The Tragedy of Macbeth




William Shakespeare





SCENE I. A desert place. 3

SCENE II. A camp near Forres. 5

SCENE III. A heath near Forres. 9

SCENE IV. Forres. The palace. 17

SCENE V. Inverness. Macbeth's castle. 20

SCENE VI. Before Macbeth's castle. 23

SCENE VII. Macbeth's castle. 25


SCENE I. Court of Macbeth's castle. 29

SCENE II. The same. 32

SCENE III. The same. 37

SCENE IV. Outside Macbeth's castle. 46


SCENE I. Forres. The palace. 49

SCENE II. The palace. 55

SCENE III. A park near the palace. 58

SCENE IV. The same. Hall in the palace. 61

SCENE V. A Heath. 69

SCENE VI. Forres. The palace. 71

ACT IV.. 73

SCENE I. A cavern. In the middle, a boiling cauldron. 73

SCENE II. Fife. Macduff's castle. 82

SCENE III. England. Before the King's palace. 88

ACT V.. 99

SCENE I. Dunsinane. Ante-room in the castle. 99

SCENE II. The country near Dunsinane. 103

SCENE III. Dunsinane. A room in the castle. 105

SCENE IV. Country near Birnam wood. 109

SCENE V. Dunsinane. Within the castle. 111

SCENE VI. Dunsinane. Before the castle. 114

SCENE VII. Another part of the field. 115

SCENE VIII. Another part of the field. 117



SCENE I. A desert place.


    Thunder and lightning. Enter three Witches


First Witch


    When shall we three meet again

    In thunder, lightning, or in rain?


Second Witch


    When the hurlyburly's done,

    When the battle's lost and won.


Third Witch


    That will be ere the set of sun.


First Witch


    Where the place?


Second Witch


    Upon the heath.


Third Witch


    There to meet with Macbeth.


First Witch


    I come, Graymalkin!


Second Witch


    Paddock calls.


Third Witch






    Fair is foul, and foul is fair:

    Hover through the fog and filthy air.




SCENE II. A camp near Forres.


    Alarum within. Enter DUNCAN, MALCOLM, DONALBAIN, LENNOX, with Attendants, meeting a bleeding Sergeant




    What bloody man is that? He can report,

    As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt

    The newest state.




    This is the sergeant

    Who like a good and hardy soldier fought

    'Gainst my captivity. Hail, brave friend!

    Say to the king the knowledge of the broil

    As thou didst leave it.




    Doubtful it stood;

    As two spent swimmers, that do cling together

    And choke their art. The merciless Macdonwald--

    Worthy to be a rebel, for to that

    The multiplying villanies of nature

    Do swarm upon him--from the western isles

    Of kerns and gallowglasses is supplied;

    And fortune, on his damned quarrel smiling,

    Show'd like a rebel's whore: but all's too weak:

    For brave Macbeth--well he deserves that name--

    Disdaining fortune, with his brandish'd steel,

    Which smoked with bloody execution,

    Like valour's minion carved out his passage

    Till he faced the slave;

    Which ne'er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him,

    Till he unseam'd him from the nave to the chaps,

    And fix'd his head upon our battlements.




    O valiant cousin! worthy gentleman!




    As whence the sun 'gins his reflection

    Shipwrecking storms and direful thunders break,

    So from that spring whence comfort seem'd to come

    Discomfort swells. Mark, king of Scotland, mark:

    No sooner justice had with valour arm'd

    Compell'd these skipping kerns to trust their heels,

    But the Norweyan lord surveying vantage,

    With furbish'd arms and new supplies of men

    Began a fresh assault.




    Dismay'd not this

    Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo?





    As sparrows eagles, or the hare the lion.

    If I say sooth, I must report they were

    As cannons overcharged with double cracks, so they

    Doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe:

    Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds,

    Or memorise another Golgotha,

    I cannot tell.

    But I am faint, my gashes cry for help.




    So well thy words become thee as thy wounds;

    They smack of honour both. Go get him surgeons.


    Exit Sergeant, attended

    Who comes here?


    Enter ROSS




    The worthy thane of Ross.




    What a haste looks through his eyes! So should he look

    That seems to speak things strange.




    God save the king!




    Whence camest thou, worthy thane?




    From Fife, great king;

    Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky

    And fan our people cold. Norway himself,

    With terrible numbers,

    Assisted by that most disloyal traitor

    The thane of Cawdor, began a dismal conflict;

    Till that Bellona's bridegroom, lapp'd in proof,

    Confronted him with self-comparisons,

    Point against point rebellious, arm 'gainst arm.

    Curbing his lavish spirit: and, to conclude,

    The victory fell on us.




    Great happiness!




    That now

    Sweno, the Norways' king, craves composition:

    Nor would we deign him burial of his men

    Till he disbursed at Saint Colme's inch

    Ten thousand dollars to our general use.




    No more that thane of Cawdor shall deceive

    Our bosom interest: go pronounce his present death,

    And with his former title greet Macbeth.




    I'll see it done.




    What he hath lost noble Macbeth hath won.




SCENE III. A heath near Forres.


    Thunder. Enter the three Witches


First Witch


    Where hast thou been, sister?


Second Witch


    Killing swine.


Third Witch


    Sister, where thou?


First Witch


    A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her lap,

    And munch'd, and munch'd, and munch'd:--

    'Give me,' quoth I:

    'Aroint thee, witch!' the rump-fed ronyon cries.

    Her husband's to Aleppo gone, master o' the Tiger:

    But in a sieve I'll thither sail,

    And, like a rat without a tail,

    I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do.


Second Witch


    I'll give thee a wind.


First Witch


    Thou'rt kind.


Third Witch


    And I another.


First Witch


    I myself have all the other,

    And the very ports they blow,

    All the quarters that they know

    I' the shipman's card.

    I will drain him dry as hay:

    Sleep shall neither night nor day

    Hang upon his pent-house lid;

    He shall live a man forbid:

    Weary se'nnights nine times nine

    Shall he dwindle, peak and pine:

    Though his bark cannot be lost,

    Yet it shall be tempest-tost.

    Look what I have.


Second Witch


    Show me, show me.


First Witch


    Here I have a pilot's thumb,

    Wreck'd as homeward he did come.


    Drum within


Third Witch


    A drum, a drum!

    Macbeth doth come.




    The weird sisters, hand in hand,

    Posters of the sea and land,

    Thus do go about, about:

    Thrice to thine and thrice to mine

    And thrice again, to make up nine.

    Peace! the charm's wound up.


    Enter MACBETH and BANQUO




    So foul and fair a day I have not seen.




    How far is't call'd to Forres? What are these

    So wither'd and so wild in their attire,

    That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth,

    And yet are on't? Live you? or are you aught

    That man may question? You seem to understand me,

    By each at once her chappy finger laying

    Upon her skinny lips: you should be women,

    And yet your beards forbid me to interpret

    That you are so.




    Speak, if you can: what are you?


First Witch


    All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane of Glamis!


Second Witch


    All hail, Macbeth, hail to thee, thane of Cawdor!


Third Witch


    All hail, Macbeth, thou shalt be king hereafter!




    Good sir, why do you start; and seem to fear

    Things that do sound so fair? I' the name of truth,

    Are ye fantastical, or that indeed

    Which outwardly ye show? My noble partner

    You greet with present grace and great prediction

    Of noble having and of royal hope,

    That he seems rapt withal: to me you speak not.

    If you can look into the seeds of time,

    And say which grain will grow and which will not,

    Speak then to me, who neither beg nor fear

    Your favours nor your hate.


First Witch




Second Witch




Third Witch




First Witch


    Lesser than Macbeth, and greater.


Second Witch


    Not so happy, yet much happier.


Third Witch


    Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none:

    So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo!


First Witch


    Banquo and Macbeth, all hail!




    Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more:

    By Sinel's death I know I am thane of Glamis;

    But how of Cawdor? the thane of Cawdor lives,

    A prosperous gentleman; and to be king

    Stands not within the prospect of belief,

    No more than to be Cawdor. Say from whence

    You owe this strange intelligence? or why

    Upon this blasted heath you stop our way

    With such prophetic greeting? Speak, I charge you.


    Witches vanish




    The earth hath bubbles, as the water has,

    And these are of them. Whither are they vanish'd?




    Into the air; and what seem'd corporal melted

    As breath into the wind. Would they had stay'd!




    Were such things here as we do speak about?

    Or have we eaten on the insane root

    That takes the reason prisoner?




    Your children shall be kings.




    You shall be king.




    And thane of Cawdor too: went it not so?




    To the selfsame tune and words. Who's here?


    Enter ROSS and ANGUS




    The king hath happily received, Macbeth,

    The news of thy success; and when he reads

    Thy personal venture in the rebels' fight,

    His wonders and his praises do contend

    Which should be thine or his: silenced with that,

    In viewing o'er the rest o' the selfsame day,

    He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks,

    Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make,

    Strange images of death. As thick as hail

    Came post with post; and every one did bear

    Thy praises in his kingdom's great defence,

    And pour'd them down before him.




    We are sent

    To give thee from our royal master thanks;

    Only to herald thee into his sight,

    Not pay thee.




    And, for an earnest of a greater honour,

    He bade me, from him, call thee thane of Cawdor:

    In which addition, hail, most worthy thane!

    For it is thine.




    What, can the devil speak true?




    The thane of Cawdor lives: why do you dress me

    In borrow'd robes?




    Who was the thane lives yet;

    But under heavy judgment bears that life

    Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was combined

    With those of Norway, or did line the rebel

    With hidden help and vantage, or that with both

    He labour'd in his country's wreck, I know not;

    But treasons capital, confess'd and proved,

    Have overthrown him.




    [Aside] Glamis, and thane of Cawdor!

    The greatest is behind.


    To ROSS and ANGUS

    Thanks for your pains.



    Do you not hope your children shall be kings,

    When those that gave the thane of Cawdor to me

    Promised no less to them?




    That trusted home

    Might yet enkindle you unto the crown,

    Besides the thane of Cawdor. But 'tis strange:

    And oftentimes, to win us to our harm,

    The instruments of darkness tell us truths,

    Win us with honest trifles, to betray's

    In deepest consequence.

    Cousins, a word, I pray you.




    [Aside] Two truths are told,

    As happy prologues to the swelling act

    Of the imperial theme.--I thank you, gentlemen.



    Cannot be ill, cannot be good: if ill,

    Why hath it given me earnest of success,

    Commencing in a truth? I am thane of Cawdor:

    If good, why do I yield to that suggestion

    Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair

    And make my seated heart knock at my ribs,

    Against the use of nature? Present fears

    Are less than horrible imaginings:

    My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical,

    Shakes so my single state of man that function

    Is smother'd in surmise, and nothing is

    But what is not.




    Look, how our partner's rapt.




    [Aside] If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me,

    Without my stir.




    New horrors come upon him,

    Like our strange garments, cleave not to their mould

    But with the aid of use.




    [Aside] Come what come may,

    Time and the hour runs through the roughest day.




    Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure.




    Give me your favour: my dull brain was wrought

    With things forgotten. Kind gentlemen, your pains

    Are register'd where every day I turn

    The leaf to read them. Let us toward the king.

    Think upon what hath chanced, and, at more time,

    The interim having weigh'd it, let us speak

    Our free hearts each to other.




    Very gladly.




    Till then, enough. Come, friends.




SCENE IV. Forres. The palace.


    Flourish. Enter DUNCAN, MALCOLM, DONALBAIN, LENNOX, and Attendants




    Is execution done on Cawdor? Are not

    Those in commission yet return'd?




