What sights, my lord Lady M. 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.
Len.
Attend his majesty ! Lady M.
Good night, and better health
A kind good night to all! [Exeurt Lords and Attendants. Mach. It will have blood; they say, blood will have blood;
Stones have been known to move, and trees to speak;
Augures, and understood relations have,
By magot pies, and choughs, and rooks, brought forth
The secret'st man of blood.-What is the night? Lady M. Almost at odds with morning, which is which.
Mach. How say'st thou, that Macduff denies his person,
At our great bidding? Lady M.
Did you send to him, sir? Mach. 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 feed. 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
Stept 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.
Lady M. You lack the season of all natures,
sleep.
Macb. 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. The Heath. Thunder. Enter Hecate, meeting the three Witches. 1 Witch. Why, how now, Hecate? you look angerly.
Hec. Have I not reason, beldams, as you are,
Saucy, and overbold? How did you dare
To trade and traffick 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 magick slights,
Shall raise such artificial sprights,
As, by the strength of their illusion,
Shall draw him on to his confusion:
He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear
His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace, and fear:
And you all know, security Is mortal's chiefest enemy.
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. [Erit. 1 Witch. Come, let's make haste; she'll soon be back again. [Exeunt. SCENE VI. Fores. A Room in the Palace. Enter Lenox and another Lord.
Len. 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 it 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 teur,
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 it. 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
His presence at the tyrant's feast, I hear,
Macduff lives in disgrace: Sir, can you tell
Where he bestows himself?
Lord.
The son of Duncan,
From whom this tyrant holds the due of birth,
Lives in the English court; and is receiv'd
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 Macduff7
Lord. He did; and with an absolute, Sir, not 1,
The cloudy messenger turns me his back,
And hums; as who should say, You'll rue the
8 Witch. Harper cries:-'Tis time, 'tis time.
1 Witch. Round about the cauldron go;
In the poison'd entrails throw.
Toad, that under coldest stone,
Days and nights hast thirty-one
Swelter'd vencm, sleeping got,
Boil thou first i' the charmed pot!
All. Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire, burn; and, cauldron, bubble.
2 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.
All. Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire, burn; and, cauldron, bubble.
3 Witch. Scale of dragon; tooth of wolf;
Witch's mummy; maw and guli
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,
Sliver'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.
All. Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire, burn; and, cauldron, bubble.
2 Witch. Cool it with a baboon's blood, Then the charm is firm and good.
Enter Hecate, and the other three Witches. Hec. O, well done! I commend your pains; And every one shall share i' the gains. And now about the cauldron sing, Like elves and fairies in a ring, Enchanting all that you put in.
Black spirits and white,
Red spirits and gray;
Mingle, mingle, mingle,
You that mingle may.
2 Witch. By the pricking of my thumbs, Something wicked this way comes:
Open, locks, whoever knocks.
Rebellious head, rise never, till the wood
Of Birnam rise, and our high-plac'd Macbeth
Mach. How now, you secret, black, and mid- Shall live the lease of nature, pay his breath
night hags?
What is't you do?
A deed without a name.
Macb. 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 lodg'd, and trees blown
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.
Macb. I will be satisfied: deny me this,
And an eternal curse fall on you! Let me
All. Show his eyes, and grieve his heart; Come like shadows, so depart.
Eight Kings appear, and pass over the Stage in order; the last with a Glass in his Hand; Banquo following.
Macb. Thou art too like the spirit of Banquo; down!
Thy crown does sear mine eyeballs:-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 7-A fourth 7-Start,
What! will the line stretch out to the crack of
Another yet?-A seventh 7-I'll see no more:-
And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass,
Which shows me many more; and some I see,
That twofold balls and treble sceptres carry :
Horrible sight!-Ay, now, I see, 'tis true;
For the blood-bolter'd Banquo smiles upon me,
And points at them for his.-What, is this so?
