Part 1 out of 3
by William Shakespeare
DUNCAN, King of Scotland.
MALCOLM, his Son.
DONALBAIN, his Son.
MACBETH, General in the King's Army.
BANQUO, General in the King's Army.
MACDUFF, Nobleman of Scotland.
LENNOX, Nobleman of Scotland.
ROSS, Nobleman of Scotland.
MENTEITH, Nobleman of Scotland.
ANGUS, Nobleman of Scotland.
CAITHNESS, Nobleman of Scotland.
FLEANCE, Son to Banquo.
SIWARD, Earl of Northumberland, General of the English Forces.
YOUNG SIWARD, his Son.
SEYTON, an Officer attending on Macbeth.
BOY, Son to Macduff.
An English Doctor. A Scotch Doctor. A Soldier. A Porter. An Old
Gentlewoman attending on Lady Macbeth.
HECATE,and three Witches.
Lords, Gentlemen, Officers, Soldiers, Murderers, Attendants,
The Ghost of Banquo and several other Apparitions.
SCENE: In the end of the Fourth Act, in England; through the rest
of the Play, in Scotland; and chiefly at Macbeth's Castle.
SCENE I. An open Place. Thunder and Lightning.
[Enter three Witches.]
When shall we three meet again?
In thunder, lightning, or in rain?
When the hurlyburly's done,
When the battle's lost and won.
That will be ere the set of sun.
Where the place?
Upon the heath.
There to meet with Macbeth.
I come, Graymalkin!
Fair is foul, and foul is fair:
Hover through the fog and filthy air.
SCENE II. A Camp near Forres.
[Alarum within. Enter King Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain, Lennox,
with Attendants, meeting a bleeding Soldier.]
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 villainies 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 smok'd with bloody execution,
Like valor's minion,
Carv'd out his passag tTill he fac'd the slave;
And 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 valor 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 overcharg'd with double cracks;
Doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe:
Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds,
Or memorize another Golgotha,
I cannot tell:--
But I am faint; my gashes cry for help.
So well thy words become thee as thy wounds;
They smack of honor both.--Go, get him surgeons.
[Exit Soldier, attended.]
Who comes here?
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 cam'st 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.
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.
[Thunder. Enter the three Witches.]
Where hast thou been, sister?
Sister, where thou?
A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her lap,
And mounch'd, and mounch'd, and mounch'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.
I'll give thee a wind.
Thou art kind.
And I another.
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 seven-nights 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.
Show me, show me.
Here I have a pilot's thumb,
Wreck'd as homeward he did come.
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?
All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, Thane of Glamis!
All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, Thane of Cawdor!
All hail, Macbeth! that 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 favors nor your hate.
Lesser than Macbeth, and greater.
Not so happy, yet much happier.
Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none:
So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo!
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.
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 receiv'd, 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: silenc'd with that,
In viewing o'er the rest o' the self-same 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 defense,
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 honor,
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 judgement bears that life
Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was combin'd
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.--Thanks for your pains.--
Do you not hope your children shall be kings,
When those that gave the Thane of Cawdor to me
Promis'd 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.--
[Aside.] This supernatural soliciting
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 honors 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 favor:--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 chanc'd; and, at more time,
The interim having weigh'd it, let us speak
Our free hearts each to other.
Till then, enough.--Come, friends.
SCENE IV. Forres. A Room in the Palace.
[Flourish. Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain, Lennox, and
Is execution done on Cawdor? Are not
Those in commission yet return'd?
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;
Implor'd 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 ow'd
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.--
[Enter Macbeth, Banquo, Ross, and Angus.]
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 deserv'd;
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 everything
Safe toward your love and honor.
I have begun to plant thee, and will labor
To make thee full of growing.--Noble Banquo,
That hast no less deserv'd, nor must be known
No less to have done so,let me infold 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 honor 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 labor, which is not us'd 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 us after him,
Whose care is gone before to bid us welcome:
It is a peerless kinsman.
SCENE V. Inverness. A Room in 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 promis'd; 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'dst 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 valor 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 an Attendant.]
What is your tidings?
The king comes here tonight.
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.
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, your 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!"
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 tonight.
And when goes hence?
To-morrow,--as he purposes.
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 despatch;
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 favor ever is to fear:
Leave all the rest to me.
SCENE VI. The same. Before the Castle.
[Hautboys. Servants of Macbeth attending.]
[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 lov'd mansionry, that the heaven's breath
Smells wooingly here: no jutty, frieze, buttress,
Nor coigne of vantage, but this bird hath made
His pendant bed and procreant cradle:
Where they most breed and haunt, I have observ'd
The air is delicate.
[Enter Lady Macbeth.]
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 cours'd 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 tonight.
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. The same. A Lobby in the Castle.
[Hautboys and torches. Enter, and pass over, a Sewer and divers
Servants with dishes and service. 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'd jump the life to come. But in these cases
We still have judgement 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 cherubin, hors'd
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.
[Enter Lady Macbeth.]
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 valor
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?
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?