    My liege,

    They are not yet come back. But I have spoke

    With one that saw him die: who did report

    That very frankly he confess'd his treasons,

    Implored your highness' pardon and set forth

    A deep repentance: nothing in his life

    Became him like the leaving it; he died

    As one that had been studied in his death

    To throw away the dearest thing he owed,

    As 'twere a careless trifle.




    There's no art

    To find the mind's construction in the face:

    He was a gentleman on whom I built

    An absolute trust.



    O worthiest cousin!

    The sin of my ingratitude even now

    Was heavy on me: thou art so far before

    That swiftest wing of recompense is slow

    To overtake thee. Would thou hadst less deserved,

    That the proportion both of thanks and payment

    Might have been mine! only I have left to say,

    More is thy due than more than all can pay.




    The service and the loyalty I owe,

    In doing it, pays itself. Your highness' part

    Is to receive our duties; and our duties

    Are to your throne and state children and servants,

    Which do but what they should, by doing every thing

    Safe toward your love and honour.




    Welcome hither:

    I have begun to plant thee, and will labour

    To make thee full of growing. Noble Banquo,

    That hast no less deserved, nor must be known

    No less to have done so, let me enfold thee

    And hold thee to my heart.




    There if I grow,

    The harvest is your own.




    My plenteous joys,

    Wanton in fulness, seek to hide themselves

    In drops of sorrow. Sons, kinsmen, thanes,

    And you whose places are the nearest, know

    We will establish our estate upon

    Our eldest, Malcolm, whom we name hereafter

    The Prince of Cumberland; which honour must

    Not unaccompanied invest him only,

    But signs of nobleness, like stars, shall shine

    On all deservers. From hence to Inverness,

    And bind us further to you.




    The rest is labour, which is not used for you:

    I'll be myself the harbinger and make joyful

    The hearing of my wife with your approach;

    So humbly take my leave.




    My worthy Cawdor!




    [Aside] The Prince of Cumberland! that is a step

    On which I must fall down, or else o'erleap,

    For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires;

    Let not light see my black and deep desires:

    The eye wink at the hand; yet let that be,

    Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see.






    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 us welcome:

    It is a peerless kinsman.


    Flourish. Exeunt


SCENE V. Inverness. Macbeth's castle.


    Enter LADY MACBETH, reading a letter




    'They met me in the day of success: and I have

    learned by the perfectest report, they have more in

    them than mortal knowledge. When I burned in desire

    to question them further, they made themselves air,

    into which they vanished. Whiles I stood rapt in

    the wonder of it, came missives from the king, who

    all-hailed me 'Thane of Cawdor;' by which title,

    before, these weird sisters saluted me, and referred

    me to the coming on of time, with 'Hail, king that

    shalt be!' This have I thought good to deliver

    thee, my dearest partner of greatness, that thou

    mightst not lose the dues of rejoicing, by being

    ignorant of what greatness is promised thee. Lay it

    to thy heart, and farewell.'

    Glamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be

    What thou art promised: yet do I fear thy nature;

    It is too full o' the milk of human kindness

    To catch the nearest way: thou wouldst be great;

    Art not without ambition, but without

    The illness should attend it: what thou wouldst highly,

    That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false,

    And yet wouldst wrongly win: thou'ldst have, great Glamis,

    That which cries 'Thus thou must do, if thou have it;

    And that which rather thou dost fear to do

    Than wishest should be undone.' Hie thee hither,

    That I may pour my spirits in thine ear;

    And chastise with the valour of my tongue

    All that impedes thee from the golden round,

    Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem

    To have thee crown'd withal.


    Enter a Messenger

    What is your tidings?




    The king comes here to-night.




    Thou'rt mad to say it:

    Is not thy master with him? who, were't so,

    Would have inform'd for preparation.




    So please you, it is true: our thane is coming:

    One of my fellows had the speed of him,

    Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more

    Than would make up his message.




    Give him tending;

    He brings great news.


    Exit Messenger

    The raven himself is hoarse

    That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan

    Under my battlements. Come, you spirits

    That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here,

    And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full

    Of direst cruelty! make thick my blood;

    Stop up the access and passage to remorse,

    That no compunctious visitings of nature

    Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between

    The effect and it! Come to my woman's breasts,

    And take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers,

    Wherever in your sightless substances

    You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick night,

    And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell,

    That my keen knife see not the wound it makes,

    Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark,

    To cry 'Hold, hold!'


    Enter MACBETH

    Great Glamis! worthy Cawdor!

    Greater than both, by the all-hail hereafter!

    Thy letters have transported me beyond

    This ignorant present, and I feel now

    The future in the instant.




    My dearest love,

    Duncan comes here to-night.




    And when goes hence?




    To-morrow, as he purposes.




    O, never

    Shall sun that morrow see!

    Your face, my thane, is as a book where men

    May read strange matters. To beguile the time,

    Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye,

    Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower,

    But be the serpent under't. He that's coming

    Must be provided for: and you shall put

    This night's great business into my dispatch;

    Which shall to all our nights and days to come

    Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom.




    We will speak further.




    Only look up clear;

    To alter favour ever is to fear:

    Leave all the rest to me.




SCENE VI. Before Macbeth's castle.


    Hautboys and torches. Enter DUNCAN, MALCOLM, DONALBAIN, BANQUO, LENNOX, MACDUFF, ROSS, ANGUS, and Attendants




    This castle hath a pleasant seat; the air

    Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself

    Unto our gentle senses.




    This guest of summer,

    The temple-haunting martlet, does approve,

    By his loved mansionry, that the heaven's breath

    Smells wooingly here: no jutty, frieze,

    Buttress, nor coign of vantage, but this bird

    Hath made his pendent bed and procreant cradle:

    Where they most breed and haunt, I have observed,

    The air is delicate.






    See, see, our honour'd hostess!

    The love that follows us sometime is our trouble,

    Which still we thank as love. Herein I teach you

    How you shall bid God 'ild us for your pains,

    And thank us for your trouble.




    All our service

    In every point twice done and then done double

    Were poor and single business to contend

    Against those honours deep and broad wherewith

    Your majesty loads our house: for those of old,

    And the late dignities heap'd up to them,

    We rest your hermits.




    Where's the thane of Cawdor?

    We coursed him at the heels, and had a purpose

    To be his purveyor: but he rides well;

    And his great love, sharp as his spur, hath holp him

    To his home before us. Fair and noble hostess,

    We are your guest to-night.




    Your servants ever

    Have theirs, themselves and what is theirs, in compt,

    To make their audit at your highness' pleasure,

    Still to return your own.




    Give me your hand;

    Conduct me to mine host: we love him highly,

    And shall continue our graces towards him.

    By your leave, hostess.




SCENE VII. Macbeth's castle.


    Hautboys and torches. Enter a Sewer, and divers Servants with dishes and service, and pass over the stage. Then enter MACBETH




    If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well

    It were done quickly: if the assassination

    Could trammel up the consequence, and catch

    With his surcease success; that but this blow

    Might be the be-all and the end-all here,

    But here, upon this bank and shoal of time,

    We'ld jump the life to come. But in these cases

    We still have judgment here; that we but teach

    Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return

    To plague the inventor: this even-handed justice

    Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice

    To our own lips. He's here in double trust;

    First, as I am his kinsman and his subject,

    Strong both against the deed; then, as his host,

    Who should against his murderer shut the door,

    Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan

    Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been

    So clear in his great office, that his virtues

    Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against

    The deep damnation of his taking-off;

    And pity, like a naked new-born babe,

    Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, horsed

    Upon the sightless couriers of the air,

    Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye,

    That tears shall drown the wind. I have no spur

    To prick the sides of my intent, but only

    Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself

    And falls on the other.



    How now! what news?




    He has almost supp'd: why have you left the chamber?




    Hath he ask'd for me?




    Know you not he has?




    We will proceed no further in this business:

    He hath honour'd me of late; and I have bought

    Golden opinions from all sorts of people,

    Which would be worn now in their newest gloss,

    Not cast aside so soon.




    Was the hope drunk

    Wherein you dress'd yourself? hath it slept since?

    And wakes it now, to look so green and pale

    At what it did so freely? From this time

    Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard

    To be the same in thine own act and valour

    As thou art in desire? Wouldst thou have that

    Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life,

    And live a coward in thine own esteem,

    Letting 'I dare not' wait upon 'I would,'

    Like the poor cat i' the adage?




    Prithee, peace:

    I dare do all that may become a man;

    Who dares do more is none.




    What beast was't, then,

    That made you break this enterprise to me?

    When you durst do it, then you were a man;

    And, to be more than 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 have made themselves, and that their fitness now

    Does unmake you. I have given suck, and know

    How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me:

    I would, while it was smiling in my face,

    Have pluck'd my nipple from his boneless gums,

    And dash'd the brains out, had I so sworn as you

    Have done to this.




    If we should fail?




    We fail!

    But screw your courage to the sticking-place,

    And we'll not fail. When Duncan is asleep--

    Whereto the rather shall his day's hard journey

    Soundly invite him--his two chamberlains

    Will I with wine and wassail so convince

    That memory, the warder of the brain,

    Shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason

    A limbeck only: when in swinish sleep

    Their drenched natures lie as in a death,

    What cannot you and I perform upon

    The unguarded Duncan? what not put upon

    His spongy officers, who shall bear the guilt

    Of our great quell?




    Bring forth men-children only;

    For thy undaunted mettle should compose

    Nothing but males. Will it not be received,

    When we have mark'd with blood those sleepy two

    Of his own chamber and used their very daggers,

    That they have done't?




    Who dares receive it other,

    As we shall make our griefs and clamour roar

    Upon his death?




    I am settled, and bend up

    Each corporal agent to this terrible feat.

    Away, and mock the time with fairest show:

    False face must hide what the false heart doth know.





SCENE I. Court of Macbeth's castle.


    Enter BANQUO, and FLEANCE bearing a torch before him




    How goes the night, boy?




    The moon is down; I have not heard the clock.




    And she goes down at twelve.




    I take't, 'tis later, sir.




    Hold, take my sword. There's husbandry in heaven;

    Their candles are all out. Take thee that too.

    A heavy summons lies like lead upon me,

    And yet I would not sleep: merciful powers,

    Restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature

    Gives way to in repose!


    Enter MACBETH, and a Servant with a torch

    Give me my sword.

    Who's there?




    A friend.




    What, sir, not yet at rest? The king's a-bed:

    He hath been in unusual pleasure, and

    Sent forth great largess to your offices.

    This diamond he greets your wife withal,

    By the name of most kind hostess; and shut up

    In measureless content.




    Being unprepared,

    Our will became the servant to defect;

    Which else should free have wrought.




    All's well.

    I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters:

    To you they have show'd some truth.




    I think not of them:

    Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve,

    We would spend it in some words upon that business,

    If you would grant the time.




    At your kind'st leisure.




    If you shall cleave to my consent, when 'tis,

    It shall make honour for you.




    So I lose none

    In seeking to augment it, but still keep

    My bosom franchised and allegiance clear,

    I shall be counsell'd.




    Good repose the while!




    Thanks, sir: the like to you!


    Exeunt BANQUO and FLEANCE




    Go bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready,

    She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed.


    Exit Servant

    Is this a dagger which I see before me,

    The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee.

    I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.

    Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible

    To feeling as to sight? or art thou but

    A dagger of the mind, a false creation,

    Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?

    I see thee yet, in form 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 use.

    Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses,

    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 business which informs

    Thus to mine eyes. Now o'er the one halfworld

    Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse

    The curtain'd sleep; witchcraft celebrates

    Pale Hecate's offerings, and wither'd murder,

    Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf,

    Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace.

    With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design

    Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set earth,

    Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear

    Thy very stones prate of my whereabout,

    And take the present horror from the time,

    Which now suits with it. Whiles I threat, he lives:

    Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives.


    A bell rings

    I go, and it is done; the bell invites me.

    Hear it not, Duncan; for it is a knell

    That summons thee to heaven or to hell.




SCENE II. The same.






    That which hath made them drunk hath made me bold;

    What hath quench'd them hath given me fire.

    Hark! Peace!

    It was the owl that shriek'd, the fatal bellman,

    Which gives the stern'st good-night. He is about it:

    The doors are open; and the surfeited grooms

    Do mock their charge with snores: I have drugg'd

    their possets,

    That death and nature do contend about them,

    Whether they live or die.




    [Within] Who's there? what, ho!




    Alack, I am afraid they have awaked,

    And 'tis not done. The attempt and not the deed

    Confounds us. Hark! I laid their daggers ready;

    He could not miss 'em. Had he not resembled

    My father as he slept, I had done't.


    Enter MACBETH

    My husband!




    I have done the deed. Didst thou not hear a noise?




    I heard the owl scream and the crickets cry.

    Did not you speak?












    As I descended?









    Who lies i' the second chamber?








    This is a sorry sight.


    Looking on his hands




    A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight.




    There's one did laugh in's sleep, and one cried


    That they did wake each other: I stood and heard them:

    But they did say their prayers, and address'd them

    Again to sleep.




    There are two lodged together.




    One cried 'God bless us!' and 'Amen' the other;

    As they had seen me with these hangman's hands.

    Listening their fear, I could not say 'Amen,'

    When they did say 'God bless us!'




    Consider it not so deeply.




    But wherefore could not I pronounce 'Amen'?

    I had most need of blessing, and 'Amen'

    Stuck in my throat.




    These deeds must not be thought

    After these ways; so, it will make us mad.




    Methought I heard a voice cry 'Sleep no more!

    Macbeth does murder sleep', the innocent sleep,

    Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care,

    The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath,

    Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course,

    Chief nourisher in life's feast,--




    What do you mean?




    Still it cried 'Sleep no more!' to all the house:

    'Glamis hath murder'd sleep, and therefore Cawdor

    Shall sleep no more; Macbeth shall sleep no more.'




    Who was it that thus cried? Why, worthy thane,

    You do unbend your noble strength, to think

    So brainsickly of things. Go get some water,

    And wash this filthy witness from your hand.

    Why did you bring these daggers from the place?

    They must lie there: go carry them; and smear

    The sleepy grooms with blood.




    I'll go no more:

    I am afraid to think what I have done;

    Look on't again I dare not.




    Infirm of purpose!

    Give me the daggers: the sleeping and the dead

    Are but as pictures: 'tis the eye of childhood

    That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed,

    I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal;

    For it must seem their guilt.


    Exit. Knocking within




    Whence is that knocking?

    How is't with me, when every noise appals me?

    What hands are here? ha! they pluck out mine eyes.

    Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood

    Clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather

    The multitudinous seas in incarnadine,

    Making the green one red.


    Re-enter LADY MACBETH




    My hands are of your colour; but I shame

    To wear a heart so white.


    Knocking within

    I hear a knocking

    At the south entry: retire we to our chamber;

    A little water clears us of this deed:

    How easy is it, then! Your constancy

    Hath left you unattended.


    Knocking within

    Hark! more knocking.

    Get on your nightgown, lest occasion call us,

    And show us to be watchers. Be not lost

    So poorly in your thoughts.




    To know my deed, 'twere best not know myself.


    Knocking within

    Wake Duncan with thy knocking! I would thou couldst!




SCENE III. The same.


    Knocking within. Enter a Porter




    Here's a knocking indeed! If a

    man were porter of hell-gate, he should have

    old turning the key.


    Knocking within


    knock, knock! Who's there, i' the name of

    Beelzebub? Here's a farmer, that hanged

    himself on the expectation of plenty: come in

    time; have napkins enow about you; here

    you'll sweat for't.


    Knocking within


    knock! Who's there, in the other devil's

    name? Faith, here's an equivocator, that could

    swear in both the scales against either scale;

    who committed treason enough for God's sake,

    yet could not equivocate to heaven: O, come

    in, equivocator.


    Knocking within


    knock, knock! Who's there? Faith, here's an

    English tailor come hither, for stealing out of

    a French hose: come in, tailor; here you may

    roast your goose.


    Knocking within


    knock; never at quiet! What are you? But

    this place is too cold for hell. I'll devil-porter

    it no further: I had thought to have let in

    some of all professions that go the primrose

    way to the everlasting bonfire.


    Knocking within

    Anon, anon! I pray you, remember the porter.


    Opens the gate


    Enter MACDUFF and LENNOX




    Was it so late, friend, ere you went to bed,

    That you do lie so late?




    'Faith sir, we were carousing till the

    second cock: and drink, sir, is a great

    provoker of three things.




    What three things does drink especially provoke?




    Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and

    urine. Lechery, sir, it provokes, and unprovokes;

    it provokes the desire, but it takes

    away the performance: therefore, much drink

    may be said to be an equivocator with lechery:

    it makes him, and it mars him; it sets

    him on, and it takes him off; it persuades him,

    and disheartens him; makes him stand to, and

    not stand to; in conclusion, equivocates him

    in a sleep, and, giving him the lie, leaves him.




    I believe drink gave thee the lie last night.




    That it did, sir, i' the very throat on

    me: but I requited him for his lie; and, I

    think, being too strong for him, though he took

    up my legs sometime, yet I made a shift to cast





    Is thy master stirring?


    Enter MACBETH

    Our knocking has awaked him; here he comes.




    Good morrow, noble sir.




    Good morrow, both.




    Is the king stirring, worthy thane?




    Not yet.




    He did command me to call timely on him:

    I have almost slipp'd the hour.




    I'll bring you to him.




    I know this is a joyful trouble to you;

    But yet 'tis one.




    The labour we delight in physics pain.

    This is the door.




    I'll make so bold to call,

    For 'tis my limited service.






    Goes the king hence to-day?




    He does: he did appoint so.




    The night has been unruly: where we lay,

    Our chimneys were blown down; and, as they say,

    Lamentings heard i' the air; strange screams of death,

    And prophesying with accents terrible

    Of dire combustion and confused events

    New hatch'd to the woeful time: the obscure bird

    Clamour'd the livelong night: some say, the earth

    Was feverous and did shake.




    'Twas a rough night.




    My young remembrance cannot parallel

    A fellow to it.


    Re-enter MACDUFF




    O horror, horror, horror! Tongue nor heart

    Cannot conceive nor name thee!




    What's the matter.




    Confusion now hath made his masterpiece!

    Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope

    The Lord's anointed temple, and stole thence

    The life o' the building!




    What is 't you say? the life?




    Mean you his majesty?




    Approach the chamber, and destroy your sight

    With a new Gorgon: do not bid me speak;

    See, and then speak yourselves.


    Exeunt MACBETH and LENNOX

    Awake, awake!

    Ring the alarum-bell. Murder and treason!

    Banquo and Donalbain! Malcolm! awake!

    Shake off this downy sleep, death's counterfeit,

    And look on death itself! up, up, and see

    The great doom's image! Malcolm! Banquo!

    As from your graves rise up, and walk like sprites,

    To countenance this horror! Ring the bell.


    Bell rings






    What's the business,

    That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley

    The sleepers of the house? speak, speak!




    O gentle lady,

    'Tis not for you to hear what I can speak:

    The repetition, in a woman's ear,

    Would murder as it fell.


    Enter BANQUO

    O Banquo, Banquo,

    Our royal master 's murder'd!




    Woe, alas!

    What, in our house?




    Too cruel any where.

    Dear Duff, I prithee, contradict thyself,

    And say it is not so.


    Re-enter MACBETH and LENNOX, with ROSS




    Had I but died an hour before this chance,

    I had lived a blessed time; for, from this instant,

    There 's nothing serious in mortality:

    All is but toys: renown and grace is dead;

    The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees

    Is left this vault to brag of.






    What is amiss?




    You are, and do not know't:

    The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood

    Is stopp'd; the very source of it is stopp'd.




    Your royal father 's murder'd.




    O, by whom?




    Those of his chamber, as it seem'd, had done 't:

    Their hands and faces were an badged with blood;

    So were their daggers, which unwiped we found

    Upon their pillows:

    They stared, and were distracted; no man's life

    Was to be trusted with them.




    O, yet I do repent me of my fury,

    That I did kill them.




    Wherefore did you so?




    Who can be wise, amazed, temperate and furious,

    Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man:

    The expedition my violent love

    Outrun the pauser, reason. Here lay Duncan,

    His silver skin laced with his golden blood;

    And his gash'd stabs look'd like a breach in nature

    For ruin's wasteful entrance: there, the murderers,

    Steep'd in the colours of their trade, their daggers

    Unmannerly breech'd with gore: who could refrain,

    That had a heart to love, and in that heart

    Courage to make 's love kno wn?




    Help me hence, ho!




    Look to the lady.




    [Aside to DONALBAIN] Why do we hold our tongues,

    That most may claim this argument for ours?




    [Aside to MALCOLM] What should be spoken here,

    where our fate,

    Hid in an auger-hole, may rush, and seize us?

    Let 's away;

    Our tears are not yet brew'd.




    [Aside to DONALBAIN] Nor our strong sorrow

    Upon the foot of motion.




    Look to the lady:


    LADY MACBETH is carried out

    And when we have our naked frailties hid,

    That suffer in exposure, let us meet,

    And question this most bloody piece of work,

    To know it further. Fears and scruples shake us:

    In the great hand of God I stand; and thence

    Against the undivulged pretence I fight

    Of treasonous malice.




    And so do I.




    So all.




    Let's briefly put on manly readiness,

    And meet i' the hall together.




    Well contented.


    Exeunt all but Malcolm and Donalbain.




    What will you do? Let's not consort with them:

    To show an unfelt sorrow is an office

    Which the false man does easy. I'll to England.




    To Ireland, I; our separated fortune

    Shall keep us both the safer: where we are,

    There's daggers in men's smiles: the near in blood,

    The nearer bloody.




    This murderous shaft that's shot

    Hath not yet lighted, and our safest way

    Is to avoid the aim. Therefore, to horse;

    And let us not be dainty of leave-taking,

    But shift away: there's warrant in that theft

    Which steals itself, when there's no mercy left.




SCENE IV. Outside Macbeth's castle.


    Enter ROSS and an old Man


Old Man


    Threescore and ten I can remember well:

    Within the volume of which time I have seen

    Hours dreadful and things strange; but this sore night

    Hath trifled former knowings.




    Ah, good father,

    Thou seest, the heavens, as troubled with man's act,

    Threaten his bloody stage: by the clock, 'tis day,

    And yet dark night strangles the travelling lamp:

    Is't night's predominance, or the day's shame,

    That darkness does the face of earth entomb,

    When living light should kiss it?


Old Man


    'Tis unnatural,

    Even like the deed that's done. On Tuesday last,

    A falcon, towering in her pride of place,

    Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at and kill'd.




    And Duncan's horses--a thing most strange and certain--

    Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race,

    Turn'd wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out,

    Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would make

    War with mankind.


Old Man


    'Tis said they eat each other.




    They did so, to the amazement of mine eyes

    That look'd upon't. Here comes the good Macduff.


