends th' Ingredience of our poyson'd Challice |
| To our owne lips. Hee's heere in double trust; |
| First, as I am his Kinsman, and his Subiect, |
| Strong both against the Deed: Then, as his Host, |
| Who should against his Murtherer shut the doore, |
| Not beare the knife my selfe. Besides, this Duncane |
| Hath borne his Faculties so meeke; hath bin |
| So cleere in his great Office, that his Vertues |
| Will pleade like Angels, Trumpet-tongu'd against |
| The deepe damnation of his taking off: |
| And Pitty, like a naked New-borne-Babe, |
| Striding the blast, or Heauens Cherubin, hors'd |
| Vpon the sightlesse Curriors of the Ayre, |
| Shall blow the horrid deed in euery eye, |
| That teares shall drowne the winde. I haue no Spurre |
| To pricke the sides of my intent, but onely |
| Vaulting Ambition, which ore-leapes it selfe, |
| And falles on th' other. |
| Enter Lady. |
| |
| How now? What Newes? |
| La. He has almost supt: why haue you left the chamber? |
| Mac. Hath he ask'd for me? |
| La. Know you not, he ha's? |
| Mac. We will proceed no further in this Businesse: |
| He hath Honour'd me of late, and I haue bought |
| Golden Opinions from all sorts of people, |
| Which would be worne now in their newest glosse, |
| Not cast aside so soone |
| |
| La. Was the hope drunke, |
| Wherein you drest your selfe? Hath it slept since? |
| And wakes it now to looke so greene, and pale, |
| At what it did so freely? From this time, |
| Such I account thy loue. Art thou affear'd |
| To be the same in thine owne Act, and Valour, |
| As thou art in desire? Would'st thou haue that |
| Which thou esteem'st the Ornament of Life, |
| And liue a Coward in thine owne Esteeme? |
| Letting I dare not, wait vpon I would, |
| Like the poore Cat i'th' Addage |
| |
| Macb. Prythee peace: |
| I dare do all that may become a man, |
| Who dares do more, is none |
| |
| La. What Beast was't then |
| That made you breake this enterprize to me? |
| When you durst do it, then you were a man: |
| And to be more then what you were, you would |
| Be so much more the man. Nor time, nor place |
| Did then adhere, and yet you would make both: |
| They haue made themselues, and that their fitnesse now |
| Do's vnmake you. I haue giuen Sucke, and know |
| How tender 'tis to loue the Babe that milkes me, |
| I would, while it was smyling in my Face, |
| Haue pluckt my Nipple from his Bonelesse Gummes, |
| And dasht the Braines out, had I so sworne |
| As you haue done to this |
| |
| Macb. If we should faile? |
| Lady. We faile? |
| But screw your courage to the sticking place, |
| And wee'le not fayle: when Duncan is asleepe, |
| (Whereto the rather shall his dayes hard Iourney |
| Soundly inuite him) his two Chamberlaines |
| Will I with Wine, and Wassell, so conuince, |
| That Memorie, the Warder of the Braine, |
| Shall be a Fume, and the Receit of Reason |
| A Lymbeck onely: when in Swinish sleepe, |
| Their drenched Natures lyes as in a Death, |
| What cannot you and I performe vpon |
| Th' vnguarded Duncan? What not put vpon |
| His spungie Officers? who shall beare the guilt |
| Of our great quell |
| |
| Macb. Bring forth Men-Children onely: |
| For thy vndaunted Mettle should compose |
| Nothing but Males. Will it not be receiu'd, |
| When we haue mark'd with blood those sleepie two |
| Of his owne Chamber, and vs'd their very Daggers, |
| That they haue don't? |
| Lady. Who dares receiue it other, |
| As we shall make our Griefes and Clamor rore, |
| Vpon his Death? |
| Macb. I am settled, and bend vp |
| Each corporall Agent to this terrible Feat. |
| Away, and mock the time with fairest show, |
| False Face must hide what the false Heart doth know. |
| |
| Exeunt. |
| |
| |
| Actus Secundus. Scena Prima. |
| |
| Enter Banquo, and Fleance, with a Torch before him. |
| |
| Banq. How goes the Night, Boy? |
| Fleance. The Moone is downe: I haue not heard the |
| Clock |
| |
| Banq. And she goes downe at Twelue |
| |
| Fleance. I take't, 'tis later, Sir |
| |
| Banq. Hold, take my Sword: |
| There's Husbandry in Heauen, |
| Their Candles are all out: take thee that too. |
| A heauie Summons lyes like Lead vpon me, |
| And yet I would not sleepe: |
| Mercifull Powers, restraine in me the cursed thoughts |
| That Nature giues way to in repose. |
| Enter Macbeth, and a Seruant with a Torch. |
| |
| Giue me my Sword: who's there? |
| Macb. A Friend |
| |
| Banq. What Sir, not yet at rest? the King's a bed. |
| He hath beene in vnusuall Pleasure, |
| And sent forth great Largesse to your Offices. |
| This Diamond he greetes your Wife withall, |
| By the name of most kind Hostesse, |
| And shut vp in measurelesse content |
| |
| Mac. Being vnprepar'd, |
| Our will became the seruant to defect, |
| Which else should free haue wrought |
| |
| Banq. All's well. |
| I dreamt last Night of the three weyward Sisters: |
| To you they haue shew'd some truth |
| |
| Macb. I thinke not of them: |
| Yet when we can entreat an houre to serue, |
| We would spend it in some words vpon that Businesse, |
| If you would graunt the time |
| |
| Banq. At your kind'st leysure |
| |
| Macb. If you shall cleaue to my consent, |
| When 'tis, it shall make Honor for you |
| |
| Banq. So I lose none, |
| In seeking to augment it, but still keepe |
| My Bosome franchis'd, and Allegeance cleare, |
| I shall be counsail'd |
| |
| Macb. Good repose the while |
| |
| Banq. Thankes Sir: the like to you. |
| |
| Exit Banquo. |
| |
| Macb. Goe bid thy Mistresse, when my drinke is ready, |
| She strike vpon the Bell. Get thee to bed. |
| Enter. |
| |
| Is this a Dagger, which I see before me, |
| The Handle toward my Hand? Come, let me clutch thee: |
| I haue thee not, and yet I see thee still. |
| Art thou not fatall Vision, sensible |
| To feeling, as to sight? or art thou but |
| A Dagger of the Minde, a false Creation, |
| Proceeding from the heat-oppressed Braine? |
| I see thee yet, in forme as palpable, |
| As this which now I draw. |
| Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going, |
| And such an Instrument I was to vse. |
| Mine Eyes are made the fooles o'th' other Sences, |
| Or else worth all the rest: I see thee still; |
| And on thy Blade, and Dudgeon, Gouts of Blood, |
| Which was not so before. There's no such thing: |
| It is the bloody Businesse, which informes |
| Thus to mine Eyes. Now o're the one halfe World |
| Nature seemes dead, and wicked Dreames abuse |
| The Curtain'd sleepe: Witchcraft celebrates |
| Pale Heccats Offrings: and wither'd Murther, |
| Alarum'd by his Centinell, the Wolfe, |
| Whose howle's his Watch, thus with his stealthy pace, |
| With Tarquins rauishing sides, towards his designe |
| Moues like a Ghost. Thou sowre and firme-set Earth |
| Heare not my steps, which they may walke, for feare |
| Thy very stones prate of my where-about, |
| And take the present horror from the time, |
| Which now sutes with it. Whiles I threat, he liues: |
| Words to the heat of deedes too cold breath giues. |
| |
| A Bell rings. |
| |
| I goe, and it is done: the Bell inuites me. |
| Heare it not, Duncan, for it is a Knell, |
| That summons thee to Heauen, or to Hell. |
| Enter. |
| |
| |
| Scena Secunda. |
| |
| Enter Lady. |
| |
| La. That which hath made the[m] drunk, hath made me bold: |
| What hath quench'd them, hath giuen me fire. |
| Hearke, peace: it was the Owle that shriek'd, |
| The fatall Bell-man, which giues the stern'st good-night. |
| He is about it, the Doores are open: |
| And the surfeted Groomes doe mock their charge |
| With Snores. I haue drugg'd their Possets, |
| That Death and Nature doe contend about them, |
| Whether they liue, or dye. |
| Enter Macbeth. |
| |
| Macb. Who's there? what hoa? |
| Lady. Alack, I am afraid they haue awak'd, |
| And 'tis not done: th' attempt, and not the deed, |
| Confounds vs: hearke: I lay'd their Daggers ready, |
| He could not misse 'em. Had he not resembled |
| My Father as he slept, I had don't. |
| My Husband? |
| Macb. I haue done the deed: |
| Didst thou not heare a noyse? |
| Lady. I heard the Owle schreame, and the Crickets cry. |
| Did not you speake? |
| Macb. When? |
| Lady. Now |
| |
| Macb. As I descended? |
| Lady. I |
| |
| Macb. Hearke, who lyes i'th' second Chamber? |
| Lady. Donalbaine |
| |
| Mac. This is a sorry sight |
| |
| Lady. A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight |
| |
| Macb. There's one did laugh in's sleepe, |
| And one cry'd Murther, that they did wake each other: |
| I stood, and heard them: But they did say their Prayers, |
| And addrest them againe to sleepe |
| |
| Lady. There are two lodg'd together |
| |
| Macb. One cry'd God blesse vs, and Amen the other, |
| As they had seene me with these Hangmans hands: |
| Listning their feare, I could not say Amen, |
| When they did say God blesse vs |
| |
| Lady. Consider it not so deepely |
| |
| Mac. But wherefore could not I pronounce Amen? |
| I had most need of Blessing, and Amen stuck in my throat |
| |
| Lady. These deeds must not be thought |
| After these wayes: so, it will make vs mad |
| |
| Macb. Me thought I heard a voyce cry, Sleep no more: |
| Macbeth does murther Sleepe, the innocent Sleepe, |
| Sleepe that knits vp the rauel'd Sleeue of Care, |
| The death of each dayes Life, sore Labors Bath, |
| Balme of hurt Mindes, great Natures second Course, |
| Chiefe nourisher in Life's Feast |
| |
| Lady. What doe you meane? |
| Macb. Still it cry'd, Sleepe no more to all the House: |
| Glamis hath murther'd Sleepe, and therefore Cawdor |
| Shall sleepe no more: Macbeth shall sleepe no more |
| |
| Lady. Who was it, that thus cry'd? why worthy Thane, |
| You doe vnbend your Noble strength, to thinke |
| So braine-sickly of things: Goe get some Water, |
| And wash this filthie Witnesse from your Hand. |
| Why did you bring these Daggers from the place? |
| They must lye there: goe carry them, and smeare |
| The sleepie Groomes with blood |
| |
| Macb. Ile goe no more: |
| I am afraid, to thinke what I haue done: |
| Looke on't againe, I dare not |
| |
| Lady. Infirme of purpose: |
| Giue me the Daggers: the sleeping, and the dead, |
| Are but as Pictures: 'tis the Eye of Childhood, |
| That feares a painted Deuill. If he doe bleed, |
| Ile guild the Faces of the Groomes withall, |
| For it must seeme their Guilt. |
| Enter. |
| |
| Knocke within. |
| |
| Macb. Whence is that knocking? |
| How is't with me, when euery noyse appalls me? |
| What Hands are here? hah: they pluck out mine Eyes. |
| Will all great Neptunes Ocean wash this blood |
| Cleane from my Hand? no: this my Hand will rather |
| The multitudinous Seas incarnardine, |
| Making the Greene one, Red. |
| Enter Lady. |
| |
| Lady. My Hands are of your colour: but I shame |
| To weare a Heart so white. |
| |
| Knocke. |
| |
| I heare a knocking at the South entry: |
| Retyre we to our Chamber: |
| A little Water cleares vs of this deed. |
| How easie is it then? your Constancie |
| Hath left you vnattended. |
| |
| Knocke. |
| |
| Hearke, more knocking. |
| Get on your Night-Gowne, least occasion call vs, |
| And shew vs to be Watchers: be not lost |
| So poorely in your thoughts |
| |
| Macb. To know my deed, |
