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



What! will the line stretch out to the crack of
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
That two-fold 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.

(Music. The Witches dance, and vanish.) Macb. Where are they? Gone?-Let this pernicious hour

Stand aye accursed in the calendar!-
Come in, without there!

Enter LENOX.

What's your grace's will?
Macb. Saw you the weird sisters?

No, my lord.

Mach. Came they not by you?
No, indeed, my lord.
Macb. 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
Macduff is fled to England.
Fled to England?


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:

Rosse. You must have patience, madam.

He had none :

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,
It would be my disgrace, and your discomfort:
I take my leave at once.
[Exit Rosse.

L. Macd. Sirrah, your father's dead;
And what will you do now? How will you live?
Son. As birds do, mother.

You know not,
Whether it was his wisdom, or his fear.
L. Macd. 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

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,
The pit-fall, nor the gin.
[nor lime,
Son. Why should I, mother? Poor birds they

are not set for.

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 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.

Enter a Messenger.

[Exeunt. SCENE II.-Fife. A Room in Macduff's Castle. Enter Lady MACDUFF, her Son, and ROSSE.

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

Lady Macd. What had he done, to make him fly I doubt, some danger does approach you nearly:

Though in your state of honour I am perfect.

the land?

If you will take a homely man's advice,

L. Macd.

Be not found here; hence, with your little ones.
His flight was madness: When our actions do not, To do worse to you, were fell cruelty,
To fright you thus, methinks, I am too savage;
Our fears do make us traitors.

Which is too nigh your person. Heaven preserve
I dare abide no longer. [Exit Messenger.
L. Macd.
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?-What are these

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

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.
[and lie?
Son. And must they all be hanged, that swear
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?

Son. If he were dead, you'd weep for him: if you would not, it were a good sign that I should quickly have a new father.

L. Macd. Poor prattler! how thou talk'st.

Enter Murderers.
Mur. Where is your husband?

L. Macd. I hope, in no place so unsanctified,
Where such as thou may'st find him.

He's a traitor.
Son. Thou ly'st, thou shag-ear'd villain.
Young fry of treachery?"
What, you egg? (Stabbing him.)


He has killed me, mother: Run away, I pray you. (Dies.) [Exit Lady Macduff, crying murder, and pursued by the Murderers.

SCENE III.-England. A Room in the King's Palace.


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

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

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.


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 tell :
Though all things foul would wear the brows of
Yet grace must still look so.
I have lost my hopes.
Mal. Perchance, even there, where I did find my



Why in that rawness left you wife, and child,
(Those precious motives, those strong knots oflove,)
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 dares not check thee! wear thou thy


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.


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? 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 Of horrid hell, can come a devil more damn'd In evils, to top Macbeth.

Mal. I grant him bloody, Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful,

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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.


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, perséverance, 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! Mal. 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 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,
Have banish'd me from Scotland.-Q, my breast,
Thy hope ends here!


Macduff, this noble passion, Child of integrity, hath from my soul Wip'd the black scruples, reconcil'd 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. 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 cliance, of goodness,
Be like our warranted quarrel! Why are you silent?
Macd. Such welcome and unwelcome things at
'Tis hard to reconcile.


Enter a Doctor.

Mal. Well; 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.


I thank you, doctor,
[Exit Doctor.

Macd. What's the disease he means?
'Tis call'd the evil:
A most miraculous work 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 ROSSE.

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 re-


The means that make us strangers!

Macd. Stands Scotland where it did?

Sir, Amen.

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 seems
A modern ecstacy; 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,

Macd. Too nice, and yet too true! Mal. What is the newest grief? Rosse. That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker; Each minute teems a new one. Macd. Rosse. Why, well. Macd.

How does my wife?

And all my children?


Well too. 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? [tidings,

Rosse. When I came hither to transport the 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 ́


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Savagely slaughter'd: to relate the manner,
To add the death of you.
Were, on the quarry of these murder'd deer,


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. Macd. My children too? Rosse.

Wife, children, servants, all

That could be found.

My wife kill'd too?

And I must be from thence!
I have said.

Let's make us med'cines of our great revenge,
Be comforted:
To cure this deadly grief.

Macd. He has no children.-All my pretty ones?
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. But I must also feel it as a man: I shall do so; That were most precious to me.-Did heaven look cannot but remember such things were, [on, They were all struck for thee! naught that I am, And would not take their part? Sinful Macduff, Not for their own demerits, but for mine, Fell slaughter on their souls: Heaven rest them [grief Mal. Be this the whetstone of your sword: let Convert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage it. Macd. O, I could play the woman with mine [heaven, Cut short all intermission; front to front, And braggart with my tongue! - But, gentle Bring thou this fiend of Scotland, and myself; Within my sword's length set him; if he 'scape, Heaven forgive him too!



Mal. This tune goes manly. Come, go we to the king; our power is ready; Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above Our lack is nothing but our leave: Macbeth Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer you


The night is long, that never finds the day.


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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 Doct. How came she by that light? [close. 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!-Fy, my lord, fy! 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 Doct. Do you mark that? [him? 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. [should not. Doct. Go to, go to; you have known what you 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 band. Oh! oh! oh! [charged. Doct. What a sigh is there! The heart is sorely Gent. I would not have such a heart in my bosom, for the dignity of the whole body.

Doct. Well, well, well,Gent. 'Pray God, it be, sir. Doct. This disease is beyond my practice: Yet I have known those which have walked in their sleep, who have died holily in their beds.

Lady M. Wash your hands, put on your nightgown; look not so pale:-I tell you yet again, Banquo's buried; he cannot come out of his grave. Doct. Even so?

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. [deeds

Doct. Will she go now to bed?
Gent. Directly.

Doct. Foul whisperings are abroad: Unnatural
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:
I think, but dare not speak.


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

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. 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.


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 ow'd: Meet we the medicin 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. Macb. 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 170man? 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 goose look?
Serv. There is ten thousand-


Geese, villain?
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, whey-face? Serv. The English force, so please you. Macb. Take thy face hence.-Seyton!-I am sick at heart,

When I behold-Seyton, 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, | But certain issue strokes must arbitrate:
Which the poor heart would fain deny, but dare not. Towards which, advance the war.


Sey. What is your gracious pleasure? Macb. What news more? Sey. All is confirm'd, my lord, which was reported. [hack'd. Macb. I'll fight, till from my bones my flesh be Give me my armour.


"Tis not needed yet.

Macb. I'll put it on. Send out more horses, skirr the country round; Hang those that talk of fear.-Give me mine ar[mour.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; 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.

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


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[Exeunt, marching. SCENE V.-Dunsinane. Within the Castle. Enter, with drums and colours, MACBETH, SEYTON, and Soldiers.

Macb. 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, We might have met them dareful, beard to beard, And beat them backward home. What is that (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.

Macb. 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.

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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 o'the world were now undone.-
Ring the alarum bell:-Blow, wind! come, wrack!
At least we'll die with harness on our back.

[Exeunt. SCENE VI.-The same. A lain before the Castle. Enter, with drums and colours, MALCOLM, old SIWARD, MACDUFF, &c. 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 us what else remains to do,
According to our order.

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