    Enter MACDUFF

    How goes the world, sir, now?




    Why, see you not?




    Is't known who did this more than bloody deed?




    Those that Macbeth hath slain.




    Alas, the day!

    What good could they pretend?




    They were suborn'd:

    Malcolm and Donalbain, the king's two sons,

    Are stol'n away and fled; which puts upon them

    Suspicion of the deed.




    'Gainst nature still!

    Thriftless ambition, that wilt ravin up

    Thine own life's means! Then 'tis most like

    The sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth.




    He is already named, and gone to Scone

    To be invested.




    Where is Duncan's body?




    Carried to Colmekill,

    The sacred storehouse of his predecessors,

    And guardian of their bones.




    Will you to Scone?




    No, cousin, I'll to Fife.




    Well, I will thither.




    Well, may you see things well done there: adieu!

    Lest our old robes sit easier than our new!




    Farewell, father.


Old Man


    God's benison go with you; and with those

    That would make good of bad, and friends of foes!





SCENE I. Forres. The palace.


    Enter BANQUO




    Thou hast it now: king, Cawdor, Glamis, all,

    As the weird women promised, and, I fear,

    Thou play'dst most foully for't: yet it was said

    It should not stand in thy posterity,

    But that myself should be the root and father

    Of many kings. If there come truth from them--

    As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine--

    Why, by the verities on thee made good,

    May they not be my oracles as well,

    And set me up in hope? But hush! no more.


    Sennet sounded. Enter MACBETH, as king, LADY MACBETH, as queen, LENNOX, ROSS, Lords, Ladies, and Attendants




    Here's our chief guest.




    If he had been forgotten,

    It had been as a gap in our great feast,

    And all-thing unbecoming.




    To-night we hold a solemn supper sir,

    And I'll request your presence.




    Let your highness

    Command upon me; to the which my duties

    Are with a most indissoluble tie

    For ever knit.




    Ride you this afternoon?




    Ay, my good lord.




    We should have else desired your good advice,

    Which still hath been both grave and prosperous,

    In this day's council; but we'll take to-morrow.

    Is't far you ride?




    As far, my lord, as will fill up the time

    'Twixt this and supper: go not my horse the better,

    I must become a borrower of the night

    For a dark hour or twain.




    Fail not our feast.




    My lord, I will not.




    We hear, our bloody cousins are bestow'd

    In England and in Ireland, not confessing

    Their cruel parricide, filling their hearers

    With strange invention: but of that to-morrow,

    When therewithal we shall have cause of state

    Craving us jointly. Hie you to horse: adieu,

    Till you return at night. Goes Fleance with you?




    Ay, my good lord: our time does call upon 's.




    I wish your horses swift and sure of foot;

    And so I do commend you to their backs. Farewell.


    Exit BANQUO

    Let every man be master of his time

    Till seven at night: to make society

    The sweeter welcome, we will keep ourself

    Till supper-time alone: while then, God be with you!


    Exeunt all but MACBETH, and an attendant

    Sirrah, a word with you: attend those men

    Our pleasure?




    They are, my lord, without the palace gate.




    Bring them before us.


    Exit Attendant

    To be thus is nothing;

    But to be safely thus.--Our fears in Banquo

    Stick deep; and in his royalty of nature

    Reigns that which would be fear'd: 'tis much he dares;

    And, to that dauntless temper of his mind,

    He hath a wisdom that doth guide his valour

    To act in safety. There is none but he

    Whose being I do fear: and, under him,

    My Genius is rebuked; as, it is said,

    Mark Antony's was by Caesar. He chid the sisters

    When first they put the name of king upon me,

    And bade them speak to him: then prophet-like

    They hail'd him father to a line of kings:

    Upon my head they placed a fruitless crown,

    And put a barren sceptre in my gripe,

    Thence to be wrench'd with an unlineal hand,

    No son of mine succeeding. If 't be so,

    For Banquo's issue have I filed my mind;

    For them the gracious Duncan have I murder'd;

    Put rancours in the vessel of my peace

    Only for them; and mine eternal jewel

    Given to the common enemy of man,

    To make them kings, the seed of Banquo kings!

    Rather than so, come fate into the list.

    And champion me to the utterance! Who's there!


    Re-enter Attendant, with two Murderers

    Now go to the door, and stay there till we call.


    Exit Attendant

    Was it not yesterday we spoke together?


First Murderer


    It was, so please your highness.




    Well then, now

    Have you consider'd of my speeches? Know

    That it was he in the times past which held you

    So under fortune, which you thought had been

    Our innocent self: this I made good to you

    In our last conference, pass'd in probation with you,

    How you were borne in hand, how cross'd,

    the instruments,

    Who wrought with them, and all things else that might

    To half a soul and to a notion crazed

    Say 'Thus did Banquo.'


First Murderer


    You made it known to us.




    I did so, and went further, which is now

    Our point of second meeting. Do you find

    Your patience so predominant in your nature

    That you can let this go? Are you so gospell'd

    To pray for this good man and for his issue,

    Whose heavy hand hath bow'd you to the grave

    And beggar'd yours for ever?


First Murderer


    We are men, my liege.




    Ay, in the catalogue ye go for men;

    As hounds and greyhounds, mongrels, spaniels, curs,

    Shoughs, water-rugs and demi-wolves, are clept

    All by the name of dogs: the valued file

    Distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle,

    The housekeeper, the hunter, every one

    According to the gift which bounteous nature

    Hath in him closed; whereby he does receive

    Particular addition. from the bill

    That writes them all alike: and so of men.

    Now, if you have a station in the file,

    Not i' the worst rank of manhood, say 't;

    And I will put that business in your bosoms,

    Whose execution takes your enemy off,

    Grapples you to the heart and love of us,

    Who wear our health but sickly in his life,

    Which in his death were perfect.


Second Murderer


    I am one, my liege,

    Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world

    Have so incensed that I am reckless what

    I do to spite the world.


First Murderer


    And I another

    So weary with disasters, tugg'd with fortune,

    That I would set my lie on any chance,

    To mend it, or be rid on't.




    Both of you

    Know Banquo was your enemy.


Both Murderers


    True, my lord.




    So is he mine; and in such bloody distance,

    That every minute of his being thrusts

    Against my near'st of life: and though I could

    With barefaced power sweep him from my sight

    And bid my will avouch it, yet I must not,

    For certain friends that are both his and mine,

    Whose loves I may not drop, but wail his fall

    Who I myself struck down; and thence it is,

    That I to your assistance do make love,

    Masking the business from the common eye

    For sundry weighty reasons.


Second Murderer


    We shall, my lord,

    Perform what you command us.


First Murderer


    Though our lives--




    Your spirits shine through you. Within this hour at most

    I will advise you where to plant yourselves;

    Acquaint you with the perfect spy o' the time,

    The moment on't; for't must be done to-night,

    And something from the palace; always thought

    That I require a clearness: and with him--

    To leave no rubs nor botches in the work--

    Fleance his son, that keeps him company,

    Whose absence is no less material to me

    Than is his father's, must embrace the fate

    Of that dark hour. Resolve yourselves apart:

    I'll come to you anon.


Both Murderers


    We are resolved, my lord.




    I'll call upon you straight: abide within.


    Exeunt Murderers

    It is concluded. Banquo, thy soul's flight,

    If it find heaven, must find it out to-night.



SCENE II. The palace.


    Enter LADY MACBETH and a Servant




    Is Banquo gone from court?




    Ay, madam, but returns again to-night.




    Say to the king, I would attend his leisure

    For a few words.




    Madam, I will.






    Nought's had, all's spent,

    Where our desire is got without content:

    'Tis safer to be that which we destroy

    Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy.


    Enter MACBETH

    How now, my lord! why do you keep alone,

    Of sorriest fancies your companions making,

    Using those thoughts which should indeed have died

    With them they think on? Things without all remedy

    Should be without regard: what's done is done.




    We have scotch'd the snake, not kill'd it:

    She'll close and be herself, whilst our poor malice

    Remains in danger of her former tooth.

    But let the frame of things disjoint, both the

    worlds suffer,

    Ere we will eat our meal in fear and sleep

    In the affliction of these terrible dreams

    That shake us nightly: better be with the dead,

    Whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace,

    Than on the torture of the mind to lie

    In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave;

    After life's fitful fever he sleeps well;

    Treason has done his worst: nor steel, nor poison,

    Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing,

    Can touch him further.




    Come on;

    Gentle my lord, sleek o'er your rugged looks;

    Be bright and jovial among your guests to-night.




    So shall I, love; and so, I pray, be you:

    Let your remembrance apply to Banquo;

    Present him eminence, both with eye and tongue:

    Unsafe the while, that we

    Must lave our honours in these flattering streams,

    And make our faces vizards to our hearts,

    Disguising what they are.




    You must leave this.




    O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife!

    Thou know'st that Banquo, and his Fleance, lives.




    But in them nature's copy's not eterne.




    There's comfort yet; they are assailable;

    Then be thou jocund: ere the bat hath flown

    His cloister'd flight, ere to black Hecate's summons

    The shard-borne beetle with his drowsy hums

    Hath rung night's yawning peal, there shall be done

    A deed of dreadful note.




    What's to be done?




    Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck,

    Till thou applaud the deed. Come, seeling night,

    Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day;

    And with thy bloody and invisible hand

    Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond

    Which keeps me pale! Light thickens; and the crow

    Makes wing to the rooky wood:

    Good things of day begin to droop and drowse;

    While night's black agents to their preys do rouse.

    Thou marvell'st at my words: but hold thee still;

    Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill.

    So, prithee, go with me.




SCENE III. A park near the palace.


    Enter three Murderers


First Murderer


    But who did bid thee join with us?


Third Murderer




Second Murderer


    He needs not our mistrust, since he delivers

    Our offices and what we have to do

    To the direction just.


First Murderer


    Then stand with us.

    The west yet glimmers with some streaks of day:

    Now spurs the lated traveller apace

    To gain the timely inn; and near approaches

    The subject of our watch.


Third Murderer


    Hark! I hear horses.




    [Within] Give us a light there, ho!


Second Murderer


    Then 'tis he: the rest

    That are within the note of expectation

    Already are i' the court.


First Murderer


    His horses go about.


Third Murderer


    Almost a mile: but he does usually,

    So all men do, from hence to the palace gate

    Make it their walk.


Second Murderer


    A light, a light!


    Enter BANQUO, and FLEANCE with a torch


Third Murderer


    'Tis he.


First Murderer


    Stand to't.




    It will be rain to-night.


First Murderer


    Let it come down.


    They set upon BANQUO




    O, treachery! Fly, good Fleance, fly, fly, fly!

    Thou mayst revenge. O slave!


    Dies. FLEANCE escapes


Third Murderer


    Who did strike out the light?


First Murderer


    Wast not the way?


Third Murderer


    There's but one down; the son is fled.


Second Murderer


    We have lost

    Best half of our affair.


First Murderer


    Well, let's away, and say how much is done.




SCENE IV. The same. Hall in the palace.


    A banquet prepared. Enter MACBETH, LADY MACBETH, ROSS, LENNOX, Lords, and Attendants




    You know your own degrees; sit down: at first

    And last the hearty welcome.




    Thanks to your majesty.




    Ourself will mingle with society,

    And play the humble host.

    Our hostess keeps her state, but in best time

    We will require her welcome.




    Pronounce it for me, sir, to all our friends;

    For my heart speaks they are welcome.


    First Murderer appears at the door




    See, they encounter thee with their hearts' thanks.