| |
| Knocke. |
| |
| 'Twere best not know my selfe. |
| Wake Duncan with thy knocking: |
| I would thou could'st. |
| |
| Exeunt. |
| |
| |
| Scena Tertia. |
| |
| Enter a Porter. Knocking within. |
| |
| Porter. Here's a knocking indeede: if a man were |
| Porter of Hell Gate, hee should haue old turning the |
| Key. |
| |
| Knock. |
| |
| Knock, Knock, Knock. Who's there |
| i'th' name of Belzebub? Here's a Farmer, that hang'd |
| himselfe on th' expectation of Plentie: Come in time, haue |
| Napkins enow about you, here you'le sweat for't. |
| |
| Knock. |
| |
| Knock, knock. Who's there in th' other Deuils Name? |
| Faith here's an Equiuocator, that could sweare in both |
| the Scales against eyther Scale, who committed Treason |
| enough for Gods sake, yet could not equiuocate to Heauen: |
| oh come in, Equiuocator. |
| |
| Knock. |
| |
| Knock, Knock, Knock. Who's there? 'Faith here's an English |
| Taylor come hither, for stealing out of a French Hose: |
| Come in Taylor, here you may rost your Goose. |
| Knock. |
| |
| Knock, Knock. Neuer at quiet: What are you? but this |
| place is too cold for Hell. Ile Deuill-Porter it no further: |
| I had thought to haue let in some of all Professions, that |
| goe the Primrose way to th' euerlasting Bonfire. |
| |
| Knock. |
| |
| Anon, anon, I pray you remember the Porter. |
| Enter Macduff, and Lenox. |
| |
| Macd. Was it so late, friend, ere you went to Bed, |
| That you doe lye so late? |
| Port. Faith Sir, we were carowsing till the second Cock: |
| And Drinke, Sir, is a great prouoker of three things |
| |
| Macd. What three things does Drinke especially |
| prouoke? |
| Port. Marry, Sir, Nose-painting, Sleepe, and Vrine. |
| Lecherie, Sir, it prouokes, and vnprouokes: it prouokes |
| the desire, but it takes away the performance. Therefore |
| much Drinke may be said to be an Equiuocator with Lecherie: |
| it makes him, and it marres him; it sets him on, |
| and it takes him off; it perswades him, and dis-heartens |
| him; makes him stand too, and not stand too: in conclusion, |
| equiuocates him in a sleepe, and giuing him the Lye, |
| leaues him |
| |
| Macd. I beleeue, Drinke gaue thee the Lye last Night |
| |
| Port. That it did, Sir, i'the very Throat on me: but I |
| requited him for his Lye, and (I thinke) being too strong |
| for him, though he tooke vp my Legges sometime, yet I |
| made a Shift to cast him. |
| Enter Macbeth. |
| |
| Macd. Is thy Master stirring? |
| Our knocking ha's awak'd him: here he comes |
| |
| Lenox. Good morrow, Noble Sir |
| |
| Macb. Good morrow both |
| |
| Macd. Is the King stirring, worthy Thane? |
| Macb. Not yet |
| |
| Macd. He did command me to call timely on him, |
| I haue almost slipt the houre |
| |
| Macb. Ile bring you to him |
| |
| Macd. I know this is a ioyfull trouble to you: |
| But yet 'tis one |
| |
| Macb. The labour we delight in, Physicks paine: |
| This is the Doore |
| |
| Macd. Ile make so bold to call, for 'tis my limitted |
| seruice. |
| |
| Exit Macduffe. |
| |
| Lenox. Goes the King hence to day? |
| Macb. He does: he did appoint so |
| |
| Lenox. The Night ha's been vnruly: |
| Where we lay, our Chimneys were blowne downe, |
| And (as they say) lamentings heard i'th' Ayre; |
| Strange Schreemes of Death, |
| And Prophecying, with Accents terrible, |
| Of dyre Combustion, and confus'd Euents, |
| New hatch'd toth' wofull time. |
| The obscure Bird clamor'd the liue-long Night. |
| Some say, the Earth was Feuorous, |
| And did shake |
| |
| Macb. 'Twas a rough Night |
| |
| Lenox. My young remembrance cannot paralell |
| A fellow to it. |
| Enter Macduff. |
| |
| Macd. O horror, horror, horror, |
| Tongue nor Heart cannot conceiue, nor name thee |
| |
| Macb. and Lenox. What's the matter? |
| Macd. Confusion now hath made his Master-peece: |
| Most sacrilegious Murther hath broke ope |
| The Lords anoynted Temple, and stole thence |
| The Life o'th' Building |
| |
| Macb. What is't you say, the Life? |
| Lenox. Meane you his Maiestie? |
| Macd. Approch the Chamber, and destroy your sight |
| With a new Gorgon. Doe not bid me speake: |
| See, and then speake your selues: awake, awake, |
| |
| Exeunt. Macbeth and Lenox. |
| |
| Ring the Alarum Bell: Murther, and Treason, |
| Banquo, and Donalbaine: Malcolme awake, |
| Shake off this Downey sleepe, Deaths counterfeit, |
| And looke on Death it selfe: vp, vp, and see |
| The great Doomes Image: Malcolme, Banquo, |
| As from your Graues rise vp, and walke like Sprights, |
| To countenance this horror. Ring the Bell. |
| |
| Bell rings. Enter Lady. |
| |
| Lady. What's the Businesse? |
| That such a hideous Trumpet calls to parley |
| The sleepers of the House? speake, speake |
| |
| Macd. O gentle Lady, |
| 'Tis not for you to heare what I can speake: |
| The repetition in a Womans eare, |
| Would murther as it fell. |
| Enter Banquo. |
| |
| O Banquo, Banquo, Our Royall Master's murther'd |
| |
| Lady. Woe, alas: |
| What, in our House? |
| Ban. Too cruell, any where. |
| Deare Duff, I prythee contradict thy selfe, |
| And say, it is not so. |
| Enter Macbeth, Lenox, and Rosse. |
| |
| Macb. Had I but dy'd an houre before this chance, |
| I had liu'd a blessed time: for from this instant, |
| There's nothing serious in Mortalitie: |
| All is but Toyes: Renowne and Grace is dead, |
| The Wine of Life is drawne, and the meere Lees |
| Is left this Vault, to brag of. |
| Enter Malcolme and Donalbaine. |
| |
| Donal. What is amisse? |
| Macb. You are, and doe not know't: |
| The Spring, the Head, the Fountaine of your Blood |
| Is stopt, the very Source of it is stopt |
| |
| Macd. Your Royall Father's murther'd |
| |
| Mal. Oh, by whom? |
| Lenox. Those of his Chamber, as it seem'd, had don't: |
| Their Hands and Faces were all badg'd with blood, |
| So were their Daggers, which vnwip'd, we found |
| Vpon their Pillowes: they star'd, and were distracted, |
| No mans Life was to be trusted with them |
| |
| Macb. O, yet I doe repent me of my furie, |
| That I did kill them |
| |
| Macd. Wherefore did you so? |
| Macb. Who can be wise, amaz'd, temp'rate, & furious, |
| Loyall, and Neutrall, in a moment? No man: |
| Th' expedition of my violent Loue |
| Out-run the pawser, Reason. Here lay Duncan, |
| His Siluer skinne, lac'd with His Golden Blood, |
| And his gash'd Stabs, look'd like a Breach in Nature, |
| For Ruines wastfull entrance: there the Murtherers, |
| Steep'd in the Colours of their Trade; their Daggers |
| Vnmannerly breech'd with gore: who could refraine, |
| That had a heart to loue; and in that heart, |
| Courage, to make's loue knowne? |
| Lady. Helpe me hence, hoa |
| |
| Macd. Looke to the Lady |
| |
| Mal. Why doe we hold our tongues, |
| That most may clayme this argument for ours? |
| Donal. What should be spoken here, |
| Where our Fate hid in an augure hole, |
| May rush, and seize vs? Let's away, |
| Our Teares are not yet brew'd |
| |
| Mal. Nor our strong Sorrow |
| Vpon the foot of Motion |
| |
| Banq. Looke to the Lady: |
| And when we haue our naked Frailties hid, |
| That suffer in exposure; let vs meet, |
| And question this most bloody piece of worke, |
| To know it further. Feares and scruples shake vs: |
| In the great Hand of God I stand, and thence, |
| Against the vndivulg'd pretence, I fight |
| Of Treasonous Mallice |
| |
| Macd. And so doe I |
| |
| All. So all |
| |
| Macb. Let's briefely put on manly readinesse, |
| And meet i'th' Hall together |
| |
| All. Well contented. |
| |
| Exeunt. |
| |
| Malc. What will you doe? |
| Let's not consort with them: |
| To shew an vnfelt Sorrow, is an Office |
| Which the false man do's easie. |
| Ile to England |
| |
| Don. To Ireland, I: |
| Our seperated fortune shall keepe vs both the safer: |
| Where we are, there's Daggers in mens smiles; |
| The neere in blood, the neerer bloody |
| |
| Malc. This murtherous Shaft that's shot, |
| Hath not yet lighted: and our safest way, |
| Is to auoid the ayme. Therefore to Horse, |
| And let vs not be daintie of leaue-taking, |
| But shift away: there's warrant in that Theft, |
| Which steales it selfe, when there's no mercie left. |
| |
| Exeunt. |
| |
| |
| |
| Scena Quarta. |
| |
| Enter Rosse, with an Old man. |
| |
| Old man. Threescore and ten I can remember well, |
| Within the Volume of which Time, I haue seene |
| Houres dreadfull, and things strange: but this sore Night |
| Hath trifled former knowings |
| |
| Rosse. Ha, good Father, |
| Thou seest the Heauens, as troubled with mans Act, |
| Threatens his bloody Stage: byth' Clock 'tis Day, |
| And yet darke Night strangles the trauailing Lampe: |
| Is't Nights predominance, or the Dayes shame, |
| That Darknesse does the face of Earth intombe, |
| When liuing Light should kisse it? |
| Old man. 'Tis vnnaturall, |
| Euen like the deed that's done: On Tuesday last, |
| A Faulcon towring in her pride of place, |
| Was by a Mowsing Owle hawkt at, and kill'd |
| |
| Rosse. And Duncans Horses, |
| (A thing most strange, and certaine) |
| Beauteous, and swift, the Minions of their Race, |
| Turn'd wilde in nature, broke their stalls, flong out, |
| Contending 'gainst Obedience, as they would |
| Make Warre with Mankinde |
| |
| Old man. 'Tis said, they eate each other |
| |
| Rosse. They did so: |
| To th' amazement of mine eyes that look'd vpon't. |
| Enter Macduffe. |
| |
| Heere comes the good Macduffe. |
| How goes the world Sir, now? |
| Macd. Why see you not? |
| Ross. Is't known who did this more then bloody deed? |
| Macd. Those that Macbeth hath slaine |
| |
| Ross. Alas the day, |
| What good could they pretend? |
| Macd. They were subborned, |
| Malcolme, and Donalbaine the Kings two Sonnes |
| Are stolne away and fled, which puts vpon them |
| Suspition of the deed |
| |
| Rosse. 'Gainst Nature still, |
| Thriftlesse Ambition, that will rauen vp |
| Thine owne liues meanes: Then 'tis most like, |
| The Soueraignty will fall vpon Macbeth |
| |
| Macd. He is already nam'd, and gone to Scone |
| To be inuested |
| |
| Rosse. Where is Duncans body? |
| Macd. Carried to Colmekill, |
| The Sacred Store-house of his Predecessors, |
| And Guardian of their Bones |
| |
| Rosse. Will you to Scone? |
| Macd. No Cosin, Ile to Fife |
| |
| Rosse. Well, I will thither |
| |
| Macd. Well may you see things wel done there: Adieu |
| Least our old Robes sit easier then our new |
| |
| Rosse. Farewell, Father |
| |
| Old M. Gods benyson go with you, and with those |
| That would make good of bad, and Friends of Foes. |
| |
| Exeunt. omnes |
| |
| Actus Tertius. Scena Prima. |
| |
| Enter Banquo. |
| |
| Banq. Thou hast it now, King, Cawdor, Glamis, all, |
| As the weyard Women promis'd, and I feare |
| Thou playd'st most fowly for't: yet it was saide |
| It should not stand in thy Posterity, |
| But that my selfe should be the Roote, and Father |
| Of many Kings. If there come truth from them, |
| As vpon thee Macbeth, their Speeches shine, |
| Why by the verities on thee made good, |
| May they not be my Oracles as well, |
| And set me vp in hope. But hush, no more. |
| |
| Senit sounded. Enter Macbeth as King, Lady Lenox, Rosse, Lords, |
| and |
| Attendants. |
