THE TRAGEDIE OF MACBETH.
Thunder and Lightning. Enter three Witches.
WHen shall we three meet againe?
In Thunder, Lightning, or in Raine?
When the Hurley-burley's done,
When the Battaile's lost, and wonne.
That will be ere the set of Sunne.
Where the place?
Vpon the Heath.
There to meet with Macbeth.
I come, Gray-Malkin.
Padock calls anon: faire is foule, and foule is faire,
Houer through the fogge and filthie ayre.
Alarum within. Enter King Malcome, Donal∣baine, Lenox, with attendants,
meeting a bleeding Captaine.
What bloody man is that? he can report,
As seemeth by his plight, of the Reuolt
The newest state.
This is the Serieant,
Who like a good and hardie Souldier fought
'Gainst my Captiuitie: Haile braue friend;
Say to the King, the knowledge of the Broyle,
As thou didst leaue it.
Doubtfull it stood,
As two spent Swimmers, that doe cling together,
And choake their Art: The mercilesse Macdonwald
(Worthie to be a Rebell, for to that
The multiplying Villanies of Nature
Doe swarme vpon him) from the Westerne Isles
Of Kernes and Gallowgrosses is supply'd,
And Fortune on his damned Quarry smiling,
Shew'd like a Rebells Whore: but all's too weake:
For braue Macbeth (well hee deserues that Name)
Disdayning Fortune, with his brandisht Steele,
Which smoak'd with bloody execution
(Like Valours Minion) caru'd out his passage,
Till hee fac'd the Slaue:
Which neu'r shooke hands, nor bad farwell to him,
Till he vnseam'd him from the Naue toth' Chops,
And fix'd his Head vpon our Battlements.
O valiant Cousin, worthy Gentlemen.
As whence the Sunne gins his reflection,
Shipwracking Stormes, and direfull Thunders:
So from that Spring, whence comfort seem'd to come,
Discomfort swells: Marke King of Scotland, marke,
No sooner Iustice had, with Valour arm'd,
Compell'd these skipping Kernes to trust their heeles,
But the Norweyan Lord, surueying vantage,
With furbusht Armes, and new supplyes of men,
Began a fresh assault.
Dismay'd not this our Captaines, Macbeth and Banquoh?
Yes, as Sparrowes, Eagles;
Or the Hare, the Lyon:
If I say sooth, I must report they were
As Cannons ouer-charg'd with double Cracks,
So they doubly redoubled stroakes vpon the Foe:
Except they meant to bathe in reeking Wounds,
Or memorize another Golgotha,
I cannot tell: but I am faint,
My Gashes cry for helpe.
So well thy words become thee, as thy wounds,
They smack of Honor both: Goe get him Surgeons.
Enter Rosse and Angus.
Who comes here?
The worthy Thane of Rosse.
What a haste lookes through his eyes?
So should he looke, that seemes to speake things strange.
God saue the King.
Whence cam'st thou, worthy Thane?
From Fiffe, great King,
Where the Norweyan Banners flowt the Skie,
And fanne our people cold.
Norway himselfe, with terrible numbers,
Assisted by that most disloyall Traytor,
The Thane of Cawdor, began a dismall Conflict,
Till that Bellona's Bridegroome, lapt in proofe,
Confronted him with selfe-comparisons,
Point against Point, rebellious Arme 'gainst Arme,
Curbing his lauish spirit: and to conclude,
The Victorie fell on vs.
That now Sweno, the Norwayes King,
Nor would we deigne him buriall of his men,
Till he disbursed, at Saint Colmes ynch,
Ten thousand Dollars, to our generall vse.
No more that Thane of Cawdor shall deceiue
Our Bosome interest: Goe pronounce his present death,
And with his former Title greet Macbeth.
Ile see it done.
What he hath lost, Noble Macbeth hath wonne.
Thunder. Enter the three Witches.
Where hast thou beene, Sister?
Sister, where thou?
A Saylors Wife had Chestnuts in her Lappe,
And mouncht, & mouncht, and mouncht:
Giue me, quoth I.
Aroynt thee, Witch, the rumpe-fed Ronyon cryes.
Her Husband's to Aleppo gone, Master o' th' Tiger:
But in a Syue Ile thither sayle,
And like a Rat without a tayle,
Ile doe, Ile doe, and Ile doe.
Ile giue thee a Winde.
Th' art kinde.
And I another.
I my selfe haue all the other,
And the very Ports they blow,
All the Quarters that they know,
I' th' Ship-mans Card.
Ile dreyne him drie as Hay:
Sleepe shall neyther Night nor Day
Hang vpon his Pent-house Lid:
He shall liue a man forbid:
Wearie Seu'nights, nine times nine,
Shall he dwindle, peake, and pine:
Though his Barke cannot be lost,
Yet it shall be Tempest-tost▪
Looke what I haue.
Shew me, shew me.
Here I haue a Pilots Thumbe,
Wrackt, as homeward he did come.
A Drumme, a Drumme:
Macbeth doth come.
The weyward Sisters, hand in hand,
Posters of the Sea and Land,
Thus doe goe, about, about,
Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine,
And thrice againe, to make vp nine.
Peace, the Charme's wound vp.
Enter Macbeth and Banquo.
So foule and faire a day I haue not seene.
How farre is't call'd to Soris? What are these,
So wither'd, and so wilde in their attyre,
That looke not like th' Inhabitants o' th' Earth,
And yet are on't? Liue you, or are you aught
That man may question? you seeme to vnderstand me,
By each at once her choppie finger laying
Vpon her skinnie Lips: you should be Women,
And yet your Beards forbid me to interprete
That you are so.
Speake if you can: what are you?
All haile Macbeth, haile to thee Thane of Glamis.
All haile Macbeth, haile to thee Thane of Cawdor.
All haile Macbeth, that shalt be King hereafter.
Good Sir, why doe you start, and seeme to feare
Things that doe sound so faire? i' th' name of truth
Are ye fantasticall, or that indeed
Which outwardly ye shew? My Noble Partner
You greet with present Grace, and great prediction
Of Noble hauing, and of Royall hope,
That he seemes wrapt withall: to me you speake not.
If you can looke into the Seedes of Time,
And say, which Graine will grow, and which will not,
Speake then to me, who neyther begge, nor feare
Your fauors, nor your hate.
Lesser then Macbeth, and greater.
Not so happy, yet much happyer.
Thou shalt get Kings, though thou be none:
So all haile Macbeth, and Banquo.
Banquo, and Macbeth, all haile.
Stay you imperfect Speakers, tell me more:
By Sinells death, I know I am Thane of Glamis,
But how, of Cawdor? the Thane of Cawdor liues
A prosperous Gentleman: And to be King,
Stands not within the prospect of beleefe,
No more then to be Cawdor. Say from whence
You owe this strange Intelligence, or why
Vpon this blasted Heath you stop our way
With such Prophetique greeting?
Speake, I charge you.
The Earth hath bubbles, as the Water ha's,
And these are of them: whither are they vanish'd?
Into the Ayre: and what seem'd corporall,
Melted, as breath into the Winde.
Would they had stay'd.
Were such things here, as we doe speake about?
Or haue we eaten on the insane Root,
That takes the Reason Prisoner?
Your Children shall be Kings.
You shall be King.
And Thane of Cawdor too: went it not so?
Toth' selfe-same tune▪ and words: who's here?
Enter Rosse and Angus.
The King hath happily receiu'd, Macbeth▪
The newes of thy successe: and when he reades
Thy personall Venture in the Rebels fight,
His Wonders and his Prayses doe contend,
Which should be thine, or his: silenc'd with that,
In viewing o're the rest o' th' selfe-same day,
He findes thee in the stout Norweyan Rankes▪
Nothing afeard of what thy selfe didst make
Strange Images of death, as thick as Tale
Can post with post, and euery one did beare
Thy prayses in his Kingdomes great defence,
And powr'd them downe before him.
Wee are sent,
To giue thee from our Royall Master thanks,
Onely to harrold thee into his sight,
Not pay thee▪
And for an earnest of a greater Honor,
He bad me, from him, call thee Thane of Cawdor:
In which addition, haile most worthy Thane,
For it is thine.
What, can the Deuill speake true?
The Thane of Cawdor liues:
Why doe you dresse me in borrowed Robes?
Who was the Thane, liues yet,
But vnder heauie Iudgement beares that Life,
Which he deserues to loose.
Whether he was combin'd with those of Norway,
Or did lyne the Rebell with hidden helpe,
And vantage; or that with both he labour'd
In his Countreyes wracke, I know not:
But Treasons Capitall, confess'd, and prou'd,
Haue ouerthrowne him.
Glamys, and Thane of Cawdor:
The greatest is behinde. Thankes for your paines.
Doe you not hope your Children shall be Kings,
When those that gaue the Thane of Cawdor to me,
Promis'd no lesse to them.
That trusted home,
Might yet enkindle you vnto the Crowne,
Besides the Thane of Cawdor. But 'tis strange:
And oftentimes, to winne vs to our harme,
The Instruments of Darknesse tell vs Truths,
Winne vs with honest Trifles, to betray's
In deepest consequence.
Cousins, a word, I pray you.
Two Truths are told,
As happy Prologues to the swelling Act
Of the Imperiall Theame. I thanke you Gentlemen:
This supernaturall solliciting
Cannot be ill; cannot be good.
If ill? why hath it giuen me earnest of successe,
Commencing in a Truth? I am Thane of Cawdor.
