Son. Thou ly'st, thou shag-ear'd villain.

Mur. What, you egg?

Young fry of treachery?

Son. He has kill'd me, mother:

Ran away, I pray you!

More suffer, and more sundry ways, than ever,
By him that shall succeed.

Macd. What should he be?

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.
Macd. Not in the legions

[Stabbing him. Of horrid hell can come a devil more damn'd
In evils, to top Macbeth.
Mal. I grant him bloody,

[Exit Lady Macduff, crying murder, and pursued by the Murderers. SCENE III.-England. A room in the King's palace. Enter MALCOLM and MACDuff.

Mal. Let us seek out some desolate shade, and there Weep our sad bosoms empty!

Macd. 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.

Mal. 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 some-
thing

You may deserve of him through me; and wisdom,
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 transpose:
Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell:
Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace,
grace must still look so.

Yet

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!

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 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 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 inclin'd

Mal. With this, there grows,

In my most ill-compos'd 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.

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 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

For goodness dares not check thee. Wear thou thy Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell,

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. Be not offended!

I speak not as in absolute fear of you.
Ithink, our country sinks beneath the yoke,
It weeps, it bleeds, and each new day a gash
Is added to her wounds. Ithink, 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,

Uproar the universal peace, confound
All unity on earth.

Macd. O Scotland! Scotland!

Mal. If such a one be fit to govern, speak!
I am, as I have spoken.

Macd. 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 accurs'd,
And does blaspheme his breed? - Thy royal father
Was a most sainted king; the queen, that bore thee
Oftner upon her knees, than on her feet,
Died every day, she liv'd. Fare thee well!
These evils, thou repeat'st upon thyself,

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

Rosse. Let not your ears despise my tongue for ever,

[Exit Doctor. Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound,

Doct. I have two nights watched with you, but can perceive no truth in your report. When was it she last walked?

Gent. Since his majesty went into the field, I have seen her rise from her bed, throw her nightgown upon her, unlock her closet, take forth paper, fold it, write upon it, read it, afterwards seal it, and again return to bed; yet all this while in a most fast sleep. Doct. A great perturbation in nature! to receive at once the benefit of sleep, and do the effects of watch-I ing! In this slumbry agitation, besides her walking, and other actual performances, what, at any time, have you heard her say?

Gent. That, sir, which I will not report after her. Doct. You may, to me: and 'tis most meet, you should.

Gent. Neither to you, nor any one; having no ness to confirm my speech.

Lady M. 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! [Exit Lady Macbeth. Doct. Will she go now to bed? Gent. Directly.

Doct. 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 amaz'd my sight:
think, but dare not speak.
Gent. Good night, good doctor!

[Exeunt.

SCENE II. - The country near Dunsinane.
Enter, with drum and colours, MENTETH, CATHNESS,
ANGUS, LENOx, and Soldiers.

Ment. The English power is near, led on by Malcolm,
His uncle Siward, and the good Macduff.
wit-Revenges burn in them: for their dear causes
Would, to the bleeding, and the grim alarm,
Excite the mortified man.

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!
Doct. How came she by that light?

Gent. Why, it stood by her. She has light by her continually; 'tis her command.

Doct. You see, her eyes are open.
Gent. Ay, but their sense is shut.

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

Gent. 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.

Lady M. Yet here's a spot.

Doct. Hark, she speaks! I will set down what comes from her, to satisfy my remembrance the more strongly.

Lady M. Out, damned spot! out, I say!- One; Two; Why, then 'tis time to do't: Hell is murky! -Fye, my lord, fye! 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? Doct. Do you mark that?

Lady. M. 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.

Doct. Go to, go to! you have known, what you should not.

Gent. She has spoke, what she should not, I am sure of that. Heaven knows what she has known. Lady M. Here's the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh! oh! oh!

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

Ang. Near Birnam wood

Shall we well meet them; that way are they coming.
Cath. Who knows, if Donalbain be with his brother?
Len. 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.

Ment. What does the tyrant?

Cath. 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.
Ang. 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.

Ment. Who then shall blame
His pester'd senses to recoil and start,
When all, that is within him, does condemn
Itself, for being there?

Cath. Well, march we on,

To give obedience, where 'tis truly ow'd!
Meet we the medecin of the sickly weal;
And with him pour we, in our country's purge,
Each drop of us!

Len. 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. Macb. Bring me no more reports! let them fly all! 'Till Birnam wood remove to Dunsinane,

290

I cannot taint with fear. What's the boy Malcolm?
Was he not born of woman? The spirits, that know
All mortal consequents, pronounc'd me thus:
Fear not, Macbeth! no man, that's born of woman,:
Shall e'er have power on thee.-Then fly,false thanes,
And mingle with the English epicures!
The mind I sway by, and the heart I bear,
Shall never sagg with doubt, nor shake with fear.
Enter a Servant.

The devil damn thee black, thou cream-fac'd loon!
Where got'st thou that gouse look?
Serv. There is ten thousand-
Mach. Geese, villain?

Serv. Soldiers, sir.