| |
| Macb. Heere's our chiefe Guest |
| |
| La. If he had beene forgotten, |
| It had bene as a gap in our great Feast, |
| And all-thing vnbecomming |
| |
| Macb. To night we hold a solemne Supper sir, |
| And Ile request your presence |
| |
| Banq. Let your Highnesse |
| Command vpon me, to the which my duties |
| Are with a most indissoluble tye |
| For euer knit |
| |
| Macb. Ride you this afternoone? |
| Ban. I, my good Lord |
| |
| Macb. We should haue else desir'd your good aduice |
| (Which still hath been both graue, and prosperous) |
| In this dayes Councell: but wee'le take to morrow. |
| Is't farre you ride? |
| Ban. As farre, my Lord, as will fill vp the time |
| 'Twixt this, and Supper. Goe not my Horse the better, |
| I must become a borrower of the Night, |
| For a darke houre, or twaine |
| |
| Macb. Faile not our Feast |
| |
| Ban. My Lord, I will not |
| |
| Macb. We heare our bloody Cozens are bestow'd |
| In England, and in Ireland, not confessing |
| Their cruell Parricide, filling their hearers |
| With strange inuention. But of that to morrow, |
| When therewithall, we shall haue cause of State, |
| Crauing vs ioyntly. Hye you to Horse: |
| Adieu, till you returne at Night. |
| Goes Fleance with you? |
| Ban. I, my good Lord: our time does call vpon's |
| |
| Macb. I wish your Horses swift, and sure of foot: |
| And so I doe commend you to their backs. |
| Farwell. |
| |
| Exit Banquo. |
| |
| Let euery man be master of his time, |
| Till seuen at Night, to make societie |
| The sweeter welcome: |
| We will keepe our selfe till Supper time alone: |
| While then, God be with you. |
| |
| Exeunt. Lords. |
| |
| Sirrha, a word with you: Attend those men |
| Our pleasure? |
| Seruant. They are, my Lord, without the Pallace |
| Gate |
| |
| Macb. Bring them before vs. |
| |
| Exit Seruant. |
| |
| To be thus, is nothing, but to be safely thus |
| Our feares in Banquo sticke deepe, |
| And in his Royaltie of Nature reignes that |
| Which would be fear'd. 'Tis much he dares, |
| And to that dauntlesse temper of his Minde, |
| He hath a Wisdome, that doth guide his Valour, |
| To act in safetie. There is none but he, |
| Whose being I doe feare: and vnder him, |
| My Genius is rebuk'd, as it is said |
| Mark Anthonies was by Caesar. He chid the Sisters, |
| When first they put the Name of King vpon me, |
| And bad them speake to him. Then Prophet-like, |
| They hayl'd him Father to a Line of Kings. |
| Vpon my Head they plac'd a fruitlesse Crowne, |
| And put a barren Scepter in my Gripe, |
| Thence to be wrencht with an vnlineall Hand, |
| No Sonne of mine succeeding: if't be so, |
| For Banquo's Issue haue I fil'd my Minde, |
| For them, the gracious Duncan haue I murther'd, |
| Put Rancours in the Vessell of my Peace |
| Onely for them, and mine eternall Iewell |
| Giuen to the common Enemie of Man, |
| To make them Kings, the Seedes of Banquo Kings. |
| Rather then so, come Fate into the Lyst, |
| And champion me to th' vtterance. |
| Who's there? |
| Enter Seruant, and two Murtherers. |
| |
| Now goe to the Doore, and stay there till we call. |
| |
| Exit Seruant. |
| |
| Was it not yesterday we spoke together? |
| Murth. It was, so please your Highnesse |
| |
| Macb. Well then, |
| Now haue you consider'd of my speeches: |
| Know, that it was he, in the times past, |
| Which held you so vnder fortune, |
| Which you thought had been our innocent selfe. |
| This I made good to you, in our last conference, |
| Past in probation with you: |
| How you were borne in hand, how crost: |
| The Instruments: who wrought with them: |
| And all things else, that might |
| To halfe a Soule, and to a Notion craz'd, |
| Say, Thus did Banquo |
| |
| 1.Murth. You made it knowne to vs |
| |
| Macb. I did so: |
| And went further, which is now |
| Our point of second meeting. |
| Doe you finde your patience so predominant, |
| In your nature, that you can let this goe? |
| Are you so Gospell'd, to pray for this good man, |
| And for his Issue, whose heauie hand |
| Hath bow'd you to the Graue, and begger'd |
| Yours for euer? |
| 1.Murth. We are men, my Liege |
| |
| Macb. I, in the Catalogue ye goe for men, |
| As Hounds, and Greyhounds, Mungrels, Spaniels, Curres, |
| Showghes, Water-Rugs, and Demy-Wolues are clipt |
| All by the Name of Dogges: the valued file |
| Distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle, |
| The House-keeper, the Hunter, euery one |
| According to the gift, which bounteous Nature |
| Hath in him clos'd: whereby he does receiue |
| Particular addition, from the Bill, |
| That writes them all alike: and so of men. |
| Now, if you haue a station in the file, |
| Not i'th' worst ranke of Manhood, say't, |
| And I will put that Businesse in your Bosomes, |
| Whose execution takes your Enemie off, |
| Grapples you to the heart; and loue of vs, |
| Who weare our Health but sickly in his Life, |
| Which in his Death were perfect |
| |
| 2.Murth. I am one, my Liege, |
| Whom the vile Blowes and Buffets of the World |
| Hath so incens'd, that I am recklesse what I doe, |
| To spight the World |
| |
| 1.Murth. And I another, |
| So wearie with Disasters, tugg'd with Fortune, |
| That I would set my Life on any Chance, |
| To mend it, or be rid on't |
| |
| Macb. Both of you know Banquo was your Enemie |
| |
| Murth. True, my Lord |
| |
| Macb. So is he mine: and in such bloody distance, |
| That euery minute of his being, thrusts |
| Against my neer'st of Life: and though I could |
| With bare-fac'd power sweepe him from my sight, |
| And bid my will auouch it; yet I must not, |
| For certaine friends that are both his, and mine, |
| Whose loues I may not drop, but wayle his fall, |
| Who I my selfe struck downe: and thence it is, |
| That I to your assistance doe make loue, |
| Masking the Businesse from the common Eye, |
| For sundry weightie Reasons |
| |
| 2.Murth. We shall, my Lord, |
| Performe what you command vs |
| |
| 1.Murth. Though our Liues- |
| Macb. Your Spirits shine through you. |
| Within this houre, at most, |
| I will aduise you where to plant your selues, |
| Acquaint you with the perfect Spy o'th' time, |
| The moment on't, for't must be done to Night, |
| And something from the Pallace: alwayes thought, |
| That I require a clearenesse; and with him, |
| To leaue no Rubs nor Botches in the Worke: |
| Fleans , his Sonne, that keepes him companie, |
| Whose absence is no lesse materiall to me, |
| Then is his Fathers, must embrace the fate |
| Of that darke houre: resolue your selues apart, |
| Ile come to you anon |
| |
| Murth. We are resolu'd, my Lord |
| |
| Macb. Ile call vpon you straight: abide within, |
| It is concluded: Banquo, thy Soules flight, |
| If it finde Heauen, must finde it out to Night. |
| |
| Exeunt. |
| |
| |
| Scena Secunda. |
| |
| Enter Macbeths Lady, and a Seruant. |
| |
| Lady. Is Banquo gone from Court? |
| Seruant. I, Madame, but returnes againe to Night |
| |
| Lady. Say to the King, I would attend his leysure, |
| For a few words |
| |
| Seruant. Madame, I will. |
| Enter. |
| |
| Lady. Nought's had, all's spent. |
| Where our desire is got without content: |
| 'Tis safer, to be that which we destroy, |
| Then by destruction dwell in doubtfull ioy. |
| Enter Macbeth. |
| |
| How now, my Lord, why doe you keepe alone? |
| Of sorryest Fancies your Companions making, |
| Vsing those Thoughts, which should indeed haue dy'd |
| With them they thinke on: things without all remedie |
| Should be without regard: what's done, is done |
| |
| Macb. We haue scorch'd the Snake, not kill'd it: |
| Shee'le close, and be her selfe, whilest our poore Mallice |
| Remaines in danger of her former Tooth. |
| But let the frame of things dis-ioynt, |
| Both the Worlds suffer, |
| Ere we will eate our Meale in feare, and sleepe |
| In the affliction of these terrible Dreames, |
| That shake vs Nightly: Better be with the dead, |
| Whom we, to gayne our peace, haue sent to peace, |
| Then on the torture of the Minde to lye |
| In restlesse extasie. |
| Duncane is in his Graue: |
| After Lifes fitfull Feuer, he sleepes well, |
| Treason ha's done his worst: nor Steele, nor Poyson, |
| Mallice domestique, forraine Leuie, nothing, |
| Can touch him further |
| |
| Lady. Come on: |
| Gentle my Lord, sleeke o're your rugged Lookes, |
| Be bright and Iouiall among your Guests to Night |
| |
| Macb. So shall I Loue, and so I pray be you: |
| Let your remembrance apply to Banquo, |
| Present him Eminence, both with Eye and Tongue: |
| Vnsafe the while, that wee must laue |
| Our Honors in these flattering streames, |
| And make our Faces Vizards to our Hearts, |
| Disguising what they are |
| |
| Lady. You must leaue this |
| |
| Macb. O, full of Scorpions is my Minde, deare Wife: |
| Thou know'st, that Banquo and his Fleans liues |
| |
| Lady. But in them, Natures Coppie's not eterne |
| |
| Macb. There's comfort yet, they are assaileable, |
| Then be thou iocund: ere the Bat hath flowne |
| His Cloyster'd flight, ere to black Heccats summons |
| The shard-borne Beetle, with his drowsie hums, |
| Hath rung Nights yawning Peale, |
| There shall be done a deed of dreadfull note |
| |
| Lady. What's to be done? |
| Macb. Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest Chuck, |
| Till thou applaud the deed: Come, seeling Night, |
| Skarfe vp the tender Eye of pittifull Day, |
| And with thy bloodie and inuisible Hand |
| Cancell and teare to pieces that great Bond, |
| Which keepes me pale. Light thickens, |
| And the Crow makes Wing toth' Rookie Wood: |
| Good things of Day begin to droope, and drowse, |
| Whiles Nights black Agents to their Prey's doe rowse. |
| Thou maruell'st at my words: but hold thee still, |
| Things bad begun, make strong themselues by ill: |
| So prythee goe with me. |
| |
| Exeunt. |
| |
| |
| Scena Tertia. |
| |
| Enter three Murtherers. |
| |
| 1. But who did bid thee ioyne with vs? |
| 3. Macbeth |
| |
| 2. He needes not our mistrust, since he deliuers |
| Our Offices, and what we haue to doe, |
| To the direction iust |
| |
| 1. Then stand with vs: |
| The West yet glimmers with some streakes of Day. |
| Now spurres the lated Traueller apace, |
| To gayne the timely Inne, and neere approches |
| The subiect of our Watch |
| |
| 3. Hearke, I heare Horses |
| |
| Banquo within. Giue vs a Light there, hoa |
| |
| 2. Then 'tis hee: |
| The rest, that are within the note of expectation, |
| Alreadie are i'th' Court |
| |
| 1. His Horses goe about |
| |
| 3. Almost a mile: but he does vsually, |
| So all men doe, from hence toth' Pallace Gate |
| Make it their Walke. |
| Enter Banquo and Fleans, with a Torch. |
| |
| 2. A Light, a Light |
| |
| 3. 'Tis hee |
| |
| 1. Stand too't |
| |
| Ban. It will be Rayne to Night |
| |
| 1. Let it come downe |
| |
| Ban. O, Trecherie! |
| Flye good Fleans, flye, flye, flye, |
| Thou may'st reuenge. O Slaue! |
| 3. Who did strike out the Light? |
| 1. Was't not the way? |
| 3. There's but one downe: the Sonne is fled |
| |
| 2. We haue lost |
| Best halfe of our Affaire |
| |
| 1. Well, let's away, and say how much is done. |
| |
| Exeunt. |
| |
| |
| Scaena Quarta. |
| |