    Both sides are even: here I'll sit i' the midst:

    Be large in mirth; anon we'll drink a measure

    The table round.


    Approaching the door

    There's blood on thy face.


First Murderer


    'Tis Banquo's then.




    'Tis better thee without than he within.

    Is he dispatch'd?


First Murderer


    My lord, his throat is cut; that I did for him.




    Thou art the best o' the cut-throats: yet he's good

    That did the like for Fleance: if thou didst it,

    Thou art the nonpareil.


First Murderer


    Most royal sir,

    Fleance is 'scaped.




    Then comes my fit again: I had else been perfect,

    Whole as the marble, founded as the rock,

    As broad and general as the casing air:

    But now I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confined, bound in

    To saucy doubts and fears. But Banquo's safe?


First Murderer


    Ay, my good lord: safe in a ditch he bides,

    With twenty trenched gashes on his head;

    The least a death to nature.




    Thanks for that:

    There the grown serpent lies; the worm that's fled

    Hath nature that in time will venom breed,

    No teeth for the present. Get thee gone: to-morrow

    We'll hear, ourselves, again.


    Exit Murderer




    My royal lord,

    You do not give the cheer: the feast is sold

    That is not often vouch'd, while 'tis a-making,

    'Tis given with welcome: to feed were best at home;

    From thence the sauce to meat is ceremony;

    Meeting were bare without it.




    Sweet remembrancer!

    Now, good digestion wait on appetite,

    And health on both!




    May't please your highness sit.


    The GHOST OF BANQUO enters, and sits in MACBETH's place




    Here had we now our country's honour roof'd,

    Were the graced person of our Banquo present;

    Who may I rather challenge for unkindness

    Than pity for mischance!




    His absence, sir,

    Lays blame upon his promise. Please't your highness

    To grace us with your royal company.




    The table's full.




    Here is a place reserved, sir.








    Here, my good lord. What is't that moves your highness?




    Which of you have done this?




    What, my good lord?




    Thou canst not say I did it: never shake

    Thy gory locks at me.




    Gentlemen, rise: his highness is not well.




    Sit, worthy friends: my lord is often thus,

    And hath been from his youth: pray you, keep seat;

    The fit is momentary; upon a thought

    He will again be well: if much you note him,

    You shall offend him and extend his passion:

    Feed, and regard him not. Are you a man?




    Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that

    Which might appal the devil.




    O proper stuff!

    This is the very painting of your fear:

    This is the air-drawn dagger which, you said,

    Led you to Duncan. O, these flaws and starts,

    Impostors to true fear, would well become

    A woman's story at a winter's fire,

    Authorized by her grandam. Shame itself!

    Why do you make such faces? When all's done,

    You look but on a stool.




    Prithee, see there! behold! look! lo!

    how say you?

    Why, what care I? If thou canst nod, speak too.

    If charnel-houses and our graves must send

    Those that we bury back, our monuments

    Shall be the maws of kites.


    GHOST OF BANQUO vanishes




    What, quite unmann'd in folly?




    If I stand here, I saw him.




    Fie, for shame!




    Blood hath been shed ere now, i' the olden time,

    Ere human statute purged the gentle weal;

    Ay, and since too, murders have been perform'd

    Too terrible for the ear: the times have been,

    That, when the brains were out, the man would die,

    And there an end; but now they rise again,

    With twenty mortal murders on their crowns,

    And push us from our stools: this is more strange

    Than such a murder is.




    My worthy lord,

    Your noble friends do lack you.




    I do forget.

    Do not muse at me, my most worthy friends,

    I have a strange infirmity, which is nothing

    To those that know me. Come, love and health to all;

    Then I'll sit down. Give me some wine; fill full.

    I drink to the general joy o' the whole table,

    And to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss;

    Would he were here! to all, and him, we thirst,

    And all to all.




    Our duties, and the pledge.


    Re-enter GHOST OF BANQUO




    Avaunt! and quit my sight! let the earth hide thee!

    Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold;

    Thou hast no speculation in those eyes

    Which thou dost glare with!




    Think of this, good peers,

    But as a thing of custom: 'tis no other;

    Only it spoils the pleasure of the time.




    What man dare, I dare:

    Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear,

    The arm'd rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger;

    Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves

    Shall never tremble: or be alive again,

    And dare me to the desert with thy sword;

    If trembling I inhabit then, protest me

    The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow!

    Unreal mockery, hence!


    GHOST OF BANQUO vanishes

    Why, so: being gone,

    I am a man again. Pray you, sit still.




    You have displaced the mirth, broke the good meeting,

    With most admired disorder.




    Can such things be,

    And overcome us like a summer's cloud,

    Without our special wonder? You make me strange

    Even to the disposition that I owe,

    When now I think you can behold such sights,

    And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks,

    When mine is blanched with fear.




    What sights, my lord?




    I pray you, speak not; he grows worse and worse;

    Question enrages him. At once, good night:

    Stand not upon the order of your going,

    But go at once.




    Good night; and better health

    Attend his majesty!




    A kind good night to all!


    Exeunt all but MACBETH and LADY MACBETH




    It will have blood; they say, blood will have blood:

    Stones have been known to move and trees to speak;

    Augurs and understood relations have

    By magot-pies and choughs and rooks brought forth

    The secret'st man of blood. What is the night?




    Almost at odds with morning, which is which.




    How say'st thou, that Macduff denies his person

    At our great bidding?




    Did you send to him, sir?




    I hear it by the way; but I will send:

    There's not a one of them but in his house

    I keep a servant fee'd. I will to-morrow,

    And betimes I will, to the weird sisters:

    More shall they speak; for now I am bent to know,

    By the worst means, the worst. For mine own good,

    All causes shall give way: I am in blood

    Stepp'd in so far that, should I wade no more,

    Returning were as tedious as go o'er:

    Strange things I have in head, that will to hand;

    Which must be acted ere they may be scann'd.




    You lack the season of all natures, sleep.




    Come, we'll to sleep. My strange and self-abuse

    Is the initiate fear that wants hard use:

    We are yet but young in deed.




SCENE V. A Heath.


    Thunder. Enter the three Witches meeting HECATE


First Witch


    Why, how now, Hecate! you look angerly.




    Have I not reason, beldams as you are,

    Saucy and overbold? How did you dare

    To trade and traffic with Macbeth

    In riddles and affairs of death;

    And I, the mistress of your charms,

    The close contriver of all harms,

    Was never call'd to bear my part,

    Or show the glory of our art?

    And, which is worse, all you have done

    Hath been but for a wayward son,

    Spiteful and wrathful, who, as others do,

    Loves for his own ends, not for you.

    But make amends now: get you gone,

    And at the pit of Acheron

    Meet me i' the morning: thither he

    Will come to know his destiny:

    Your vessels and your spells provide,

    Your charms and every thing beside.

    I am for the air; this night I'll spend

    Unto a dismal and a fatal end:

    Great business must be wrought ere noon:

    Upon the corner of the moon

    There hangs a vaporous drop profound;

    I'll catch it ere it come to ground:

    And that distill'd by magic sleights

    Shall raise such artificial sprites

    As by the strength of their illusion

    Shall draw him on to his confusion:

    He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear

    He hopes 'bove wisdom, grace and fear:

    And you all know, security

    Is mortals' chiefest enemy.


    Music and a song within: 'Come away, come away,' & c

    Hark! I am call'd; my little spirit, see,

    Sits in a foggy cloud, and stays for me.




First Witch


    Come, let's make haste; she'll soon be back again.




SCENE VI. Forres. The palace.


    Enter LENNOX and another Lord




    My former speeches have but hit your thoughts,

    Which can interpret further: only, I say,

    Things have been strangely borne. The

    gracious Duncan

    Was pitied of Macbeth: marry, he was dead:

    And the right-valiant Banquo walk'd too late;

    Whom, you may say, if't please you, Fleance kill'd,

    For Fleance fled: men must not walk too late.

    Who cannot want the thought how monstrous

    It was for Malcolm and for Donalbain

    To kill their gracious father? damned fact!

    How it did grieve Macbeth! did he not straight

    In pious rage the two delinquents tear,

    That were the slaves of drink and thralls of sleep?

    Was not that nobly done? Ay, and wisely too;

    For 'twould have anger'd any heart alive

    To hear the men deny't. So that, I say,

    He has borne all things well: and I do think

    That had he Duncan's sons under his key--

    As, an't please heaven, he shall not--they

    should find

    What 'twere to kill a father; so should Fleance.

    But, peace! for from broad words and 'cause he fail'd

    His presence at the tyrant's feast, I hear

    Macduff lives in disgrace: sir, can you tell

    Where he bestows himself?




    The son of Duncan,

    From whom this tyrant holds the due of birth

    Lives in the English court, and is received

    Of the most pious Edward with such grace

    That the malevolence of fortune nothing

    Takes from his high respect: thither Macduff

    Is gone to pray the holy king, upon his aid

    To wake Northumberland and warlike Siward:

    That, by the help of these--with Him above

    To ratify the work--we may again

    Give to our tables meat, sleep to our nights,

    Free from our feasts and banquets bloody knives,

    Do faithful homage and receive free honours:

    All which we pine for now: and this report

    Hath so exasperate the king that he

    Prepares for some attempt of war.




    Sent he to Macduff?




    He did: and with an absolute 'Sir, not I,'

    The cloudy messenger turns me his back,

    And hums, as who should say 'You'll rue the time

    That clogs me with this answer.'




    And that well might

    Advise him to a caution, to hold what distance

    His wisdom can provide. Some holy angel

    Fly to the court of England and unfold

    His message ere he come, that a swift blessing

    May soon return to this our suffering country

    Under a hand accursed!




    I'll send my prayers with him.





SCENE I. A cavern. In the middle, a boiling cauldron.


    Thunder. Enter the three Witches


First Witch


    Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd.


Second Witch


    Thrice and once the hedge-pig whined.


Third Witch


    Harpier cries 'Tis time, 'tis time.


First Witch


    Round about the cauldron go;

    In the poison'd entrails throw.

    Toad, that under cold stone

    Days and nights has thirty-one

    Swelter'd venom sleeping got,

    Boil thou first i' the charmed pot.




    Double, double toil and trouble;

    Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.


Second Witch


    Fillet of a fenny snake,

    In the cauldron boil and bake;

    Eye of newt and toe of frog,

    Wool of bat and tongue of dog,

    Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting,

    Lizard's leg and owlet's wing,

    For a charm of powerful trouble,

    Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.




    Double, double toil and trouble;

    Fire burn and cauldron bubble.


Third Witch


    Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf,

    Witches' mummy, maw and gulf

    Of the ravin'd salt-sea shark,

    Root of hemlock digg'd i' the dark,

    Liver of blaspheming Jew,

    Gall of goat, and slips of yew

    Silver'd in the moon's eclipse,

    Nose of Turk and Tartar's lips,

    Finger of birth-strangled babe

    Ditch-deliver'd by a drab,

    Make the gruel thick and slab:

    Add thereto a tiger's chaudron,

    For the ingredients of our cauldron.




    Double, double toil and trouble;

    Fire burn and cauldron bubble.


Second Witch


    Cool it with a baboon's blood,

    Then the charm is firm and good.


    Enter HECATE to the other three Witches




    O well done! I commend your pains;

    And every one shall share i' the gains;

    And now about the cauldron sing,

    Live elves and fairies in a ring,

    Enchanting all that you put in.


    Music and a song: 'Black spirits,' & c


    HECATE retires


Second Witch


    By the pricking of my thumbs,

    Something wicked this way comes.