If good? why doe I yeeld to that suggestion,
Whose horrid Image doth vnfixe my Heire,
And make my seated Heart knock at my Ribbes,
Against the vse of Nature? Present Feares
Are lesse then horrible Imaginings:
My Thought, whose Murther yet is but fantasticall,
Shakes so my single state of Man,
That Function is smother'd in surmise,
And nothing is, but what is not.
Looke how our Partner's rapt.
If Chance will haue me King,
Why Chance may Crowne me,
Without my stirre.
Now Honors come vpon him
Like our strange Garments, cleaue not to their mould,
But with the aid of vse.
Come what come may,
Time, and the Houre, runs through the roughest Day.
Worthy Macbeth, wee stay vpon your ley∣sure.
Giue me your fauour:
My dull Braine was wrought with things forgotten.
Kinde Gentlemen, your paines are registred,
Where euery day I turne the Lease,
To reade them.
Let vs toward the King: thinke vpon
What hath chanc'd: and at more time,
The Interim hauing weigh'd it▪ let vs speake
Our free Hearts each to other.
Till then enough:
Flourish. Enter King, Lenox, Malcolme, Donalbaine, and Attendants.
Is execution done on Cawdor?
Or not those in Commission yet return'd?
My Liege, they are not yet come back.
But I haue spoke with one that saw him die:
Who did report, that very frankly hee
Confess'd his Treasons, implor'd your Highnesse Pardon,
And set forth a deepe Repentance:
Nothing in his Life became him,
Like the leauing it. Hee dy'de,
As one that had beene studied in his death,
To throw away the dearest thing he ow'd,
As 'twere a carelesse Trifle.
There's no Art,
To finde the Mindes construction in the Face:
He was a Gentleman, on whom I built
An absolute Trust.
Enter Macbeth, Banquo, Rosse, and Angus.
O worthyest Cousin,
The sinne of my Ingratitude euen now
Was heauie on me. Thou art so farre before,
That swiftest Wing of Recompence is slow,
To ouertake thee. Would thou hadst lesse deseru'd,
That the proportion both of thanks, and payment,
Might haue beene mine: onely I haue left to say,
More is thy due, then more then all can pay.
The seruice, and the loyaltie I owe,
In doing it, payes it selfe.
Your Highnesse part, is to receiue our Duties:
And our Duties are to your Throne, and State,
Children, and Seruants; which doe but what they should,
By doing euery thing safe toward your Loue
I haue begun to plant thee, and will labour
To make thee full of growing. Noble Banquo,
That hast no lesse deseru'd, nor must be knowne
No lesse to haue done so: Let me enfold thee,
And hold thee to my Heart.
There if I grow,
The Haruest is your owne.
My plenteous Ioyes,
Wanton in fulnesse, seeke to hide themselues
In drops of sorrow. Sonnes, Kinsmen, Thanes,
And you whose places are the nearest, know,
We will establish our Estate vpon
Our eldest, Malcolme, whom we name hereafter,
The Prince of Cumberland: which Honor must
Not vnaccompanied, inuest him onely,
But signes of Noblenesse, like Starres, shall shine
On all deseruers▪ From hence to Envernes,
And binde vs further to you.
The Rest is Labor, which is not vs'd for you:
Ile be my selfe the Herbenger, and make ioyfull
The hearing of my Wife, with your approach:
So humbly take my leaue.
My worthy Cawdor.
The Prince of Cumberland: that is a step,
On which I must fall downe, or else o're-leape,
For in my way it lyes. Starres hide your fires,
Let not Light see my black and deepe desires:
The Eye winke at the Hand; yet let that bee,
Which the Eye feares, when it is done to see.
True, worthy Banquo: he is full so valiant,
And in his commendations, I am fed:
It is a Banquet to me. Let's after him,
Whose care is gone before, to bid vs welcome:
It is a peerelesse Kinsman.
Enter Macbeths Wife alone with a Letter.
They met me in the day of successe: and I haue learn'd by the perfect'st report,
they haue more in them, then mortall knowledge. When I burnt in desire to
question them further▪ they made themselues Ayre, into which they vanish'd.
Whiles I stood rapt in the wonder of it, came Missiues from the King, who all-
hail'd me Thane of Cawdor, by which Title before, these weyward Sisters saluted
me, and referr•d me to the comming on of time, with haile King that shalt be.
This haue I thought good to deliuer thee (my dearest Partner of Greatnesse) that
thou might'st not loose the dues of reioycing by being ignorant of what
Greatnesse is promis'd thee. Lay it to thy heart, and farewell.
Glamys thou art, and Cawdor, and shalt be
What thou art promis'd: yet doe I feare thy Nature,
It is too full o' th' Milke of humane kindnesse,
To catch the neerest way. Thou would'st be great,
Art not without Ambition, but without
The illnesse should attend it. What thou would'st highly,
That would'st thou holily: would'st not play false,
And yet would'st wrongly winne.
Thould'st haue, great Glamys that which cryes,
Thus thou must doe, if thou haue it;
And that which rather thou do'st feare to doe,
Then wishest should be vndone. High thee hither,
That I may powre my Spirits in thine Eare,
And chastise with the valour of my Tongue
All that impeides thee from the Golden Round,
Which Fate and Metaphysicall ayde doth seeme
To haue thee crown'd withall.
What is your tidings?
The King comes here to Night.
Thou'rt mad to say it.
Is not thy Master with him? who, wer't so,
Would haue inform'd for preparation.
So please you, it is true: our Thane is comming:
One of my fellowes had the speed of him;
Who almost dead for breath, had scarcely more
Then would make vp his Message.
Giue him tending,
He brings great newes.
The Rauen himselfe is hoarse,
That croakes the fatall entrance of Duncan
Vnder my Battlements. Come you Spirits,
That tend on mortall thoughts, vnsex me here,
And fill me from the Crowne to the Toe, top-full
Of direst Crueltie: make thick my blood,
Stop vp th' accesse, and passage to Remorse,
That no compunctious visitings of Nature
Shake my fell purpose, nor keepe peace betweene
Th' effect, and hit. Come to my Womans Brests,
And take my Milke for Gall, you murth'ring Ministers,
Where-euer, in your sightlesse substances,
You wait on Natures Mischiefe. Come thick Night,
And pall thee in the dunnest smoake of Hell,
That my keene Knife see not the Wound it makes,
Nor Heauen peepe through the Blanket of the darke,
To cry, hold, hold.
Great Glamys, worthy Cawdor,
Greater then both, by the all-ha•le hereafter,
Thy Letters haue transported me beyond
This ignorant present, and I feele now
The future in the instant.
My dearest Loue,
Duncan comes here to Night.
And when goes hence?
To morrow, as he purposes.
Shall Sunne that Morrow see.
Your Face, my Thane, is as a Booke, where men
May reade strange matters, to beguile the time.
Looke like the time, beare welcome in your Eye,
Your Hand, your Tongue: looke like th' innocent flower,
But be the Serpent vnder't. He that's comming,
Must be prouided for: and you shall put
This Nights great Businesse into my dispatch,
Which shall to all our Nights, and Dayes to come,
Giue solely soueraigne sway, and Masterdome.
We will speake further.
Onely looke vp cleare:
To alter fauor, euer is to feare:
Leaue all the rest to me.
Hoboyes, and Torches. Enter King, Malcolme, Donalbaine, Banquo, Lenox, Macduff,
Rosse, Angus, and Attendants.
This Castle hath a pleasant seat,
The ayre nimbly and sweetly recommends it selfe
Vnto our gentle sences.
This Guest of Summer,
The Temple-haunting Barlet does approue,
By his loued Mansonry, that the Heauens breath
Smells wooingly here: no Iutty frieze▪
Buttrice, nor Coigne of Vantage, but this Bird
Hath made his pendant Bed, and procreant Cradle,
Where they must breed, and haunt: I haue obseru'd
The ayre is delicate.
See, see, our honor'd Hostesse:
The Loue that followes vs, sometime is our trouble,
Which still we thanke as Loue. Herein I teach you,
How you shall bid God-eyld vs for your paines,
And thanke vs for your trouble.
All our seruice,
In euery point twice done, and then done double,
Were poore, and single Businesse, to contend
Against those Honors deepe, and broad,
Wherewith your Maiestie loades our House:
For those of old, and the late Dignities,
Heap'd vp to them, we rest your Ermites.
Where's the Thane of Cawdor?
We courst him at the heeles, and had a purpose
To be his Purueyor: But he rides well,
And his great Loue (sharpe as his Spurre) hath holp him
To his home before vs: Faire and Noble Hostesse
We are your guest to night.
Your Seruants euer,
Haue theirs, themselues, and what is theirs in compt,
To make their Audit at your Highnesse pleasure,
Still to returne your owne.
Giue me your hand:
Conduct me to mine Host we loue him highly,
And shall continue, our Graces towards him.
By your leaue Hostesse.