1 Witch. Ay, sir, all this is so :-But why
Stands Macbeth thus amazedly ?-
Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprights,
And show the best of our delights;
I'll charm the air to give a sound,
While you perform your antique round:
That this great king may kindly say,
Our duties did his welcome pay.
[Musick. The Witches dance, and vanish. Macb. Where are they 7 Gone 7-Let this pernicious hour
Stand aye accursed in the calendar!
Come in, without there!
What's your grace's will?
Macb. Saw you the weird sisters?
Len.
Macb. Came they not by you?
Len.
No, my lord.
No, indeed, my lord.
Mucb. 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?
Len. 'Tis two or three, my lord, that bring you
word,
Macduff is fled to England.
Macb
Len. Ay, my good lord.
Macb. Time, thou anticipat'st 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 gentle-
Come, bring me where they are. [Exeunt.
SCENE II. Fife. A Room in Macduff's Castle.
Enter Lady Macduff, her Son, and Rosse.
L. Macd. What had he done, to make him fly
the land?
Rosse. You must have patience, madam.
L. Macd.
'He had none;
His flight was madness: When our actions do
Our fears do make us traitors.
You know not,
Whether it was his wisdom, or his fear.
L. Macd. Wisdom! to leave his wife, to leave
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.
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
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!
L. Macd. Father'd he is, and yet he's fatherless.
Rosse. I am so much a fool, should I stay
longer,
I take my leave at once."
It would be my disgrace, and your discomfort:
L. Macd.
[Exit Rosse.
Sirrah, your father's dead;
And what will you do now? How will you live 1
Son. As birds do, mother.
L. Macd.
What, with worms and flies?
Son. With what I get, I mean; and so do they.
L. Macd. Poor bird! thou'dst never fear the
net, nor lime,
The pitfall, nor the gin.
Son. Why should I, mother? Poor birds they
are not set for.
My father is not dead, for all your saying.
L. Macd. Yes, he is dead; how wilt thou do
for a father?
Son. Nay, how will you do for a husband?
L. Macd. Why, I can buy me twenty at any
market.
Son. Then you'll buy 'em to sell again.
L. Macd. Thou speak'st with all thy wit; and
yet i' faith,
With wit enough for thee.
Son. Was my father a traitor, mother?
L. Macd. Ay, that he was.
Son. What is a traitor?
L. Macd. Why, one that swears and lies.
Son. And be all traitors, that do so?
L. Macd. Every one that does so, is a traitor, and must be hanged.
Son. And must they all be hanged, that swear and lie?
L. Macd. Every one.
Son. Who must hang them?
L. Macd. Why, the honest men.
Son. Then the liars and swearers are fools; for there are liars and swearers enough to beat the honest men, and hang up them.
L. Macd. Now, God help thee, poor monkey!
But how wilt thou do for a father?
if you would not, it were a good sign that I
Son. If he were dead, you'd weep for him:
should quickly have a new father.
L. Macd. Poor prattler! how thou talk'st.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. 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 pre-
serve you!
I have done no harm. But I remember now
[Exit Messenger.
Whither should I fly 7
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,
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L. Macd. I hope, in no place so unsanctified, More suffer, and more sundry ways than ever,
Where such as thou may'st find him.
By him that shall succeed.
Mur.
Mucd.
He's a traitor.
Son. Thou ly'st, thou shag-ear'd villain.
Mur. What, you egg! [Stabbing him.
Young fry of treachery!
Son.
He has killed me, mother;
Run away, I pray you.
[Dies.
[Exit Lady Macduff, crying murder, and
pursued by the Murderers.
England. A room in the King's Palace.
Enter Malcolm and Macduff.
What should he be 7
Mal. 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 compar'd
With my confineless harms.
Not in the legions
Of horrid hell can come a devil more damn'd
In evils, to top Macbeth.
Mal.
I grant him bloody,
Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful,
Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin
Mal. Let us seek out some desolate shade, That has a name: But there's no bottom, Done,
and there
Weep our sad bosoms empty.
Macd.
