The Tragedy of Macbeth

1When shall we three meet again

2In thunder, lightning, or in rain?

3When the hurlyburly's done,

4When the battle's lost and won.

5That will be ere the set of sun.

6Where the place?

7Upon the heath.

8There to meet with Macbeth.

9I come, Graymalkin!

10Paddock calls.

11Anon.

12Fair is foul, and foul is fair:

13Hover through the fog and filthy air.

1What bloody man is that? He can report,

2As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt

3The newest state.

4This is the sergeant

5Who like a good and hardy soldier fought

6'Gainst my captivity. Hail, brave friend!

7Say to the king the knowledge of the broil

8As thou didst leave it.

9Doubtful it stood;

10As two spent swimmers, that do cling together

11And choke their art. The merciless Macdonwald--

12Worthy to be a rebel, for to that

13The multiplying villanies of nature

14Do swarm upon him--from the western isles

15Of kerns and gallowglasses is supplied;

16And fortune, on his damned quarrel smiling,

17Show'd like a rebel's whore: but all's too weak:

18For brave Macbeth--well he deserves that name--

19Disdaining fortune, with his brandish'd steel,

20Which smoked with bloody execution,

21Like valour's minion carved out his passage

22Till he faced the slave;

23Which ne'er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him,

24Till he unseam'd him from the nave to the chaps,

25And fix'd his head upon our battlements.

26O valiant cousin! worthy gentleman!

27As whence the sun 'gins his reflection

28Shipwrecking storms and direful thunders break,

29So from that spring whence comfort seem'd to come

30Discomfort swells. Mark, king of Scotland, mark:

31No sooner justice had with valour arm'd

32Compell'd these skipping kerns to trust their heels,

33But the Norweyan lord surveying vantage,

34With furbish'd arms and new supplies of men

35Began a fresh assault.

36Dismay'd not this

37Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo?

38Yes;

39As sparrows eagles, or the hare the lion.

40If I say sooth, I must report they were

41As cannons overcharged with double cracks, so they

42Doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe:

43Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds,

44Or memorise another Golgotha,

45I cannot tell.

46But I am faint, my gashes cry for help.

47So well thy words become thee as thy wounds;

48They smack of honour both. Go get him surgeons.

49Who comes here?

50The worthy thane of Ross.

51What a haste looks through his eyes! So should he look

52That seems to speak things strange.

53God save the king!

54Whence camest thou, worthy thane?

55From Fife, great king;

56Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky

57And fan our people cold. Norway himself,

58With terrible numbers,

59Assisted by that most disloyal traitor

60The thane of Cawdor, began a dismal conflict;

61Till that Bellona's bridegroom, lapp'd in proof,

62Confronted him with self-comparisons,

63Point against point rebellious, arm 'gainst arm.

64Curbing his lavish spirit: and, to conclude,

65The victory fell on us.

66Great happiness!

67That now

68Sweno, the Norways' king, craves composition:

69Nor would we deign him burial of his men

70Till he disbursed at Saint Colme's inch

71Ten thousand dollars to our general use.

72No more that thane of Cawdor shall deceive

73Our bosom interest: go pronounce his present death,

74And with his former title greet Macbeth.

75I'll see it done.

76What he hath lost noble Macbeth hath won.

1Where hast thou been, sister?

2Killing swine.

3Sister, where thou?

4A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her lap,

5And munch'd, and munch'd, and munch'd:--

6'Give me,' quoth I:

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

8Her husband's to Aleppo gone, master o' the Tiger:

9But in a sieve I'll thither sail,

10And, like a rat without a tail,

11I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do.

12I'll give thee a wind.

13Thou'rt kind.

14And I another.

15I myself have all the other,

16And the very ports they blow,

17All the quarters that they know

18I' the shipman's card.

19I will drain him dry as hay:

20Sleep shall neither night nor day

21Hang upon his pent-house lid;

22He shall live a man forbid:

23Weary se'nnights nine times nine

24Shall he dwindle, peak and pine:

25Though his bark cannot be lost,

26Yet it shall be tempest-tost.

27Look what I have.

28Show me, show me.

29Here I have a pilot's thumb,

30Wreck'd as homeward he did come.

31A drum, a drum!

32Macbeth doth come.

33The weird sisters, hand in hand,

34Posters of the sea and land,

35Thus do go about, about:

36Thrice to thine and thrice to mine

37And thrice again, to make up nine.

38Peace! the charm's wound up.

39So foul and fair a day I have not seen.

40How far is't call'd to Forres? What are these

41So wither'd and so wild in their attire,

42That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth,

43And yet are on't? Live you? or are you aught

44That man may question? You seem to understand me,

45By each at once her chappy finger laying

46Upon her skinny lips: you should be women,

47And yet your beards forbid me to interpret

48That you are so.

49Speak, if you can: what are you?

50All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane of Glamis!

51All hail, Macbeth, hail to thee, thane of Cawdor!

52All hail, Macbeth, thou shalt be king hereafter!

53Good sir, why do you start; and seem to fear

54Things that do sound so fair? I' the name of truth,

55Are ye fantastical, or that indeed

56Which outwardly ye show? My noble partner

57You greet with present grace and great prediction

58Of noble having and of royal hope,

59That he seems rapt withal: to me you speak not.

60If you can look into the seeds of time,

61And say which grain will grow and which will not,

62Speak then to me, who neither beg nor fear

63Your favours nor your hate.

64Hail!

65Hail!

66Hail!

67Lesser than Macbeth, and greater.

68Not so happy, yet much happier.

69Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none:

70So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo!

71Banquo and Macbeth, all hail!

72Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more:

73By Sinel's death I know I am thane of Glamis;

74But how of Cawdor? the thane of Cawdor lives,

75A prosperous gentleman; and to be king

76Stands not within the prospect of belief,

77No more than to be Cawdor. Say from whence

78You owe this strange intelligence? or why

79Upon this blasted heath you stop our way

80With such prophetic greeting? Speak, I charge you.

81The earth hath bubbles, as the water has,

82And these are of them. Whither are they vanish'd?

83Into the air; and what seem'd corporal melted

84As breath into the wind. Would they had stay'd!

85Were such things here as we do speak about?

86Or have we eaten on the insane root

87That takes the reason prisoner?

88Your children shall be kings.

89You shall be king.

90And thane of Cawdor too: went it not so?

91To the selfsame tune and words. Who's here?

92The king hath happily received, Macbeth,

93The news of thy success; and when he reads

94Thy personal venture in the rebels' fight,

95His wonders and his praises do contend

96Which should be thine or his: silenced with that,

97In viewing o'er the rest o' the selfsame day,

98He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks,

99Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make,

100Strange images of death. As thick as hail

101Came post with post; and every one did bear

102Thy praises in his kingdom's great defence,

103And pour'd them down before him.

104We are sent

105To give thee from our royal master thanks;

106Only to herald thee into his sight,

107Not pay thee.

108And, for an earnest of a greater honour,

109He bade me, from him, call thee thane of Cawdor:

110In which addition, hail, most worthy thane!

111For it is thine.

112What, can the devil speak true?

113The thane of Cawdor lives: why do you dress me

114In borrow'd robes?

115Who was the thane lives yet;

116But under heavy judgment bears that life

117Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was combined

118With those of Norway, or did line the rebel

119With hidden help and vantage, or that with both

120He labour'd in his country's wreck, I know not;

121But treasons capital, confess'd and proved,

122Have overthrown him.

123[Aside] Glamis, and thane of Cawdor!

124The greatest is behind.

125Thanks for your pains.

126Do you not hope your children shall be kings,

127When those that gave the thane of Cawdor to me

128Promised no less to them?

129That trusted home

130Might yet enkindle you unto the crown,

131Besides the thane of Cawdor. But 'tis strange:

132And oftentimes, to win us to our harm,

133The instruments of darkness tell us truths,

134Win us with honest trifles, to betray's

135In deepest consequence.

136Cousins, a word, I pray you.

137[Aside] Two truths are told,

138As happy prologues to the swelling act

139Of the imperial theme.--I thank you, gentlemen.

140Cannot be ill, cannot be good: if ill,

141Why hath it given me earnest of success,

142Commencing in a truth? I am thane of Cawdor:

143If good, why do I yield to that suggestion

144Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair

145And make my seated heart knock at my ribs,

146Against the use of nature? Present fears

147Are less than horrible imaginings:

148My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical,

149Shakes so my single state of man that function

150Is smother'd in surmise, and nothing is

151But what is not.

152Look, how our partner's rapt.

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

154Without my stir.

155New horrors come upon him,

156Like our strange garments, cleave not to their mould

157But with the aid of use.

158[Aside] Come what come may,

159Time and the hour runs through the roughest day.

160Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure.

161Give me your favour: my dull brain was wrought

162With things forgotten. Kind gentlemen, your pains

163Are register'd where every day I turn

164The leaf to read them. Let us toward the king.

165Think upon what hath chanced, and, at more time,

166The interim having weigh'd it, let us speak

167Our free hearts each to other.

168Very gladly.

169Till then, enough. Come, friends.

1Is execution done on Cawdor? Are not

2Those in commission yet return'd?

3My liege,

4They are not yet come back. But I have spoke

5With one that saw him die: who did report

6That very frankly he confess'd his treasons,

7Implored your highness' pardon and set forth

8A deep repentance: nothing in his life

9Became him like the leaving it; he died

10As one that had been studied in his death

11To throw away the dearest thing he owed,

12As 'twere a careless trifle.

13There's no art

14To find the mind's construction in the face:

15He was a gentleman on whom I built

16An absolute trust.

17O worthiest cousin!

18The sin of my ingratitude even now

19Was heavy on me: thou art so far before

20That swiftest wing of recompense is slow

21To overtake thee. Would thou hadst less deserved,

22That the proportion both of thanks and payment

23Might have been mine! only I have left to say,

24More is thy due than more than all can pay.

25The service and the loyalty I owe,

26In doing it, pays itself. Your highness' part

27Is to receive our duties; and our duties

28Are to your throne and state children and servants,

29Which do but what they should, by doing every thing

30Safe toward your love and honour.

31Welcome hither:

32I have begun to plant thee, and will labour

33To make thee full of growing. Noble Banquo,

34That hast no less deserved, nor must be known

35No less to have done so, let me enfold thee

36And hold thee to my heart.

37There if I grow,

38The harvest is your own.

39My plenteous joys,

40Wanton in fulness, seek to hide themselves

41In drops of sorrow. Sons, kinsmen, thanes,

42And you whose places are the nearest, know

43We will establish our estate upon

44Our eldest, Malcolm, whom we name hereafter

45The Prince of Cumberland; which honour must

46Not unaccompanied invest him only,

47But signs of nobleness, like stars, shall shine

48On all deservers. From hence to Inverness,

49And bind us further to you.

50The rest is labour, which is not used for you:

51I'll be myself the harbinger and make joyful

52The hearing of my wife with your approach;

53So humbly take my leave.

54My worthy Cawdor!

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

56On which I must fall down, or else o'erleap,

57For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires;

58Let not light see my black and deep desires:

59The eye wink at the hand; yet let that be,

60Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see.

61True, worthy Banquo; he is full so valiant,

62And in his commendations I am fed;

63It is a banquet to me. Let's after him,

64Whose care is gone before to bid us welcome:

65It is a peerless kinsman.

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

2learned by the perfectest report, they have more in

3them than mortal knowledge. When I burned in desire

4to question them further, they made themselves air,

5into which they vanished. Whiles I stood rapt in

6the wonder of it, came missives from the king, who

7all-hailed me 'Thane of Cawdor;' by which title,

8before, these weird sisters saluted me, and referred

9me to the coming on of time, with 'Hail, king that

10shalt be!' This have I thought good to deliver

11thee, my dearest partner of greatness, that thou

12mightst not lose the dues of rejoicing, by being

13ignorant of what greatness is promised thee. Lay it

14to thy heart, and farewell.'

15Glamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be

16What thou art promised: yet do I fear thy nature;

17It is too full o' the milk of human kindness

18To catch the nearest way: thou wouldst be great;

19Art not without ambition, but without

20The illness should attend it: what thou wouldst highly,

21That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false,

22And yet wouldst wrongly win: thou'ldst have, great Glamis,

23That which cries 'Thus thou must do, if thou have it;

24And that which rather thou dost fear to do

25Than wishest should be undone.' Hie thee hither,

26That I may pour my spirits in thine ear;

27And chastise with the valour of my tongue

28All that impedes thee from the golden round,

29Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem

30To have thee crown'd withal.

31What is your tidings?

32The king comes here to-night.

33Thou'rt mad to say it:

34Is not thy master with him? who, were't so,

35Would have inform'd for preparation.

36So please you, it is true: our thane is coming:

37One of my fellows had the speed of him,

38Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more

39Than would make up his message.

40Give him tending;

41He brings great news.

42The raven himself is hoarse

43That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan

44Under my battlements. Come, you spirits

45That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here,

46And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full

47Of direst cruelty! make thick my blood;

48Stop up the access and passage to remorse,

49That no compunctious visitings of nature

50Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between

51The effect and it! Come to my woman's breasts,

52And take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers,

53Wherever in your sightless substances

54You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick night,

55And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell,

56That my keen knife see not the wound it makes,

57Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark,

58To cry 'Hold, hold!'

59Great Glamis! worthy Cawdor!

60Greater than both, by the all-hail hereafter!

61Thy letters have transported me beyond

62This ignorant present, and I feel now

63The future in the instant.

64My dearest love,

65Duncan comes here to-night.

66And when goes hence?

67To-morrow, as he purposes.

68O, never

69Shall sun that morrow see!

70Your face, my thane, is as a book where men

71May read strange matters. To beguile the time,

72Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye,

73Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower,

74But be the serpent under't. He that's coming

75Must be provided for: and you shall put

76This night's great business into my dispatch;

77Which shall to all our nights and days to come

78Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom.

79We will speak further.

80Only look up clear;

81To alter favour ever is to fear:

82Leave all the rest to me.

1This castle hath a pleasant seat; the air

2Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself

3Unto our gentle senses.

4This guest of summer,

5The temple-haunting martlet, does approve,

6By his loved mansionry, that the heaven's breath

7Smells wooingly here: no jutty, frieze,

8Buttress, nor coign of vantage, but this bird

9Hath made his pendent bed and procreant cradle:

10Where they most breed and haunt, I have observed,

11The air is delicate.

12See, see, our honour'd hostess!

13The love that follows us sometime is our trouble,

14Which still we thank as love. Herein I teach you

15How you shall bid God 'ild us for your pains,

16And thank us for your trouble.

17All our service

18In every point twice done and then done double

19Were poor and single business to contend

20Against those honours deep and broad wherewith

21Your majesty loads our house: for those of old,

22And the late dignities heap'd up to them,

23We rest your hermits.

24Where's the thane of Cawdor?

25We coursed him at the heels, and had a purpose

26To be his purveyor: but he rides well;

27And his great love, sharp as his spur, hath holp him

28To his home before us. Fair and noble hostess,

29We are your guest to-night.

30Your servants ever

31Have theirs, themselves and what is theirs, in compt,

32To make their audit at your highness' pleasure,

33Still to return your own.

34Give me your hand;

35Conduct me to mine host: we love him highly,

36And shall continue our graces towards him.

37By your leave, hostess.

1If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well

2It were done quickly: if the assassination

3Could trammel up the consequence, and catch

4With his surcease success; that but this blow

5Might be the be-all and the end-all here,

6But here, upon this bank and shoal of time,

7We'ld jump the life to come. But in these cases

8We still have judgment here; that we but teach

9Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return

10To plague the inventor: this even-handed justice

11Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice

12To our own lips. He's here in double trust;

13First, as I am his kinsman and his subject,

14Strong both against the deed; then, as his host,

15Who should against his murderer shut the door,

16Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan

17Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been

18So clear in his great office, that his virtues

19Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against

20The deep damnation of his taking-off;

21And pity, like a naked new-born babe,

22Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, horsed

23Upon the sightless couriers of the air,

24Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye,

25That tears shall drown the wind. I have no spur

26To prick the sides of my intent, but only

27Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself

28And falls on the other.

29How now! what news?

30He has almost supp'd: why have you left the chamber?

31Hath he ask'd for me?

32Know you not he has?

33We will proceed no further in this business:

34He hath honour'd me of late; and I have bought

35Golden opinions from all sorts of people,

36Which would be worn now in their newest gloss,

37Not cast aside so soon.

38Was the hope drunk

39Wherein you dress'd yourself? hath it slept since?

40And wakes it now, to look so green and pale

41At what it did so freely? From this time

42Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard

43To be the same in thine own act and valour

44As thou art in desire? Wouldst thou have that

45Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life,

46And live a coward in thine own esteem,

47Letting 'I dare not' wait upon 'I would,'

48Like the poor cat i' the adage?

49Prithee, peace:

50I dare do all that may become a man;

51Who dares do more is none.

52What beast was't, then,

53That made you break this enterprise to me?

54When you durst do it, then you were a man;

55And, to be more than what you were, you would

56Be so much more the man. Nor time nor place

57Did then adhere, and yet you would make both:

58They have made themselves, and that their fitness now

59Does unmake you. I have given suck, and know

60How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me:

61I would, while it was smiling in my face,

62Have pluck'd my nipple from his boneless gums,

63And dash'd the brains out, had I so sworn as you

64Have done to this.