Enter a Sewer, and diuers Seruants with Dishes and Seruice ouer the Stage. Then
If it were done, when 'tis done, then 'twer well,
It were done quickly: If th' Assassination
Could trammell vp the Consequence, and catch
With his surcease, Successe: that but this blow
Might be the be all, and the end all. Heere,
But heere, vpon this Banke and Schoole of time,
Wee'ld iumpe the life to come. But in these Cases,
We still haue iudgement heere, that we but teach
Bloody Instructions, which being taught, returne
To plague th' Inuenter, This euen-handed Iustice
Commends th' Ingredience of our poyson'd Challice
To our owne lips. Hee's heere in double trust;
First, as I am his Kinsman, and his Subiect,
Strong both against the Deed: Then, as his Host,
Who should against his Murtherer shut the doore,
Not beare the knife my selfe. Besides, this Duncane
Hath borne his Faculties so meeke; hath bin
So cleere in his great Office, that his Vertues
Will pleade like Angels, Trumpet-tongu'd against
The deepe damnation of his taking off:
And Pitty, like a naked New-borne-Babe,
Striding the blast, or Heauens Cherubin, hors'd
Vpon the sightlesse Curriors of the Ayre,
Shall blow the horrid deed in euery eye,
That teares shall drowne the winde. I haue no Spurre
To pricke the sides of my intent, but onely
Vaulting Ambition, which ore-leapes it selfe,
And falles on th' other.
How now? What Newes?
He has almost supt: why haue you left the chamber?
Hath he ask'd for me?
Know you not, he ha's?
We will proceed no further in this Businesse:
He hath Honour'd me of late, and I haue bought
Golden Opinions from all sorts of people,
Which would be worne now in their newest glosse,
Not cast aside so soone.
Was the hope drunke,
Wherein you drest your selfe? Hath it slept since?
And wakes it now to looke so greene, and pale,
At what it did so freely? From this time,
Such I account thy loue. Art thou affear'd
To be the same in thine owne Act, and Valour,
As thou art in desire? Would'st thou haue that
Which thou esteem'st the Ornament of Life,
And liue a Coward in thine owne Esteeme?
Letting I dare not, wait vpon I would,
Like the poore Cat i' th' Addage.
I dare do all that may become a man,
Who dares no more, is none.
What Beast was't then
That made you breake this enterprize to me?
When you durst do it, then you were a man:
And to be more then what you were, you would
Be so much more the man. Nor time, nor place
Did then adhere, and yet you would make both:
They haue made themselues, and that their fitnesse now
Do's vnmake you. I haue giuen Sucke, and know
How tender 'tis to loue the Babe that milkes me,
I would, while it was smyling in my Face,
Haue pluckt my Nipple from his Bonelesse Gummes,
And dasht the Braines out, had I so sworne
As you haue done to this.
If we should faile?
But screw your courage to the sticking place,
And wee'le not fayle: when Duncan is asleepe,
(Whereto the rather shall his dayes hard Iourney
Soundly inuite him) his two Chamberlaines
Will I with Wine, and Wassell, so conuince,
That Memorie, the Warder of the Braine,
Shall be a Fume, and the Receit of Reason
A Lymbeck onely: when in Swinish sleepe,
Their drenched Natures lyes as in a Death,
What cannot you and I performe vpon
Th' vnguarded Duncan? What not put vpon
His spungie Officers? who shall beare the guilt
Of our great quell.
Bring forth Men-Children onely:
For thy vndaunted Mettle should compose
Nothing but Males. Will it not be receiu'd,
When we haue mark'd with blood those sleepie two
Of his owne Chamber, and vs'd their very Daggers,
That they haue don't?
Who dares receiue it other,
As we shall make our Griefes and Clamor rore,
Vpon his Death?
I am settled, and bend vp
Each corporall Agent to this terrible Feat.
Away, and mock the time with fairest show,
False Face must hide what the false Heart doth know.
Enter Banquo, and Fleance, with a Torch before him.
How goes the Night, Boy?
The Moone is downe: I haue not heard the Clock.
And she goes downe at Twelue.
I take't, 'tis later, Sir.
Hold, take my Sword:
There's Husbandry in Heauen,
Their Candles are all out: take thee that too.
A heauie Summons lyes like Lead vpon me,
And yet I would not sleepe:
Mercifull Powers, restraine in me the cursed thoughts
That Nature giues way to in repose.
Enter Macbeth, and a Seruant with a Torch.
Giue me my Sword: who's there?
What Sir, not yet at rest? the King's a bed.
He hath beene in vnusuall Pleasure,
And sent forth great Largesse to your Offices.
This Diamond he greetes your Wife withall,
By the name of most kind Hostesse,
And shut vp in measurelesse content.
Our will became the seruant to defect,
Which else should free haue wrought.
I dreamt last Night of the three weyward Sisters:
To you they haue shew'd some truth.
I thinke not of them:
Yet when we can entreat an houre to serue,
We would spend it in some words vpon that Businesse,
If you would graunt the time.
At your kind'st leysure.
If you shall cleaue to my consent,
When 'tis, it shall make Honor for you.
So I lose none,
In seeking to augment it, but still keepe
My Bosome franchis'd, and Allegeance cleare,
I shall be counsail'd.
Good repose the while.
Thankes Sir: the like to you.
Goe bid thy Mistresse, when my drinke is ready,
She strike vpon the Bell. Get thee to bed.
Is this a Dagger, which I see before me,
The Handle toward my Hand? Come, let me clutch thee:
I haue thee not, and yet I see thee still.
Art thou not fatall Vision, sensible
To feeling, as to sight? or art thou but
A Dagger of the Minde, a false Creation,
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed Braine?
I see thee yet, in forme as palpable,
As this which now I draw.
Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going,
And such an Instrument I was to vse.
Mine Eyes are made the fooles o' th' other Sences,
Or else worth all the rest: I see thee still;
And on thy Blade, and Dudgeon, Gouts of Blood,
Which was not so before. There's no such thing:
It is the bloody Businesse, which informes
Thus to mine Eyes. Now o're the one halfe World
Nature seemes dead, and wicked Dreames abuse
The Curtain'd sleepe: Witchcraft celebrates
Pale Heccats Offrings: and wither'd Murther,
Alarum'd by his Centinell, the Wolfe,
Whose howle's his Watch, thus with his stealthy pace,
With Tarquins rauishing sides, towards his designe
Moues like a Ghost. Thou sowre and firme-set Earth
Heare not my steps, which they may walke, for feare
Thy very stones prate of my where-about,
And take the present horror from the time,
Which now sutes with it. Whiles I threat, he liues:
Words to the heat of deedes too cold breath giues.
A Bell rings.
I goe, and it is done: the Bell inuites me.
Heare it not, Duncan, for it is a Knell,
That summons thee to Heauen, or to Hell.
That which hath made thē drunk, hath made me bold:
What hath quench'd them, hath giuen me fire.
Hearke, peace: it was the Owle that shriek'd,
The fatall Bell-man, which giues the stern'st good-night.
He is about it, the Doores are open:
And the surfeted Groomes doe mock their charge
With Snores. I haue drugg'd their Possets,
That Death and Nature doe contend about them,
Whether they liue, or dye.
Who's there? what hoa?
Alack, I am afraid they haue awak'd,
And 'tis not done: th' attempt, and not the deed,
Confounds vs: hearke: I lay'd their Daggers ready,
He could not misse 'em. Had he not resembled
My Father as he slept, I had don't.
I haue done the deed:
Didst thou not heare a noyse?
I heard the Owle schreame, and the Crickets cry.
Did not you speake?
As I descended?
Hearke, who lyes i' th' second Chamber?
This is a sorry sight.
A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight.
There's one did laugh in's sleepe,
And one cry'd Murther, that they did wake each other:
I stood, and heard them: But they did say their Prayers,
And addrest them againe to sleepe.
There are two lodg'd together.
One cry'd God blesse vs, and Amen the other,
As they had seene me with these Hangmans hands:
Listning their feare, I could not say Amen,
When they did say God blesse vs.
Consider it not so deepely.
But wherefore could not I pronounce Amen?
I had most need of Blessing, and Amen stuck in my throat.
These deeds must not be thought
After these wayes: so, it will make vs mad.
Me thought I heard a voyce cry, Sleep no more:
Macbeth does murther Sleepe, the innocent Sleepe,
Sleepe that knits vp the rauel'd Sleeue of Care,
The death of each dayes Life, sore Labors Bath,
Balme of hurt Mindes, great Natures second Course,
Chiefe nourisher in Life's Feast.
What doe you meane?
Still it cry'd, Sleepe no more to all the House:
Glamis hath murther'd Sleepe, and therefore Cawdor
Shall sleepe no more: Macbeth shall sleepe no more.
Who was it, that thus cry'd? why worthy Thane,
You doe vnbend your Noble strength, to thinke
So braine-sickly of things: Goe get some Water,
And wash this filthie Witnesse from your Hand.
Why did you bring these Daggers from the place?
They must lye there: goe carry them, and smeare
The sleepie Groomes with blood.
Ile goe no more:
I am afraid, to thinke what I haue done:
Looke on't againe, I dare not.
Infirme of purpose:
Giue me the Daggers: the sleeping, and the dead,
Are but as Pictures: 'tis the Eye of Child-hood,
That feares a painted Deuill. If he doe bleed,
Ile guild the Faces of the Groomes withall,
For it must seeme their Guilt.
Whence is that knocking?
How is't with me, when euery noyse appalls me?
What Hands are here? hah: they pluck out mine Eyes.
Will all great Neptunes Ocean wash this blood
Cleane from my Hand? no: this my Hand will rather
The multitudinous Seas incarnardine,
Making the Greene one, Red.
My Hands are of your colour: but I shame
To weare a Heart so white.
I heare a knocking at the South entry:
Retyre we to our Chamber:
A little Water cleares vs of this deed.
