Macb. Time, thou anticipat'st my dread exploits: The flighty purpose never is o'ertook, Unless the deed go with it: From this moment, [done: To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and SCENE II.-Fife. A Room in Macduff's Castle. L. Macd. [babes, He had none: His flight was madness: When our actions do not, Our fears do make us traitors. Rosse. You know not, Whether it was his wisdom, or his fear. L. Macd. Wisdom! to leave his wife, to leave his His mansion, and his titles, in a place From whence himself does fly? He loves us not; He wants the natural touch: for the poor wren, The most diminutive of birds, will fight, Her young ones in her nest, against the owl. All is the fear, and nothing is the love; As little is the wisdom, where the flight So runs against all reason My dearest coz, Rosse. I pray you, school yourself: But, for your husband, He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows The fits o' the season. I dare not speak much further: But cruel are the times, when we are traitors, And do not know ourselves; when we hold rumour Each way, and move.-I take my leave of you : L. Macd. Father'd he is, and yet he's fatherless. L. Macd. Sirrah, your father's dead; Son. As birds do, mother. What, with worms and flies? Son With what I get, I mean; and so do they. L. Macd. Poor bird! thou 'dst never fear the net, The pit-fall, nor the gin. [nor lime, Son. Why should 1, mother? Poorbirds they are not My father is not dead, for all your saying. [set for. L. Macd Yes, he is dead; how wilt thou do for a father? Son. Nay, how will you do for a husband? L.. Macd. Why, I can buy 'ne twenty at any market. L. Macd. Every one that does so, is a traitor, and must be hanged. Son. And must they all be hanged that swear and lie? L. Mard. Every one. Son. Who must hang them? L. Macd. Why, the honest men. Son. Then the liars and swearers are fools: for there are liars and swearers enough to beat the honest men, and hang up them. L. Macd. Now God help thee, poor monkey! But how wilt thou do for a father? Son. If he were dead, you'd weep for him if you would not, it were a good sign that I should quickly have a new father. L. Mucd. Poor prattler! how thou talkest. Mess. Bless you, fair dame! I am not to you known, Be not found here; hence, with your little ones. L. Macd. I have done no harm. But I remember now faces? To say, I have done no harm?What are these Enter Murderers. Mur. Where is your husband? L. Macd. I hope, in no place, so unsanctified, He's a traitor. Son. Thou ly'st, thou shag-ear'd villain. Mur. What, you egg? [Stabbing him. Young fry of treachery? Son. He has kill'd me, mother: Run away, I pray you. [Dies. [Exit Lady MACDUFF, crying murder, and pursued by the murderers. SCENE III.-England. A Room in the King's Palace. Enter MALCOLM and MACDUFF. Mal. Let us seek out some desolate shade, and there Weep our sad bosoms empty. Macd Let us rather Hold fast the mortal sword; and, like good men, Bestride our down-fall'n birthdom: Each new morn,、 New widows howl; new orphans cry; new sorrows Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds As if it felt with Scotland, and yell'd out Like syllable of dolour. Mal. What I believe, I'll wail; What know, believe; and, what I can redress, As I shall find the time to friend, I will. What you have spoke, it may be so, perchance. This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues, Was once thought honest, you have lov'd him well; He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young, but something Macd. I am not treacherous. But Macbeth is. Macd. I have lost my hopes. Mal. Perchance, even there, where I did find my doubts. Why in that rawness left you wife, and child, Let not my jealousies be your dishonours. Macd. Mal. Be not offended: I speak not as in absolute fear of you. I think, our country sinks beneath the yoke; It weeps, it bleeds and each new day a gash Is added to her wounds: I think, withal, There would be hands uplifted in my right; And here, from gracious England, have I offer Of goodly thousands: But, for all this, When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head, Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country Shall have more vices than it had before; More suffer, and more sundry ways than ever, By him that shall succeed. Macd. What should he be ? Mal. It is myself I mean: in whom I know All the particulars of vice so grafted, That, when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth Will seem as pure as snow; and the poor state Esteem him as a lamb, being compar'd With my confineless harms. Maca. Not in the legions Of horrid hell, can come a devil more damn'd In evils, to top Macbeth. Mal. I grant him bloody, Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful, Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin That has a name : But there's no bottom, none, In my voluptuousness; your wives, your daughters, Your matrons, and your maids, could not fill up The cistern of my lust; and my desire All continent impediments