Shakespeare's First Folio · William Shakespeare
THE LIFE OF TYMON OF ATHENS.
Macb. Ile goe no more: I am afraid, to thinke what I haue done: Looke on't againe, I dare not Lady. Infirme of purpose: Giue me the Daggers: the sleeping, and the dead, Are but as Pictures: 'tis the Eye of Childhood, That feares a painted Deuill. If he doe bleed, Ile guild the Faces of the Groomes withall, For it must seeme their Guilt. Enter. Knocke within. Macb. 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. Enter Lady. Lady. My Hands are of your colour: but I shame To weare a Heart so white. Knocke. 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. Knocke. 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 Macb. To know my deed, Knocke. 'Twere best not know my selfe. Wake Duncan with thy knocking: I would thou could'st. Exeunt. Scena Tertia.
Macd. What three things does Drinke especially prouoke? Port. 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 Lecherie: 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 conclusion, equiuocates him in a sleepe, and giuing him the Lye, leaues him Macd. I beleeue, Drinke gaue thee the Lye last Night Port. 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. Enter Macbeth. Macd. Is thy Master stirring? Our knocking ha's awak'd him: here he comes Lenox. Good morrow, Noble Sir Macb. Good morrow both Macd. Is the King stirring, worthy Thane? Macb. Not yet Macd. He did command me to call timely on him, I haue almost slipt the houre Macb. Ile bring you to him Macd. I know this is a ioyfull trouble to you: But yet 'tis one Macb. The labour we delight in, Physicks paine: This is the Doore Macd. Ile make so bold to call, for 'tis my limitted seruice.
Exit Macduffe. Lenox. Goes the King hence to day? Macb. He does: he did appoint so Lenox. 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 Macb. 'Twas a rough Night Lenox. My young remembrance cannot paralell A fellow to it. Enter Macduff. Macd. O horror, horror, horror, Tongue nor Heart cannot conceiue, nor name thee Macb. and Lenox. What's the matter? Macd. 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 Macb. What is't you say, the Life? Lenox. Meane you his Maiestie? Macd. 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.
Rosse. And Duncans Horses, (A thing most strange, and certaine) Beauteous, and swift, the Minions of their Race, Turn'd wilde in nature, broke their stalls, flong out, Contending 'gainst Obedience, as they would Make Warre with Mankinde Old man. 'Tis said, they eate each other Rosse. They did so: To th' amazement of mine eyes that look'd vpon't. Enter Macduffe. Heere comes the good Macduffe. How goes the world Sir, now? Macd. Why see you not? Ross. Is't known who did this more then bloody deed? Macd. Those that Macbeth hath slaine Ross. Alas the day, What good could they pretend? Macd. They were subborned, Malcolme, and Donalbaine the Kings two Sonnes Are stolne away and fled, which puts vpon them Suspition of the deed Rosse. 'Gainst Nature still, Thriftlesse Ambition, that will rauen vp Thine owne liues meanes: Then 'tis most like, The Soueraignty will fall vpon Macbeth Macd. He is already nam'd, and gone to Scone To be inuested Rosse. Where is Duncans body? Macd. Carried to Colmekill, The Sacred Store-house of his Predecessors, And Guardian of their Bones Rosse. Will you to Scone? Macd. No Cosin, Ile to Fife Rosse. Well, I will thither Macd. Well may you see things wel done there: Adieu Least our old Robes sit easier then our new Rosse. Farewell, Father Old M. Gods benyson go with you, and with those That would make good of bad, and Friends of Foes.
Macb. Faile not our Feast Ban. My Lord, I will not Macb. 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? Ban. I, my good Lord: our time does call vpon's Macb. I wish your Horses swift, and sure of foot: And so I doe commend you to their backs. Farwell. Exit Banquo. 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. Exeunt. Lords. Sirrha, a word with you: Attend those men Our pleasure? Seruant. They are, my Lord, without the Pallace Gate Macb. Bring them before vs. Exit Seruant.
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 Lyst, And champion me to th' vtterance. Who's there? Enter Seruant, and two Murtherers. Now goe to the Doore, and stay there till we call.
Lady. Come on: Gentle my Lord, sleeke o're your rugged Lookes, Be bright and Iouiall among your Guests to Night Macb. 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 Lady. You must leaue this Macb. O, full of Scorpions is my Minde, deare Wife: Thou know'st, that Banquo and his Fleans liues Lady. But in them, Natures Coppie's not eterne Macb. 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 Lady. What's to be done? Macb. Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest Chuck, Till thou applaud the deed: Come, seeling 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.