How easie is it then? your Constancie
Hath left you vnattended.
Hearke, more knocking.
Get on your Night-Gowne, least occasion call vs,
And shew vs to be Watchers: be not lost
So poorely in your thoughts.
To know my deed,
'Twere best not know my selfe.
Wake Duncan with thy knocking:
I would thou could'st.
Enter a Porter.
Here's a knocking indeede: if a man were Porter of Hell Gate, hee should haue
old turning the Key. Knock. Knock, Knock, Knock. Who's there i' th' name of
Belzebub? Here's a Farmer, that hang'd himselfe on th' expectation of Plentie:
Come in time, haue Napkins enow about you, here you'le sweat for't. Knock.
Knock, knock. Who's there in th' other Deuils Name? Faith here's an Equiuocator,
that could sweare in both the Scales against eyther Scale, who committed Treason
enough for Gods sake, yet could not equiuocate to Hea∣uen: oh come in,
Equiuocator. Knock. Knock, Knock, Knock. Who's there? 'Faith here's an English
Taylor come hither, for stealing out of a French Hose: Come in Taylor, here you
may rost your Goose. Knock. Knock, Knock. Neuer at quiet: What are you? but this
place is too cold for Hell. Ile Deuill-Porter it no further: I had thought to
haue let in some of all Professions, that goe the Primrose way to th'
euerlasting Bonfire. Knock. Anon, anon, I pray you remember the Porter.
Enter Macduff, and Lenox.
Was it so late, friend, ere you went to Bed,
That you doe lye so late?
Faith Sir, we were carowsing till the second Cock:
And Drinke, Sir, is a great prouoker of three things.
What three things does Drinke especially prouoke?
Marry, Sir▪ Nose-painting, Sleepe, and Vrine. Lecherie, Sir, it prouokes, and
vnprouokes: it prouokes the desire, but it takes away the performance. Therefore
much Drinke may be said to be an Equiuocator with Le∣cherie: it makes him, and
it marres him; it sets him on, and it takes him off; it perswades him, and dis-
heartens him; makes him stand too, and not stand too: in conclu∣sion,
equiuocates him in a sleepe, and giuing him the Lye, leaues him.
I beleeue, Drinke gaue thee the Lye last Night.
That it did, Sir, i' the very Throat on me: but I requited him for his Lye, and
(I thinke) being too strong for him, though he tooke vp my Legges sometime, yet
I made a Shift to cast him.
Is thy Master stirring?
Our knocking ha's awak'd him: here he comes.
Good morrow, Noble Sir.
Good morrow both.
Is the King stirring, worthy Thane?
He did command me to call timely on him,
I haue almost slipt the houre.
Ile bring you to him.
I know this is a ioyfull trouble to you:
But yet 'tis one.
The labour we delight in, Physicks paine:
This is the Doore.
Ile make so bold to call, for 'tis my limitted seruice.
Goes the King hence to day?
He does: he did appoint so.
The Night ha's been vnruly:
Where we lay, our Chimneys were blowne downe,
And (as they say) lamentings heard i' th' Ayre;
Strange Schreemes of Death,
And Prophecying, with Accents terrible,
Of dyre Combustion, and confus'd Euents,
New hatch'd toth' wofull time.
The obscure Bird clamor'd the liue-long Night.
Some say, the Earth was feuorous,
And did shake.
'Twas a rough Night.
My young remembrance cannot paralell
A fellow to it.
O horror, horror, horror,
Tongue nor Heart cannot conceiue, nor name thee.
Macb. and Lenox.
What's the matter?
Confusion now hath made his Master-peece:
Most sacrilegious Murther hath broke ope
The Lords anoynted Temple, and stole thence
The Life o' th' Building.
What is't you say, the Life?
Meane you his Maiestie?
Approch the Chamber, and destroy your sight
With a new Gorgon. Doe not bid me speake:
See, and then speake your selues: awake, awake,
Exeunt Macbeth and Lenox.
Ring the Alarum Bell: Murther, and Treason,
Banquo, and Donalbaine: Malcolme awake,
Shake off this Downey sleepe, Deaths counterfeit,
And looke on Death it selfe: vp, vp, and see
The great Doomes Image: Malcolme, Banquo,
As from your Graues rise vp, and walke like Sprights,
To countenance this horror. Ring the Bell.
Bell rings. Enter Lady.
What's the Businesse?
That such a hideous Trumpet calls to parley
The sleepers of the House? speake, speake.
O gentle Lady,
'Tis not for you to heare what I can speake:
The repetition in a Womans care,
Would murther as it fell.
O Banquo, Banquo, Our Royall Master's murther'd.
What, in our House?
Too cruell, any where.
Deare Duff, I prythee contradict thy selfe,
And say, it is not so.
Enter Macbeth, Lenox, and Rosse.
Had I but dy'd an houre before this chance,
I had liu'd a blessed time: for from this instant,
There's nothing serious in Mortalitie:
All is but Toyes: Renowne and Grace is dead,
The Wine of Life is drawne, and the meere Lees
Is left this Vault, to brag of.
Enter Malcolme and Donalbaine.
What is amisse?
You are, and doe not know't:
The Spring, the Head, the Fountaine of your Blood
Is stopt, the very Source of it is stopt.
Your Royall Father's murther'd.
Oh, by whom?
Those of his Chamber, as it seem'd, had don't:
Their Hands and Faces were all badg'd with blood,
So were their Daggers, which vnwip'd, we found
Vpon their Pillowes: they star'd, and were distracted,
No mans Life was to be trusted with them.
O, yet I doe repent me of my furie,
That I did kill them.
Wherefore did you so?
Who can be wise, amaz'd, temp'rate, & furious,
Loyall, and Neutrall, in a moment? No man:
Th' expedition of my violent Loue
Out-run the pawser, Reason. Here lay Duncan,
His Siluer skinne, lac'd with his Golden Blood,
And his gash'd Stabs, look'd like a Breach in Nature,
For Ruines wastfull entrance: there the Murtherers,
Steep'd in the Colours of their Trade; their Daggers
Vnmannerly breech'd with gore: who could refraine,
That had a heart to loue; and in that heart,
Courage, to make's loue knowne?
Helpe me hence, hoa.
Looke to the Lady.
Why doe we hold our tongues,
That most may clayme this argument for ours?
What should be spoken here,
Where our Fate hid in an augure hole,
May rush, and seize vs? Let's away,
Our Teares are not yet brew'd.
Nor our strong Sorrow
Vpon the foot of Motion.
Looke to the Lady:
And when we haue our naked Frailties hid,
That suffer in exposure; let vs meet,
And question this most bloody piece of worke,
To know it further. Feares and scruples shake vs:
In the great Hand of God I stand, and thence,
Against the vndivulg'd pretence, I fight
Of Treasonous Mallice.
And so doe I.
Let's briefely put on manly readinesse,
And meet i' th' Hall together.
What will you doe?
Let's not consort with them:
To shew an vnfelt Sorrow, is an Office
Which the false man do's easie.
Ile to England.
To Ireland, I:
Our seperated fortune shall keepe vs both the safer:
Where we are, there's Daggers in mens Smiles;
The neere in blood, the neerer bloody.
This murtherous Shaft that's shot,
Hath not yet lighted: and our safest way,
Is to auoid the ayme. Therefore to Horse,
And let vs not be daintie of leaue-taking,
But shift away: there's warrant in that Theft,
Which steales it selfe, when there's no mercie left.
Enter Rosse, with an Old man.
Threescore and ten I can remember well,
Within the Volume of which Time, I haue seene
Houres dreadfull, and things strange: but this sore Night
Hath trifled former knowings.
Ha, good Father,
Thou seest the Heauens, as troubled with mans Act,
Threatens his bloody Stage: by th' Clock 'tis Day,
And yet darke Night strangles the trauailing Lampe:
Is't Nights predominance, or the Dayes shame,
That Darknesse does the face of Earth intombe,
When liuing Light should kisse it?
Euen like the deed that's done: On Tuesday last,
A Faulcon to wring in her pride of place,
Was by a Mowsing Owle hawkt at, and kill'd.
And Duncans Horses,
(A thing most strange, and certaine)
Beauteous, and swift, the Minions of their Race,
Turn'd wilde in nature, broke their s•lls, flong out,
Contending 'gainst Obedience, as they would
Make Warre with Mankinde.
'Tis said, they eate each other.
They did so:
To th' amazement of mine eyes that look'd vpon't.
Heere comes the good Macduffe.
How goes the world Sir, now?
Why see you not?
Is't known who did this more then bloody deed?
Those that Macbeth hath slaine.
Alas the day,
What good could they pretend?
They were subborned,
Malcolme, and Donalbaine the Kings two Sonnes
Are stolne away and fled, which puts vpon them
Suspition of the deed.
'Gainst Nature still,
Thriftlesse Ambition, that will rauen vp
Thine owne liues meanes: Then 'tis most like,
The Soueraignty will fall vpon Macbeth.
He is already nam'd, and gone to Scone
To be inuested.
Where is Duncans body?
Carried to Colmekill,
The Sacred Store-house of his Predecessors,
And Guardian of their Bones.
Will you to Scone?
No Cosin, Ile to Fife.
Well, I will thither.
Well may you see things wel done there: Adieu
Least our old Robes sit easier then our new.
Gods benyson go with you, and with those
That would make good of bad, and Friends of Foes.