65If we should fail?

66We fail!

67But screw your courage to the sticking-place,

68And we'll not fail. When Duncan is asleep--

69Whereto the rather shall his day's hard journey

70Soundly invite him--his two chamberlains

71Will I with wine and wassail so convince

72That memory, the warder of the brain,

73Shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason

74A limbeck only: when in swinish sleep

75Their drenched natures lie as in a death,

76What cannot you and I perform upon

77The unguarded Duncan? what not put upon

78His spongy officers, who shall bear the guilt

79Of our great quell?

80Bring forth men-children only;

81For thy undaunted mettle should compose

82Nothing but males. Will it not be received,

83When we have mark'd with blood those sleepy two

84Of his own chamber and used their very daggers,

85That they have done't?

86Who dares receive it other,

87As we shall make our griefs and clamour roar

88Upon his death?

89I am settled, and bend up

90Each corporal agent to this terrible feat.

91Away, and mock the time with fairest show:

92False face must hide what the false heart doth know.

1How goes the night, boy?

2The moon is down; I have not heard the clock.

3And she goes down at twelve.

4I take't, 'tis later, sir.

5Hold, take my sword. There's husbandry in heaven;

6Their candles are all out. Take thee that too.

7A heavy summons lies like lead upon me,

8And yet I would not sleep: merciful powers,

9Restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature

10Gives way to in repose!

11Give me my sword.

12Who's there?

13A friend.

14What, sir, not yet at rest? The king's a-bed:

15He hath been in unusual pleasure, and

16Sent forth great largess to your offices.

17This diamond he greets your wife withal,

18By the name of most kind hostess; and shut up

19In measureless content.

20Being unprepared,

21Our will became the servant to defect;

22Which else should free have wrought.

23All's well.

24I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters:

25To you they have show'd some truth.

26I think not of them:

27Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve,

28We would spend it in some words upon that business,

29If you would grant the time.

30At your kind'st leisure.

31If you shall cleave to my consent, when 'tis,

32It shall make honour for you.

33So I lose none

34In seeking to augment it, but still keep

35My bosom franchised and allegiance clear,

36I shall be counsell'd.

37Good repose the while!

38Thanks, sir: the like to you!

39Go bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready,

40She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed.

41Is this a dagger which I see before me,

42The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee.

43I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.

44Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible

45To feeling as to sight? or art thou but

46A dagger of the mind, a false creation,

47Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?

48I see thee yet, in form as palpable

49As this which now I draw.

50Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going;

51And such an instrument I was to use.

52Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses,

53Or else worth all the rest; I see thee still,

54And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood,

55Which was not so before. There's no such thing:

56It is the bloody business which informs

57Thus to mine eyes. Now o'er the one halfworld

58Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse

59The curtain'd sleep; witchcraft celebrates

60Pale Hecate's offerings, and wither'd murder,

61Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf,

62Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace.

63With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design

64Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set earth,

65Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear

66Thy very stones prate of my whereabout,

67And take the present horror from the time,

68Which now suits with it. Whiles I threat, he lives:

69Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives.

70I go, and it is done; the bell invites me.

71Hear it not, Duncan; for it is a knell

72That summons thee to heaven or to hell.

1That which hath made them drunk hath made me bold;

2What hath quench'd them hath given me fire.

3Hark! Peace!

4It was the owl that shriek'd, the fatal bellman,

5Which gives the stern'st good-night. He is about it:

6The doors are open; and the surfeited grooms

7Do mock their charge with snores: I have drugg'd

8their possets,

9That death and nature do contend about them,

10Whether they live or die.

11[Within] Who's there? what, ho!

12Alack, I am afraid they have awaked,

13And 'tis not done. The attempt and not the deed

14Confounds us. Hark! I laid their daggers ready;

15He could not miss 'em. Had he not resembled

16My father as he slept, I had done't.

17My husband!

18I have done the deed. Didst thou not hear a noise?

19I heard the owl scream and the crickets cry.

20Did not you speak?

21When?

22Now.

23As I descended?

24Ay.

25Hark!

26Who lies i' the second chamber?

27Donalbain.

28This is a sorry sight.

29A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight.

30There's one did laugh in's sleep, and one cried

31'Murder!'

32That they did wake each other: I stood and heard them:

33But they did say their prayers, and address'd them

34Again to sleep.

35There are two lodged together.

36One cried 'God bless us!' and 'Amen' the other;

37As they had seen me with these hangman's hands.

38Listening their fear, I could not say 'Amen,'

39When they did say 'God bless us!'

40Consider it not so deeply.

41But wherefore could not I pronounce 'Amen'?

42I had most need of blessing, and 'Amen'

43Stuck in my throat.

44These deeds must not be thought

45After these ways; so, it will make us mad.

46Methought I heard a voice cry 'Sleep no more!

47Macbeth does murder sleep', the innocent sleep,

48Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care,

49The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath,

50Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course,

51Chief nourisher in life's feast,--

52What do you mean?

53Still it cried 'Sleep no more!' to all the house:

54'Glamis hath murder'd sleep, and therefore Cawdor

55Shall sleep no more; Macbeth shall sleep no more.'

56Who was it that thus cried? Why, worthy thane,

57You do unbend your noble strength, to think

58So brainsickly of things. Go get some water,

59And wash this filthy witness from your hand.

60Why did you bring these daggers from the place?

61They must lie there: go carry them; and smear

62The sleepy grooms with blood.

63I'll go no more:

64I am afraid to think what I have done;

65Look on't again I dare not.

66Infirm of purpose!

67Give me the daggers: the sleeping and the dead

68Are but as pictures: 'tis the eye of childhood

69That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed,

70I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal;

71For it must seem their guilt.

72Whence is that knocking?

73How is't with me, when every noise appals me?

74What hands are here? ha! they pluck out mine eyes.

75Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood

76Clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather

77The multitudinous seas in incarnadine,

78Making the green one red.

79My hands are of your colour; but I shame

80To wear a heart so white.

81I hear a knocking

82At the south entry: retire we to our chamber;

83A little water clears us of this deed:

84How easy is it, then! Your constancy

85Hath left you unattended.

86Hark! more knocking.

87Get on your nightgown, lest occasion call us,

88And show us to be watchers. Be not lost

89So poorly in your thoughts.

90To know my deed, 'twere best not know myself.

91Wake Duncan with thy knocking! I would thou couldst!

1Here's a knocking indeed! If a

2man were porter of hell-gate, he should have

3old turning the key.

4Knock,

5knock, knock! Who's there, i' the name of

6Beelzebub? Here's a farmer, that hanged

7himself on the expectation of plenty: come in

8time; have napkins enow about you; here

9you'll sweat for't.

10Knock,

11knock! Who's there, in the other devil's

12name? Faith, here's an equivocator, that could

13swear in both the scales against either scale;

14who committed treason enough for God's sake,

15yet could not equivocate to heaven: O, come

16in, equivocator.

17Knock,

18knock, knock! Who's there? Faith, here's an

19English tailor come hither, for stealing out of

20a French hose: come in, tailor; here you may

21roast your goose.

22Knock,

23knock; never at quiet! What are you? But

24this place is too cold for hell. I'll devil-porter

25it no further: I had thought to have let in

26some of all professions that go the primrose

27way to the everlasting bonfire.

28Anon, anon! I pray you, remember the porter.

29Was it so late, friend, ere you went to bed,

30That you do lie so late?

31'Faith sir, we were carousing till the

32second cock: and drink, sir, is a great

33provoker of three things.

34What three things does drink especially provoke?

35Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and

36urine. Lechery, sir, it provokes, and unprovokes;

37it provokes the desire, but it takes

38away the performance: therefore, much drink

39may be said to be an equivocator with lechery:

40it makes him, and it mars him; it sets

41him on, and it takes him off; it persuades him,

42and disheartens him; makes him stand to, and

43not stand to; in conclusion, equivocates him

44in a sleep, and, giving him the lie, leaves him.

45I believe drink gave thee the lie last night.

46That it did, sir, i' the very throat on

47me: but I requited him for his lie; and, I

48think, being too strong for him, though he took

49up my legs sometime, yet I made a shift to cast

50him.

51Is thy master stirring?

52Our knocking has awaked him; here he comes.

53Good morrow, noble sir.

54Good morrow, both.

55Is the king stirring, worthy thane?

56Not yet.

57He did command me to call timely on him:

58I have almost slipp'd the hour.

59I'll bring you to him.

60I know this is a joyful trouble to you;

61But yet 'tis one.