Macb. 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, wheyface?
Serv. The English force, so please you.
Macb. Take thy face hence!- Seyton!-I am sick

at heart,

When I behold- Scyton, I say!- This push
Will cheer me ever, or disseat me now.

I have liv'd 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, but dare not.
Seyton!-

Give me my armour!

Sey. 'Tis not needed yet.

Macb. I'll put it on.

Send out more horses, skirr the country round;

SCENE IV. - Country near Dunsinane: Awood in

new.

Enter, with drum and colours, MALCOLM, old Siward,
and his Son, MACDUIF, MENTETH, CATHNESS, ANGUS,
LENOX, ROSSE, and Soldiers marching.
Mal. Cousins, I hope, the days are near at hand,
That chambers will be safe.
Ment. We doubt it nothing.
Siw. What wood is this before us?
Ment. The wood of Birnam.

Mal. 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.

Sold. It shall be done.

Siw. We learn no other, but the confident tyrant
Keeps still in Dunsinane, and will endure
Our setting down before't.
Mal. 'Tis his main hope:

For where there is advantage to be given,
Both more and less hath given him the revolt;
And none serve with him but constrained things,
Whose hearts are absent too.

Macd. Let our just censures

Attend the true event, and put we on
Industrious soldiership!

Siw. 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, with drums and colours, MACBETH, SEYTON,
and Soldiers.

Mach. 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 forc'd with those that should be ours,

Hang those that talk of fear!-Give me mine armour! - We might have met them dareful, beard to beard,

How does your patient, doctor?

Doct.Not so sick, my lord,

As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies,
That keep her from her rest.

Macb. Cure her of that!

Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd,
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow,
Race 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?

Doct. Therein the patient
Must minister to himself.

Macb. Throw physic to the dogs! I'll none of it.
Come, put mine armour on; give me my staff!.
Seyton, send out! -Doctor, the thanes fly from me!
Come, sir, despatch. If thou could'st, 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, senna, or what purgative drug,
Would scour these English hence? Hearest thou of
them?

Doct. Ay, my good lord; your royal preparation Makes us hear something.

Macb. Bring it after me!

And beat them backward home. What is that noise?
[A cry within, of Women.
Sey. It is the cry of women, my good lord.
Macb. 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 slaught'rous thoughts,
Cannot once start me. - Wherefore was that cry?
Sey. The queen, my lord, is dead.

Mach. 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 com'st to use thy tongue; thy story quickly.
Mess. Gracious my lord,

I shall report that which I say I saw,
But know not, how to do it.

Macb. Well, say, sir!

I will not be afraid of death and bane,
Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane.

[Exit.

Doct. Were I from Dunsinane away and clear, Profit again should hardly draw me here.

[Exit.

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

Mess. As I did stand my watch upon the hill,

Mess. Let me endure your wrath, if't be not so! Within this three mile you may see it coming;

I say, a moving grove.

Macb. 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 a-weary of the sun,

And wish the estate of the world were now undone.
Ring the alarum bell! - Blow, wind! come, wrack!
At least we'll die with harness on our back. [Exeunt.
The same. A plain before the castle.
Enter, with drums and colours, MALCOLM, old SIWARD,
MACDUFF, etc. and their army, with boughs.
Mal. Now near enough; your leavy 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.

Siw. Fare you well! —

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

Let us be beaten, if we cannot fight.

Macb. Why should I play the Roman fool, and die
On mine own sword? whiles I see lives, the gashes
Do better upon them.

Re-enter MACDUFF.
Macd. Turn, hell-hound, turn!

Macb. Of all men else I have avoided thee:
But get thee back, my soul is too much charg'd
With blood of thine already.

Macd. I have no words,

My voice is in my sword, thou bloodier villain,
Than terms can give thee out!
[They fight.
Macb. Thou losest labour:

As easy may'st thou the intrenchant air

Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests!
With thy keen sword impress, as make me bleed:

I

bear a charmed life, which must not yield To one of woman born.

Macd. Despair thy charm,

And let the angel, whom thou still hast serv'd,
Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb
Untimely ripp'd.

Macb. Accursed be that tongue, that tells me so,
For it hath cow'd my better part of man!
And be these juggling fiends no more believ❜d,

Macd. Make all our trumpets speak; give them all That palter with us in a double sense,

breath,

Enter young SIWARD.

Yo. Siw. What is thy name?

Mach. Thou'lt be afraid to hear it.

-

- What's he,

Yo. Siw. No; though thou call'st thyself a hotter 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.

Yo. Siw. The devil himself could not pronounce a Retreat. Flourish. Re-enter, with drum and colours, title

Macd. 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 kernes, whose arms

Are hir'd to bear their staves; either thou, Macbeth,
Or else my sword, with an unbatter'd edge,

I sheath again undceded. There thou should'st be;
By this great clatter, one of greatest note
Seems bruited. Let me find him, fortune!
And more I beg not.

Must not be measur'd by his worth, for then

It hath no end.

Siw. Had he his hurts before?

Rosse. Ay, on the front.

Siw. Why, then God's soldier be he!
Had I as many sons, as I have hairs,
[Exit. Alarum. I would not wish them to a fairer death:
37 *