Exeunt. Scena Tertia. Enter three Murtherers. 1. But who did bid thee ioyne with vs? 3. Macbeth 2. He needes not our mistrust, since he deliuers Our Offices, and what we haue to doe, To the direction iust 1. Then stand with vs: The West yet glimmers with some streakes of Day. Now spurres the lated Traueller apace, To gayne the timely Inne, and neere approches The subiect of our Watch 3. Hearke, I heare Horses Banquo within. Giue vs a Light there, hoa 2. Then 'tis hee: The rest, that are within the note of expectation, Alreadie are i'th' Court 1. His Horses goe about 3. 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. 2. A Light, a Light 3. 'Tis hee 1. Stand too't Ban. It will be Rayne to Night 1. Let it come downe Ban. O, Trecherie! Flye good Fleans, flye, flye, flye, Thou may'st reuenge. O Slaue! 3. Who did strike out the Light? 1. Was't not the way? 3. There's but one downe: the Sonne is fled 2. We haue lost Best halfe of our Affaire 1. Well, let's away, and say how much is done. Exeunt. Scaena Quarta. Banquet prepar'd. Enter Macbeth, Lady, Rosse, Lenox, Lords, and Attendants.
La. 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 Macb. 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 La. What? quite vnmann'd in folly Macb. If I stand heere, I saw him La. Fie for shame Macb. 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 La. My worthy Lord Your Noble Friends do lacke you Macb. 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: Enter Ghost.
La. You lacke the season of all Natures, sleepe Macb. Come, wee'l to sleepe: My strange & self-abuse Is the initiate feare, that wants hard vse: We are yet but yong indeed. Exeunt. Scena Quinta. Thunder. Enter the three Witches, meeting Hecat. 1. Why how now Hecat, you looke angerly? Hec. 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.
1 Speake 2 Demand 3 Wee'l answer 1 Say, if th'hadst rather heare it from our mouthes, Or from our Masters Macb. Call 'em: let me see 'em 1 Powre in Sowes blood, that hath eaten Her nine Farrow: Greaze that's sweaten From the Murderers Gibbet, throw Into the Flame All. Come high or low: Thy Selfe and Office deaftly show. Thunder. 1. Apparation, an Armed Head. Macb. Tell me, thou vnknowne power 1 He knowes thy thought: Heare his speech, but say thou nought 1 Appar. Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth: Beware Macduffe, Beware the Thane of Fife: dismisse me. Enough. He Descends. Macb. What ere thou art, for thy good caution, thanks Thou hast harp'd my feare aright. But one word more 1 He will not be commanded: heere's another More potent then the first. Thunder. 2 Apparition, a Bloody Childe. 2 Appar. Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth Macb. Had I three eares, Il'd heare thee Appar. Be bloody, bold, & resolute: Laugh to scorne The powre of man: For none of woman borne Shall harme Macbeth. Descends. Mac. 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. 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? All. Listen, but speake not too't 3 Appar. Be Lyon metled, proud, and take no care: Who chafes, who frets, or where Conspirers are: Macbeth shall neuer vanquish'd be, vntill Great Byrnam Wood, to high Dunsmane Hill Shall come against him. Descend. Macb. 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? All. Seeke to know no more Macb. 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? Hoboyes 1 Shew 2 Shew 3 Shew All. 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.
Son. Then you'l by 'em to sell againe Wife. Thou speak'st withall thy wit, And yet I'faith with wit enough for thee Son. Was my Father a Traitor, Mother? Wife. I, that he was Son. What is a Traitor? Wife. Why one that sweares, and lyes Son. And be all Traitors, that do so Wife. Euery one that do's so, is a Traitor, And must be hang'd Son. And must they all be hang'd, that swear and lye? Wife. Euery one Son. Who must hang them? Wife. Why, the honest men Son. Then the Liars and Swearers are Fools: for there are Lyars and Swearers enow, to beate the honest men, and hang vp them Wife. Now God helpe thee, poore Monkie: But how wilt thou do for a Father? Son. 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 Wife. Poore pratler, how thou talk'st? Enter a Messenger. Mes. 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.
Mal. 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? Macd. Such welcome, and vnwelcom things at once 'Tis hard to reconcile. Enter a Doctor. Mal. Well, more anon. Comes the King forth I pray you? Doct. 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. Enter.
Lenox. Or so much as it needes, To dew the Soueraigne Flower, and drowne the Weeds: Make we our March towards Birnan. Exeunt. marching. Scaena Tertia. Enter Macbeth, Doctor, and Attendants. Macb. Bring me no more Reports, let them flye all: Till Byrnane wood remoue to Dunsinane, I cannot taint with Feare. What's the Boy Malcolme? Was he not borne of woman? The Spirits that know All mortall Consequences, haue pronounc'd me thus: Feare not Macbeth, no man that's borne of woman Shall ere haue power vpon thee. Then fly false Thanes, And mingle with the English Epicures, The minde I sway by, and the heart I beare, Shall neuer sagge with doubt, nor shake with feare. Enter Seruant. The diuell damne thee blacke, thou cream-fac'd Loone: Where got'st thou that Goose-looke Ser. There is ten thousand Macb. Geese Villaine? Ser. Souldiers Sir Macb. Go pricke thy face, and ouer-red thy feare Thou Lilly-liuer'd Boy. What Soldiers, Patch? Death of thy Soule, those Linnen cheekes of thine Are Counsailers to feare. What Soldiers Whay-face? Ser. The English Force, so please you Macb. Take thy face hence. Seyton, I am sick at hart, When I behold: Seyton, I say, this push Will cheere me euer, or dis-eate me now. I haue liu'd long enough: my way of life Is falne into the Seare, the yellow Leafe, And that which should accompany Old-Age, As Honor, Loue, Obedience, Troopes of Friends, I must not looke to haue: but in their steed, Curses, not lowd but deepe, Mouth-honor, breath Which the poore heart would faine deny, and dare not. Seyton? Enter Seyton.