62The labour we delight in physics pain.

63This is the door.

64I'll make so bold to call,

65For 'tis my limited service.

66Goes the king hence to-day?

67He does: he did appoint so.

68The night has been unruly: where we lay,

69Our chimneys were blown down; and, as they say,

70Lamentings heard i' the air; strange screams of death,

71And prophesying with accents terrible

72Of dire combustion and confused events

73New hatch'd to the woeful time: the obscure bird

74Clamour'd the livelong night: some say, the earth

75Was feverous and did shake.

76'Twas a rough night.

77My young remembrance cannot parallel

78A fellow to it.

79O horror, horror, horror! Tongue nor heart

80Cannot conceive nor name thee!

81What's the matter.

82Confusion now hath made his masterpiece!

83Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope

84The Lord's anointed temple, and stole thence

85The life o' the building!

86What is 't you say? the life?

87Mean you his majesty?

88Approach the chamber, and destroy your sight

89With a new Gorgon: do not bid me speak;

90See, and then speak yourselves.

91Awake, awake!

92Ring the alarum-bell. Murder and treason!

93Banquo and Donalbain! Malcolm! awake!

94Shake off this downy sleep, death's counterfeit,

95And look on death itself! up, up, and see

96The great doom's image! Malcolm! Banquo!

97As from your graves rise up, and walk like sprites,

98To countenance this horror! Ring the bell.

99What's the business,

100That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley

101The sleepers of the house? speak, speak!

102O gentle lady,

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

104The repetition, in a woman's ear,

105Would murder as it fell.

106O Banquo, Banquo,

107Our royal master 's murder'd!

108Woe, alas!

109What, in our house?

110Too cruel any where.

111Dear Duff, I prithee, contradict thyself,

112And say it is not so.

113Had I but died an hour before this chance,

114I had lived a blessed time; for, from this instant,

115There 's nothing serious in mortality:

116All is but toys: renown and grace is dead;

117The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees

118Is left this vault to brag of.

119What is amiss?

120You are, and do not know't:

121The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood

122Is stopp'd; the very source of it is stopp'd.

123Your royal father 's murder'd.

124O, by whom?

125Those of his chamber, as it seem'd, had done 't:

126Their hands and faces were an badged with blood;

127So were their daggers, which unwiped we found

128Upon their pillows:

129They stared, and were distracted; no man's life

130Was to be trusted with them.

131O, yet I do repent me of my fury,

132That I did kill them.

133Wherefore did you so?

134Who can be wise, amazed, temperate and furious,

135Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man:

136The expedition my violent love

137Outrun the pauser, reason. Here lay Duncan,

138His silver skin laced with his golden blood;

139And his gash'd stabs look'd like a breach in nature

140For ruin's wasteful entrance: there, the murderers,

141Steep'd in the colours of their trade, their daggers

142Unmannerly breech'd with gore: who could refrain,

143That had a heart to love, and in that heart

144Courage to make 's love kno wn?

145Help me hence, ho!

146Look to the lady.

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

148That most may claim this argument for ours?

149[Aside to MALCOLM] What should be spoken here,

150where our fate,

151Hid in an auger-hole, may rush, and seize us?

152Let 's away;

153Our tears are not yet brew'd.

154[Aside to DONALBAIN] Nor our strong sorrow

155Upon the foot of motion.

156Look to the lady:

157And when we have our naked frailties hid,

158That suffer in exposure, let us meet,

159And question this most bloody piece of work,

160To know it further. Fears and scruples shake us:

161In the great hand of God I stand; and thence

162Against the undivulged pretence I fight

163Of treasonous malice.

164And so do I.

165So all.

166Let's briefly put on manly readiness,

167And meet i' the hall together.

168Well contented.

169What will you do? Let's not consort with them:

170To show an unfelt sorrow is an office

171Which the false man does easy. I'll to England.

172To Ireland, I; our separated fortune

173Shall keep us both the safer: where we are,

174There's daggers in men's smiles: the near in blood,

175The nearer bloody.

176This murderous shaft that's shot

177Hath not yet lighted, and our safest way

178Is to avoid the aim. Therefore, to horse;

179And let us not be dainty of leave-taking,

180But shift away: there's warrant in that theft

181Which steals itself, when there's no mercy left.

1Threescore and ten I can remember well:

2Within the volume of which time I have seen

3Hours dreadful and things strange; but this sore night

4Hath trifled former knowings.

5Ah, good father,

6Thou seest, the heavens, as troubled with man's act,

7Threaten his bloody stage: by the clock, 'tis day,

8And yet dark night strangles the travelling lamp:

9Is't night's predominance, or the day's shame,

10That darkness does the face of earth entomb,

11When living light should kiss it?

12'Tis unnatural,

13Even like the deed that's done. On Tuesday last,

14A falcon, towering in her pride of place,

15Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at and kill'd.

16And Duncan's horses--a thing most strange and certain--

17Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race,

18Turn'd wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out,

19Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would make

20War with mankind.

21'Tis said they eat each other.

22They did so, to the amazement of mine eyes

23That look'd upon't. Here comes the good Macduff.

24How goes the world, sir, now?

25Why, see you not?

26Is't known who did this more than bloody deed?

27Those that Macbeth hath slain.

28Alas, the day!

29What good could they pretend?

30They were suborn'd:

31Malcolm and Donalbain, the king's two sons,

32Are stol'n away and fled; which puts upon them

33Suspicion of the deed.

34'Gainst nature still!

35Thriftless ambition, that wilt ravin up

36Thine own life's means! Then 'tis most like

37The sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth.

38He is already named, and gone to Scone

39To be invested.

40Where is Duncan's body?

41Carried to Colmekill,

42The sacred storehouse of his predecessors,

43And guardian of their bones.

44Will you to Scone?

45No, cousin, I'll to Fife.

46Well, I will thither.

47Well, may you see things well done there: adieu!

48Lest our old robes sit easier than our new!

49Farewell, father.

50God's benison go with you; and with those

51That would make good of bad, and friends of foes!

1Thou hast it now: king, Cawdor, Glamis, all,

2As the weird women promised, and, I fear,

3Thou play'dst most foully for't: yet it was said

4It should not stand in thy posterity,

5But that myself should be the root and father

6Of many kings. If there come truth from them--

7As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine--

8Why, by the verities on thee made good,

9May they not be my oracles as well,

10And set me up in hope? But hush! no more.

11Here's our chief guest.

12If he had been forgotten,

13It had been as a gap in our great feast,

14And all-thing unbecoming.

15To-night we hold a solemn supper sir,

16And I'll request your presence.

17Let your highness

18Command upon me; to the which my duties

19Are with a most indissoluble tie

20For ever knit.

21Ride you this afternoon?

22Ay, my good lord.

23We should have else desired your good advice,

24Which still hath been both grave and prosperous,

25In this day's council; but we'll take to-morrow.

26Is't far you ride?

27As far, my lord, as will fill up the time

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

29I must become a borrower of the night

30For a dark hour or twain.

31Fail not our feast.

32My lord, I will not.

33We hear, our bloody cousins are bestow'd

34In England and in Ireland, not confessing

35Their cruel parricide, filling their hearers

36With strange invention: but of that to-morrow,

37When therewithal we shall have cause of state

38Craving us jointly. Hie you to horse: adieu,

39Till you return at night. Goes Fleance with you?

40Ay, my good lord: our time does call upon 's.

41I wish your horses swift and sure of foot;

42And so I do commend you to their backs. Farewell.

43Let every man be master of his time

44Till seven at night: to make society

45The sweeter welcome, we will keep ourself

46Till supper-time alone: while then, God be with you!

47Sirrah, a word with you: attend those men

48Our pleasure?

49They are, my lord, without the palace gate.

50Bring them before us.

51To be thus is nothing;

52But to be safely thus.--Our fears in Banquo

53Stick deep; and in his royalty of nature

54Reigns that which would be fear'd: 'tis much he dares;

55And, to that dauntless temper of his mind,

56He hath a wisdom that doth guide his valour

57To act in safety. There is none but he

58Whose being I do fear: and, under him,

59My Genius is rebuked; as, it is said,

60Mark Antony's was by Caesar. He chid the sisters

61When first they put the name of king upon me,

62And bade them speak to him: then prophet-like

63They hail'd him father to a line of kings:

64Upon my head they placed a fruitless crown,

65And put a barren sceptre in my gripe,

66Thence to be wrench'd with an unlineal hand,

67No son of mine succeeding. If 't be so,

68For Banquo's issue have I filed my mind;

69For them the gracious Duncan have I murder'd;

70Put rancours in the vessel of my peace

71Only for them; and mine eternal jewel

72Given to the common enemy of man,

73To make them kings, the seed of Banquo kings!