    Open, locks,

    Whoever knocks!


    Enter MACBETH




    How now, you secret, black, and midnight hags!

    What is't you do?




    A deed without a name.




    I conjure you, by that which you profess,

    Howe'er you come to know it, answer me:

    Though you untie the winds and let them fight

    Against the churches; though the yesty waves

    Confound and swallow navigation up;

    Though bladed corn be lodged and trees blown down;

    Though castles topple on their warders' heads;

    Though palaces and pyramids do slope

    Their heads to their foundations; though the treasure

    Of nature's germens tumble all together,

    Even till destruction sicken; answer me

    To what I ask you.


First Witch




Second Witch




Third Witch


    We'll answer.


First Witch


    Say, if thou'dst rather hear it from our mouths,

    Or from our masters?




    Call 'em; let me see 'em.


First Witch


    Pour in sow's blood, that hath eaten

    Her nine farrow; grease that's sweaten

    From the murderer's gibbet throw

    Into the flame.




    Come, high or low;

    Thyself and office deftly show!


    Thunder. First Apparition: an armed Head




    Tell me, thou unknown power,--


First Witch


    He knows thy thought:

    Hear his speech, but say thou nought.


First Apparition


    Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! beware Macduff;

    Beware the thane of Fife. Dismiss me. Enough.






    Whate'er thou art, for thy good caution, thanks;

    Thou hast harp'd my fear aright: but one

    word more,--


First Witch


    He will not be commanded: here's another,

    More potent than the first.


    Thunder. Second Apparition: A bloody Child


Second Apparition


    Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth!




    Had I three ears, I'ld hear thee.


Second Apparition


    Be bloody, bold, and resolute; laugh to scorn

    The power of man, for none of woman born

    Shall harm Macbeth.






    Then live, Macduff: what need I fear of thee?

    But yet I'll make assurance double sure,

    And take a bond of fate: thou shalt not live;

    That I may tell pale-hearted fear it lies,

    And sleep in spite of thunder.


    Thunder. Third Apparition: a Child crowned, with a tree in his hand

    What is this

    That rises like the issue of a king,

    And wears upon his baby-brow the round

    And top of sovereignty?




    Listen, but speak not to't.


Third Apparition


    Be lion-mettled, proud; and take no care

    Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are:

    Macbeth shall never vanquish'd be until

    Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill

    Shall come against him.






    That will never be

    Who can impress the forest, bid the tree

    Unfix his earth-bound root? Sweet bodements! good!

    Rebellion's head, rise never till the wood

    Of Birnam rise, and our high-placed Macbeth

    Shall live the lease of nature, pay his breath

    To time and mortal custom. Yet my heart

    Throbs to know one thing: tell me, if your art

    Can tell so much: shall Banquo's issue ever

    Reign in this kingdom?




    Seek to know no more.




    I will be satisfied: deny me this,

    And an eternal curse fall on you! Let me know.

    Why sinks that cauldron? and what noise is this?




First Witch




Second Witch




Third Witch






    Show his eyes, and grieve his heart;

    Come like shadows, so depart!


    A show of Eight Kings, the last with a glass in his hand; GHOST OF BANQUO following




    Thou art too like the spirit of Banquo: down!

    Thy crown does sear mine eye-balls. And thy hair,

    Thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first.

    A third is like the former. Filthy hags!

    Why do you show me this? A fourth! Start, eyes!

    What, will the line stretch out to the crack of doom?

    Another yet! A seventh! I'll see no more:

    And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass

    Which shows me many more; and some I see

    That two-fold balls and treble scepters carry:

    Horrible sight! Now, I see, 'tis true;

    For the blood-bolter'd Banquo smiles upon me,

    And points at them for his.


    Apparitions vanish

    What, is this so?


First Witch


    Ay, sir, all this is so: but why

    Stands Macbeth thus amazedly?

    Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprites,

    And show the best of our delights:

    I'll charm the air to give a sound,

    While you perform your antic round:

    That this great king may kindly say,

    Our duties did his welcome pay.


    Music. The witches dance and then vanish, with HECATE




    Where are they? Gone? Let this pernicious hour

    Stand aye accursed in the calendar!

    Come in, without there!


    Enter LENNOX




    What's your grace's will?




    Saw you the weird sisters?




    No, my lord.




    Came they not by you?




    No, indeed, my lord.




    Infected be the air whereon they ride;

    And damn'd all those that trust them! I did hear

    The galloping of horse: who was't came by?




    'Tis two or three, my lord, that bring you word

    Macduff is fled to England.




    Fled to England!




    Ay, my good lord.




    Time, thou anticipatest my dread exploits:

    The flighty purpose never is o'ertook

    Unless the deed go with it; from this moment

    The very firstlings of my heart shall be

    The firstlings of my hand. And even now,

    To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and done:

    The castle of Macduff I will surprise;

    Seize upon Fife; give to the edge o' the sword

    His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls

    That trace him in his line. No boasting like a fool;

    This deed I'll do before this purpose cool.

    But no more sights!--Where are these gentlemen?

    Come, bring me where they are.




SCENE II. Fife. Macduff's castle.


    Enter LADY MACDUFF, her Son, and ROSS




    What had he done, to make him fly the land?




    You must have patience, madam.




    He had none:

    His flight was madness: when our actions do not,

    Our fears do make us traitors.




    You know not

    Whether it was his wisdom or his fear.




    Wisdom! to leave his wife, to leave his babes,

    His mansion and his titles in a place

    From whence himself does fly? He loves us not;

    He wants the natural touch: for the poor wren,

    The most diminutive of birds, will fight,

    Her young ones in her nest, against the owl.

    All is the fear and nothing is the love;

    As little is the wisdom, where the flight

    So runs against all reason.




    My dearest coz,

    I pray you, school yourself: but for your husband,

    He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows

    The fits o' the season. I dare not speak

    much further;

    But cruel are the times, when we are traitors

    And do not know ourselves, when we hold rumour

    From what we fear, yet know not what we fear,

    But float upon a wild and violent sea

    Each way and move. I take my leave of you:

    Shall not be long but I'll be here again:

    Things at the worst will cease, or else climb upward

    To what they were before. My pretty cousin,

    Blessing upon you!




    Father'd he is, and yet he's fatherless.




    I am so much a fool, should I stay longer,

    It would be my disgrace and your discomfort:

    I take my leave at once.






    Sirrah, your father's dead;

    And what will you do now? How will you live?




    As birds do, mother.




    What, with worms and flies?




    With what I get, I mean; and so do they.




    Poor bird! thou'ldst never fear the net nor lime,

    The pitfall nor the gin.




    Why should I, mother? Poor birds they are not set for.

    My father is not dead, for all your saying.




    Yes, he is dead; how wilt thou do for a father?




    Nay, how will you do for a husband?




    Why, I can buy me twenty at any market.




    Then you'll buy 'em to sell again.




    Thou speak'st with all thy wit: and yet, i' faith,

    With wit enough for thee.




    Was my father a traitor, mother?




    Ay, that he was.




    What is a traitor?




    Why, one that swears and lies.




    And be all traitors that do so?




    Every one that does so is a traitor, and must be hanged.




    And must they all be hanged that swear and lie?




    Every one.




    Who must hang them?




    Why, the honest men.




    Then the liars and swearers are fools,

    for there are liars and swearers enow to beat

    the honest men and hang up them.




    Now, God help thee, poor monkey!

    But how wilt thou do for a father?




    If he were dead, you'ld weep for

    him: if you would not, it were a good sign

    that I should quickly have a new father.




    Poor prattler, how thou talk'st!


    Enter a Messenger




    Bless you, fair dame! I am not to you known,

    Though in your state of honour I am perfect.

    I doubt some danger does approach you nearly:

    If you will take a homely man's advice,

    Be not found here; hence, with your little ones.

    To fright you thus, methinks, I am too savage;

    To do worse to you were fell cruelty,

    Which is too nigh your person. Heaven preserve you!

    I dare abide no longer.






    Whither should I fly?

    I have done no harm. But I remember now

    I am in this earthly world; where to do harm

    Is often laudable, to do good sometime

    Accounted dangerous folly: why then, alas,

    Do I put up that womanly defence,

    To say I have done no harm?


    Enter Murderers

    What are these faces?


First Murderer


    Where is your husband?




    I hope, in no place so unsanctified

    Where such as thou mayst find him.


First Murderer


    He's a traitor.




    Thou liest, thou shag-hair'd villain!


First Murderer


    What, you egg!


    Stabbing him

    Young fry of treachery!




    He has kill'd me, mother:

    Run away, I pray you!




    Exit LADY MACDUFF, crying 'Murder!' Exeunt Murderers, following her


SCENE III. England. Before the King's palace.






    Let us seek out some desolate shade, and there

    Weep our sad bosoms empty.




    Let us rather

    Hold fast the mortal sword, and like good men

    Bestride our down-fall'n birthdom: each new morn

    New widows howl, new orphans cry, new sorrows

    Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds

    As if it felt with Scotland and yell'd out

    Like syllable of dolour.




    What I believe I'll wail,

    What know believe, and what I can redress,

    As I shall find the time to friend, I will.

    What you have spoke, it may be so perchance.

    This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues,

    Was once thought honest: you have loved him well.

    He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young;

    but something

    You may deserve of him through me, and wisdom

    To offer up a weak poor innocent lamb

    To appease an angry god.




    I am not treacherous.




    But Macbeth is.

    A good and virtuous nature may recoil

    In an imperial charge. But I shall crave

    your pardon;

    That which you are my thoughts cannot transpose:

    Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell;

    Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace,

    Yet grace must still look so.




    I have lost my hopes.




    Perchance even there where I did find my doubts.

    Why in that rawness left you wife and child,

    Those precious motives, those strong knots of love,

    Without leave-taking? I pray you,

    Let not my jealousies be your dishonours,

    But mine own safeties. You may be rightly just,

    Whatever I shall think.




    Bleed, bleed, poor country!

    Great tyranny! lay thou thy basis sure,

    For goodness dare not cheque thee: wear thou

    thy wrongs;

    The title is affeer'd! Fare thee well, lord:

    I would not be the villain that thou think'st

    For the whole space that's in the tyrant's grasp,

    And the rich East to boot.




    Be not offended:

    I speak not as in absolute fear of you.

    I think our country sinks beneath the yoke;

    It weeps, it bleeds; and each new day a gash

    Is added to her wounds: I think withal

    There would be hands uplifted in my right;

    And here from gracious England have I offer

    Of goodly thousands: but, for all this,

    When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head,

    Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country

    Shall have more vices than it had before,

    More suffer and more sundry ways than ever,

    By him that shall succeed.




    What should he be?




    It is myself I mean: in whom I know

    All the particulars of vice so grafted

    That, when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth

    Will seem as pure as snow, and the poor state

    Esteem him as a lamb, being compared

    With my confineless harms.




    Not in the legions

    Of horrid hell can come a devil more damn'd

    In evils to top Macbeth.




    I grant him bloody,

    Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful,

    Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin

    That has a name: but there's no bottom, none,

    In my voluptuousness: your wives, your daughters,

    Your matrons and your maids, could not fill up

    The cistern of my lust, and my desire

    All continent impediments would o'erbear

    That did oppose my will: better Macbeth

    Than such an one to reign.




    Boundless intemperance

    In nature is a tyranny; it hath been

    The untimely emptying of the happy throne

    And fall of many kings. But fear not yet

    To take upon you what is yours: you may

    Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty,

    And yet seem cold, the time you may so hoodwink.