Macb. Bring it after me: I will not be affraid of Death and Bane, Till Birnane Forrest come to Dunsinane Doct. Were I from Dunsinane away, and cleere, Profit againe should hardly draw me heere. Exeunt. Scena Quarta. Drum and Colours. Enter Malcolme, Seyward, Macduffe, Seywards Sonne, Menteth, Cathnes, Angus, and Soldiers Marching. Malc. Cosins, I hope the dayes are neere at hand That Chambers will be safe Ment. We doubt it nothing Seyw. What wood is this before vs? Ment. The wood of Birnane Malc. Let euery Souldier hew him downe a Bough, And bear't before him, thereby shall we shadow The numbers of our Hoast, and make discouery Erre in report of vs Sold. It shall be done Syw. We learne no other, but the confident Tyrant Keepes still in Dunsinane, and will indure Our setting downe befor't Malc. 'Tis his maine hope: For where there is aduantage to be giuen, Both more and lesse haue giuen him the Reuolt, And none serue with him, but constrained things, Whose hearts are absent too Macd. Let our iust Censures Attend the true euent, and put we on Industrious Souldiership Sey. The time approaches, That will with due decision make vs know What we shall say we haue, and what we owe: Thoughts speculatiue, their vnsure hopes relate, But certaine issue, stroakes must arbitrate, Towards which, aduance the warre.
Exeunt. marching Scena Quinta. Enter Macbeth, Seyton, & Souldiers, with Drum and Colours. Macb. Hang out our Banners on the outward walls, The Cry is still, they come: our Castles strength Will laugh a Siedge to scorne: Heere let them lye, Till Famine and the Ague eate them vp: Were they not forc'd with those that should be ours, We might haue met them darefull, beard to beard, And beate them backward home. What is that noyse? A Cry within of Women. Sey. It is the cry of women, my good Lord Macb. I haue almost forgot the taste of Feares: The time ha's beene, my sences would haue cool'd To heare a Night-shrieke, and my Fell of haire Would at a dismall Treatise rowze, and stirre As life were in't. I haue supt full with horrors, Direnesse familiar to my slaughterous thoughts Cannot once start me. Wherefore was that cry? Sey. The Queene (my Lord) is dead Macb. She should haue dy'de heereafter; There would haue beene a time for such a word: To morrow, and to morrow, and to morrow, Creepes in this petty pace from day to day, To the last Syllable of Recorded time: And all our yesterdayes, haue lighted Fooles The way to dusty death. Out, out, breefe Candle, Life's but a walking Shadow, a poore Player, That struts and frets his houre vpon the Stage, And then is heard no more. It is a Tale Told by an Ideot, full of sound and fury Signifying nothing. Enter a Messenger.
Sey. Fare you well: Do we but finde the Tyrants power to night, Let vs be beaten, if we cannot fight Macd. Make all our Trumpets speak, giue the[m] all breath Those clamorous Harbingers of Blood, & Death. Exeunt. Alarums continued. Scena Septima. Enter Macbeth. Macb. They haue tied me to a stake, I cannot flye, But Beare-like I must fight the course. What's he That was not borne of Woman? Such a one Am I to feare, or none. Enter young Seyward. Y.Sey. What is thy name? Macb. Thou'lt be affraid to heare it Y.Sey. No: though thou call'st thy selfe a hoter name Then any is in hell Macb. My name's Macbeth Y.Sey. The diuell himselfe could not pronounce a Title More hatefull to mine eare Macb. No: nor more fearefull Y.Sey. Thou lyest abhorred Tyrant, with my Sword Ile proue the lye thou speak'st. Fight, and young Seyward slaine. Macb. Thou was't borne of woman; But Swords I smile at, Weapons laugh to scorne, Brandish'd by man that's of a Woman borne. Enter. Alarums. Enter Macduffe. Macd. That way the noise is: Tyrant shew thy face, If thou beest slaine, and with no stroake of mine, My Wife and Childrens Ghosts will haunt me still: I cannot strike at wretched Kernes, whose armes Are hyr'd to beare their Staues; either thou Macbeth, Or else my Sword with an vnbattered edge I sheath againe vndeeded. There thou should'st be, By this great clatter, one of greatest note Seemes bruited. Let me finde him Fortune, And more I begge not.
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.