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When shall we three meet again?
In thunder, lightning, or in rain?
When the hurly-burly is done,
when the battle is lost and won,
that will be ere the set of sun.
- Where the place? - Upon the heath.
There to meet with...
- Macbeth. - Macbeth.
- I come. - Anon.
Fair is foul and foul is fair.
Hover through the fog and filthy air.
Fair is foul and foul is fair.
Hover through the fog and filthy air.
What bloody man is that?
Doubtful it stood,
as two exhausted swimmers that cling together and choke each other.
The merciless Macdonwald,
the rebels' leader from the Western isles of kerns and gallow glasses is supplied.
And fortune, on his damned rebellion smiling,
showed like a rebel's whore.
But all's too weak,
for brave Macbeth,
well he deserves that name,
disdaining fortune with his brandished sword,
which smoked with bloody execution,
like Valour's minion, carved out his passage, till he faced the slave.
He ne'er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him,
till he unseamed him from the knave to the chops,
and fixed his head upon our battlements.
Mark, King of Scotland, mark,
how swift the enemy, surveying vantage,
with replenished arms and new supplies of men,
began a fresh assault.
Dismay'd not this our captains, Macbeth and Banquo?
Yes, as sparrows eagles or the hare the lion,
as cannons loaded up with double shot,
so they doubly redoubled their strokes upon the foe.
Our enemies, assisted by that most disloyal traitor,
the Thane of Cawdor, began a dismal conflict,
till that Macbeth, lapped in proof, confronted him with self-comparisons,
curbing his lavish spirit,
and to conclude,
the victory fell on us.
Great happiness.
A drum.
Macbeth doth come.
The Wayward Sisters, hand in hand,
travellers of the sea and land.
Thus to go about, about.
Thrice to thine.
And thrice to mine.
And thrice again...
- To make up nine. - ...to make up nine.
So foul and fair a day I have not seen.
How far is it to Forres?
What are these?
So wither'd
and so wild in their attire,
they look not like th'inhabitants o'th'earth and yet are on't?
Live you?
Or are you aught that man may question?
You seem to understand me,
by each at once her choppy finger laying upon her skinny lips.
You should be women.
Speak, if you can, what are you?
Hail Macbeth,
hail to thee,
Thane of Glamis.
All hail Macbeth.
Hail to thee, Thane of Cawdor.
All hail Macbeth,
that shalt be king hereafter.
Good sir, why do you start and seem to fear things that do sound so fair?
In the name of truth,
are you fantastical,
or that indeed which outwardly you show?
My noble partner, you greet with present grace
and great prediction of noble having and of royal hope
that he seems rapt withal.
To me,
you speak not.
If you can look into the seeds of time
and say which grains will grow and which will not,
speak then to me.
Hail.
Lesser than Macbeth, and greater.
Not so happy, yet much happier.
Thou shalt beget kings, though thou be none.
So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo.
Banquo and Macbeth, all hail.
Stay, you imperfect speakers.
Tell me more.
Since my father's death, I know I'm Thane of Glamis,
but how of Cawdor?
The Thane of Cawdor lives,
a prosperous gentleman,
and to be king
stands not within the prospect of belief,
no more than to be Cawdor.
Say from whence you owe this strange intelligence?
Or why, upon this blasted heath, you stop our way
with such prophetic greeting?
Speak, I charge you!
The air hath bubbles, as the water has, and these are of them.
Whither are they vanished?
Into the air.
And what seemed corporal melted
as breath unto the wind,
would they had stayed.
Were such things here that we do speak about?
Or have 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?
To the self-same tune and words.
Who's here?
The loyal Thane of Ross!
The King hath happily received, Macbeth,
the news of thy success!
And well he reads thy personal mentor in the rebel's fight,
he finds thee in the terrible enemies' ranks,
nothing afeard of what thyself didst make,
strange images of death.
I am sent to give thee from our royal master thanks,
and, for an earnest of a greater honour,
he bade me, from him, call thee Thane of Cawdor.
In which addition, hail, most worthy thane,
for it is thine.
What? Can the devil speak true?
The Thane of Cawdor lives.
Why do you dress me in borrowed robes?
Who was the Thane, lives yet,
but under heavy judgment, bears that life which he deserves to lose.
Glamis and Thane of Cawdor.
The greatest is behind.
Thanks for your pains.
Do you not hope your children shall be kings
when those that gave the Thane of Cawdor to me promised no less to them?
Well, that trusted home, might yet enkindle you unto the crown
besides the Thane of Cawdor.
But 'tis strange.
And oftentimes, to win us to our harm,
the instruments of darkness tell us truths.
Win us with honest trifles,
to betray us in deepest consequence.
Cousin,
a word, I pray you.
Two truths are told,
as happy prologues to the swelling act
of the imperial theme.
I thank you, gentlemen.
This supernatural soliciting
cannot it be ill, cannot be good. If ill...
why hath it given me earnest of success,
commencing in a truth?
I am Thane of Cawdor.
If good,
why do I yield to that suggestion whose horrid image doth unfix my hair,
make my seated heart knock at my ribs against the use of nature?
Present fears...
are less than horrible imaginings.
My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical,
shakes so my simple state of man
that function is smothered in surmise,
and nothing is, but what is not.
If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me
without my stir.
Come what come may,
time and the hour runs through the roughest day.
Worthy Macbeth!
We stay upon your leisure.
Give me your favour. My dull brain was wrought with...
things forgotten. Let us toward the King.
Think upon what hath chanced, and at more time,
the interim having weighed it.
Let us speak our free hearts each to other.
- Very gladly. - Till then, enough.
Is execution done on Cawdor?
Are those we did commission yet returned?
My liege, they are not yet come back.