Thou hast it now, King, Cawdor, Glamis, all,
As the weyard Women promis'd, and I feare
Thou playd'st most fowly for't: yet it was saide
It should not stand in thy Posterity,
But that my selfe should be the Roote, and Father
Of many Kings. If there come truth from them,
As vpon thee Macbeth, their Speeches shine,
Why by the verities on thee made good,
May they not be my Oracles as well,
And set me vp in hope. But hush, no more.
Senit sounded. Enter Macbeth as King, Lady Lenox, Rosse, Lords, and Attendants.
Heere's our chiefe Guest.
If he had beene forgotten,
It had bene as a gap in our great Feast,
And all-thing vnbecomming.
To night we hold a solemne Supper sir,
And Ile request your presence.
Let your Highnesse
Command vpon me, to the which my duties
Are with a most indissoluble tye
For euer knit.
Ride you this afternoone?
I, my good Lord.
We should haue else desir'd your good aduice
(Which still hath been both graue, and prosperous)
In this dayes Councell: but wee'le take to morrow.
Is't farre you ride?
As farre, my Lord, as will fill vp the time
'Twixt this, and Supper. Goe not my Horse the better,
I must become a borrower of the Night,
For a darke houre, or twaine.
Faile not our Feast.
My Lord, I will not.
We heare our bloody Cozens are bestow'd
In England, and in Ireland, not confessing
Their cruell Parricide, filling their hearers
With strange inuention. But of that to morrow,
When therewithall, we shall haue cause of State,
Crauing vs ioyntly. Hye you to Horse:
Adieu, till you returne at Night.
Goes Fleance with you?
I, my good Lord: our time does call vpon's.
I wish your Horses swift, and sure of foot:
And so I doe commend you to their backs.
Let euery man be master of his time,
Till seuen at Night, to make societie
The sweeter welcome:
We will keepe our selfe till Supper time alone:
While then, God be with you.
Sirrha, a word with you: Attend those men
They are, my Lord, without the Pallace Gate.
Bring them before vs.
To be thus, is nothing, but to be safely thus:
Our feares in Banquo sticke deepe,
And in his Royaltie of Nature reignes that
Which would be fear'd. 'Tis much he dares,
And to that dauntlesse temper of his Minde,
He hath a Wisdome, that doth guide his Valour,
To act in safetie. There is none but he,
Whose being I doe feare: and vnder him,
My Genius is rebuk'd, as it is said
Mark Anthonies was by Caesar. He chid the Sisters,
When first they put the Name of King vpon me,
And bad them speake to him. Then Prophet-like,
They hayl'd him Father to a Line of Kings.
Vpon my Head they plac'd a fruitlesse Crowne,
And put a barren Scepter in my Gripe,
Thence to be wrencht with an vnlineall Hand,
No Sonne of mine succeeding: if 't be so,
For Banquo's Issue haue I fil'd my Minde,
For them, the gracious Duncan haue I murther'd,
Put Rancours in the Vessell of my Peace
Onely for them, and mine eternall Iewell
Giuen to the common Enemie of Man,
To make them Kings, the Seedes of Banquo Kings.
Rather then so, come Fate into the Lyft,
And champion me to th' vtterance.
Enter Seruant, and two Murtherers.
Now goe to the Doore, and stay there till we call.
Was it not yesterday we spoke together?
It was, so please your Highnesse.
Now haue you consider'd of my speeches:
Know, that it was he, in the times past,
Which held you so vnder fortune,
Which you thought had been our innocent selfe.
This I made good to you, in our last conference,
Past in probation with you:
How you were borne in hand, how crost:
The Instruments: who wrought with them:
And all things else, that might
To halfe a Soule, and to a Notion craz'd,
Say, Thus did Banquo.
You made it knowne to vs.
I did so:
And went further, which is now
Our point of second meeting.
Doe you finde your patience so predominant,
In your nature, that you can let this goe?
Are you so Gospell'd, to pray for this good man,
And for his Issue, whose heauie hand
Hath bow'd you to the Graue, and begger'd
Yours for euer?
We are men, my Liege.
I, in the Catalogue ye goe for men,
As Hounds, and Greyhounds, Mungrels, Spaniels, Curres,
Showghes, Water-Rugs, and Demy-Wolues are clipt
All by the Name of Dogges: the valued file
Distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle,
The House-keeper, the Hunter, euery one
According to the gift, which bounteous Nature
Hath in him clos'd: whereby he does receiue
Particular addition▪ from the Bill,
That writes them all alike: and so of men.
Now, if you haue a station in the file,
Not i' th' worst ranke of Manhood▪ say't,
And I will put that Businesse in your Bosomes,
Whose execution takes your Enemie off,
Grapples you to the heart; and loue of vs,
Who weare our Health but sickly in his Life,
Which in his Death were perfect.
I am one, my Liege,
Whom the vile Blowes and Buffets of the World
Hath so incens'd, that I am recklesse what I doe,
To spight the World.
And I another,
So wearie with Disasters, tugg'd with Fortune,
That I would set my Life on any Chance,
To mend it, or be rid on't.
Both of you know Banquo was your Enemie.
True, my Lord.
So is he mine: and in such bloody distance,
That euery minute of his being, thrusts
Against my neer'st of Life: and though I could
With bare-fac'd power sweepe him from my sight,
And bid my will auouch it; yet I must not,
For certaine friends that are both his, and mine,
Whose loues I may not drop, but wayle his fall,
Who I my selfe struck downe: and thence it is,
That I to your assistance doe make loue,
Masking the Businesse from the common Eye,
For sundry weightie Reasons.
We shall, my Lord,
Performe what you command vs.
Though our Liues—
Your Spirits shine through you.
Within this houre, at most,
I will aduise you where to plant your selues,
Acquaint you with the perfect Spy o' th' time,
The moment on't, for't must be done to Night,
And something from the Pallace: alwayes thought,
That I require a clearenesse; and with him,
To leaue no Rubs nor Botches in the Worke:
Fleans, his Sonne, that keepes him companie,
Whose absence is no lesse materiall to me,
Then is his Fathers, must embrace the fate
Of that darke houre: resolue your selues apart,
Ile come to you anon.
We are resolu'd, my Lord.
Ile call vpon you straight: abide within,
It is concluded: Banquo, thy Soules flight,
If it finde Heauen, must finde it out to Night.
Enter Macbeths Lady, and a Seruant.
Is Banquo gone from Court?
I, Madame, but returnes againe to Night.
Say to the King, I would attend his leysure,
For a few words.
Madame, I will.
Nought's had, all's spent,
Where our desire is got without content:
'Tis safer, to be that which we destroy,
Then by destruction dwell in doubtfull ioy.
How now, my Lord, why doe you keepe alone?
Of sorryest Fancies your Companions making,
Vsing those Thoughts, which should indeed haue dy'd
With them they thinke on: things without all remedie
Should be without regard: what's done, is done.
We haue scorch'd the Snake, not kill'd it:
Shee'le close, and be her selfe, whilest our poore Mallice
Remaines in danger of her former Tooth.
But let the frame of things dis-ioynt,
Both the Worlds suffer,
Ere we will eate our Meale in feare, and sleepe
In the affliction of these terrible Dreames,
That shake vs Nightly: Better be with the dead,
Whom we, to gayne our peace, haue sent to peace,
Then on the torture of the Minde to lye
In restlesse extasie.
Duncane is in his Graue:
After Lifes fitfull Feuer, he sleepes well,
Treason ha's done his worst: nor Steele, nor Poyson,
Mallice domestique, forraine Leuie, nothing,
Can touch him further.
Gentle my Lord, sleeke o're your rugged Lookes,
Be bright and Iouiall among your Guests to Night.
So shall I Loue, and so I pray be you:
Let your remembrance apply to Banquo,
Present him Eminence, both with Eye and Tongue:
Vnsafe the while, that wee must laue
Our Honors in these flattering streames,
And make our Faces Vizards to our Hearts,
Disguising what they are.
You must leaue this.
O, full of Scorpions is my Minde, deare Wife:
Thou know'st, that Banquo and his Fleans liues.
But in them, Natures Coppie's not eterne.
There's comfort yet, they are assaileable,
Then be thou iocund: ere the Bat hath flowne
His Cloyster'd flight, ere to black Heccats summons
The shard-borne Beetle, with his drowsie hums,
Hath rung Nights yawning Peale,
There shall be done a deed of dreadfull note.
What's to be done?
Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest Chuck,
Till thou applaud the deed: Come, feeling Night,
Skarfe vp the tender Eye of pittifull Day,
And with thy bloodie and inuisible Hand
Cancell and teare to pieces that great Bond,
Which keepes me pale. Light thickens,
And the Crow makes Wing toth' Rookie Wood:
Good things of Day begin to droope, and drowse,
Whiles Nights black Agents to their Prey's doe rowse.
Thou maruell'st at my words: but hold thee still,
Things bad begun, make strong themselues by ill:
So prythee goe with me.
Enter three Murtherers.
But who did bid thee ioyne with vs?
He needes not our mistrust, since he deliuers
Our Offices, and what we haue to doe,
To the direction iust.
Then stand with vs:
The West yet glimmers with some streakes of Day.
Now spurres the lated Traueller apace,
To gayne the timely Inne, end neere approches
The subiect of our Watch.
Hearke, I heare Horses.
Giue vs a Light there, hoa.
Then 'tis hee:
The rest, that are within the note of expectation,
Alreadie are i' th' Court.