| Banquet prepar'd. Enter Macbeth, Lady, Rosse, Lenox, Lords, and |
| Attendants. |
| |
| Macb. You know your owne degrees, sit downe: |
| At first and last, the hearty welcome |
| |
| Lords. Thankes to your Maiesty |
| |
| Macb. Our selfe will mingle with Society, |
| And play the humble Host: |
| Our Hostesse keepes her State, but in best time |
| We will require her welcome |
| |
| La. Pronounce it for me Sir, to all our Friends, |
| For my heart speakes, they are welcome. |
| Enter first Murtherer. |
| |
| Macb. See they encounter thee with their harts thanks |
| Both sides are euen: heere Ile sit i'th' mid'st, |
| Be large in mirth, anon wee'l drinke a Measure |
| The Table round. There's blood vpon thy face |
| |
| Mur. 'Tis Banquo's then |
| |
| Macb. 'Tis better thee without, then he within. |
| Is he dispatch'd? |
| Mur. My Lord his throat is cut, that I did for him |
| |
| Mac. Thou art the best o'th' Cut-throats, |
| Yet hee's good that did the like for Fleans: |
| If thou did'st it, thou art the Non-pareill |
| |
| Mur. Most Royall Sir |
| Fleans is scap'd |
| |
| Macb. Then comes my Fit againe: |
| I had else beene perfect; |
| Whole as the Marble, founded as the Rocke, |
| As broad, and generall, as the casing Ayre: |
| But now I am cabin'd, crib'd, confin'd, bound in |
| To sawcy doubts, and feares. But Banquo's safe? |
| Mur. I, my good Lord: safe in a ditch he bides, |
| With twenty trenched gashes on his head; |
| The least a Death to Nature |
| |
| Macb. Thankes for that: |
| There the growne Serpent lyes, the worme that's fled |
| Hath Nature that in time will Venom breed, |
| No teeth for th' present. Get thee gone, to morrow |
| Wee'l heare our selues againe. |
| |
| Exit Murderer. |
| |
| Lady. My Royall Lord, |
| You do not giue the Cheere, the Feast is sold |
| That is not often vouch'd, while 'tis a making: |
| 'Tis giuen, with welcome: to feede were best at home: |
| From thence, the sawce to meate is Ceremony, |
| Meeting were bare without it. |
| Enter the Ghost of Banquo, and sits in Macbeths place. |
| |
| Macb. Sweet Remembrancer: |
| Now good digestion waite on Appetite, |
| And health on both |
| |
| Lenox. May't please your Highnesse sit |
| |
| Macb. Here had we now our Countries Honor, roof'd, |
| Were the grac'd person of our Banquo present: |
| Who, may I rather challenge for vnkindnesse, |
| Then pitty for Mischance |
| |
| Rosse. His absence (Sir) |
| Layes blame vpon his promise. Pleas't your Highnesse |
| To grace vs with your Royall Company? |
| Macb. The Table's full |
| |
| Lenox. Heere is a place reseru'd Sir |
| |
| Macb. Where? |
| Lenox. Heere my good Lord. |
| What is't that moues your Highnesse? |
| Macb. Which of you haue done this? |
| Lords. What, my good Lord? |
| Macb. Thou canst not say I did it: neuer shake |
| Thy goary lockes at me |
| |
| Rosse. Gentlemen rise, his Highnesse is not well |
| |
| Lady. Sit worthy Friends: my Lord is often thus, |
| And hath beene from his youth. Pray you keepe Seat, |
| The fit is momentary, vpon a thought |
| He will againe be well. If much you note him |
| You shall offend him, and extend his Passion, |
| Feed, and regard him not. Are you a man? |
| Macb. I, and a bold one, that dare looke on that |
| Which might appall the Diuell |
| |
| La. O proper stuffe: |
| This is the very painting of your feare: |
| This is the Ayre-drawne-Dagger which you said |
| Led you to Duncan. O, these flawes and starts |
| (Impostors to true feare) would well become |
| A womans story, at a Winters fire |
| Authoriz'd by her Grandam: shame it selfe, |
| Why do you make such faces? When all's done |
| You looke but on a stoole |
| |
| Macb. Prythee see there: |
| Behold, looke, loe, how say you: |
| Why what care I, if thou canst nod, speake too. |
| If Charnell houses, and our Graues must send |
| Those that we bury, backe; our Monuments |
| Shall be the Mawes of Kytes |
| |
| La. What? quite vnmann'd in folly |
| |
| Macb. If I stand heere, I saw him |
| |
| La. Fie for shame |
| |
| Macb. Blood hath bene shed ere now, i'th' olden time |
| Ere humane Statute purg'd the gentle Weale: |
| I, and since too, Murthers haue bene perform'd |
| Too terrible for the eare. The times has bene, |
| That when the Braines were out, the man would dye, |
| And there an end: But now they rise againe |
| With twenty mortall murthers on their crownes, |
| And push vs from our stooles. This is more strange |
| Then such a murther is |
| |
| La. My worthy Lord |
| Your Noble Friends do lacke you |
| |
| Macb. I do forget: |
| Do not muse at me my most worthy Friends, |
| I haue a strange infirmity, which is nothing |
| To those that know me. Come, loue and health to all, |
| Then Ile sit downe: Giue me some Wine, fill full: |
| Enter Ghost. |
| |
| I drinke to th' generall ioy o'th' whole Table, |
| And to our deere Friend Banquo, whom we misse: |
| Would he were heere: to all, and him we thirst, |
| And all to all |
| |
| Lords. Our duties, and the pledge |
| |
| Mac. Auant, & quit my sight, let the earth hide thee: |
| Thy bones are marrowlesse, thy blood is cold: |
| Thou hast no speculation in those eyes |
| Which thou dost glare with |
| |
| La. Thinke of this good Peeres |
| But as a thing of Custome: 'Tis no other, |
| Onely it spoyles the pleasure of the time |
| |
| Macb. What man dare, I dare: |
| Approach thou like the rugged Russian Beare, |
| The arm'd Rhinoceros, or th' Hircan Tiger, |
| Take any shape but that, and my firme Nerues |
| Shall neuer tremble. Or be aliue againe, |
| And dare me to the Desart with thy Sword: |
| If trembling I inhabit then, protest mee |
| The Baby of a Girle. Hence horrible shadow, |
| Vnreall mock'ry hence. Why so, being gone |
| I am a man againe: pray you sit still |
| |
| La. You haue displac'd the mirth, |
| Broke the good meeting, with most admir'd disorder |
| |
| Macb. Can such things be, |
| And ouercome vs like a Summers Clowd, |
| Without our speciall wonder? You make me strange |
| Euen to the disposition that I owe, |
| When now I thinke you can behold such sights, |
| And keepe the naturall Rubie of your Cheekes, |
| When mine is blanch'd with feare |
| |
| Rosse. What sights, my Lord? |
| La. I pray you speake not: he growes worse & worse |
| Question enrages him: at once, goodnight. |
| Stand not vpon the order of your going, |
| But go at once |
| |
| Len. Good night, and better health |
| Attend his Maiesty |
| |
| La. A kinde goodnight to all. |
| |
| Exit Lords. |
| |
| Macb. It will haue blood they say: |
| Blood will haue Blood: |
| Stones haue beene knowne to moue, & Trees to speake: |
| Augures, and vnderstood Relations, haue |
| By Maggot Pyes, & Choughes, & Rookes brought forth |
| The secret'st man of Blood. What is the night? |
| La. Almost at oddes with morning, which is which |
| |
| Macb. How say'st thou that Macduff denies his person |
| At our great bidding |
| |
| La. Did you send to him Sir? |
| Macb. I heare it by the way: But I will send: |
| There's not a one of them but in his house |
| I keepe a Seruant Feed. I will to morrow |
| (And betimes I will) to the weyard Sisters. |
| More shall they speake: for now I am bent to know |
| By the worst meanes, the worst, for mine owne good, |
| All causes shall giue way. I am in blood |
| Stept in so farre, that should I wade no more, |
| Returning were as tedious as go ore: |
| Strange things I haue in head, that will to hand, |
| Which must be acted, ere they may be scand |
| |
| La. You lacke the season of all Natures, sleepe |
| |
| Macb. Come, wee'l to sleepe: My strange & self-abuse |
| Is the initiate feare, that wants hard vse: |
| We are yet but yong indeed. |
| |
| Exeunt. |
| |
| |
| Scena Quinta. |
| |
| Thunder. Enter the three Witches, meeting Hecat. |
| |
| 1. Why how now Hecat, you looke angerly? |
| Hec. Haue I not reason (Beldams) as you are? |
| Sawcy, and ouer-bold, how did you dare |
| To Trade, and Trafficke with Macbeth, |
| In Riddles, and Affaires of death; |
| And I the Mistris of your Charmes, |
| The close contriuer of all harmes, |
| Was neuer call'd to beare my part, |
| Or shew the glory of our Art? |
| And which is worse, all you haue done |
| Hath bene but for a wayward Sonne, |
| Spightfull, and wrathfull, who (as others do) |
| Loues for his owne ends, not for you. |
| But make amends now: Get you gon, |
| And at the pit of Acheron |
| Meete me i'th' Morning: thither he |
| Will come, to know his Destinie. |
| Your Vessels, and your Spels prouide, |
| Your Charmes, and euery thing beside; |
| I am for th' Ayre: This night Ile spend |
| Vnto a dismall, and a Fatall end. |
| Great businesse must be wrought ere Noone. |
| Vpon the Corner of the Moone |
| There hangs a vap'rous drop, profound, |
| Ile catch it ere it come to ground; |
| And that distill'd by Magicke slights, |
| Shall raise such Artificiall Sprights, |
| As by the strength of their illusion, |
| Shall draw him on to his Confusion. |
| He shall spurne Fate, scorne Death, and beare |
| His hopes 'boue Wisedome, Grace, and Feare: |
| And you all know, Security |
| Is Mortals cheefest Enemie. |
| |
| Musicke, and a Song. |
| |
| Hearke, I am call'd: my little Spirit see |
| Sits in Foggy cloud, and stayes for me. |
| |
| Sing within. Come away, come away, &c. |
| |
| 1 Come, let's make hast, shee'l soone be |
| Backe againe. |
| |
| Exeunt. |
| |
| |
| Scaena Sexta. |
| |
| Enter Lenox, and another Lord. |
| |
| Lenox. My former Speeches, |
| Haue but hit your Thoughts |
| Which can interpret farther: Onely I say |
| Things haue bin strangely borne. The gracious Duncan |
| Was pittied of Macbeth: marry he was dead: |
| And the right valiant Banquo walk'd too late, |
| Whom you may say (if't please you) Fleans kill'd, |
| For Fleans fled: Men must not walke too late. |
| Who cannot want the thought, how monstrous |
| It was for Malcolme, and for Donalbane |
| To kill their gracious Father? Damned Fact, |
| How it did greeue Macbeth? Did he not straight |
| In pious rage, the two delinquents teare, |
| That were the Slaues of drinke, and thralles of sleepe? |
| Was not that Nobly done? I, and wisely too: |
| For 'twould haue anger'd any heart aliue |
| To heare the men deny't. So that I say, |
| He ha's borne all things well, and I do thinke, |
| That had he Duncans Sonnes vnder his Key, |
| (As, and't please Heauen he shall not) they should finde |
| What 'twere to kill a Father: So should Fleans. |
| But peace; for from broad words, and cause he fayl'd |
| His presence at the Tyrants Feast, I heare |
| Macduffe liues in disgrace. Sir, can you tell |
| Where he bestowes himselfe? |
| Lord. The Sonnes of Duncane |
| (From whom this Tyrant holds the due of Birth) |
| Liues in the English Court, and is receyu'd |
| Of the most Pious Edward, with such grace, |
| That the maleuolence of Fortune, nothing |
| Takes from his high respect. Thither Macduffe |
| Is gone, to pray the Holy King, vpon his ayd |
| To wake Northumberland, and warlike Seyward, |
| That by the helpe of these (with him aboue) |
| To ratifie the Worke) we may againe |
| Giue to our Tables meate, sleepe to our Nights: |
| Free from our Feasts, and Banquets bloody kniues; |