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 limbec 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 receiv'd,
When we have mark'd with blood those sleepy two
Of his own chamber, and us'd their very daggers,
That they have don't?
Who dares receive it other,
As we shall make our griefs and clamor 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. Inverness. Court within the Castle.
[Enter Banquo, preceeded by Fleance with a torch.]
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!--Give me my sword.
[Enter Macbeth, and a Servant with a torch.]
What, sir, not yet at rest? The king's a-bed:
He hath been in unusual pleasure and
Sent forth great largess to your officers:
This diamond he greets your wife withal,
By the name of most kind hostess; and shut up
In measureless content.
Our will became the servant to defect;
Which else should free have wrought.
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 honor for you.
So I lose none
In seeking to augment it, but still keep
My bosom franchis'd, 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.
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 half-world
Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse
The curtain'd sleep; now 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.
[Enter Lady Macbeth.]
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 awak'd,
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.--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, "Murder!"
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 lodg'd 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.
I heard a voice cry, "Sleep no more!
Macbeth does murder sleep,"--the innocent sleep;
Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleave 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 incarnadine,
Making the green one red.
[Re-enter Lady Macbeth.]
My hands are of your color, but I shame
To wear a heart so white. [Knocking within.] I hear 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
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!
[Enter a Porter. Knocking within.]
Here's a knocking indeed! If a man were porter of hell-gate, he
should have old turning the key. [Knocking.] Knock, knock, knock.
Who's there, i' the name of Belzebub? 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.] Knock,
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.] Knock,
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.] Knock, 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.] Anon, anon! I pray you, remember
[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,
I believe drink gave thee the lie last night.
That it did, sir, i' the very throat o' 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?--
Our knocking has awak'd him; here he comes.
Good morrow, noble sir!
Good morrow, both!
Is the king stirring, worthy thane?
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 confus'd events,
New hatch'd to the woeful time: the obscure bird
Clamour'd the live-long night; some say the earth
Was feverous, and did shake.
'Twas a rough night.
My young remembrance cannot parallel
A fellow to it.
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.]
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!
[Re-enter Lady Macbeth.]
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.
O Banquo, Banquo!
Our royal master's murder'd!
What, in our house?
Too cruel any where.--
Dear Duff, I pr'ythee, 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 liv'd 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.
[Enter Malcolm and Donalbain.]
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 all badg'd with blood;
So were their daggers, which, unwip'd, we found
Upon their pillows:
They star'd, 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, amaz'd, temperate, and furious,
Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man:
The expedition of my violent love
Outrun the pauser reason. Here lay Duncan,
His silver skin lac'd 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 known?
Help me hence, ho!
Look to the lady.
Why do we hold our tongues,
That most may claim this argument for ours?
What should be spoken here, where our fate,
Hid in an auger hole, may rush, and seize us?
Our tears are not yet brew'd.
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 undivulg'd pretense I fight
Of treasonous malice.
And so do I.
Let's briefly put on manly readiness,
And meet i' the hall together.
[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 II. The same. Without the Castle.
[Enter Ross and an 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?
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.
'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.
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 nam'd; and gone to Scone
To be invested.
Where is Duncan's body?
Carried to Colme-kill,
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!
God's benison go with you; and with those
That would make good of bad, and friends of foes!
SCENE I. Forres. A Room in the Palace.
Thou hast it now,--king, Cawdor, Glamis, all,
As the weird women promis'd; 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 desir'd 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.
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 Lady Macbeth, Lords, Ladies, &c.]
Sirrah, a word with you: attend those men
They are, my lord, without the palace gate.
Bring them before us.
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 rebuk'd; 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 plac'd 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 fil'd 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.
Was it not yesterday we spoke together?
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 craz'd
Say, "Thus did Banquo."
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 forever?
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 valu'd file
Distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle,
The house-keeper, the hunter, every one
According to the gift which bounteous nature
Hath in him clos'd; 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 it;
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.
I am one, my liege,
Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world
Have so incens'd that I am reckless what
I do to spite the world.
And I another,
So weary with disasters, tugg'd with fortune,
That I would set my life on any chance,
To mend it or be rid on't.
Both of you
Know Banquo was your enemy.
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 barefac'd 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.
We shall, my lord,
Perform what you command us.
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.
We are resolv'd, my lord.
I'll call upon you straight: abide within.
It is concluded:--Banquo, thy soul's flight,
If it find heaven, must find it out to-night.
SCENE II. The same. Another Room in 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.
Naught'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.
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.
Gently my lord, sleek o'er your rugged looks;
Be bright and jovial 'mong 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 honors 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;
Whiles 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, pr'ythee, go with me.
SCENE III. The same. A Park or Lawn, with a gate leading to the
[Enter three Murderers.]
But who did bid thee join with us?
He needs not our mistrust; since he delivers
Our offices and what we have to do
To the direction just.
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.
Hark! I hear horses.
[Within.] Give us a light there, ho!
Then 'tis he; the rest
That are within the note of expectation
Already are i' the court.
His horses go about.
Almost a mile; but he does usually,
So all men do, from hence to the palace gate
Make it their walk.
A light, a light!