The Tragedy of Macbeth · William Shakespeare
Chapter 1
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.
Sey. Had he his hurts before? Rosse. I, on the Front Sey. Why then, Gods Soldier be he: Had I as many Sonnes, as I haue haires, I would not wish them to a fairer death: And so his Knell is knoll'd Mal. Hee's worth more sorrow, and that Ile spend for him Sey. He's worth no more, They say he parted well, and paid his score, And so God be with him. Here comes newer comfort. Enter Macduffe, with Macbeths head. Macd. Haile King, for so thou art. Behold where stands Th' Vsurpers cursed head: the time is free: I see thee compast with thy Kingdomes Pearle, That speake my salutation in their minds: Whose voyces I desire alowd with mine. Haile King of Scotland All. Haile King of Scotland. Flourish. Mal. We shall not spend a large expence of time, Before we reckon with your seuerall loues, And make vs euen with you. My Thanes and Kinsmen Henceforth be Earles, the first that euer Scotland In such an Honor nam'd: What's more to do, Which would be planted newly with the time, As calling home our exil'd Friends abroad, That fled the Snares of watchfull Tyranny, Producing forth the cruell Ministers Of this dead Butcher, and his Fiend-like Queene; Who (as 'tis thought) by selfe and violent hands, Tooke off her life. This, and what need full else That call's vpon vs, by the Grace of Grace, We will performe in measure, time, and place: So thankes to all at once, and to each one, Whom we inuite, to see vs Crown'd at Scone. Flourish. Exeunt Omnes.
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.