| Do faithfull Homage, and receiue free Honors, |
| All which we pine for now. And this report |
| Hath so exasperate their King, that hee |
| Prepares for some attempt of Warre |
| |
| Len. Sent he to Macduffe? |
| Lord. He did: and with an absolute Sir, not I |
| The clowdy Messenger turnes me his backe, |
| And hums; as who should say, you'l rue the time |
| That clogges me with this Answer |
| |
| Lenox. And that well might |
| Aduise him to a Caution, t' hold what distance |
| His wisedome can prouide. Some holy Angell |
| Flye to the Court of England, and vnfold |
| His Message ere he come, that a swift blessing |
| May soone returne to this our suffering Country, |
| Vnder a hand accurs'd |
| |
| Lord. Ile send my Prayers with him. |
| |
| Exeunt. |
| |
| Actus Quartus. Scena Prima. |
| |
| Thunder. Enter the three Witches. |
| |
| 1 Thrice the brinded Cat hath mew'd |
| |
| 2 Thrice, and once the Hedge-Pigge whin'd |
| |
| 3 Harpier cries, 'tis time, 'tis time |
| |
| 1 Round about the Caldron go: |
| In the poysond Entrailes throw |
| Toad, that vnder cold stone, |
| Dayes and Nights, ha's thirty one: |
| Sweltred Venom sleeping got, |
| Boyle thou first i'th' charmed pot |
| |
| All. Double, double, toile and trouble; |
| Fire burne, and Cauldron bubble |
| |
| 2 Fillet of a Fenny Snake, |
| In the Cauldron boyle and bake: |
| Eye of Newt, and Toe of Frogge, |
| Wooll of Bat, and Tongue of Dogge: |
| Adders Forke, and Blinde-wormes Sting, |
| Lizards legge, and Howlets wing: |
| For a Charme of powrefull trouble, |
| Like a Hell-broth, boyle and bubble |
| |
| All. Double, double, toyle and trouble, |
| Fire burne, and Cauldron bubble |
| |
| 3 Scale of Dragon, Tooth of Wolfe, |
| Witches Mummey, Maw, and Gulfe |
| Of the rauin'd salt Sea sharke: |
| Roote of Hemlocke, digg'd i'th' darke: |
| Liuer of Blaspheming Iew, |
| Gall of Goate, and Slippes of Yew, |
| Sliuer'd in the Moones Ecclipse: |
| Nose of Turke, and Tartars lips: |
| Finger of Birth-strangled Babe, |
| Ditch-deliuer'd by a Drab, |
| Make the Grewell thicke, and slab. |
| Adde thereto a Tigers Chawdron, |
| For th' Ingredience of our Cawdron |
| |
| All. Double, double, toyle and trouble, |
| Fire burne, and Cauldron bubble |
| |
| 2 Coole it with a Baboones blood, |
| Then the Charme is firme and good. |
| Enter Hecat, and the other three Witches. |
| |
| Hec. O well done: I commend your paines, |
| And euery one shall share i'th' gaines: |
| And now about the Cauldron sing |
| Like Elues and Fairies in a Ring, |
| Inchanting all that you put in. |
| |
| Musicke and a Song. Blacke Spirits, &c. |
| |
| 2 By the pricking of my Thumbes, |
| Something wicked this way comes: |
| Open Lockes, who euer knockes. |
| Enter Macbeth. |
| |
| Macb. How now you secret, black, & midnight Hags? |
| What is't you do? |
| All. A deed without a name |
| |
| Macb. I coniure you, by that which you Professe, |
| (How ere you come to know it) answer me: |
| Though you vntye the Windes, and let them fight |
| Against the Churches: Though the yesty Waues |
| Confound and swallow Nauigation vp: |
| Though bladed Corne be lodg'd, & Trees blown downe, |
| Though Castles topple on their Warders heads: |
| Though Pallaces, and Pyramids do slope |
| Their heads to their Foundations: Though the treasure |
| Of Natures Germaine, tumble altogether, |
| Euen till destruction sicken: Answer me |
| To what I aske you |
| |
| 1 Speake |
| |
| 2 Demand |
| |
| 3 Wee'l answer |
| |
| 1 Say, if th'hadst rather heare it from our mouthes, |
| Or from our Masters |
| |
| Macb. Call 'em: let me see 'em |
| |
| 1 Powre in Sowes blood, that hath eaten |
| Her nine Farrow: Greaze that's sweaten |
| From the Murderers Gibbet, throw |
| Into the Flame |
| |
| All. Come high or low: |
| Thy Selfe and Office deaftly show. |
| Thunder. 1. Apparation, an Armed Head. |
| |
| Macb. Tell me, thou vnknowne power |
| |
| 1 He knowes thy thought: |
| Heare his speech, but say thou nought |
| |
| 1 Appar. Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth: |
| Beware Macduffe, |
| Beware the Thane of Fife: dismisse me. Enough. |
| |
| He Descends. |
| |
| Macb. What ere thou art, for thy good caution, thanks |
| Thou hast harp'd my feare aright. But one word more |
| |
| 1 He will not be commanded: heere's another |
| More potent then the first. |
| |
| Thunder. 2 Apparition, a Bloody Childe. |
| |
| 2 Appar. Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth |
| |
| Macb. Had I three eares, Il'd heare thee |
| |
| Appar. Be bloody, bold, & resolute: |
| Laugh to scorne |
| The powre of man: For none of woman borne |
| Shall harme Macbeth. |
| |
| Descends. |
| |
| Mac. Then liue Macduffe: what need I feare of thee? |
| But yet Ile make assurance: double sure, |
| And take a Bond of Fate: thou shalt not liue, |
| That I may tell pale-hearted Feare, it lies; |
| And sleepe in spight of Thunder. |
| |
| Thunder 3 Apparation, a Childe Crowned, with a Tree in his hand. |
| |
| What is this, that rises like the issue of a King, |
| And weares vpon his Baby-brow, the round |
| And top of Soueraignty? |
| All. Listen, but speake not too't |
| |
| 3 Appar. Be Lyon metled, proud, and take no care: |
| Who chafes, who frets, or where Conspirers are: |
| Macbeth shall neuer vanquish'd be, vntill |
| Great Byrnam Wood, to high Dunsmane Hill |
| Shall come against him. |
| |
| Descend. |
| |
| Macb. That will neuer bee: |
| Who can impresse the Forrest, bid the Tree |
| Vnfixe his earth-bound Root? Sweet boadments, good: |
| Rebellious dead, rise neuer till the Wood |
| Of Byrnan rise, and our high plac'd Macbeth |
| Shall liue the Lease of Nature, pay his breath |
| To time, and mortall Custome. Yet my Hart |
| Throbs to know one thing: Tell me, if your Art |
| Can tell so much: Shall Banquo's issue euer |
| Reigne in this Kingdome? |
| All. Seeke to know no more |
| |
| Macb. I will be satisfied. Deny me this, |
| And an eternall Curse fall on you: Let me know. |
| Why sinkes that Caldron? & what noise is this? |
| |
| Hoboyes |
| |
| 1 Shew |
| |
| 2 Shew |
| |
| 3 Shew |
| |
| All. Shew his Eyes, and greeue his Hart, |
| Come like shadowes, so depart. |
| |
| A shew of eight Kings, and Banquo last, with a glasse in his hand. |
| |
| Macb. Thou art too like the Spirit of Banquo: Down: |
| Thy Crowne do's seare mine Eye-bals. And thy haire |
| Thou other Gold-bound-brow, is like the first: |
| A third, is like the former. Filthy Hagges, |
| Why do you shew me this? - A fourth? Start eyes! |
| What will the Line stretch out to'th' cracke of Doome? |
| Another yet? A seauenth? Ile see no more: |
| And yet the eighth appeares, who beares a glasse, |
| Which shewes me many more: and some I see, |
| That two-fold Balles, and trebble Scepters carry. |
| Horrible sight: Now I see 'tis true, |
| For the Blood-bolter'd Banquo smiles vpon me, |
| And points at them for his. What? is this so? |
| 1 I Sir, all this is so. But why |
| Stands Macbeth thus amazedly? |
| Come Sisters, cheere we vp his sprights, |
| And shew the best of our delights. |
| Ile Charme the Ayre to giue a sound, |
| While you performe your Antique round: |
| That this great King may kindly say, |
| Our duties, did his welcome pay. |
| |
| Musicke. The Witches Dance, and vanish. |
| |
| Macb. Where are they? Gone? |
| Let this pernitious houre, |
| Stand aye accursed in the Kalender. |
| Come in, without there. |
| Enter Lenox. |
| |
| Lenox. What's your Graces will |
| |
| Macb. Saw you the Weyard Sisters? |
| Lenox. No my Lord |
| |
| Macb. Came they not by you? |
| Lenox. No indeed my Lord |
| |
| Macb. Infected be the Ayre whereon they ride, |
| And damn'd all those that trust them. I did heare |
| The gallopping of Horse. Who was't came by? |
| Len. 'Tis two or three my Lord, that bring you word: |
| Macduff is fled to England |
| |
| Macb. Fled to England? |
| Len. I, my good Lord |
| |
| Macb. Time, thou anticipat'st my dread exploits: |
| The flighty purpose neuer is o're-tooke |
| Vnlesse the deed go with it. From this moment, |
| The very firstlings of my heart shall be |
| The firstlings of my hand. And euen now |
| To Crown my thoughts with Acts: be it thoght & done: |
| The Castle of Macduff, I will surprize. |
| Seize vpon Fife; giue to th' edge o'th' Sword |
| His Wife, his Babes, and all vnfortunate Soules |
| That trace him in his Line. No boasting like a Foole, |
| This deed Ile do, before this purpose coole, |
| But no more sights. Where are these Gentlemen? |
| Come bring me where they are. |
| |
| Exeunt. |
| |
| Scena Secunda. |
| |
| Enter Macduffes Wife, her Son, and Rosse. |
| |
| Wife. What had he done, to make him fly the Land? |
| Rosse. You must haue patience Madam |
| |
| Wife. He had none: |
| His flight was madnesse: when our Actions do not, |
| Our feares do make vs Traitors |
| |
| Rosse. You know not |
| Whether it was his wisedome, or his feare |
| |
| Wife. Wisedom? to leaue his wife, to leaue his Babes, |
| His Mansion, and his Titles, in a place |
| From whence himselfe do's flye? He loues vs not, |
| He wants the naturall touch. For the poore Wren |
| (The most diminitiue of Birds) will fight, |
| Her yong ones in her Nest, against the Owle: |
| All is the Feare, and nothing is the Loue; |
| As little is the Wisedome, where the flight |
| So runnes against all reason |
| |
| Rosse. My deerest Cooz, |
| I pray you schoole your selfe. But for your Husband, |
| He is Noble, Wise, Iudicious, and best knowes |
| The fits o'th' Season. I dare not speake much further, |
| But cruell are the times, when we are Traitors |
| And do not know our selues: when we hold Rumor |
| From what we feare, yet know not what we feare, |
| But floate vpon a wilde and violent Sea |
| Each way, and moue. I take my leaue of you: |
| Shall not be long but Ile be heere againe: |
| Things at the worst will cease, or else climbe vpward, |
| To what they were before. My pretty Cosine, |
| Blessing vpon you |
| |
| Wife. Father'd he is, |
| And yet hee's Father-lesse |
| |
| Rosse. I am so much a Foole, should I stay longer |
| It would be my disgrace, and your discomfort. |
| I take my leaue at once. |
| |
| Exit Rosse. |
| |
| Wife. Sirra, your Fathers dead, |
| And what will you do now? How will you liue? |
| Son. As Birds do Mother |
| |
| Wife. What with Wormes, and Flyes? |
| Son. With what I get I meane, and so do they |
| |
| Wife. Poore Bird, |
| Thou'dst neuer Feare the Net, nor Lime, |
| The Pitfall, nor the Gin |
| |
| Son. Why should I Mother? |
| Poore Birds they are not set for: |
| My Father is not dead for all your saying |
| |
| Wife. Yes, he is dead: |
| How wilt thou do for a Father? |
| Son. Nay how will you do for a Husband? |
| Wife. Why I can buy me twenty at any Market |
| |
| Son. Then you'l by 'em to sell againe |
| |
| Wife. Thou speak'st withall thy wit, |
| And yet I'faith with wit enough for thee |
| |
| Son. Was my Father a Traitor, Mother? |
| Wife. I, that he was |
| |
| Son. What is a Traitor? |
| Wife. Why one that sweares, and lyes |
| |
| Son. And be all Traitors, that do so |
| |
| Wife. Euery one that do's so, is a Traitor, |
| And must be hang'd |
| |
| Son. And must they all be hang'd, that swear and lye? |