74Rather than so, come fate into the list.

75And champion me to the utterance! Who's there!

76Now go to the door, and stay there till we call.

77Was it not yesterday we spoke together?

78It was, so please your highness.

79Well then, now

80Have you consider'd of my speeches? Know

81That it was he in the times past which held you

82So under fortune, which you thought had been

83Our innocent self: this I made good to you

84In our last conference, pass'd in probation with you,

85How you were borne in hand, how cross'd,

86the instruments,

87Who wrought with them, and all things else that might

88To half a soul and to a notion crazed

89Say 'Thus did Banquo.'

90You made it known to us.

91I did so, and went further, which is now

92Our point of second meeting. Do you find

93Your patience so predominant in your nature

94That you can let this go? Are you so gospell'd

95To pray for this good man and for his issue,

96Whose heavy hand hath bow'd you to the grave

97And beggar'd yours for ever?

98We are men, my liege.

99Ay, in the catalogue ye go for men;

100As hounds and greyhounds, mongrels, spaniels, curs,

101Shoughs, water-rugs and demi-wolves, are clept

102All by the name of dogs: the valued file

103Distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle,

104The housekeeper, the hunter, every one

105According to the gift which bounteous nature

106Hath in him closed; whereby he does receive

107Particular addition. from the bill

108That writes them all alike: and so of men.

109Now, if you have a station in the file,

110Not i' the worst rank of manhood, say 't;

111And I will put that business in your bosoms,

112Whose execution takes your enemy off,

113Grapples you to the heart and love of us,

114Who wear our health but sickly in his life,

115Which in his death were perfect.

116I am one, my liege,

117Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world

118Have so incensed that I am reckless what

119I do to spite the world.

120And I another

121So weary with disasters, tugg'd with fortune,

122That I would set my lie on any chance,

123To mend it, or be rid on't.

124Both of you

125Know Banquo was your enemy.

126True, my lord.

127So is he mine; and in such bloody distance,

128That every minute of his being thrusts

129Against my near'st of life: and though I could

130With barefaced power sweep him from my sight

131And bid my will avouch it, yet I must not,

132For certain friends that are both his and mine,

133Whose loves I may not drop, but wail his fall

134Who I myself struck down; and thence it is,

135That I to your assistance do make love,

136Masking the business from the common eye

137For sundry weighty reasons.

138We shall, my lord,

139Perform what you command us.

140Though our lives--

141Your spirits shine through you. Within this hour at most

142I will advise you where to plant yourselves;

143Acquaint you with the perfect spy o' the time,

144The moment on't; for't must be done to-night,

145And something from the palace; always thought

146That I require a clearness: and with him--

147To leave no rubs nor botches in the work--

148Fleance his son, that keeps him company,

149Whose absence is no less material to me

150Than is his father's, must embrace the fate

151Of that dark hour. Resolve yourselves apart:

152I'll come to you anon.

153We are resolved, my lord.

154I'll call upon you straight: abide within.

155It is concluded. Banquo, thy soul's flight,

156If it find heaven, must find it out to-night.

1Is Banquo gone from court?

2Ay, madam, but returns again to-night.

3Say to the king, I would attend his leisure

4For a few words.

5Madam, I will.

6Nought's had, all's spent,

7Where our desire is got without content:

8'Tis safer to be that which we destroy

9Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy.

10How now, my lord! why do you keep alone,

11Of sorriest fancies your companions making,

12Using those thoughts which should indeed have died

13With them they think on? Things without all remedy

14Should be without regard: what's done is done.

15We have scotch'd the snake, not kill'd it:

16She'll close and be herself, whilst our poor malice

17Remains in danger of her former tooth.

18But let the frame of things disjoint, both the

19worlds suffer,

20Ere we will eat our meal in fear and sleep

21In the affliction of these terrible dreams

22That shake us nightly: better be with the dead,

23Whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace,

24Than on the torture of the mind to lie

25In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave;

26After life's fitful fever he sleeps well;

27Treason has done his worst: nor steel, nor poison,

28Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing,

29Can touch him further.

30Come on;

31Gentle my lord, sleek o'er your rugged looks;

32Be bright and jovial among your guests to-night.

33So shall I, love; and so, I pray, be you:

34Let your remembrance apply to Banquo;

35Present him eminence, both with eye and tongue:

36Unsafe the while, that we

37Must lave our honours in these flattering streams,

38And make our faces vizards to our hearts,

39Disguising what they are.

40You must leave this.

41O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife!

42Thou know'st that Banquo, and his Fleance, lives.

43But in them nature's copy's not eterne.

44There's comfort yet; they are assailable;

45Then be thou jocund: ere the bat hath flown

46His cloister'd flight, ere to black Hecate's summons

47The shard-borne beetle with his drowsy hums

48Hath rung night's yawning peal, there shall be done

49A deed of dreadful note.

50What's to be done?

51Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck,

52Till thou applaud the deed. Come, seeling night,

53Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day;

54And with thy bloody and invisible hand

55Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond

56Which keeps me pale! Light thickens; and the crow

57Makes wing to the rooky wood:

58Good things of day begin to droop and drowse;

59While night's black agents to their preys do rouse.

60Thou marvell'st at my words: but hold thee still;

61Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill.

62So, prithee, go with me.

1But who did bid thee join with us?

2Macbeth.

3He needs not our mistrust, since he delivers

4Our offices and what we have to do

5To the direction just.

6Then stand with us.

7The west yet glimmers with some streaks of day:

8Now spurs the lated traveller apace

9To gain the timely inn; and near approaches

10The subject of our watch.

11Hark! I hear horses.

12[Within] Give us a light there, ho!

13Then 'tis he: the rest

14That are within the note of expectation

15Already are i' the court.

16His horses go about.

17Almost a mile: but he does usually,

18So all men do, from hence to the palace gate

19Make it their walk.

20A light, a light!

21'Tis he.

22Stand to't.

23It will be rain to-night.

24Let it come down.

25O, treachery! Fly, good Fleance, fly, fly, fly!

26Thou mayst revenge. O slave!

27Who did strike out the light?

28Wast not the way?

29There's but one down; the son is fled.

30We have lost

31Best half of our affair.

32Well, let's away, and say how much is done.

1You know your own degrees; sit down: at first

2And last the hearty welcome.

3Thanks to your majesty.

4Ourself will mingle with society,

5And play the humble host.

6Our hostess keeps her state, but in best time

7We will require her welcome.

8Pronounce it for me, sir, to all our friends;

9For my heart speaks they are welcome.

10See, they encounter thee with their hearts' thanks.

11Both sides are even: here I'll sit i' the midst:

12Be large in mirth; anon we'll drink a measure

13The table round.

14There's blood on thy face.

15'Tis Banquo's then.

16'Tis better thee without than he within.

17Is he dispatch'd?

18My lord, his throat is cut; that I did for him.

19Thou art the best o' the cut-throats: yet he's good

20That did the like for Fleance: if thou didst it,

21Thou art the nonpareil.

22Most royal sir,

23Fleance is 'scaped.

24Then comes my fit again: I had else been perfect,

25Whole as the marble, founded as the rock,

26As broad and general as the casing air:

27But now I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confined, bound in

28To saucy doubts and fears. But Banquo's safe?

29Ay, my good lord: safe in a ditch he bides,

30With twenty trenched gashes on his head;

31The least a death to nature.

32Thanks for that:

33There the grown serpent lies; the worm that's fled

34Hath nature that in time will venom breed,

35No teeth for the present. Get thee gone: to-morrow

36We'll hear, ourselves, again.

37My royal lord,

38You do not give the cheer: the feast is sold

39That is not often vouch'd, while 'tis a-making,

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

41From thence the sauce to meat is ceremony;

42Meeting were bare without it.

43Sweet remembrancer!

44Now, good digestion wait on appetite,

45And health on both!

46May't please your highness sit.

47Here had we now our country's honour roof'd,

48Were the graced person of our Banquo present;

49Who may I rather challenge for unkindness

50Than pity for mischance!

51His absence, sir,

52Lays blame upon his promise. Please't your highness

53To grace us with your royal company.

54The table's full.

55Here is a place reserved, sir.

56Where?

57Here, my good lord. What is't that moves your highness?

58Which of you have done this?

59What, my good lord?

60Thou canst not say I did it: never shake

61Thy gory locks at me.

62Gentlemen, rise: his highness is not well.

63Sit, worthy friends: my lord is often thus,

64And hath been from his youth: pray you, keep seat;

65The fit is momentary; upon a thought

66He will again be well: if much you note him,

67You shall offend him and extend his passion:

68Feed, and regard him not. Are you a man?

69Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that

70Which might appal the devil.

71O proper stuff!

72This is the very painting of your fear:

73This is the air-drawn dagger which, you said,

74Led you to Duncan. O, these flaws and starts,

75Impostors to true fear, would well become

76A woman's story at a winter's fire,

77Authorized by her grandam. Shame itself!

78Why do you make such faces? When all's done,

79You look but on a stool.

80Prithee, see there! behold! look! lo!

81how say you?

82Why, what care I? If thou canst nod, speak too.

83If charnel-houses and our graves must send

84Those that we bury back, our monuments

85Shall be the maws of kites.

86What, quite unmann'd in folly?

87If I stand here, I saw him.

88Fie, for shame!

89Blood hath been shed ere now, i' the olden time,

90Ere human statute purged the gentle weal;

91Ay, and since too, murders have been perform'd

92Too terrible for the ear: the times have been,

93That, when the brains were out, the man would die,

94And there an end; but now they rise again,

95With twenty mortal murders on their crowns,

96And push us from our stools: this is more strange

97Than such a murder is.

98My worthy lord,

99Your noble friends do lack you.

100I do forget.

101Do not muse at me, my most worthy friends,

102I have a strange infirmity, which is nothing

103To those that know me. Come, love and health to all;

104Then I'll sit down. Give me some wine; fill full.

105I drink to the general joy o' the whole table,

106And to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss;

107Would he were here! to all, and him, we thirst,

108And all to all.

109Our duties, and the pledge.

110Avaunt! and quit my sight! let the earth hide thee!

111Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold;

112Thou hast no speculation in those eyes

113Which thou dost glare with!

114Think of this, good peers,

115But as a thing of custom: 'tis no other;

116Only it spoils the pleasure of the time.

117What man dare, I dare:

118Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear,

119The arm'd rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger;

120Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves

121Shall never tremble: or be alive again,

122And dare me to the desert with thy sword;

123If trembling I inhabit then, protest me

124The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow!

125Unreal mockery, hence!

126Why, so: being gone,

127I am a man again. Pray you, sit still.

128You have displaced the mirth, broke the good meeting,

129With most admired disorder.

130Can such things be,

131And overcome us like a summer's cloud,

132Without our special wonder? You make me strange

133Even to the disposition that I owe,

134When now I think you can behold such sights,

135And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks,

136When mine is blanched with fear.

137What sights, my lord?

138I pray you, speak not; he grows worse and worse;

139Question enrages him. At once, good night:

140Stand not upon the order of your going,

141But go at once.

142Good night; and better health

143Attend his majesty!

144A kind good night to all!

145It will have blood; they say, blood will have blood:

146Stones have been known to move and trees to speak;

147Augurs and understood relations have

148By magot-pies and choughs and rooks brought forth

149The secret'st man of blood. What is the night?

150Almost at odds with morning, which is which.

151How say'st thou, that Macduff denies his person

152At our great bidding?

153Did you send to him, sir?

154I hear it by the way; but I will send:

155There's not a one of them but in his house

156I keep a servant fee'd. I will to-morrow,

157And betimes I will, to the weird sisters:

158More shall they speak; for now I am bent to know,

159By the worst means, the worst. For mine own good,

160All causes shall give way: I am in blood

161Stepp'd in so far that, should I wade no more,

162Returning were as tedious as go o'er:

163Strange things I have in head, that will to hand;

164Which must be acted ere they may be scann'd.

165You lack the season of all natures, sleep.

166Come, we'll to sleep. My strange and self-abuse

167Is the initiate fear that wants hard use:

168We are yet but young in deed.

1Why, how now, Hecate! you look angerly.

2Have I not reason, beldams as you are,

3Saucy and overbold? How did you dare

4To trade and traffic with Macbeth

5In riddles and affairs of death;

6And I, the mistress of your charms,

7The close contriver of all harms,

8Was never call'd to bear my part,

9Or show the glory of our art?

10And, which is worse, all you have done

11Hath been but for a wayward son,

12Spiteful and wrathful, who, as others do,

13Loves for his own ends, not for you.

14But make amends now: get you gone,

15And at the pit of Acheron

16Meet me i' the morning: thither he

17Will come to know his destiny:

18Your vessels and your spells provide,

19Your charms and every thing beside.

20I am for the air; this night I'll spend

21Unto a dismal and a fatal end:

22Great business must be wrought ere noon:

23Upon the corner of the moon

24There hangs a vaporous drop profound;

25I'll catch it ere it come to ground:

26And that distill'd by magic sleights

27Shall raise such artificial sprites

28As by the strength of their illusion

29Shall draw him on to his confusion:

30He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear

31He hopes 'bove wisdom, grace and fear:

32And you all know, security

33Is mortals' chiefest enemy.

34Hark! I am call'd; my little spirit, see,

35Sits in a foggy cloud, and stays for me.

36Come, let's make haste; she'll soon be back again.

1My former speeches have but hit your thoughts,

2Which can interpret further: only, I say,

3Things have been strangely borne. The

4gracious Duncan

5Was pitied of Macbeth: marry, he was dead:

6And the right-valiant Banquo walk'd too late;

7Whom, you may say, if't please you, Fleance kill'd,

8For Fleance fled: men must not walk too late.

9Who cannot want the thought how monstrous

10It was for Malcolm and for Donalbain

11To kill their gracious father? damned fact!

12How it did grieve Macbeth! did he not straight

13In pious rage the two delinquents tear,

14That were the slaves of drink and thralls of sleep?

15Was not that nobly done? Ay, and wisely too;

16For 'twould have anger'd any heart alive

17To hear the men deny't. So that, I say,

18He has borne all things well: and I do think

19That had he Duncan's sons under his key--

20As, an't please heaven, he shall not--they

21should find

22What 'twere to kill a father; so should Fleance.

23But, peace! for from broad words and 'cause he fail'd

24His presence at the tyrant's feast, I hear

25Macduff lives in disgrace: sir, can you tell

26Where he bestows himself?

27The son of Duncan,

28From whom this tyrant holds the due of birth

29Lives in the English court, and is received

30Of the most pious Edward with such grace

31That the malevolence of fortune nothing

32Takes from his high respect: thither Macduff

33Is gone to pray the holy king, upon his aid

34To wake Northumberland and warlike Siward:

35That, by the help of these--with Him above

36To ratify the work--we may again

37Give to our tables meat, sleep to our nights,

38Free from our feasts and banquets bloody knives,

39Do faithful homage and receive free honours:

40All which we pine for now: and this report

41Hath so exasperate the king that he

42Prepares for some attempt of war.

43Sent he to Macduff?

44He did: and with an absolute 'Sir, not I,'

45The cloudy messenger turns me his back,

46And hums, as who should say 'You'll rue the time

47That clogs me with this answer.'

48And that well might

49Advise him to a caution, to hold what distance

50His wisdom can provide. Some holy angel

51Fly to the court of England and unfold

52His message ere he come, that a swift blessing

53May soon return to this our suffering country

54Under a hand accursed!

55I'll send my prayers with him.

1Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd.

2Thrice and once the hedge-pig whined.

3Harpier cries 'Tis time, 'tis time.

4Round about the cauldron go;

5In the poison'd entrails throw.

6Toad, that under cold stone

7Days and nights has thirty-one

8Swelter'd venom sleeping got,

9Boil thou first i' the charmed pot.

10Double, double toil and trouble;

11Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.

12Fillet of a fenny snake,

13In the cauldron boil and bake;

14Eye of newt and toe of frog,

15Wool of bat and tongue of dog,

16Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting,

17Lizard's leg and owlet's wing,

18For a charm of powerful trouble,

19Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.

20Double, double toil and trouble;

21Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

22Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf,

23Witches' mummy, maw and gulf

24Of the ravin'd salt-sea shark,

25Root of hemlock digg'd i' the dark,

26Liver of blaspheming Jew,

27Gall of goat, and slips of yew

28Silver'd in the moon's eclipse,

29Nose of Turk and Tartar's lips,

30Finger of birth-strangled babe

31Ditch-deliver'd by a drab,

32Make the gruel thick and slab:

33Add thereto a tiger's chaudron,

34For the ingredients of our cauldron.

35Double, double toil and trouble;

36Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

37Cool it with a baboon's blood,

38Then the charm is firm and good.

39O well done! I commend your pains;

40And every one shall share i' the gains;

41And now about the cauldron sing,

42Live elves and fairies in a ring,

43Enchanting all that you put in.

44By the pricking of my thumbs,

45Something wicked this way comes.

46Open, locks,

47Whoever knocks!

48How now, you secret, black, and midnight hags!

49What is't you do?

50A deed without a name.