would o'er bear, That did oppose my will: Better Macbeth, Than such a one to reign. Macd. Boundless intemperance In nature is a tyranny; it hath been The untimely emptying of the happy throne, And fall of many kings. But fear not yet To take upon you what is yours: you may Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty, And yet seem cold, the time you may so hood wink. We have willing dames enough; there cannot be That vulture in you, to devour so many As will to greatness dedicate themselves, Finding it so inclin'd. With this there grows, Mal. Macd. Mal. But I have none: The king-becoming graces, power, I should Macd. O Scotland! Scotland! Mul. If such a one be fit to govern speak. I am as I have spoken. Fit to govern! Macd. No, not to live.-O nation miserable, By his own interdiction stands accurs'd, And does blaspheme his breed?-Thy royal father Was a most sainted king: the queen that bore thee Mal. No less in truth, than life: my first false speaking Now we 'll together; And the chance, of goodnes Enter a Doctor. Mal. Well; more anon.-Comes the king forta. I pray you' Doct. Ay, sir. there are a crew of wretched souls, That stay his cure: their malady convinces The great assay of art; but, at his touch, Such sanctity hath heaven given in his hand, They presently amend. Mal. I thank you, doctor. [Exit Doctor. Macd. What's the disease he means? Mal. 'Tis call'd the evil : A most miraculous work in this good king: Which often, since my here-remain in England, I have seen him do. How he solicits heaven, Himself best knows: but strangely-visited people, All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye, The mere despair of surgery, he cures ; Hanging a golden stamp about their necks, Put on with holy prayers: and 'tis spoken, To the succeeding royalty he leaves The healing benediction. With this strange virtue, And sundry blessings hang about his throne, Macd. Stands Scotland where it did? Rosse. Alas, poor country; Almost afraid to know itself! It cannot Be call'd our mother, but our grave: where nothing, But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile; Where sighs, and groans, and shrieks that rent the air, Are made, not mark'd; where violent sorrow seems A modern ecstacy; the dead man's knell Is there scarce ask'd, for who; and good men's lives Expire before the flowers in their caps, Dying, or ere they sicken. What is the newest grief? Rosse. That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker; Each minute teems a new one. Macd. Rosse. Why, well. Macd. Rosse. How does my wife And all my children? Well too. Mal. Rosse. Merciful heaven !— What, man! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows; Give sorrow words: the grief, that does not speak, Whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it break. Macd. My children too? Rosse. That could be found. Macd. My wife kill'd too? Rosse. Mal. Wife, children, servants, all And I must be from thence ! I have said. Be comforted: Let's make us med'cines of our great revenge, To cure this deadly grief. Mucd. He has no children.-Al my preaty ones? Mal. Dispute it like a man. I shall do so; I cannot but remember such things were, Mal. This tune goes manly. Come, go we to the king; our power is ready; Our lack is nothing but our leave: Macbeth Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above [may; Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer you The night is long, that never finds the day. [Exeunt. ACT V. SCENE I.-Dunsinane. A Room in the Castle. Enter a Doctor of Physic, and a waiting Gentlewoman. Doct. I have two nights watched with you, but can perceive no truth in your report. When was it she last walked ? Gent. Since his majesty went into the field, I have seen her rise from her bed, throw her night-gown upon her, unlock her closet, take forth paper, fold it, write upon it, read it, afterwards seal it, and again return to bed; yet all this while in a most fast sleep. Doct. A great perturbation in nature! to receive What concern they? at once the benefit of sleep, and do the effects of watching-In this slumbry agitation, besides her 'Would I could answer This comfort with the like! But I have words, That would be howl'd out in the desert air, Where hearing should not latch them. Macd. The general cause? or is it a fee-grief, walking and other actual performances, what, at any time, have you heard her say? Gent. That, sir, which I will not report after her. Doct. You may, to me; and 'tis most meet you should. Gent. Neither to you, nor any one; having no witness to confirm my speech. Enter Lady MACBETH, with a taper. Lo you, here she comes! This is her very guise, and, upon my life, fast asleep. Observe her: stand close. Doct. How came she by that light? Gent. Why, it stood by her she has light by her continually; 'tis her command. Doct. You see, her eyes are open. Doct. What is it she does now; Look how she rubs her hands. Gent. It is an accustomed action with her, to seem thus washing her hands; I have known her continue in this a quarter of an hour. Lady M. Yet here's a spot. Duct. Hark, she speaks: I will set down what comes from her, to satisfy my remembrance the more strongly. Lady M. Out, damned spot! out, I say!