| Wife. Euery one |
| |
| Son. Who must hang them? |
| Wife. Why, the honest men |
| |
| Son. Then the Liars and Swearers are Fools: for there |
| are Lyars and Swearers enow, to beate the honest men, |
| and hang vp them |
| |
| Wife. Now God helpe thee, poore Monkie: |
| But how wilt thou do for a Father? |
| Son. If he were dead, youl'd weepe for him: if you |
| would not, it were a good signe, that I should quickely |
| haue a new Father |
| |
| Wife. Poore pratler, how thou talk'st? |
| Enter a Messenger. |
| |
| Mes. Blesse you faire Dame: I am not to you known, |
| Though in your state of Honor I am perfect; |
| I doubt some danger do's approach you neerely. |
| If you will take a homely mans aduice, |
| Be not found heere: Hence with your little ones |
| To fright you thus. Me thinkes I am too sauage: |
| To do worse to you, were fell Cruelty, |
| Which is too nie your person. Heauen preserue you, |
| I dare abide no longer. |
| |
| Exit Messenger |
| |
| Wife. Whether should I flye? |
| I haue done no harme. But I remember now |
| I am in this earthly world: where to do harme |
| Is often laudable, to do good sometime |
| Accounted dangerous folly. Why then (alas) |
| Do I put vp that womanly defence, |
| To say I haue done no harme? |
| What are these faces? |
| Enter Murtherers. |
| |
| Mur. Where is your Husband? |
| Wife. I hope in no place so vnsanctified, |
| Where such as thou may'st finde him |
| |
| Mur. He's a Traitor |
| |
| Son. Thou ly'st thou shagge-ear'd Villaine |
| |
| Mur. What you Egge? |
| Yong fry of Treachery? |
| Son. He ha's kill'd me Mother, |
| Run away I pray you. |
| |
| Exit crying Murther. |
| |
| |
| Scaena Tertia. |
| |
| Enter Malcolme and Macduffe. |
| |
| Mal. Let vs seeke out some desolate shade, & there |
| Weepe our sad bosomes empty |
| |
| Macd. Let vs rather |
| Hold fast the mortall Sword: and like good men, |
| Bestride our downfall Birthdome: each new Morne, |
| New Widdowes howle, new Orphans cry, new sorowes |
| Strike heauen on the face, that it resounds |
| As if it felt with Scotland, and yell'd out |
| Like Syllable of Dolour |
| |
| Mal. What I beleeue, Ile waile; |
| What know, beleeue; and what I can redresse, |
| As I shall finde the time to friend: I wil. |
| What you haue spoke, it may be so perchance. |
| This Tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues, |
| Was once thought honest: you haue lou'd him well, |
| He hath not touch'd you yet. I am yong, but something |
| You may discerne of him through me, and wisedome |
| To offer vp a weake, poore innocent Lambe |
| T' appease an angry God |
| |
| Macd. I am not treacherous |
| |
| Malc. But Macbeth is. |
| A good and vertuous Nature may recoyle |
| In an Imperiall charge. But I shall craue your pardon: |
| That which you are, my thoughts cannot transpose; |
| Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell. |
| Though all things foule, would wear the brows of grace |
| Yet Grace must still looke so |
| |
| Macd. I haue lost my Hopes |
| |
| Malc. Perchance euen there |
| Where I did finde my doubts. |
| Why in that rawnesse left you Wife, and Childe? |
| Those precious Motiues, those strong knots of Loue, |
| Without leaue-taking. I pray you, |
| Let not my Iealousies, be your Dishonors, |
| But mine owne Safeties: you may be rightly iust, |
| What euer I shall thinke |
| |
| Macd. Bleed, bleed poore Country, |
| Great Tyrrany, lay thou thy basis sure, |
| For goodnesse dare not check thee: wear y thy wrongs, |
| The Title, is affear'd. Far thee well Lord, |
| I would not be the Villaine that thou think'st, |
| For the whole Space that's in the Tyrants Graspe, |
| And the rich East to boot |
| |
| Mal. Be not offended: |
| I speake not as in absolute feare of you: |
| I thinke our Country sinkes beneath the yoake, |
| It weepes, it bleeds, and each new day a gash |
| Is added to her wounds. I thinke withall, |
| There would be hands vplifted in my right: |
| And heere from gracious England haue I offer |
| Of goodly thousands. But for all this, |
| When I shall treade vpon the Tyrants head, |
| Or weare it on my Sword; yet my poore Country |
| Shall haue more vices then it had before, |
| More suffer, and more sundry wayes then euer, |
| By him that shall succeede |
| |
| Macd. What should he be? |
| Mal. It is my selfe I meane: in whom I know |
| All the particulars of Vice so grafted, |
| That when they shall be open'd, blacke Macbeth |
| Will seeme as pure as Snow, and the poore State |
| Esteeme him as a Lambe, being compar'd |
| With my confinelesse harmes |
| |
| Macd. Not in the Legions |
| Of horrid Hell, can come a Diuell more damn'd |
| In euils, to top Macbeth |
| |
| Mal. I grant him Bloody, |
| Luxurious, Auaricious, False, Deceitfull, |
| Sodaine, Malicious, smacking of euery sinne |
| That ha's a name. But there's no bottome, none |
| In my Voluptuousnesse: Your Wiues, your Daughters, |
| Your Matrons, and your Maides, could not fill vp |
| The Cesterne of my Lust, and my Desire |
| All continent Impediments would ore-beare |
| That did oppose my will. Better Macbeth, |
| Then such an one to reigne |
| |
| Macd. Boundlesse intemperance |
| In Nature is a Tyranny: It hath beene |
| Th' vntimely emptying of the happy Throne, |
| And fall of many Kings. But feare not yet |
| To take vpon you what is yours: you may |
| Conuey your pleasures in a spacious plenty, |
| And yet seeme cold. The time you may so hoodwinke: |
| We haue willing Dames enough: there cannot be |
| That Vulture in you, to deuoure so many |
| As will to Greatnesse dedicate themselues, |
| Finding it so inclinde |
| |
| Mal. With this, there growes |
| In my most ill-composd Affection, such |
| A stanchlesse Auarice, that were I King, |
| I should cut off the Nobles for their Lands, |
| Desire his Iewels, and this others House, |
| And my more-hauing, would be as a Sawce |
| To make me hunger more, that I should forge |
| Quarrels vniust against the Good and Loyall, |
| Destroying them for wealth |
| |
| Macd. This Auarice |
| stickes deeper: growes with more pernicious roote |
| Then Summer-seeming Lust: and it hath bin |
| The Sword of our slaine Kings: yet do not feare, |
| Scotland hath Foysons, to fill vp your will |
| Of your meere Owne. All these are portable, |
| With other Graces weigh'd |
| |
| Mal. But I haue none. The King-becoming Graces, |
| As Iustice, Verity, Temp'rance, Stablenesse, |
| Bounty, Perseuerance, Mercy, Lowlinesse, |
| Deuotion, Patience, Courage, Fortitude, |
| I haue no rellish of them, but abound |
| In the diuision of each seuerall Crime, |
| Acting it many wayes. Nay, had I powre, I should |
| Poure the sweet Milke of Concord, into Hell, |
| Vprore the vniuersall peace, confound |
| All vnity on earth |
| |
| Macd. O Scotland, Scotland |
| |
| Mal. If such a one be fit to gouerne, speake: |
| I am as I haue spoken |
| |
| Mac. Fit to gouern? No not to liue. O Natio[n] miserable! |
| With an vntitled Tyrant, bloody Sceptred, |
| When shalt thou see thy wholsome dayes againe? |
| Since that the truest Issue of thy Throne |
| By his owne Interdiction stands accust, |
| And do's blaspheme his breed? Thy Royall Father |
| Was a most Sainted-King: the Queene that bore thee, |
| Oftner vpon her knees, then on her feet, |
| Dy'de euery day she liu'd. Fare thee well, |
| These Euils thou repeat'st vpon thy selfe, |
| Hath banish'd me from Scotland. O my Brest, |
| Thy hope ends heere |
| |
| Mal. Macduff, this Noble passion |
| Childe of integrity, hath from my soule |
| Wip'd the blacke Scruples, reconcil'd my thoughts |
| To thy good Truth, and Honor. Diuellish Macbeth, |
| By many of these traines, hath sought to win me |
| Into his power: and modest Wisedome pluckes me |
| From ouer-credulous hast: but God aboue |
| Deale betweene thee and me; For euen now |
| I put my selfe to thy Direction, and |
| Vnspeake mine owne detraction. Heere abiure |
| The taints, and blames I laide vpon my selfe, |
| For strangers to my Nature. I am yet |
| Vnknowne to Woman, neuer was forsworne, |
| Scarsely haue coueted what was mine owne. |
| At no time broke my Faith, would not betray |
| The Deuill to his Fellow, and delight |
| No lesse in truth then life. My first false speaking |
| Was this vpon my selfe. What I am truly |
| Is thine, and my poore Countries to command: |
| Whither indeed, before they heere approach |
| Old Seyward with ten thousand warlike men |
| Already at a point, was setting foorth: |
| Now wee'l together, and the chance of goodnesse |
| Be like our warranted Quarrell. Why are you silent? |
| Macd. Such welcome, and vnwelcom things at once |
| 'Tis hard to reconcile. |
| Enter a Doctor. |
| |
| Mal. Well, more anon. Comes the King forth |
| I pray you? |
| Doct. I Sir: there are a crew of wretched Soules |
| That stay his Cure: their malady conuinces |
| The great assay of Art. But at his touch, |
| Such sanctity hath Heauen giuen his hand, |
| They presently amend. |
| Enter. |
| |
| Mal. I thanke you Doctor |
| |
| Macd. What's the Disease he meanes? |
| Mal. Tis call'd the Euill. |
| A most myraculous worke in this good King, |
| Which often since my heere remaine in England, |
| I haue seene him do: How he solicites heauen |
| Himselfe best knowes: but strangely visited people |
| All swolne and Vlcerous, pittifull to the eye, |
| The meere dispaire of Surgery, he cures, |
| Hanging a golden stampe about their neckes, |
| Put on with holy Prayers, and 'tis spoken |
| To the succeeding Royalty he leaues |
| The healing Benediction. With this strange vertue, |
| He hath a heauenly guift of Prophesie, |
| And sundry Blessings hang about his Throne, |
| That speake him full of Grace. |
| Enter Rosse. |
| |
| Macd. See who comes heere |
| |
| Malc. My Countryman: but yet I know him not |
| |
| Macd. My euer gentle Cozen, welcome hither |
| |
| Malc. I know him now. Good God betimes remoue |
| The meanes that makes vs Strangers |
| |
| Rosse. Sir, Amen |
| |
| Macd. Stands Scotland where it did? |
| Rosse. Alas poore Countrey, |
| Almost affraid to know it selfe. It cannot |
| Be call'd our Mother, but our Graue; where nothing |
| But who knowes nothing, is once seene to smile: |
| Where sighes, and groanes, and shrieks that rent the ayre |
| Are made, not mark'd: Where violent sorrow seemes |
| A Moderne extasie: The Deadmans knell, |
| Is there scarse ask'd for who, and good mens liues |
| Expire before the Flowers in their Caps, |
| Dying, or ere they sicken |
| |
| Macd. Oh Relation; too nice, and yet too true |
| |
| Malc. What's the newest griefe? |
| Rosse. That of an houres age, doth hisse the speaker, |
| Each minute teemes a new one |
| |
| Macd. How do's my Wife? |
| Rosse. Why well |
| |
| Macd. And all my Children? |
| Rosse. Well too |
| |
| Macd. The Tyrant ha's not batter'd at their peace? |
| Rosse. No, they were wel at peace, when I did leaue 'em |
| Macd. Be not a niggard of your speech: How gos't? |
| Rosse. When I came hither to transport the Tydings |
| Which I haue heauily borne, there ran a Rumour |
| Of many worthy Fellowes, that were out, |
| Which was to my beleefe witnest the rather, |
| For that I saw the Tyrants Power a-foot. |