51I conjure you, by that which you profess,

52Howe'er you come to know it, answer me:

53Though you untie the winds and let them fight

54Against the churches; though the yesty waves

55Confound and swallow navigation up;

56Though bladed corn be lodged and trees blown down;

57Though castles topple on their warders' heads;

58Though palaces and pyramids do slope

59Their heads to their foundations; though the treasure

60Of nature's germens tumble all together,

61Even till destruction sicken; answer me

62To what I ask you.

63Speak.

64Demand.

65We'll answer.

66Say, if thou'dst rather hear it from our mouths,

67Or from our masters?

68Call 'em; let me see 'em.

69Pour in sow's blood, that hath eaten

70Her nine farrow; grease that's sweaten

71From the murderer's gibbet throw

72Into the flame.

73Come, high or low;

74Thyself and office deftly show!

75Tell me, thou unknown power,--

76He knows thy thought:

77Hear his speech, but say thou nought.

78Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! beware Macduff;

79Beware the thane of Fife. Dismiss me. Enough.

80Whate'er thou art, for thy good caution, thanks;

81Thou hast harp'd my fear aright: but one

82word more,--

83He will not be commanded: here's another,

84More potent than the first.

85Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth!

86Had I three ears, I'ld hear thee.

87Be bloody, bold, and resolute; laugh to scorn

88The power of man, for none of woman born

89Shall harm Macbeth.

90Then live, Macduff: what need I fear of thee?

91But yet I'll make assurance double sure,

92And take a bond of fate: thou shalt not live;

93That I may tell pale-hearted fear it lies,

94And sleep in spite of thunder.

95What is this

96That rises like the issue of a king,

97And wears upon his baby-brow the round

98And top of sovereignty?

99Listen, but speak not to't.

100Be lion-mettled, proud; and take no care

101Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are:

102Macbeth shall never vanquish'd be until

103Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill

104Shall come against him.

105That will never be

106Who can impress the forest, bid the tree

107Unfix his earth-bound root? Sweet bodements! good!

108Rebellion's head, rise never till the wood

109Of Birnam rise, and our high-placed Macbeth

110Shall live the lease of nature, pay his breath

111To time and mortal custom. Yet my heart

112Throbs to know one thing: tell me, if your art

113Can tell so much: shall Banquo's issue ever

114Reign in this kingdom?

115Seek to know no more.

116I will be satisfied: deny me this,

117And an eternal curse fall on you! Let me know.

118Why sinks that cauldron? and what noise is this?

119Show!

120Show!

121Show!

122Show his eyes, and grieve his heart;

123Come like shadows, so depart!

124Thou art too like the spirit of Banquo: down!

125Thy crown does sear mine eye-balls. And thy hair,

126Thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first.

127A third is like the former. Filthy hags!

128Why do you show me this? A fourth! Start, eyes!

129What, will the line stretch out to the crack of doom?

130Another yet! A seventh! I'll see no more:

131And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass

132Which shows me many more; and some I see

133That two-fold balls and treble scepters carry:

134Horrible sight! Now, I see, 'tis true;

135For the blood-bolter'd Banquo smiles upon me,

136And points at them for his.

137What, is this so?

138Ay, sir, all this is so: but why

139Stands Macbeth thus amazedly?

140Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprites,

141And show the best of our delights:

142I'll charm the air to give a sound,

143While you perform your antic round:

144That this great king may kindly say,

145Our duties did his welcome pay.

146Where are they? Gone? Let this pernicious hour

147Stand aye accursed in the calendar!

148Come in, without there!

149What's your grace's will?

150Saw you the weird sisters?

151No, my lord.

152Came they not by you?

153No, indeed, my lord.

154Infected be the air whereon they ride;

155And damn'd all those that trust them! I did hear

156The galloping of horse: who was't came by?

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

158Macduff is fled to England.

159Fled to England!

160Ay, my good lord.

161Time, thou anticipatest my dread exploits:

162The flighty purpose never is o'ertook

163Unless the deed go with it; from this moment

164The very firstlings of my heart shall be

165The firstlings of my hand. And even now,

166To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and done:

167The castle of Macduff I will surprise;

168Seize upon Fife; give to the edge o' the sword

169His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls

170That trace him in his line. No boasting like a fool;

171This deed I'll do before this purpose cool.

172But no more sights!--Where are these gentlemen?

173Come, bring me where they are.

1What had he done, to make him fly the land?

2You must have patience, madam.

3He had none:

4His flight was madness: when our actions do not,

5Our fears do make us traitors.

6You know not

7Whether it was his wisdom or his fear.

8Wisdom! to leave his wife, to leave his babes,

9His mansion and his titles in a place

10From whence himself does fly? He loves us not;

11He wants the natural touch: for the poor wren,

12The most diminutive of birds, will fight,

13Her young ones in her nest, against the owl.

14All is the fear and nothing is the love;

15As little is the wisdom, where the flight

16So runs against all reason.

17My dearest coz,

18I pray you, school yourself: but for your husband,

19He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows

20The fits o' the season. I dare not speak

21much further;

22But cruel are the times, when we are traitors

23And do not know ourselves, when we hold rumour

24From what we fear, yet know not what we fear,

25But float upon a wild and violent sea

26Each way and move. I take my leave of you:

27Shall not be long but I'll be here again:

28Things at the worst will cease, or else climb upward

29To what they were before. My pretty cousin,

30Blessing upon you!

31Father'd he is, and yet he's fatherless.

32I am so much a fool, should I stay longer,

33It would be my disgrace and your discomfort:

34I take my leave at once.

35Sirrah, your father's dead;

36And what will you do now? How will you live?

37As birds do, mother.

38What, with worms and flies?

39With what I get, I mean; and so do they.

40Poor bird! thou'ldst never fear the net nor lime,

41The pitfall nor the gin.

42Why should I, mother? Poor birds they are not set for.

43My father is not dead, for all your saying.

44Yes, he is dead; how wilt thou do for a father?

45Nay, how will you do for a husband?

46Why, I can buy me twenty at any market.

47Then you'll buy 'em to sell again.

48Thou speak'st with all thy wit: and yet, i' faith,

49With wit enough for thee.

50Was my father a traitor, mother?

51Ay, that he was.

52What is a traitor?

53Why, one that swears and lies.

54And be all traitors that do so?

55Every one that does so is a traitor, and must be hanged.

56And must they all be hanged that swear and lie?

57Every one.

58Who must hang them?

59Why, the honest men.

60Then the liars and swearers are fools,

61for there are liars and swearers enow to beat

62the honest men and hang up them.

63Now, God help thee, poor monkey!

64But how wilt thou do for a father?

65If he were dead, you'ld weep for

66him: if you would not, it were a good sign

67that I should quickly have a new father.

68Poor prattler, how thou talk'st!

69Bless you, fair dame! I am not to you known,

70Though in your state of honour I am perfect.

71I doubt some danger does approach you nearly:

72If you will take a homely man's advice,

73Be not found here; hence, with your little ones.

74To fright you thus, methinks, I am too savage;

75To do worse to you were fell cruelty,

76Which is too nigh your person. Heaven preserve you!

77I dare abide no longer.

78Whither should I fly?

79I have done no harm. But I remember now

80I am in this earthly world; where to do harm

81Is often laudable, to do good sometime

82Accounted dangerous folly: why then, alas,

83Do I put up that womanly defence,

84To say I have done no harm?

85What are these faces?

86Where is your husband?

87I hope, in no place so unsanctified

88Where such as thou mayst find him.

89He's a traitor.

90Thou liest, thou shag-hair'd villain!

91What, you egg!

92Young fry of treachery!

93He has kill'd me, mother:

94Run away, I pray you!

1Let us seek out some desolate shade, and there

2Weep our sad bosoms empty.

3Let us rather

4Hold fast the mortal sword, and like good men

5Bestride our down-fall'n birthdom: each new morn

6New widows howl, new orphans cry, new sorrows

7Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds

8As if it felt with Scotland and yell'd out

9Like syllable of dolour.

10What I believe I'll wail,

11What know believe, and what I can redress,

12As I shall find the time to friend, I will.

13What you have spoke, it may be so perchance.

14This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues,

15Was once thought honest: you have loved him well.

16He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young;

17but something

18You may deserve of him through me, and wisdom

19To offer up a weak poor innocent lamb

20To appease an angry god.

21I am not treacherous.

22But Macbeth is.

23A good and virtuous nature may recoil

24In an imperial charge. But I shall crave

25your pardon;

26That which you are my thoughts cannot transpose:

27Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell;

28Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace,

29Yet grace must still look so.

30I have lost my hopes.

31Perchance even there where I did find my doubts.