His Horses goe about.
Almost a mile: but he does vsually,
So all men doe, from hence toth' Pallace Gate
Make it their Walke.
Enter Banquo and Fleans, with a Torch.
A Light, a Light.
It will be Rayne to Night.
Let it come downe.
Flye good Fleans, flye, flye, flye,
Thou may'st reuenge. O Slaue!
Who did strike out the Light?
Was't not the way?
There's but one downe: the Sonne is fled.
We haue lost
Best halfe of our Affaire.
Well, let's away, and say how much is done.
Banquet prepar'd. Enter Macbeth, Lady, Rosse, Lenox, Lords, and Attendants.
You know your owne degrees, sit downe:
At first and last, the hearty welcome.
Thankes to your Maiesty.
Our selfe will mingle with Society,
And play the humble Host:
Our Hostesse keepes her State, but in best time
We will require her welcome.
Pronounce it for me Sir, to all our Friends,
For my heart speakes, they are welcome.
Enter first Murtherer.
See they encounter thee with their harts thanks
Both sides are euen: heere Ile sit i' th' mid'st,
Be large in mirth, anon wee'l drinke a Measure
The Table round. There's blood vpon thy face.
'Tis Banquo's then.
'Tis better thee without, then he within.
Is he dispatch'd?
My Lord his throat is cut, that I did for him.
Thou art the best o' th' Cut-throats,
Yet hee's good that did the like for Fleans:
If thou did'st it, thou art the Non-pareill.
Most Royall Sir
Fleans is scap'd.
Then comes my Fit againe:
I had else beene perfect;
Whole as the Marble, founded as the Rocke,
As broad, and generall, as the casing Ayre:
But now I am cabin'd, crib'd, confin'd, bound in
To sawcy doubts, and feares. But Banquo's safe?
I, my good Lord: safe in a ditch he bides,
With twenty trenched gashes on his head;
The least a Death to Nature.
Thankes for that:
There the growne Serpent lyes, the worme that's fled
Hath Nature that in time will Venom breed,
No teeth for th' present. Get thee gone, to morrow
Wee'l heare our selues againe.
My Royall Lord,
You do not giue the Cheere, the Feast is sold
That is not often vouch'd, while 'tis a making:
'Tis giuen, with welcome: to feede were best at home:
From thence, the sawce to meate is Ceremony,
Meeting were bare without it.
Enter the Ghost of Banquo, and sits in Macbeths place.
Now good digestion waite on Appetite,
And health on both.
May't please your Highnesse sit.
Here had we now our Countries Honor, roof'd,
Were the grac'd person of our Banquo present:
Who, may I rather challenge for vnkindnesse,
Then pitty for Mischance.
His absence (Sir)
Layes blame vpon his promise. Pleas't your Highnesse
To grace vs with your Royall Company?
The Table's full.
Heere is a place reseru'd Sir.
Heere my good Lord.
What is't that moues your Highnesse?
Which of you haue done this?
What, my good Lord?
Thou canst not say I did it: neuer shake
Thy goary lockes at me.
Gentlemen rise, his Highnesse is not well.
Sit worthy Friends: my Lord is often thus,
And hath beene from his youth. Pray you keepe Seat,
The fit is momentary, vpon a thought
He will againe be well. If much you note him
You shall offend him, and extend his Passion,
Feed, and regard him not. Are you a man?
I, and a bold one, that dare looke on that
Which might appall the Diuell.
O proper stuffe:
This is the very painting of your feare:
This is the Ayre-drawne-Dagger which you said
Led you to Duncan. O, these flawes and starts
(Impostors to true feare) would well become
A womans story, at a Winters fire
Authoriz'd by her Grandam: shame it selfe,
Why do you make such faces? When all's done
You looke but on a stoole.
Prythee see there:
Behold, looke, loe, how say you:
Why what care I, if thou canst nod, speake too.
If Charnell houses, and our Graues must send
Those that we bury, backe; our Monuments
Shall be the Mawes of Kytes.
What? quite vnmann'd in folly.
If I stand heere, I saw him.
Fie for shame.
Blood hath bene shed ere now, i' th' olden time
Ere humane Statute purg'd the gentle Weale:
I, and since too, Murthers haue bene perform'd
Too terrible for the eare. The times has bene,
That when the Braines were out, the man would dye,
And there an end: But now they rise againe
With twenty mortall murthers on their crownes,
And push vs from our stooles. This is more strange
Then such a murther is.
My worthy Lord
Your Noble Friends do lacke you.
I do forget:
Do not muse at me my most worthy Friends,
I haue a strange infirmity, which is nothing
To those that know me. Come, loue and health to all,
Then Ile sit downe: Giue me some Wine, fill full:
I drinke to th' generall ioy o' th' whole Table,
And to our deere Friend Banquo, whom we misse:
Would he were heere: to all, and him we thirst,
And all to all.
Our duties, and the pledge.
Auant, & quit my sight, let the earth hide thee:
Thy bones are marrowlesse, thy blood is cold:
Thou hast no speculation in those eyes
Which thou dost glare with.
Thinke of this good Peeres▪
But as a thing of Custome: 'Tis no other,
Onely it spoyles the pleasure of the time.
What man dare, I dare:
Approach thou like the rugged Russian Beare,
The arm'd Rhinoceros, or th' Hircan Tiger,
Take any shape but that, and my firme Nerues
Shall neuer tremble. Or be aliue againe,
And dare me to the Desart with thy Sword:
If trembling I inhabit then, protest mee
The Baby of a Girle. Hence horrible shadow,
Vnreall mock'ry hence. Why so, being gone
I am a man againe: pray you sit still.
You haue displac'd the mirth,
Broke the good meeting, with most admir'd disorder.
Can such things be,
And ouercome vs like a Summers Clowd,
Without our speciall wonder? You make me strange
Euen to the disposition that I owe,
When now I thinke you can behold such sights,
And keepe the naturall Rubie of your Cheekes,
When mine is blanch'd with feare.
What sights, my Lord?
I pray you speake not: he growes worse & worse
Question enrages him: at once, goodnight.
Stand not vpon the order of your going,
But go at once.
Good night, and better health
Attend his Maiesty.
A kinde goodnight to all.
It will haue blood they say:
Blood will haue Blood:
Stones haue beene knowne to moue, & Trees to speake:
Augures, and vnderstood Relations, haue
By Maggot Pyes, & Choughes & Rookes brought forth
The secret'st man of Blood. What is the night?
Almost at oddes with morning, which is which.
How say'st thou that Macduff denies his person
At our great bidding.
Did you send to him Sir?
I heare it by the way: But I will send:
There's not a one of them but in his house
I keepe a Seruant Feed. I will to morrow
(And betimes I will) to the weyard Sisters.
More shall they speake: for now I am bent to know
By the worst meanes, the worst, for mine owne good,
All causes shall giue way. I am in blood
Stept in so farre, that should I wade no more,
Returning were as tedious as go ore:
Strange things I haue in head, that will to hand,
Which must be acted, ere they may be scand.
You lacke the season of all Natures, sleepe.
Come, wee'l to sleepe: My strange & self-abuse
Is the initiate feare, that wants hard vse:
We are yet but yong indeed.
Enter the three Witches, meeting Hecat.
Why how now Hecat, you looke angerly?
Haue I not reason (Beldams) as you are?
Sawcy, and ouer-bold, how did you dare
To Trade, and Trafficke with Macbeth,
In Riddles, and Affaires of death;
And I the Mistris of your Charmes,
The close contriuer of all harmes,
Was neuer call'd to beare my part,
Or shew the glory of our Art?
And which is worse, all you haue done
Hath bene but for a wayward Sonne,
Spightfull, and wrathfull, who (as others do)
Loues for his owne ends, not for you.
But make amends now: Get you gon,
And at the pit of Acheron
Meete me i' th' Morning: thither he
Will come, to know his Destinie.
Your Vessels, and your Spels prouide,
Your Charmes, and euery thing beside;
I am for th' Ayre: This night Ile spend
Vnto a dismall, and a Fatall end.
Great businesse must be wrought ere Noone.
Vpon the Corner of the Moone
There hangs a vap'rous drop, profound,
Ile catch it ere it come to ground;
And that distill'd by Magicke slights,
Shall raise such Artificiall Sprights,
As by the strength of their illusion,
Shall draw him on to his Confusion.
He shall spurne Fate, scorne Death, and beare
His hopes 'boue Wisedome, Grace, and Feare:
And you all know, Security
Is Mortals cheefest Enemie.
Musicke, and a Song.
Hearke, I am call'd▪ my little Spirit see
Sits in a Foggy cloud, and stayes for me.
Sing within. Come away, come away, &c.
Come, let's make hast, shee'l soone be
Enter Lenox, and another Lord.
My former Speeches,
Haue but hit your Thoughts
Which can interpret farther: Onely I say
Things haue bin strangely borne. The gracious Duncan
Was pittied of Macbeth: marry he was dead:
And the right valiant Banquo walk'd too late,
Whom you may say (if't please you) Fleans kill'd,
For Fleans fled: Men must not walke too late.
Who cannot want the thought, how monstrous
It was for Malcolme, and for Donalbane
To kill their gracious Father? Damned Fact,
How it did greeue Macbeth? Did he not straight
In pious rage, the two delinquents teare,
That were the Slaues of drinke, and thralles of sleepe?