    We have willing dames enough: there cannot be

    That vulture in you, to devour so many

    As will to greatness dedicate themselves,

    Finding it so inclined.




    With this there grows

    In my most ill-composed affection such

    A stanchless avarice that, were I king,

    I should cut off the nobles for their lands,

    Desire his jewels and this other's house:

    And my more-having would be as a sauce

    To make me hunger more; that I should forge

    Quarrels unjust against the good and loyal,

    Destroying them for wealth.




    This avarice

    Sticks deeper, grows with more pernicious root

    Than summer-seeming lust, and it hath been

    The sword of our slain kings: yet do not fear;

    Scotland hath foisons to fill up your will.

    Of your mere own: all these are portable,

    With other graces weigh'd.




    But I have none: the king-becoming graces,

    As justice, verity, temperance, stableness,

    Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness,

    Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude,

    I have no relish of them, but abound

    In the division of each several crime,

    Acting it many ways. Nay, had I power, I should

    Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell,

    Uproar the universal peace, confound

    All unity on earth.




    O Scotland, Scotland!




    If such a one be fit to govern, speak:

    I am as I have spoken.




    Fit to govern!

    No, not to live. O nation miserable,

    With an untitled tyrant bloody-scepter'd,

    When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again,

    Since that the truest issue of thy throne

    By his own interdiction stands accursed,

    And does blaspheme his breed? Thy royal father

    Was a most sainted king: the queen that bore thee,

    Oftener upon her knees than on her feet,

    Died every day she lived. Fare thee well!

    These evils thou repeat'st upon thyself

    Have banish'd me from Scotland. O my breast,

    Thy hope ends here!




    Macduff, this noble passion,

    Child of integrity, hath from my soul

    Wiped the black scruples, reconciled my thoughts

    To thy good truth and honour. Devilish Macbeth

    By many of these trains hath sought to win me

    Into his power, and modest wisdom plucks me

    From over-credulous haste: but God above

    Deal between thee and me! for even now

    I put myself to thy direction, and

    Unspeak mine own detraction, here abjure

    The taints and blames I laid upon myself,

    For strangers to my nature. I am yet

    Unknown to woman, never was forsworn,

    Scarcely have coveted what was mine own,

    At no time broke my faith, would not betray

    The devil to his fellow and delight

    No less in truth than life: my first false speaking

    Was this upon myself: what I am truly,

    Is thine and my poor country's to command:

    Whither indeed, before thy here-approach,

    Old Siward, with ten thousand warlike men,

    Already at a point, was setting forth.

    Now we'll together; and the chance of goodness

    Be like our warranted quarrel! Why are you silent?




    Such welcome and unwelcome things at once

    'Tis hard to reconcile.


    Enter a Doctor




    Well; more anon.--Comes the king forth, I pray you?




    Ay, sir; there are a crew of wretched souls

    That stay his cure: their malady convinces

    The great assay of art; but at his touch--

    Such sanctity hath heaven given his hand--

    They presently amend.




    I thank you, doctor.


    Exit Doctor




    What's the disease he means?




    'Tis call'd the evil:

    A most miraculous work in this good king;

    Which often, since my here-remain in England,

    I have seen him do. How he solicits heaven,

    Himself best knows: but strangely-visited people,

    All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye,

    The mere despair of surgery, he cures,

    Hanging a golden stamp about their necks,

    Put on with holy prayers: and 'tis spoken,

    To the succeeding royalty he leaves

    The healing benediction. With this strange virtue,

    He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy,

    And sundry blessings hang about his throne,

    That speak him full of grace.


    Enter ROSS




    See, who comes here?




    My countryman; but yet I know him not.




    My ever-gentle cousin, welcome hither.




    I know him now. Good God, betimes remove

    The means that makes us strangers!




    Sir, amen.




    Stands Scotland where it did?




    Alas, poor country!

    Almost afraid to know itself. It cannot

    Be call'd our mother, but our grave; where nothing,

    But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile;

    Where sighs and groans and shrieks that rend the air

    Are made, not mark'd; where violent sorrow seems

    A modern ecstasy; the dead man's knell

    Is there scarce ask'd for who; and good men's lives

    Expire before the flowers in their caps,

    Dying or ere they sicken.




    O, relation

    Too nice, and yet too true!




    What's the newest grief?




    That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker:

    Each minute teems a new one.




    How does my wife?




    Why, well.




    And all my children?




    Well too.




    The tyrant has not batter'd at their peace?




    No; they were well at peace when I did leave 'em.




    But not a niggard of your speech: how goes't?




    When I came hither to transport the tidings,

    Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumour

    Of many worthy fellows that were out;

    Which was to my belief witness'd the rather,

    For that I saw the tyrant's power a-foot:

    Now is the time of help; your eye in Scotland

    Would create soldiers, make our women fight,

    To doff their dire distresses.




    Be't their comfort

    We are coming thither: gracious England hath

    Lent us good Siward and ten thousand men;

    An older and a better soldier none

    That Christendom gives out.




    Would I could answer

    This comfort with the like! But I have words

    That would be howl'd out in the desert air,

    Where hearing should not latch them.




    What concern they?

    The general cause? or is it a fee-grief

    Due to some single breast?




    No mind that's honest

    But in it shares some woe; though the main part

    Pertains to you alone.




    If it be mine,

    Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it.




    Let not your ears despise my tongue for ever,

    Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound

    That ever yet they heard.




    Hum! I guess at it.




    Your castle is surprised; your wife and babes

    Savagely slaughter'd: to relate the manner,

    Were, on the quarry of these murder'd deer,

    To add the death of you.




    Merciful heaven!

    What, man! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows;

    Give sorrow words: the grief that does not speak

    Whispers the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break.




    My children too?




    Wife, children, servants, all

    That could be found.




    And I must be from thence!

    My wife kill'd too?




    I have said.




    Be comforted:

    Let's make us medicines of our great revenge,

    To cure this deadly grief.




    He has no children. All my pretty ones?

    Did you say all? O hell-kite! All?

    What, all my pretty chickens and their dam

    At one fell swoop?




    Dispute it like a man.




    I shall do so;

    But I must also feel it as a man:

    I cannot but remember such things were,

    That were most precious to me. Did heaven look on,

    And would not take their part? Sinful Macduff,

    They were all struck for thee! naught that I am,

    Not for their own demerits, but for mine,

    Fell slaughter on their souls. Heaven rest them now!




    Be this the whetstone of your sword: let grief

    Convert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage it.




    O, I could play the woman with mine eyes

    And braggart with my tongue! But, gentle heavens,

    Cut short all intermission; front to front

    Bring thou this fiend of Scotland and myself;

    Within my sword's length set him; if he 'scape,

    Heaven forgive him too!




    This tune goes manly.

    Come, go we to the king; our power is ready;

    Our lack is nothing but our leave; Macbeth

    Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above

    Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer you may:

    The night is long that never finds the day.





SCENE I. Dunsinane. Ante-room in the castle.


    Enter a Doctor of Physic and a Waiting-Gentlewoman




    I have two nights watched with you, but can perceive

    no truth in your report. When was it she last walked?




    Since his majesty went into the field, I have seen

    her rise from her bed, throw her night-gown upon

    her, unlock her closet, take forth paper, fold it,

    write upon't, read it, afterwards seal it, and again

    return to bed; yet all this while in a most fast sleep.




    A great perturbation in nature, to receive at once

    the benefit of sleep, and do the effects of

    watching! In this slumbery agitation, besides her

    walking and other actual performances, what, at any

    time, have you heard her say?




    That, sir, which I will not report after her.




    You may to me: and 'tis most meet you should.




    Neither to you nor any one; having no witness to

    confirm my speech.


    Enter LADY MACBETH, with a taper

    Lo you, here she comes! This is her very guise;

    and, upon my life, fast asleep. Observe her; stand close.




    How came she by that light?




    Why, it stood by her: she has light by her

    continually; 'tis her command.




    You see, her eyes are open.




    Ay, but their sense is shut.




    What is it she does now? Look, how she rubs her hands.




    It is an accustomed action with her, to seem thus

    washing her hands: I have known her continue in

    this a quarter of an hour.




    Yet here's a spot.




    Hark! she speaks: I will set down what comes from

    her, to satisfy my remembrance the more strongly.




    Out, damned spot! out, I say!--One: two: why,

    then, 'tis time to do't.--Hell is murky!--Fie, my

    lord, fie! a soldier, and afeard? What need we

    fear who knows it, when none can call our power to

    account?--Yet who would have thought the old man

    to have had so much blood in him.




    Do you mark that?




    The thane of Fife had a wife: where is she now?--

    What, will these hands ne'er be clean?--No more o'

    that, my lord, no more o' that: you mar all with

    this starting.




    Go to, go to; you have known what you should not.




    She has spoke what she should not, I am sure of

    that: heaven knows what she has known.




    Here's the smell of the blood still: all the

    perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little

    hand. Oh, oh, oh!




    What a sigh is there! The heart is sorely charged.




    I would not have such a heart in my bosom for the

    dignity of the whole body.




    Well, well, well,--




    Pray God it be, sir.




    This disease is beyond my practise: yet I have known

    those which have walked in their sleep who have died

    holily in their beds.




    Wash your hands, put on your nightgown; look not so

    pale.--I tell you yet again, Banquo's buried; he

    cannot come out on's grave.




    Even so?




    To bed, to bed! there's knocking at the gate:

    come, come, come, come, give me your hand. What's

    done cannot be undone.--To bed, to bed, to bed!






    Will she go now to bed?








    Foul whisperings are abroad: unnatural deeds

    Do breed unnatural troubles: infected minds

    To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets:

    More needs she the divine than the physician.

    God, God forgive us all! Look after her;

    Remove from her the means of all annoyance,

    And still keep eyes upon her. So, good night:

    My mind she has mated, and amazed my sight.

    I think, but dare not speak.




    Good night, good doctor.




SCENE II. The country near Dunsinane.


    Drum and colours. Enter MENTEITH, CAITHNESS, ANGUS, LENNOX, and Soldiers




    The English power is near, led on by Malcolm,

    His uncle Siward and the good Macduff:

    Revenges burn in them; for their dear causes

    Would to the bleeding and the grim alarm

    Excite the mortified man.




    Near Birnam wood

    Shall we well meet them; that way are they coming.




    Who knows if Donalbain be with his brother?




    For certain, sir, he is not: I have a file

    Of all the gentry: there is Siward's son,

    And many unrough youths that even now

    Protest their first of manhood.




    What does the tyrant?




    Great Dunsinane he strongly fortifies:

    Some say he's mad; others that lesser hate him

    Do call it valiant fury: but, for certain,

    He cannot buckle his distemper'd cause

    Within the belt of rule.




    Now does he feel

    His secret murders sticking on his hands;

    Now minutely revolts upbraid his faith-breach;

    Those he commands move only in command,

    Nothing in love: now does he feel his title

    Hang loose about him, like a giant's robe

    Upon a dwarfish thief.




    Who then shall blame

    His pester'd senses to recoil and start,

    When all that is within him does condemn

    Itself for being there?




    Well, march we on,

    To give obedience where 'tis truly owed:

    Meet we the medicine of the sickly weal,

    And with him pour we in our country's purge

    Each drop of us.




    Or so much as it needs,

    To dew the sovereign flower and drown the weeds.

    Make we our march towards Birnam.


    Exeunt, marching


SCENE III. Dunsinane. A room in the castle.