32Why in that rawness left you wife and child,

33Those precious motives, those strong knots of love,

34Without leave-taking? I pray you,

35Let not my jealousies be your dishonours,

36But mine own safeties. You may be rightly just,

37Whatever I shall think.

38Bleed, bleed, poor country!

39Great tyranny! lay thou thy basis sure,

40For goodness dare not cheque thee: wear thou

41thy wrongs;

42The title is affeer'd! Fare thee well, lord:

43I would not be the villain that thou think'st

44For the whole space that's in the tyrant's grasp,

45And the rich East to boot.

46Be not offended:

47I speak not as in absolute fear of you.

48I think our country sinks beneath the yoke;

49It weeps, it bleeds; and each new day a gash

50Is added to her wounds: I think withal

51There would be hands uplifted in my right;

52And here from gracious England have I offer

53Of goodly thousands: but, for all this,

54When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head,

55Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country

56Shall have more vices than it had before,

57More suffer and more sundry ways than ever,

58By him that shall succeed.

59What should he be?

60It is myself I mean: in whom I know

61All the particulars of vice so grafted

62That, when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth

63Will seem as pure as snow, and the poor state

64Esteem him as a lamb, being compared

65With my confineless harms.

66Not in the legions

67Of horrid hell can come a devil more damn'd

68In evils to top Macbeth.

69I grant him bloody,

70Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful,

71Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin

72That has a name: but there's no bottom, none,

73In my voluptuousness: your wives, your daughters,

74Your matrons and your maids, could not fill up

75The cistern of my lust, and my desire

76All continent impediments would o'erbear

77That did oppose my will: better Macbeth

78Than such an one to reign.

79Boundless intemperance

80In nature is a tyranny; it hath been

81The untimely emptying of the happy throne

82And fall of many kings. But fear not yet

83To take upon you what is yours: you may

84Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty,

85And yet seem cold, the time you may so hoodwink.

86We have willing dames enough: there cannot be

87That vulture in you, to devour so many

88As will to greatness dedicate themselves,

89Finding it so inclined.

90With this there grows

91In my most ill-composed affection such

92A stanchless avarice that, were I king,

93I should cut off the nobles for their lands,

94Desire his jewels and this other's house:

95And my more-having would be as a sauce

96To make me hunger more; that I should forge

97Quarrels unjust against the good and loyal,

98Destroying them for wealth.

99This avarice

100Sticks deeper, grows with more pernicious root

101Than summer-seeming lust, and it hath been

102The sword of our slain kings: yet do not fear;

103Scotland hath foisons to fill up your will.

104Of your mere own: all these are portable,

105With other graces weigh'd.

106But I have none: the king-becoming graces,

107As justice, verity, temperance, stableness,

108Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness,

109Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude,

110I have no relish of them, but abound

111In the division of each several crime,

112Acting it many ways. Nay, had I power, I should

113Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell,

114Uproar the universal peace, confound

115All unity on earth.

116O Scotland, Scotland!

117If such a one be fit to govern, speak:

118I am as I have spoken.

119Fit to govern!

120No, not to live. O nation miserable,

121With an untitled tyrant bloody-scepter'd,

122When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again,

123Since that the truest issue of thy throne

124By his own interdiction stands accursed,

125And does blaspheme his breed? Thy royal father

126Was a most sainted king: the queen that bore thee,

127Oftener upon her knees than on her feet,

128Died every day she lived. Fare thee well!

129These evils thou repeat'st upon thyself

130Have banish'd me from Scotland. O my breast,

131Thy hope ends here!

132Macduff, this noble passion,

133Child of integrity, hath from my soul

134Wiped the black scruples, reconciled my thoughts

135To thy good truth and honour. Devilish Macbeth

136By many of these trains hath sought to win me

137Into his power, and modest wisdom plucks me

138From over-credulous haste: but God above

139Deal between thee and me! for even now

140I put myself to thy direction, and

141Unspeak mine own detraction, here abjure

142The taints and blames I laid upon myself,

143For strangers to my nature. I am yet

144Unknown to woman, never was forsworn,

145Scarcely have coveted what was mine own,

146At no time broke my faith, would not betray

147The devil to his fellow and delight

148No less in truth than life: my first false speaking

149Was this upon myself: what I am truly,

150Is thine and my poor country's to command:

151Whither indeed, before thy here-approach,

152Old Siward, with ten thousand warlike men,

153Already at a point, was setting forth.

154Now we'll together; and the chance of goodness

155Be like our warranted quarrel! Why are you silent?

156Such welcome and unwelcome things at once

157'Tis hard to reconcile.

158Well; more anon.--Comes the king forth, I pray you?

159Ay, sir; there are a crew of wretched souls

160That stay his cure: their malady convinces

161The great assay of art; but at his touch--

162Such sanctity hath heaven given his hand--

163They presently amend.

164I thank you, doctor.

165What's the disease he means?

166'Tis call'd the evil:

167A most miraculous work in this good king;

168Which often, since my here-remain in England,

169I have seen him do. How he solicits heaven,

170Himself best knows: but strangely-visited people,

171All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye,

172The mere despair of surgery, he cures,

173Hanging a golden stamp about their necks,

174Put on with holy prayers: and 'tis spoken,

175To the succeeding royalty he leaves

176The healing benediction. With this strange virtue,

177He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy,

178And sundry blessings hang about his throne,

179That speak him full of grace.

180See, who comes here?

181My countryman; but yet I know him not.

182My ever-gentle cousin, welcome hither.

183I know him now. Good God, betimes remove

184The means that makes us strangers!

185Sir, amen.

186Stands Scotland where it did?

187Alas, poor country!

188Almost afraid to know itself. It cannot

189Be call'd our mother, but our grave; where nothing,

190But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile;

191Where sighs and groans and shrieks that rend the air

192Are made, not mark'd; where violent sorrow seems

193A modern ecstasy; the dead man's knell

194Is there scarce ask'd for who; and good men's lives

195Expire before the flowers in their caps,

196Dying or ere they sicken.

197O, relation

198Too nice, and yet too true!

199What's the newest grief?

200That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker:

201Each minute teems a new one.

202How does my wife?

203Why, well.

204And all my children?

205Well too.

206The tyrant has not batter'd at their peace?

207No; they were well at peace when I did leave 'em.

208But not a niggard of your speech: how goes't?

209When I came hither to transport the tidings,

210Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumour

211Of many worthy fellows that were out;

212Which was to my belief witness'd the rather,

213For that I saw the tyrant's power a-foot:

214Now is the time of help; your eye in Scotland

215Would create soldiers, make our women fight,

216To doff their dire distresses.

217Be't their comfort

218We are coming thither: gracious England hath

219Lent us good Siward and ten thousand men;

220An older and a better soldier none

221That Christendom gives out.

222Would I could answer

223This comfort with the like! But I have words

224That would be howl'd out in the desert air,

225Where hearing should not latch them.

226What concern they?

227The general cause? or is it a fee-grief

228Due to some single breast?

229No mind that's honest

230But in it shares some woe; though the main part

231Pertains to you alone.

232If it be mine,

233Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it.

234Let not your ears despise my tongue for ever,

235Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound

236That ever yet they heard.

237Hum! I guess at it.

238Your castle is surprised; your wife and babes

239Savagely slaughter'd: to relate the manner,

240Were, on the quarry of these murder'd deer,

241To add the death of you.

242Merciful heaven!

243What, man! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows;

244Give sorrow words: the grief that does not speak

245Whispers the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break.

246My children too?

247Wife, children, servants, all

248That could be found.

249And I must be from thence!

250My wife kill'd too?

251I have said.

252Be comforted:

253Let's make us medicines of our great revenge,

254To cure this deadly grief.

255He has no children. All my pretty ones?

256Did you say all? O hell-kite! All?

257What, all my pretty chickens and their dam

258At one fell swoop?

259Dispute it like a man.

260I shall do so;

261But I must also feel it as a man:

262I cannot but remember such things were,

263That were most precious to me. Did heaven look on,

264And would not take their part? Sinful Macduff,

265They were all struck for thee! naught that I am,

266Not for their own demerits, but for mine,

267Fell slaughter on their souls. Heaven rest them now!

268Be this the whetstone of your sword: let grief

269Convert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage it.

270O, I could play the woman with mine eyes

271And braggart with my tongue! But, gentle heavens,

272Cut short all intermission; front to front

273Bring thou this fiend of Scotland and myself;

274Within my sword's length set him; if he 'scape,

275Heaven forgive him too!

276This tune goes manly.

277Come, go we to the king; our power is ready;

278Our lack is nothing but our leave; Macbeth

279Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above

280Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer you may:

281The night is long that never finds the day.

1I have two nights watched with you, but can perceive

2no truth in your report. When was it she last walked?