Was not that Nobly done? I, and wisely too:
For 'twould haue anger'd any heart aliue
To heare the men deny't. So that I say,
He ha's borne all things well, and I do thinke,
That had he Duncans Sonnes vnder his Key,
(As, and't please Heauen he shall not) they should finde
What 'twere to kill a Father: So should Fleans.
But peace; for from broad words, and cause he fayl'd
His presence at the Tyrants Feast, I heare
Macduffe liues in disgrace. Sir, can you tell
Where he bestowes himselfe?
The Sonnes of Duncane
(From whom this Tyrant holds the due of Birth)
Liues in the English Court, and is receyu'd
Of the most Pious Edward, with such grace,
That the maleuolence of Fortune, nothing
Takes from his high respect. Thither Macduffe
Is gone, to pray the Holy King, vpon his ayd
To wake Northumberland, and warlike Seyward,
That by the helpe of these (with him aboue)
To ratifie the Worke) we may againe
Giue to our Tables meate, sleepe to our Nights:
Free from our Feasts, and Banquets bloody kniues;
Do faithfull Homage, and receiue free Honors,
All which we pine for now. And this report
Hath so exasperate their King, that hee
Prepares for some attempt of Warre.
Sent he to Macduffe?
He did: and with an absolute Sir, not I
The clowdy Messenger turnes me his backe,
And hums; as who should say, you'l rue the time
That clogges me with this Answer.
And that well might
Aduise him to a Caution, t•hold what distance
His wisedome can prouide. Some holy Angell
Flye to the Court of England, and vnfold
His Message ere he come, that a swift blessing
May soone returne to this our suffering Country,
Vnder a hand accurs'd.
Ile send my Prayers with him.
Enter the three Witches.
Thrice the brinded Cat hath mew'd.
Thrice, and once the Hedge-Pigge whin'd.
Harpier cries, 'tis time, 'tis time.
Round about the Caldron go:
In the poysond Entrailes throw
Toad, that vnder cold stone,
Dayes and Nights, ha's thirty one:
Sweltred Venom sleeping got,
Boyle thou first i' th' charmed pot.
Double, double, toile and trouble;
Fire burne, and Cauldron bubble.
Fillet of a Fenny Snake,
In the Cauldron boyle and bake:
Eye of Newt, and Toe of Frogge,
Wooll of Bat, and Tongue of Dogge▪
Adders Forke, and Blinde-wormes Sting,
Lizards legge, and Howlets wing:
For a Charme of powrefull trouble,
Like a Hell-broth, boyle and bubble.
Double, double, toyle and trouble,
Fire burne, and Cauldron bubble.
Scale of Dragon, Tooth of Wolfe,
Witches Mummey, Maw, and Gulfe
Of the rauin'd salt Sea sharke:
Roote of Hemlocke, digg'd i' th' darke:
Liuer of Blaspheming Iew,
Gall of Goate, and Slippes of Yew,
Sliuer'd in the Moones Ecclipse:
•ose of Turke, and Tartars lips:
Finger of Birth-strangled Babe,
D•tch-deliuer'd by a Drab,
Make the Grewell thicke, and slab.
Adde thereto a Tigers Chawdron,
For th' Ingredience of our Cawdron.
Double, double, toyle and trouble,
Fire burne, and Cauldron bubble.
Coole it with a Baboones blood,
Then the Charme is firme and good.
Enter Hecat, and the other three Witches.
O well done: I commend your paines,
And euery one shall share i' th' gaines:
And now about the Cauldron sing
Like Elues and Fairies in a Ring,
Inchanting all that you put in.
Musicke and a Song. Blacke Spirits, &c.
By the pricking of my Thumbes,
Something wicked this way comes:
Open Lockes, who euer knockes.
How now you secret, black, & midnight Hags?
What is't you do?
A deed without a name.
I coniure you, by that which you Professe,
(How ere you come to know it) answer me:
Though you vntye the Windes, and let them fight
Against the Churches: Though the yesty Waues
Confound and swallow Nauigation vp:
Though bladed Corne be lodg'd, & Trees blown downe,
Though Castles topple on their Warders heads:
Though Pallaces, and Pyramids do slope
Their heads to their Foundations: Though the treasure
Of Natures Germaine, tumble altogether,
Euen till destruction sicken: Answer me
To what I aske you.
Say, if th' hadst rather heare it from our mouthes,
Or from our Masters.
Call 'em: let me see 'em.
Powre in Sowes blood, that hath eaten
Her nine Farrow: Greaze that's sweaten
From the Murderers Gibbet, throw
Into the Flame.
Come high or low:
Thy Selfe and Office deaftly show.
1. Apparation, an Armed Head.
Tell me, thou vnknowne power.
He knowes thy thought:
Heare his speech, but say thou nought.
Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth:
Beware the Thane of Fife: dismisse me. Enough.
What ere thou art, for thy good caution, thanks
Thou hast harp'd my feare aright. But one word more.
He will not be commanded: heere's another
More potent then the first.
2 Apparation, a Bloody Childe.
Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth.
Had I three eares, Il'd heare thee.
Be bloody, bold, & resolute:
Laugh to scorne
The powre of man: For none of woman borne
Shall harme Macbeth.
Then liue Macduffe: what need I feare of thee?
But yet Ile make assurance: double sure,
And take a Bond of Fate: thou shalt not liue,
That I may tell pale-hearted Feare, it lies;
And sleepe in spight of Thunder.
3 Apparation, a Childe Crowned, with a Tree in his hand.
What is this, that rises like the issue of a King,
And weares vpon his Baby-brow, the round
And top of Soueraignty?
Listen, but speake not too't.
Be Lyon metled, proud, and take no care:
Who chases, who frets, or where Conspirers are:
Macbeth shall neuer vanquish'd be, vntill
Great Byrnam Wood, to high Dunsmane Hill
Shall come against him.
That will neuer bee:
Who can impresse the Forrest, bid the Tree
Vnfixe his earth-bound Root? Sweet boadments, good:
Rebellious dead, rise neuer till the Wood
Of Byrnan rise, and our high plac'd Macbeth
Shall liue the Lease of Nature, pay his breath
To time, and mortall Custome. Yet my Hart
Throbs to know one thing: Tell me, if your Art
Can tell so much: Shall Banquo's issue euer
Reigne in this Kingdome?
Seeke to know no more.
I will be satisfied. Deny me this,
And an eternall Curse fall on you: Let me know.
Why sinkes that Caldron? & what noise is this?
Shew his Eyes, and greeue his Hart,
Come like shadowes, so depart.
A shew of eight Kings, and Banquo last, with a glasse in his hand.
Thou art too like the Spirit of Banquo: Down:
Thy Crowne do's seare mine Eye-bals. And thy haire
Thou other Gold-bound-brow, is like the first:
A third, is like the former. Filthy Hagges,
Why do you shew me this? —A fourth? Start eyes!
What will the Line stretch out to' th' cracke of Doome?
Another yet? A seauenth? Ile see no more:
And yet the eight appeares, who beares a glasse,
Which shewes me many more: and some I see,
That two-fold Balles, and trebble Scepters carry.
Horrible sight: Now I see 'tis true,
For the Blood-bolter'd Banquo smiles vpon me,
And points at them for his. What? is this so?
I Sir, all this is so. But why
Stands Macbeth thus amazedly?
Come Sisters, cheere we vp his sprights,
And shew the best of our delights.
Ile Charme the Ayre to giue a sound,
While you performe your Antique round:
That this great King may kindly say,
Our duties, did his welcome pay.
The Witches Dance, and vanish.
Where are they? Gone?
Let this pernitious houre,
Stand aye accursed in the Kalender.
Come in, without there.
What's your Graces will.
Saw you the Weyard Sisters?
No my Lord.
Came they not by you?
No indeed my Lord.
Infected be the Ayre whereon they ride,
And damn'd all those that trust them. I did heare
The gallopping of Horse. Who was't came by?
'Tis two or three my Lord, that bring you word:
Macduff is fled to England.
Fled to England?
I, my good Lord.
Time, thou anticipat'st my dread exploits:
The flighty purpose neuer is o're-tooke
Vnlesse the deed go with it. From this moment,
The very firstlings of my heart shall be
The firstlings of my hand. And euen now
To Crown my thoughts with Acts: be it thoght & done:
The Castle of Macduff, I will surprize,
Seize vpon Fife; giue to th' edge o' th' Sword
His Wife, his Babes, and all vnfortunate Soules
That trace him in his Line. No boasting like a Foole,
This deed Ile do, before this purpose coole,
But no more sights. Where are these Gentlemen?
Come bring me where they are.
Enter Macduffes Wife, her Son, and Rosse.
What had he done, to make him fly the Land?
You must haue patience Madam.
He had none:
His flight was madnesse: when our Actions do not,
Our feares do make vs Traitors.
You know not
Whether it was his wisedome, or his feare.
Wisedom? to leaue his wife, to leaue his Babes,
His Mansion, and his Titles, in a place
From whence himselfe do's flye? He loues vs not,
He wants the naturall touch. For the poore Wren
(The most diminitiue of Birds) will fight,
Her yong ones in her Nest, against the Owle:
All is the Feare, and nothing is the Loue;
As little is the Wisedome, where the flight
So runnes against all reason.