Hold fast the mortal sword; and, like good
Bestride our downfall'n birthdom: Each new
New widow's howl; new orphans cry, new sor
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 lov'd him
well;
He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young: but something,
In my voluptuousness: your wives, your daugh
ters,
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 a one to reign.
Macd.
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 pienty,
And yet seem cold, the time you may so hood
wink.
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 inclin'd.
Mal.
With this, there grows,
In my most ill compos'd affection, such
A stanchless avarice, that, were I king,
You may deserve of him through me; and wis-I should cut off the nobles for their lands:
To offer up a weak, poor, innocent lamb,
To appease an angry god.
Macd. I am not treacherous.
Mal.
But Macbeth is.
A good and virtuous nature may recoil,
In an imperial charge. But crave your pardon;
That which you are, my thoughts cannot trans-
pose;
Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell:
Though all things foul would wear the brows of
grace,
Yet grace must still look so.
Macd.
I have lost my hopes.
Mal. 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.
Macd.
Bleed, bleed, poor country!
Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure,
For goodness dares not check thee !-wear thou
thy wrongs;
Thy 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.
Mal.
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;
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.
Macd.
This avarice
Sticks deeper; grows with more pernicious root
Than summer-seeding lust: and it hath been
The sword of our slain kings: Yet do not fear;
Scotland hath foysons to fill up your will,
Of your mere own: All these are portable,
With other graces weigh'd.
Mal. But I have none: The king-becoming
What is the newest grief?
Rosse. That of an hour's age doth hiss the
Each minute teems a new one.
Macd.
Rosse. Why, well.
Macd.
Wip'd the black scruples, reconcil'd my thoughts | Too nice, and yet too true!
To thy good truth and honour. Devilish Macbeth Mal.
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,
All ready at a point, was setting forth;
Now we'll together; And the chance, of good-
Be like our warranted quarrel! Why are you silent?
Macd. Such welcome and unwelcome things
How does my wife?
And all my children?
Rosse.
Macd. The tyrant has not batter'd at their
peace?
Rosse. No; they were well at peace when I
did leave them.
Macd. Be not a niggard of your speech; How goes it?
Rosse. 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.
Mal.
Be it 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.
This comfort with the like! But I have words,
'Would, I could answer
That would be howl'd out in the desert air,
Where hearing should not latch them.
Macd.
What concern they?
The general cause 7 or is it a fee-grief,
Due to some single breast?
Rosse.
more anon.-Comes the king
forth, I pray you?
Doct. 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.
Mal.
I thank you, doctor.
[Erit Doctor.
Macd. What's the disease be means?
Mal.
"Tis call'd the evil:
A most miraculous work in this good king;
Which often, since my here-remain in England,
No mind, that's honest, But in it shares some wo; though the main part Pertains to you alone.
If it be mine,
Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it.
Rosse. Let not your ears despise my tongue
Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound
for ever,
That ever yet they heard.
I have seen him do. How he solicits heaven,
Himself best knows: but strangely visited peo-Macd.
ple,
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 vir
He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy;
And sundry blessings hang about his throne,
That speak him full of grace.
Macd.
See, who comes here?
Mal. My countryman; but yet I know him not.
Macd. My ever-gentle cousin, welcome hither.
Mal. I know him now: Good God, betimes
The means that make us strangers!
Rosse.
Humph! I guess at it. Rosse. Your castle is surpris'd; your wife,
Savagely slaughter'd to relate the manner,
Were, on the quarry of these murder'd deer,
To add the death of you.
What, man! ne'er pull your hat upon your
Give sorrow words: the grief that does not
speak,
Whispers the o'erfraught heart, and bids it break.
Macd. My children too?
Be comforted. Let's make us med'cines of our great revenge, Sir, Amen. To cure this deadly grief.
Macd. Stands Scotland where it did?
Rosse.
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 rent
the air,
Are made, not mark'd; where violent sorrow
Macd. 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?
Mal. Dispute it like a man.
Macd.
1 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 1 am,
Not for their own demerits, but for mine
Fell slaughter on their souls; Heaven rest them
|