    Enter MACBETH, Doctor, and Attendants




    Bring me no more reports; let them fly all:

    Till Birnam wood remove to Dunsinane,

    I cannot taint with fear. What's the boy Malcolm?

    Was he not born of woman? The spirits that know

    All mortal consequences have pronounced me thus:

    'Fear not, Macbeth; no man that's born of woman

    Shall e'er have power upon thee.' Then fly,

    false thanes,

    And mingle with the English epicures:

    The mind I sway by and the heart I bear

    Shall never sag with doubt nor shake with fear.


    Enter a Servant

    The devil damn thee black, thou cream-faced loon!

    Where got'st thou that goose look?




    There is ten thousand--




    Geese, villain!




    Soldiers, sir.




    Go prick thy face, and over-red thy fear,

    Thou lily-liver'd boy. What soldiers, patch?

    Death of thy soul! those linen cheeks of thine

    Are counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whey-face?




    The English force, so please you.




    Take thy face hence.


    Exit Servant

    Seyton!--I am sick at heart,

    When I behold--Seyton, I say!--This push

    Will cheer me ever, or disseat me now.

    I have lived long enough: my way of life

    Is fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf;

    And that which should accompany old age,

    As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends,

    I must not look to have; but, in their stead,

    Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honour, breath,

    Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not. Seyton!


    Enter SEYTON




    What is your gracious pleasure?




    What news more?




    All is confirm'd, my lord, which was reported.




    I'll fight till from my bones my flesh be hack'd.

    Give me my armour.




    'Tis not needed yet.




    I'll put it on.

    Send out more horses; skirr the country round;

    Hang those that talk of fear. Give me mine armour.

    How does your patient, doctor?




    Not so sick, my lord,

    As she is troubled with thick coming fancies,

    That keep her from her rest.




    Cure her of that.

    Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased,

    Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow,

    Raze out the written troubles of the brain

    And with some sweet oblivious antidote

    Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff

    Which weighs upon the heart?




    Therein the patient

    Must minister to himself.




    Throw physic to the dogs; I'll none of it.

    Come, put mine armour on; give me my staff.

    Seyton, send out. Doctor, the thanes fly from me.

    Come, sir, dispatch. If thou couldst, doctor, cast

    The water of my land, find her disease,

    And purge it to a sound and pristine health,

    I would applaud thee to the very echo,

    That should applaud again.--Pull't off, I say.--

    What rhubarb, cyme, or what purgative drug,

    Would scour these English hence? Hear'st thou of them?




    Ay, my good lord; your royal preparation

    Makes us hear something.




    Bring it after me.

    I will not be afraid of death and bane,

    Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane.




    [Aside] Were I from Dunsinane away and clear,

    Profit again should hardly draw me here.




SCENE IV. Country near Birnam wood.


    Drum and colours. Enter MALCOLM, SIWARD and YOUNG SIWARD, MACDUFF, MENTEITH, CAITHNESS, ANGUS, LENNOX, ROSS, and Soldiers, marching




    Cousins, I hope the days are near at hand

    That chambers will be safe.




    We doubt it nothing.




    What wood is this before us?




    The wood of Birnam.




    Let every soldier hew him down a bough

    And bear't before him: thereby shall we shadow

    The numbers of our host and make discovery

    Err in report of us.




    It shall be done.




    We learn no other but the confident tyrant

    Keeps still in Dunsinane, and will endure

    Our setting down before 't.




    'Tis his main hope:

    For where there is advantage to be given,

    Both more and less have given him the revolt,

    And none serve with him but constrained things

    Whose hearts are absent too.




    Let our just censures

    Attend the true event, and put we on

    Industrious soldiership.




    The time approaches

    That will with due decision make us know

    What we shall say we have and what we owe.

    Thoughts speculative their unsure hopes relate,

    But certain issue strokes must arbitrate:

    Towards which advance the war.


    Exeunt, marching


SCENE V. Dunsinane. Within the castle.


    Enter MACBETH, SEYTON, and Soldiers, with drum and colours




    Hang out our banners on the outward walls;

    The cry is still 'They come:' our castle's strength

    Will laugh a siege to scorn: here let them lie

    Till famine and the ague eat them up:

    Were they not forced with those that should be ours,

    We might have met them dareful, beard to beard,

    And beat them backward home.


    A cry of women within

    What is that noise?




    It is the cry of women, my good lord.






    I have almost forgot the taste of fears;

    The time has been, my senses would have cool'd

    To hear a night-shriek; and my fell of hair

    Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir

    As life were in't: I have supp'd full with horrors;

    Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts

    Cannot once start me.


    Re-enter SEYTON

    Wherefore was that cry?




    The queen, my lord, is dead.




    She should have died hereafter;

    There would have been a time for such a word.

    To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,

    Creeps in this petty pace from day to day

    To the last syllable of recorded time,

    And all our yesterdays have lighted fools

    The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!

    Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player

    That struts and frets his hour upon the stage

    And then is heard no more: it is a tale

    Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

    Signifying nothing.


    Enter a Messenger

    Thou comest to use thy tongue; thy story quickly.




    Gracious my lord,

    I should report that which I say I saw,

    But know not how to do it.




    Well, say, sir.




    As I did stand my watch upon the hill,

    I look'd toward Birnam, and anon, methought,

    The wood began to move.




    Liar and slave!




    Let me endure your wrath, if't be not so:

    Within this three mile may you see it coming;

    I say, a moving grove.




    If thou speak'st false,

    Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive,

    Till famine cling thee: if thy speech be sooth,

    I care not if thou dost for me as much.

    I pull in resolution, and begin

    To doubt the equivocation of the fiend

    That lies like truth: 'Fear not, till Birnam wood

    Do come to Dunsinane:' and now a wood

    Comes toward Dunsinane. Arm, arm, and out!

    If this which he avouches does appear,

    There is nor flying hence nor tarrying here.

    I gin to be aweary of the sun,

    And wish the estate o' the world were now undone.

    Ring the alarum-bell! Blow, wind! come, wrack!

    At least we'll die with harness on our back.




SCENE VI. Dunsinane. Before the castle.


    Drum and colours. Enter MALCOLM, SIWARD, MACDUFF, and their Army, with boughs




    Now near enough: your leafy screens throw down.

    And show like those you are. You, worthy uncle,

    Shall, with my cousin, your right-noble son,

    Lead our first battle: worthy Macduff and we

    Shall take upon 's what else remains to do,

    According to our order.




    Fare you well.

    Do we but find the tyrant's power to-night,

    Let us be beaten, if we cannot fight.




    Make all our trumpets speak; give them all breath,

    Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death.




SCENE VII. Another part of the field.


    Alarums. Enter MACBETH




    They have tied me to a stake; I cannot fly,

    But, bear-like, I must fight the course. What's he

    That was not born of woman? Such a one

    Am I to fear, or none.






    What is thy name?




    Thou'lt be afraid to hear it.




    No; though thou call'st thyself a hotter name

    Than any is in hell.




    My name's Macbeth.




    The devil himself could not pronounce a title

    More hateful to mine ear.




    No, nor more fearful.




    Thou liest, abhorred tyrant; with my sword

    I'll prove the lie thou speak'st.


    They fight and YOUNG SIWARD is slain




    Thou wast born of woman

    But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn,

    Brandish'd by man that's of a woman born.




    Alarums. Enter MACDUFF




    That way the noise is. Tyrant, show thy face!

    If thou be'st slain and with no stroke of mine,

    My wife and children's ghosts will haunt me still.

    I cannot strike at wretched kerns, whose arms

    Are hired to bear their staves: either thou, Macbeth,

    Or else my sword with an unbatter'd edge

    I sheathe again undeeded. There thou shouldst be;

    By this great clatter, one of greatest note

    Seems bruited. Let me find him, fortune!

    And more I beg not.


    Exit. Alarums


    Enter MALCOLM and SIWARD




    This way, my lord; the castle's gently render'd:

    The tyrant's people on both sides do fight;

    The noble thanes do bravely in the war;

    The day almost itself professes yours,

    And little is to do.




    We have met with foes

    That strike beside us.




    Enter, sir, the castle.


    Exeunt. Alarums

SCENE VIII. Another part of the field.


    Enter MACBETH




    Why should I play the Roman fool, and die

    On mine own sword? whiles I see lives, the gashes

    Do better upon them.


    Enter MACDUFF




    Turn, hell-hound, turn!




    Of all men else I have avoided thee:

    But get thee back; my soul is too much charged

    With blood of thine already.




    I have no words:

    My voice is in my sword: thou bloodier villain

    Than terms can give thee out!


    They fight




    Thou losest labour:

    As easy mayst thou the intrenchant air

    With thy keen sword impress as make me bleed:

    Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests;

    I bear a charmed life, which must not yield,

    To one of woman born.




    Despair thy charm;

    And let the angel whom thou still hast served

    Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb

    Untimely ripp'd.




    Accursed be that tongue that tells me so,

    For it hath cow'd my better part of man!

    And be these juggling fiends no more believed,

    That palter with us in a double sense;

    That keep the word of promise to our ear,

    And break it to our hope. I'll not fight with thee.




    Then yield thee, coward,

    And live to be the show and gaze o' the time:

    We'll have thee, as our rarer monsters are,

    Painted on a pole, and underwrit,

    'Here may you see the tyrant.'




    I will not yield,

    To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet,

    And to be baited with the rabble's curse.

    Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane,

    And thou opposed, being of no woman born,

    Yet I will try the last. Before my body

    I throw my warlike shield. Lay on, Macduff,

    And damn'd be him that first cries, 'Hold, enough!'


    Exeunt, fighting. Alarums


    Retreat. Flourish. Enter, with drum and colours, MALCOLM, SIWARD, ROSS, the other Thanes, and Soldiers




    I would the friends we miss were safe arrived.




    Some must go off: and yet, by these I see,

    So great a day as this is cheaply bought.




    Macduff is missing, and your noble son.




    Your son, my lord, has paid a soldier's debt:

    He only lived but till he was a man;

    The which no sooner had his prowess confirm'd

    In the unshrinking station where he fought,

    But like a man he died.




    Then he is dead?




    Ay, and brought off the field: your cause of sorrow

    Must not be measured by his worth, for then

    It hath no end.




    Had he his hurts before?




    Ay, on the front.




    Why then, God's soldier be he!

    Had I as many sons as I have hairs,

    I would not wish them to a fairer death:

    And so, his knell is knoll'd.




    He's worth more sorrow,

    And that I'll spend for him.




    He's worth no more

    They say he parted well, and paid his score:

    And so, God be with him! Here comes newer comfort.


    Re-enter MACDUFF, with MACBETH's head




    Hail, king! for so thou art: behold, where stands

    The usurper's cursed head: the time is free:

    I see thee compass'd with thy kingdom's pearl,

    That speak my salutation in their minds;

    Whose voices I desire aloud with mine:

    Hail, King of Scotland!




    Hail, King of Scotland!






    We shall not spend a large expense of time

    Before we reckon with your several loves,

    And make us even with you. My thanes and kinsmen,

    Henceforth be earls, the first that ever Scotland

    In such an honour named. What's more to do,

    Which would be planted newly with the time,

    As calling home our exiled friends abroad

    That fled the snares of watchful tyranny;

    Producing forth the cruel ministers

    Of this dead butcher and his fiend-like queen,

    Who, as 'tis thought, by self and violent hands

    Took off her life; this, and what needful else

    That calls upon us, by the grace of Grace,

    We will perform in measure, time and place:

    So, thanks to all at once and to each one,

    Whom we invite to see us crown'd at Scone.


    Flourish. Exeunt