My deerest Cooz,
I pray you schoole your selfe. But for your Husband,
He is Noble, Wise, Iudicious, and best knowes
The fits o' th' Season. I dare not speake much further,
But cruell are the times, when we are Traitors
And do not know our selues: when we hold Rumor
From what we feare, yet know not what we feare,
But floate vpon a wilde and violent Sea
Each way, and moue. I take my leaue of you:
Shall not be long but Ile be heere againe:
Things at the worst will cease or else climbe vpward,
To what they were before. My pretty Cosine,
Blessing vpon you.
Father'd he is,
And yet hee's Father-lesse.
I am so much a Foole, should I stay longer
It would be my disgrace, and your discomfort.
I take my leaue at once.
Sirra, your Fathers dead,
And what will you do now? How will you liue?
As Birds do Mother.
What with Wormes, and Flyes?
With what I get I meane, and so do they.
Thou'dst neuer Feare the Net, nor Lime,
The Pitfall, nor the Gin.
Why should I Mother?
Poore Birds they are not set for:
My Father is not dead for all your saying.
Yes, he is dead:
How wilt thou do for a Father?
Nay how will you do for a Husband?
Why I can buy me twenty at any Market.
Then you'l by 'em to sell againe.
Thou speak'st withall thy wit,
And yet I' faith with wit enough for thee.
Was my Father a Traitor, Mother?
I, that he was
What is a Traitor?
Why one that sweares, and lyes.
And be all Traitors, that do so.
Euery one that do's so, is a Traitor,
And must be hang'd.
And must they all be hang'd, that swear and lye?
Who must hang them?
Why, the honest men.
Then the Liars and Swearers are Fools: for there are Lyars and Swearers enow, to
beate the honest men, and hang vp them.
Now God helpe thee, poore Monkie:
But how wilt thou do for a Father?
If he were dead, youl'd weepe for him: if you would not, it were a good signe,
that I should quickely haue a new Father.
Poore pratler, how thou talk'st?
Enter a Messenger.
Blesse you faire Dame: I am not to you known,
Though in your state of Honor I am perfect;
I doubt some danger do's approach you neerely.
If you will take a homely mans aduice,
Be not found heere: Hence with your little ones
To fright you thus. Me thinkes I am too sauage:
To do worse to you, were fell Cruelty,
Which is too nie your person. Heauen preserue you,
I dare abide no longer.
Whether should I flye?
I haue done no harme. But I remember now
I am in this earthly world: where to do harme
Is often laudable, to do good sometime
Accounted dangerous folly. Why then (alas)
Do I put vp that womanly defence,
To say I haue done no harme?
What are these faces?
Where is your Husband?
I hope in no place so vnsanctified,
Where such as thou may'st finde him.
He's a Traitor.
Thou ly'st thou shagge-ear'd Villaine.
What you Egge?
Yong fry of Treachery?
He ha's kill'd me Mother,
Run away I pray you.
Exit crying Murther.
Enter Malcolme and Macduffe.
Let vs seeke out some desolate shade, & there
Weepe our sad bosomes empty.
Let vs rather
Hold fast the mortall Sword: and like good men,
Bestride our downfall Birthdome: each new Morne,
New Widdowes howle, new Orphans cry, new sorowes
Strike heauen on the face, that it resounds
As if it felt with Scotland, and yell'd out
Like Syllable of Dolour.
What I beleeue, Ile waile;
What know, beleeue; and what I can redresse,
As I shall finde the time to friend: I wil.
What you haue spoke, it may be so perchance.
This Tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues,
Was once thought honest: you haue lou'd him well,
He hath not touch'd you yet. I am yong, but something
You may discerne of him through me, and wisedome
To offer vp a weake, poore innocent Lambe
T' appease an angry God.
I am not treacherous.
But Macbeth is.
A good and vertuous Nature may recoyle
In an Imperiall charge. But I shall craue your pardon:
That which you are, my thoughts cannot transpose;
Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell.
Though all things foule, would wear the brows of grace
Yet Grace must still looke so.
I haue lost my Hopes.
Perchance euen there
Where I did finde my doubts.
Why in that rawnesse left you Wife, and Childe?
Those precious Motiues, those strong knots of Loue,
Without leaue-taking. I pray you,
Let not my Iealousies, be your Dishonors,
But mine owne Safeties: you may be rightly iust,
What euer I shall thinke.
Bleed, bleed poore Country,
Great Tyrrany, lay thou thy basis sure,
For goodnesse dare not check thee: wear yu thy wrongs,
The Title, is affear'd. Far thee well Lord,
I would not be the Villaine that thou think'st,
For the whole Space that's in the Tyrants Graspe,
And the rich East to boot.
Be not offended:
I speake not as in absolute feare of you:
I thinke our Country sinkes beneath the yoake,
It weepes, it bleeds, and each new day a gash
Is added to her wounds. I thinke withall,
There would be hands vplifted in my right:
And heere from gracious England haue I offer
Of goodly thousands. But for all this,
When I shall treade vpon the Tyrants head,
Or weare it on my Sword; yet my poore Country
Shall haue more vices then it had before,
More suffer, and more sundry wayes then euer,
By him that shall succeede.
What should he be?
It is my selfe I meane: in whom I know
All the particulars of Vice so grafted,
That when they shall be open'd, blacke Macbeth
Will seeme as pure as Snow, and the poore State
Esteeme him as a Lambe, being compar'd
With my confinelesse harmes.
Not in the Legions
Of horrid Hell, can come a Diuell more damn'd
In euils, to top Macbeth.
I grant him Bloody,
Luxurious, Auaricious, False, Deceitfull,
Sodaine, Malicious, smacking of euery sinne
That ha's a name. But there's no bottome, none
In my Voluptuousnesse: Your Wiues, your Daughters,
Your Matrons, and your Maides, could not fill vp
The Cesterne of my Lust, and my Desire
All continent Impediments would ore-beare
That did oppose my will. Better Macbeth,
Then such an one to reigne.
In Nature is a Tyranny: It hath beene
Th' vntimely emptying of the happy Throne,
And fall of many Kings. But feare not yet
To take vpon you what is yours: you may
Conuey your pleasures in a spacious plenty,
And yet seeme cold. The time you may so hoodwinke:
We haue willing Dames enough: there cannot be
That Vulture in you, to deuoure so many
As will to Greatnesse dedicate themselues,
Finding it so inclinde.
With this, there growes
In my most ill-compos'd Affection, such
A stanchlesse Auarice, that were I King,
I should cut off the Nobles for their Lands,
Desire his Iewels, and this others House,
And my more-hauing, would be as a Sawce
To make me hunger more, that I should forge
Quarrels vniust against the Good and Loyall,
Destroying them for wealth.
stickes deeper: growes with more pernicious roote
Then Summer-seeming Lust: and it hath bin
The Sword of our slaine Kings: yet do not feare,
Scotland hath Foysons, to fill vp your will
Of your meere Owne. All these are portable,
With other Graces weigh'd.
But I haue none. The King-becoming Graces,
As Iustice, Verity, Temp'rance, Stablenesse,
Bounty, Perseuerance, Mercy, Lowlinesse,
Deuotion, Patience, Courage, Fortitude,
I haue no rellish of them, but abound
In the diuision of each seuerall Crime,
Acting it many wayes. Nay, had I powre, I should
Poure the sweet Milke of Concord, into Hell,
Vprore the vniuersall peace, confound
All vnity on earth.
O Scotland, Scotland.
If such a one be fit to gouerne, speake:
I am as I haue spoken.
Fit to gouern? No not to liue. O Natiō miserable!
With an vntitled Tyrant, bloody Sceptred,
When shalt thou see thy wholsome dayes againe?
Since that the truest Issue of thy Throne
By his owne Interdiction stands accust,
And do's blaspheme his breed? Thy Royall Father
Was a most Sainted-King: the Queene that bore thee,
Oftner vpon her knees, then on her feet,
Dy'de euery day she liu'd. Fare thee well,
These Euils thou repeat'st vpon thy selfe,
Hath banish'd me from Scotland. O my Brest,
Thy hope ends heere.
Macduff, this Noble passion
Childe of integrity, hath from my soule
Wip'd the blacke Scruples, reconcil'd my thoughts
To thy good Truth, and Honor. Diuellish Macbeth,
By many of these traines, hath sought to win me
Into his power: and modest Wisedome pluckes me
From ouer-credulous hast: but God aboue
Deale betweene thee and me; For euen now
I put my selfe to thy Direction, and
Vnspeake mine owne detraction. Heere abiure
The taints, and blames I laide vpon my selfe,
For strangers to my Nature. I am yet
Vnknowne to Woman, neuer was forsworne,
Scarsely haue coueted what was mine owne:
At no time broke my Faith, would not betray
The Deuill to his Fellow, and delight
No lesse in truth then life. My first false speaking
Was this vpon my selfe. What I am truly
Is thine, and my poore Countries to command:
Whither indeed, before they heere approach
Old Seyward with ten thousand warlike men
Already at a point, was setting foorth:
Now wee'l together, and the chance of goodnesse
Be like our warranted Quarrell. Why are you silent?
Such welcome, and vnwelcom things at once
'Tis hard to reconcile.
Enter a Doctor.
Well, more anon. Comes the King forth
I pray you?
I Sir: there are a crew of wretched Soules
That stay his Cure: their malady conuinces
The great assay of Art. But at his touch,
Such sanctity hath Heauen giuen his hand,
They presently amend.
I thanke you Doctor.
What's the Disease he meanes?
Tis call'd the Euill.
A most myraculous worke in this good King,
Which often since my heere remaine in