| Now is the time of helpe: your eye in Scotland |
| Would create Soldiours, make our women fight, |
| To doffe their dire distresses |
| |
| Malc. Bee't their comfort |
| We are comming thither: Gracious England hath |
| Lent vs good Seyward, and ten thousand men, |
| An older, and a better Souldier, none |
| That Christendome giues out |
| |
| Rosse. Would I could answer |
| This comfort with the like. But I haue words |
| That would be howl'd out in the desert ayre, |
| Where hearing should not latch them |
| |
| Macd. What concerne they, |
| The generall cause, or is it a Fee-griefe |
| Due to some single brest? |
| Rosse. No minde that's honest |
| But in it shares some woe, though the maine part |
| Pertaines to you alone |
| |
| Macd. If it be mine |
| Keepe it not from me, quickly let me haue it |
| |
| Rosse. Let not your eares dispise my tongue for euer, |
| Which shall possesse them with the heauiest sound |
| that euer yet they heard |
| |
| Macd. Humh: I guesse at it |
| |
| Rosse. Your Castle is surpriz'd: your Wife, and Babes |
| Sauagely slaughter'd: To relate the manner |
| Were on the Quarry of these murther'd Deere |
| To adde the death of you |
| |
| Malc. Mercifull Heauen: |
| What man, ne're pull your hat vpon your browes: |
| Giue sorrow words; the griefe that do's not speake, |
| Whispers the o're-fraught heart, and bids it breake |
| |
| Macd. My Children too? |
| Ro. Wife, Children, Seruants, all that could be found |
| |
| Macd. And I must be from thence? My wife kil'd too? |
| Rosse. I haue said |
| |
| Malc. Be comforted. |
| Let's make vs Med'cines of our great Reuenge, |
| To cure this deadly greefe |
| |
| Macd. He ha's no Children. All my pretty ones? |
| Did you say All? Oh Hell-Kite! All? |
| What, All my pretty Chickens, and their Damme |
| At one fell swoope? |
| Malc. Dispute it like a man |
| |
| Macd. I shall do so: |
| But I must also feele it as a man; |
| I cannot but remember such things were |
| That were most precious to me: Did heauen looke on, |
| And would not take their part? Sinfull Macduff, |
| They were all strooke for thee: Naught that I am, |
| Not for their owne demerits, but for mine |
| Fell slaughter on their soules: Heauen rest them now |
| |
| Mal. Be this the Whetstone of your sword, let griefe |
| Conuert to anger: blunt not the heart, enrage it |
| |
| Macd. O I could play the woman with mine eyes, |
| And Braggart with my tongue. But gentle Heauens, |
| Cut short all intermission: Front to Front, |
| Bring thou this Fiend of Scotland, and my selfe |
| Within my Swords length set him, if he scape |
| Heauen forgiue him too |
| |
| Mal. This time goes manly: |
| Come go we to the King, our Power is ready, |
| Our lacke is nothing but our leaue. Macbeth |
| Is ripe for shaking, and the Powres aboue |
| Put on their Instruments: Receiue what cheere you may, |
| The Night is long, that neuer findes the Day. |
| |
| Exeunt. |
| |
| Actus Quintus. Scena Prima. |
| |
| Enter a Doctor of Physicke, and a Wayting Gentlewoman. |
| |
| Doct. I haue too Nights watch'd with you, but can |
| perceiue no truth in your report. When was it shee last |
| walk'd? |
| Gent. Since his Maiesty went into the Field, I haue |
| seene her rise from her bed, throw her Night-Gown vppon |
| her, vnlocke her Closset, take foorth paper, folde it, |
| write vpon't, read it, afterwards Seale it, and againe returne |
| to bed; yet all this while in a most fast sleepe |
| |
| Doct. A great perturbation in Nature, to receyue at |
| once the benefit of sleep, and do the effects of watching. |
| In this slumbry agitation, besides her walking, and other |
| actuall performances, what (at any time) haue you heard |
| her say? |
| Gent. That Sir, which I will not report after her |
| |
| Doct. You may to me, and 'tis most meet you should |
| |
| Gent. Neither to you, nor any one, hauing no witnesse |
| to confirme my speech. |
| Enter Lady, with a Taper. |
| |
| Lo you, heere she comes: This is her very guise, and vpon |
| my life fast asleepe: obserue her, stand close |
| |
| Doct. How came she by that light? |
| Gent. Why it stood by her: she ha's light by her continually, |
| 'tis her command |
| |
| Doct. You see her eyes are open |
| |
| Gent. I, but their sense are shut |
| |
| Doct. What is it she do's now? |
| Looke how she rubbes her hands |
| |
| Gent. It is an accustom'd action with her, to seeme |
| thus washing her hands: I haue knowne her continue in |
| this a quarter of an houre |
| |
| Lad. Yet heere's a spot |
| |
| Doct. Heark, she speaks, I will set downe what comes |
| from her, to satisfie my remembrance the more strongly |
| |
| La. Out damned spot: out I say. One: Two: Why |
| then 'tis time to doo't: Hell is murky. Fye, my Lord, fie, |
| a Souldier, and affear'd? what need we feare? who knowes |
| it, when none can call our powre to accompt: yet who |
| would haue thought the olde man to haue had so much |
| blood in him |
| |
| Doct. Do you marke that? |
| Lad. The Thane of Fife, had a wife: where is she now? |
| What will these hands ne're be cleane? No more o'that |
| my Lord, no more o'that: you marre all with this starting |
| |
| Doct. Go too, go too: |
| You haue knowne what you should not |
| |
| Gent. She ha's spoke what shee should not, I am sure |
| of that: Heauen knowes what she ha's knowne |
| |
| La. Heere's the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes |
| of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. |
| Oh, oh, oh |
| |
| Doct. What a sigh is there? The hart is sorely charg'd |
| |
| Gent. I would not haue such a heart in my bosome, |
| for the dignity of the whole body |
| |
| Doct. Well, well, well |
| |
| Gent. Pray God it be sir |
| |
| Doct. This disease is beyond my practise: yet I haue |
| knowne those which haue walkt in their sleep, who haue |
| dyed holily in their beds |
| |
| Lad. Wash your hands, put on your Night-Gowne, |
| looke not so pale: I tell you yet againe Banquo's buried; |
| he cannot come out on's graue |
| |
| Doct. Euen so? |
| Lady. To bed, to bed: there's knocking at the gate: |
| Come, come, come, come, giue me your hand: What's |
| done, cannot be vndone. To bed, to bed, to bed. |
| |
| Exit Lady. |
| |
| Doct. Will she go now to bed? |
| Gent. Directly |
| |
| Doct. Foule whisp'rings are abroad: vnnaturall deeds |
| Do breed vnnaturall troubles: infected mindes |
| To their deafe pillowes will discharge their Secrets: |
| More needs she the Diuine, then the Physitian: |
| God, God forgiue vs all. Looke after her, |
| Remoue from her the meanes of all annoyance, |
| And still keepe eyes vpon her: So goodnight, |
| My minde she ha's mated, and amaz'd my sight. |
| I thinke, but dare not speake |
| |
| Gent. Good night good Doctor. |
| |
| Exeunt. |
| |
| |
| Scena Secunda. |
| |
| Drum and Colours. Enter Menteth, Cathnes, Angus, Lenox, |
| Soldiers. |
| |
| Ment. The English powre is neere, led on by Malcolm, |
| His Vnkle Seyward, and the good Macduff. |
| Reuenges burne in them: for their deere causes |
| Would to the bleeding, and the grim Alarme |
| Excite the mortified man |
| |
| Ang. Neere Byrnan wood |
| Shall we well meet them, that way are they comming |
| |
| Cath. Who knowes if Donalbane be with his brother? |
| Len. For certaine Sir, he is not: I haue a File |
| Of all the Gentry; there is Seywards Sonne, |
| And many vnruffe youths, that euen now |
| Protest their first of Manhood |
| |
| Ment. What do's the Tyrant |
| |
| Cath. Great Dunsinane he strongly Fortifies: |
| Some say hee's mad: Others, that lesser hate him, |
| Do call it valiant Fury, but for certaine |
| He cannot buckle his distemper'd cause |
| Within the belt of Rule |
| |
| Ang. Now do's he feele |
| His secret Murthers sticking on his hands, |
| Now minutely Reuolts vpbraid his Faith-breach: |
| Those he commands, moue onely in command, |
| Nothing in loue: Now do's he feele his Title |
| Hang loose about him, like a Giants Robe |
| Vpon a dwarfish Theefe |
| |
| Ment. Who then shall blame |
| His pester'd Senses to recoyle, and start, |
| When all that is within him, do's condemne |
| It selfe, for being there |
| |
| Cath. Well, march we on, |
| To giue Obedience, where 'tis truly ow'd: |
| Meet we the Med'cine of the sickly Weale, |
| And with him poure we in our Countries purge, |
| Each drop of vs |
| |
| Lenox. Or so much as it needes, |
| To dew the Soueraigne Flower, and drowne the Weeds: |
| Make we our March towards Birnan. |
| |
| Exeunt. marching. |
| |
| |
| Scaena Tertia. |
| |
| Enter Macbeth, Doctor, and Attendants. |
| |
| Macb. Bring me no more Reports, let them flye all: |
| Till Byrnane wood remoue to Dunsinane, |
| I cannot taint with Feare. What's the Boy Malcolme? |
| Was he not borne of woman? The Spirits that know |
| All mortall Consequences, haue pronounc'd me thus: |
| Feare not Macbeth, no man that's borne of woman |
| Shall ere haue power vpon thee. Then fly false Thanes, |
| And mingle with the English Epicures, |
| The minde I sway by, and the heart I beare, |
| Shall neuer sagge with doubt, nor shake with feare. |
| Enter Seruant. |
| |
| The diuell damne thee blacke, thou cream-fac'd Loone: |
| Where got'st thou that Goose-looke |
| |
| Ser. There is ten thousand |
| |
| Macb. Geese Villaine? |
| Ser. Souldiers Sir |
| |
| Macb. Go pricke thy face, and ouer-red thy feare |
| Thou Lilly-liuer'd Boy. What Soldiers, Patch? |
| Death of thy Soule, those Linnen cheekes of thine |
| Are Counsailers to feare. What Soldiers Whay-face? |
| Ser. The English Force, so please you |
| |
| Macb. Take thy face hence. Seyton, I am sick at hart, |
| When I behold: Seyton, I say, this push |
| Will cheere me euer, or dis-eate me now. |
| I haue liu'd long enough: my way of life |
| Is falne into the Seare, the yellow Leafe, |
| And that which should accompany Old-Age, |
| As Honor, Loue, Obedience, Troopes of Friends, |
| I must not looke to haue: but in their steed, |
| Curses, not lowd but deepe, Mouth-honor, breath |
| Which the poore heart would faine deny, and dare not. |
| Seyton? |
| Enter Seyton. |
| |
| Sey. What's your gracious pleasure? |
| Macb. What Newes more? |
| Sey. All is confirm'd my Lord, which was reported |
| |
| Macb. Ile fight, till from my bones, my flesh be hackt. |
| Giue me my Armor |
| |
| Seyt. 'Tis not needed yet |
| |
| Macb. Ile put it on: |
| Send out moe Horses, skirre the Country round, |
| Hang those that talke of Feare. Giue me mine Armor: |
| How do's your Patient, Doctor? |
| Doct. Not so sicke my Lord, |
| As she is troubled with thicke-comming Fancies |
| That keepe her from her rest |
| |
| Macb. Cure of that: |
| Can'st thou not Minister to a minde diseas'd, |
| Plucke from the Memory a rooted Sorrow, |
| Raze out the written troubles of the Braine, |
| And with some sweet Obliuious Antidote |
| Cleanse the stufft bosome, of that perillous stuffe |
| Which weighes vpon the heart? |
| Doct. Therein the Patient |
| Must minister to himselfe |
| |
| Macb. Throw Physicke to the Dogs, Ile none of it. |
| Come, put mine Armour on: giue me my Staffe: |
| Seyton, send out: Doctor, the Thanes flye from me: |
| Come sir, dispatch. If thou could'st Doctor, cast |