-One; Two: Why, then 'tis time to do't:- -Hell is murky!-Fye, my lord, fye! a soldier, and afeard? What need we fear who knows it, when none can call our power to account!-Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him? Doct. Do you mark that? Lady M. The thane of Fife had a wife; Where Is she now ?What, will these hands ne'er be clean? - No more o'that, my lord, no more o'that: you mar all with this starting. Doct. Go to, go to; you have known what you should not. Gent. She has spoke what she should not, I am sure of that: Heaven knows what she has knowa. Lady M. Here's the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh! oh! oh! Doct. What a sigh is there! The heart is sorely charged. Gent. I would not have such a heart in my bosom, for the dignity of the whole body. Doct. Well, well, well, Gent. 'Pray God, it be, sir. Doct. This disease is beyond my practice: Yet I have known those which have walked in their sleep, who have died holily in their beds. Who then shall blame Cath. Well, march we on, Enter MACBETH, Doctor, and Attendants. I cannot taint with fear. What's the boy Malcolm ' Was he not born of woman? The spirits that know All mortal consequents pronounc'd me thus: Fear not, Macbeth; no man, that's born of woman, Shall e'er have power on thee. Then fly, false thanes And mingle with the English epicures: Lady M. Wash your hands, put on your night. The mind I sway by, and the heart I bear, gown; look not so pale.-I tell you yet again, Ban-Shall never sagg with doubt, nor shake with fear. quo's buried; he cannot come out of his grave. Doct. Even so ? Lady M To bed, to bed; there's knocking at the Doct. Will she go now to bed? [deeds Gent. Good night, good doctor. [Exeunt. Enter a Servant. The devil damn thee black, thou cream-fac'd loon. Serv. Geese, villain ! I have liv'd long enough: my way of life As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, Enter SEYTON. Sey. What is your gracious pleasure? Macb. What news more? Sey. All is confirm'd, my lord, which was reported. Mach. I'll fight, till from my bones my flesh be hack'd. Give me my armour. Sey. Macb. I'll put it on. 'Tis not needed yet. Send out more horses, skirr the country round; Must minister to himself. Therein the patient Macb. Throw physic to the dogs, I'll none of it. Come, put mine armour on; give me iny staff :— Seyton, send out.-Doctor, the thanes fly from me :Come, sir, despatch: —If thou could'st, doctor, cast The water of my land, find her disease, And purge it to a sound and pristine health, I would applaud thee to the very echo, That should applaud again.-Pull't off, I say.What rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drug, [them? Would scour these English hence? Hearest thou of Doct. Ay, my good lord; your royal preparation Makes us hear something. Macb. Bring it after me. I will not be afraid of death and bane, Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane. [Exit. Doct. Were I from Dunsinane away and clear, Profit again should hardly draw me here. [Erit. Enter, with drums and colours, MACBETH, SEYTON, and Soldiers. Mach. Hang out our banners on the outward walls; The cry is still, They come Our castle's strength Will laugh a siege to scorn: here let them lie, Till famine, and the ague, eat them up; Were they not forc'd with those that should be ours, We might have met them dareful, beard to beard, And beat them backward home. What is that noise? [A cry within, of women. Sey. It is the cry of women, my good lord. Macb. I have almost forgot the taste of fears: The time has been, my senses would have cool'd To hear a night-shriek; and my fell of hair Would at a dismal treatise rouse, and stir As life were in't: I have supp'd full with horrors; Direness, familiar to my slaught'rous thoughts, Cannot once start me.-Wherefore was that cry? Sey. The queen, my lord, is dead Mac. She should have died hereafter; There would have been a time for such a word.— To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle' Life's but a walking shadow; a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more: it is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.- If thou speak'st false, Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive, Till famine cling thee: if thy speech be sooth, I care not if thou dost for me as much. I pull in resolution; and begin To doubt the equivocation of the fiend, Siw. We learn no other, but the confident tyrant That lies like truth: Fear not, till Birnam wood Keeps still in Dunsinane, and will endure Our setting down before't. Mal. 'Tis his main hope: For where there is advantage to be given, Both more and less have given him the revolt; And none serve with him but constrained things, Whose hearts are absent too. Do come to Dunsinane ;-and now a wood And wish the estate o'the world were now undone.- |