| The Water of my Land, finde her Disease, |
| And purge it to a sound and pristine Health, |
| I would applaud thee to the very Eccho, |
| That should applaud againe. Pull't off I say, |
| What Rubarb, Cyme, or what Purgatiue drugge |
| Would scowre these English hence: hear'st y of them? |
| Doct. I my good Lord: your Royall Preparation |
| Makes vs heare something |
| |
| Macb. Bring it after me: |
| I will not be affraid of Death and Bane, |
| Till Birnane Forrest come to Dunsinane |
| |
| Doct. Were I from Dunsinane away, and cleere, |
| Profit againe should hardly draw me heere. |
| |
| Exeunt. |
| |
| Scena Quarta. |
| |
| Drum and Colours. Enter Malcolme, Seyward, Macduffe, |
| Seywards Sonne, |
| Menteth, Cathnes, Angus, and Soldiers Marching. |
| |
| Malc. Cosins, I hope the dayes are neere at hand |
| That Chambers will be safe |
| |
| Ment. We doubt it nothing |
| |
| Seyw. What wood is this before vs? |
| Ment. The wood of Birnane |
| |
| Malc. Let euery Souldier hew him downe a Bough, |
| And bear't before him, thereby shall we shadow |
| The numbers of our Hoast, and make discouery |
| Erre in report of vs |
| |
| Sold. It shall be done |
| |
| Syw. We learne no other, but the confident Tyrant |
| Keepes still in Dunsinane, and will indure |
| Our setting downe befor't |
| |
| Malc. 'Tis his maine hope: |
| For where there is aduantage to be giuen, |
| Both more and lesse haue giuen him the Reuolt, |
| And none serue with him, but constrained things, |
| Whose hearts are absent too |
| |
| Macd. Let our iust Censures |
| Attend the true euent, and put we on |
| Industrious Souldiership |
| |
| Sey. The time approaches, |
| That will with due decision make vs know |
| What we shall say we haue, and what we owe: |
| Thoughts speculatiue, their vnsure hopes relate, |
| But certaine issue, stroakes must arbitrate, |
| Towards which, aduance the warre. |
| |
| Exeunt. marching |
| |
| Scena Quinta. |
| |
| Enter Macbeth, Seyton, & Souldiers, with Drum and Colours. |
| |
| Macb. Hang out our Banners on the outward walls, |
| The Cry is still, they come: our Castles strength |
| Will laugh a Siedge to scorne: Heere let them lye, |
| Till Famine and the Ague eate them vp: |
| Were they not forc'd with those that should be ours, |
| We might haue met them darefull, beard to beard, |
| And beate them backward home. What is that noyse? |
| |
| A Cry within of Women. |
| |
| Sey. It is the cry of women, my good Lord |
| |
| Macb. I haue almost forgot the taste of Feares: |
| The time ha's beene, my sences would haue cool'd |
| To heare a Night-shrieke, and my Fell of haire |
| Would at a dismall Treatise rowze, and stirre |
| As life were in't. I haue supt full with horrors, |
| Direnesse familiar to my slaughterous thoughts |
| Cannot once start me. Wherefore was that cry? |
| Sey. The Queene (my Lord) is dead |
| |
| Macb. She should haue dy'de heereafter; |
| There would haue beene a time for such a word: |
| To morrow, and to morrow, and to morrow, |
| Creepes in this petty pace from day to day, |
| To the last Syllable of Recorded time: |
| And all our yesterdayes, haue lighted Fooles |
| The way to dusty death. Out, out, breefe Candle, |
| Life's but a walking Shadow, a poore Player, |
| That struts and frets his houre vpon the Stage, |
| And then is heard no more. It is a Tale |
| Told by an Ideot, full of sound and fury |
| Signifying nothing. |
| Enter a Messenger. |
| |
| Thou com'st to vse thy Tongue: thy Story quickly |
| |
| Mes. Gracious my Lord, |
| I should report that which I say I saw, |
| But know not how to doo't |
| |
| Macb. Well, say sir |
| |
| Mes. As I did stand my watch vpon the Hill |
| I look'd toward Byrnane, and anon me thought |
| The Wood began to moue |
| |
| Macb. Lyar, and Slaue |
| |
| Mes. Let me endure your wrath, if't be not so: |
| Within this three Mile may you see it comming. |
| I say, a mouing Groue |
| |
| Macb. If thou speak'st false, |
| Vpon the next Tree shall thou hang aliue |
| Till Famine cling thee: If thy speech be sooth, |
| I care not if thou dost for me as much. |
| I pull in Resolution, and begin |
| To doubt th' Equiuocation of the Fiend, |
| That lies like truth. Feare not, till Byrnane Wood |
| Do come to Dunsinane, and now a Wood |
| Comes toward Dunsinane. Arme, Arme, and out, |
| If this which he auouches, do's appeare, |
| There is nor flying hence, nor tarrying here. |
| I 'ginne to be a-weary of the Sun, |
| And wish th' estate o'th' world were now vndon. |
| Ring the Alarum Bell, blow Winde, come wracke, |
| At least wee'l dye with Harnesse on our backe. |
| |
| Exeunt. |
| |
| Scena Sexta. |
| |
| Drumme and Colours. Enter Malcolme, Seyward, Macduffe, and |
| their Army, |
| with Boughes. |
| |
| Mal. Now neere enough: |
| Your leauy Skreenes throw downe, |
| And shew like those you are: You (worthy Vnkle) |
| Shall with my Cosin your right Noble Sonne |
| Leade our first Battell. Worthy Macduffe, and wee |
| Shall take vpon's what else remaines to do, |
| According to our order |
| |
| Sey. Fare you well: |
| Do we but finde the Tyrants power to night, |
| Let vs be beaten, if we cannot fight |
| |
| Macd. Make all our Trumpets speak, giue the[m] all breath |
| Those clamorous Harbingers of Blood, & Death. |
| |
| Exeunt. |
| |
| Alarums continued. |
| |
| |
| Scena Septima. |
| |
| Enter Macbeth. |
| |
| Macb. They haue tied me to a stake, I cannot flye, |
| But Beare-like I must fight the course. What's he |
| That was not borne of Woman? Such a one |
| Am I to feare, or none. |
| Enter young Seyward. |
| |
| Y.Sey. What is thy name? |
| Macb. Thou'lt be affraid to heare it |
| |
| Y.Sey. No: though thou call'st thy selfe a hoter name |
| Then any is in hell |
| |
| Macb. My name's Macbeth |
| |
| Y.Sey. The diuell himselfe could not pronounce a Title |
| More hatefull to mine eare |
| |
| Macb. No: nor more fearefull |
| |
| Y.Sey. Thou lyest abhorred Tyrant, with my Sword |
| Ile proue the lye thou speak'st. |
| |
| Fight, and young Seyward slaine. |
| |
| Macb. Thou was't borne of woman; |
| But Swords I smile at, Weapons laugh to scorne, |
| Brandish'd by man that's of a Woman borne. |
| Enter. |
| |
| Alarums. Enter Macduffe. |
| |
| Macd. That way the noise is: Tyrant shew thy face, |
| If thou beest slaine, and with no stroake of mine, |
| My Wife and Childrens Ghosts will haunt me still: |
| I cannot strike at wretched Kernes, whose armes |
| Are hyr'd to beare their Staues; either thou Macbeth, |
| Or else my Sword with an vnbattered edge |
| I sheath againe vndeeded. There thou should'st be, |
| By this great clatter, one of greatest note |
| Seemes bruited. Let me finde him Fortune, |
| And more I begge not. |
| |
| Exit. Alarums. |
| |
| Enter Malcolme and Seyward. |
| |
| Sey. This way my Lord, the Castles gently rendred: |
| The Tyrants people, on both sides do fight, |
| The Noble Thanes do brauely in the Warre, |
| The day almost it selfe professes yours, |
| And little is to do |
| |
| Malc. We haue met with Foes |
| That strike beside vs |
| |
| Sey. Enter Sir, the Castle. |
| |
| Exeunt. Alarum |
| |
| Enter Macbeth. |
| |
| Macb. Why should I play the Roman Foole, and dye |
| On mine owne sword? whiles I see liues, the gashes |
| Do better vpon them. |
| Enter Macduffe. |
| |
| Macd. Turne Hell-hound, turne |
| |
| Macb. Of all men else I haue auoyded thee: |
| But get thee backe, my soule is too much charg'd |
| With blood of thine already |
| |
| Macd. I haue no words, |
| My voice is in my Sword, thou bloodier Villaine |
| Then tearmes can giue thee out. |
| |
| Fight: Alarum |
| |
| Macb. Thou loosest labour |
| As easie may'st thou the intrenchant Ayre |
| With thy keene Sword impresse, as make me bleed: |
| Let fall thy blade on vulnerable Crests, |
| I beare a charmed Life, which must not yeeld |
| To one of woman borne |
| |
| Macd. Dispaire thy Charme, |
| And let the Angell whom thou still hast seru'd |
| Tell thee, Macduffe was from his Mothers womb |
| Vntimely ript |
| |
| Macb. Accursed be that tongue that tels mee so; |
| For it hath Cow'd my better part of man: |
| And be these Iugling Fiends no more beleeu'd, |
| That palter with vs in a double sence, |
| That keepe the word of promise to our eare, |
| And breake it to our hope. Ile not fight with thee |
| |
| Macd. Then yeeld thee Coward, |
| And liue to be the shew, and gaze o'th' time. |
| Wee'l haue thee, as our rarer Monsters are |
| Painted vpon a pole, and vnder-writ, |
| Heere may you see the Tyrant |
| |
| Macb. I will not yeeld |
| To kisse the ground before young Malcolmes feet, |
| And to be baited with the Rabbles curse. |
| Though Byrnane wood be come to Dunsinane, |
| And thou oppos'd, being of no woman borne, |
| Yet I will try the last. Before my body, |
| I throw my warlike Shield: Lay on Macduffe, |
| And damn'd be him, that first cries hold, enough. |
| |
| Exeunt. fighting. Alarums. |
| |
| Enter Fighting, and Macbeth slaine. |
| |
| Retreat, and Flourish. Enter with Drumme and Colours, Malcolm, |
| Seyward, |
| Rosse, Thanes, & Soldiers. |
| |
| Mal. I would the Friends we misse, were safe arriu'd |
| |
| Sey. Some must go off: and yet by these I see, |
| So great a day as this is cheapely bought |
| |
| Mal. Macduffe is missing, and your Noble Sonne |
| |
| Rosse. Your son my Lord, ha's paid a souldiers debt, |
| He onely liu'd but till he was a man, |
| The which no sooner had his Prowesse confirm'd |
| In the vnshrinking station where he fought, |
| But like a man he dy'de |
| |
| Sey. Then he is dead? |
| Rosse. I, and brought off the field: your cause of sorrow |
| Must not be measur'd by his worth, for then |
| It hath no end |
| |
| Sey. Had he his hurts before? |
| Rosse. I, on the Front |
| |
| Sey. Why then, Gods Soldier be he: |
| Had I as many Sonnes, as I haue haires, |
| I would not wish them to a fairer death: |
| And so his Knell is knoll'd |
| |
| Mal. Hee's worth more sorrow, |
| and that Ile spend for him |
| |
| Sey. 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 Macduffe, with Macbeths head. |
| |
| Macd. Haile King, for so thou art. |
| Behold where stands |
| Th' Vsurpers cursed head: the time is free: |
| I see thee compast with thy Kingdomes Pearle, |
| That speake my salutation in their minds: |
| Whose voyces I desire alowd with mine. |
| Haile King of Scotland |
| |
| All. Haile King of Scotland. |
| |
| Flourish. |
| |
| Mal. We shall not spend a large expence of time, |
| Before we reckon with your seuerall loues, |
| And make vs euen with you. My Thanes and Kinsmen |
| Henceforth be Earles, the first that euer Scotland |
| In such an Honor 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 watchfull Tyranny, |
| Producing forth the cruell Ministers |
| Of this dead Butcher, and his Fiend-like Queene; |
| Who (as 'tis thought) by selfe and violent hands, |
| Tooke off her life. This, and what need full else |
| That call's vpon vs, by the Grace of Grace, |
| We will performe in measure, time, and place: |
| So thankes to all at once, and to each one, |
| Whom we inuite, to see vs Crown'd at Scone. |
| |
| Flourish. Exeunt Omnes. |
| |
| |
| FINIS. THE TRAGEDIE OF MACBETH. |