But I have spoke with one that saw him die,
who did report that very frankly he confessed his treasons
and implored your pardon.
Nothing in his life became him like the leaving it.
He died as one that had been studied in his death,
to throw away the dearest thing he owned
as 'twere a careless trifle.
There's no art to find the mind's construction in the face.
He was a gentleman on whom I built an absolute trust.
Oh, worthiest cousin,
the sin of my ingratitude even now was heavy on me.
Would thou hadst less deserved
that the proportion both of thanks and payment might have been mine.
Only I have left to say,
more is thy due than all that I can pay.
The service and the loyalty I owe, in doing it, pays itself.
Your Highness' part is to receive our duties,
and our duties are to your throne and state,
children and servants,
which do but what they should by doing everything safe towards your love and honour.
Welcome hither.
I have begun to plant thee,
and will labour to make thee full of growing.
Noble Banquo, that hast no less deserved,
let me enfold thee and hold thee to my heart.
There, if I grow,
the harvest is your own.
Sons, kinsmen, thanes,
know we will establish as our heir, our eldest,
Malcolm,
whom we name hereafter The Prince of Cumberland.
And king-becoming graces
as justice,
verity, temperance,
stableness, bounty, perseverance,
mercy, lowliness,
devotion, patience, courage, fortitude,
not unaccompanied invest him only,
but signs of nobleness, like stars, shall shine on all deservers.
From hence
to Inverness,
where we shall feast tonight with good Macbeth.
I'll be myself the harbinger,
to make joyful the hearing of my wife with your approach.
So humbly take my leave.
My worthy Cawdor!
The Prince of Cumberland,
that is a step on which I must fall down,
or else o'erleap,
for in my way it lies.
Stars, hide your fires.
Let not light see my black and deep desires.
The eye wink at the hand.
True, worthy Banquo!
He is full so valiant.
And in his commendations,
I am fed.
It is a banquet to me.
He is a peerless kinsman.
"They met me in the day of success,
"and I have learned by the perfectest report,
"they have more in them than mortal knowledge.
"When I burned in desire to question them further,
"they made themselves air,
"into which they vanished.
"Whilst I stood rapt in the wonder of it, came missives from the king,
"who all-hailed me, 'Thane of Cawdor',
"by which title, before, these Wayward sisters saluted me,
"and referred me to the coming on of time,
"with, 'Hail, King that shalt be.'
"This have I thought good to deliver thee,
"my dearest partner of greatness,
"that thou might not lose the dues of rejoicing
"by being ignorant of what greatness is promised thee.
"Lay it to thy heart,
"and farewell."
Glamis thou art, and Cawdor, and shalt be what thou art promised.
Yet I do fear thy nature.
It is too full of the milk of human kindness to catch the nearest way.
Thou wouldst be great.
Art not without ambition, but without the illness should attend it.
What thou wants highly, that wants thou holily,
wouldst not play false,
and yet wouldst wrongly win.
Thou wouldst have the crown which cries "Thus thou must do,"
if thou wouldst have it.
And that which rather thou dost fear to do, than wishest, should be undone.
Hie thee hither,
that I may pour my spirits in thine ear
and chastise with the valour of my tongue all that impedes thee from the golden round,
that fate and metaphysical aid doth seem to have thee crowned withal.
What are your tidings?
The king comes here to-night.
Thou art mad to say it.
Is not thy master with him,
who, were it so, would have informed for preparation.
So please you, it is true.
Macbeth is coming, but almost dead for breath.
Give him tending, he brings great news.
The raven himself is hoarse,
that croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan
under my battlements.
Come...
you spirits that tend on mortal thoughts.
Unsex me here and fill me, from the crown to toe,
top-full of direst cruelty.
Make thick my blood,
stop up the access and passage to remorse,
that no compunctious visitings of nature shake my fell purpose.
Come
to my woman's breasts and take my milk for gall,
you murdering ministers.
Come, thick night,
and wrap thee
in the thickest smoke of hell,
that my keen knife see not the wound it makes,
nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark to cry, "Hold,
"hold!"
Great Glamis,
worthy Cawdor.
Greater than both by the all-hail hereafter.
Thy letters have transported me beyond this ignorant present,
and now I feel the future in the instant.
My dearest love, Duncan comes here tonight.
- And when goes hence? - Tomorrow.
As he purposes.
O never shall sun that morrow see.
Your face, my Thane, is like a book where men may read strange matters.
To beguile the time, look like the time,
bear welcome in your eye, your hand, your tongue,
look like the innocent flower,
but be the serpent under it.
He that is coming must be provided for,
and you shall put this night's great business into my dispatch
that shall, to all our nights and days to come,
give solely sovereign sway and masterdom.
We will speak further.
Only look up clear,
to alter favour, ever, is to fear.
Leave all the rest to me.
Worthy Banquo,
this castle hath a pleasant seat.
The air nimbly and sweetly recommends itself unto our gentle senses.
This guest of summer, the temple-haunting swallow,
does approve by his nest-building
that the heaven's breath smells wooingly here.
No balcony, frieze, buttress, nor point of vantage.
But this bird
hath made his hanging-bed
and children's cradle.
Where they most breed and haunt, I have observed,
the air is...
delicate.
See, see our honoured hostess come.
The love that follows us sometime is our trouble,
which still we thank as love.
All our service, in every point twice done and then done double,
were poor and single business to contend
against those honours deep and broad,
wherewith your majesty loads our house.
Where's the Thane of Cawdor?
We chased him at his heels
and had a purpose to be his herald, but...
he rides well.
And his great love, sharp as his spur, hath brought him to his home before us.
Fair and noble hostess,
we are your guests tonight.
Your servants ever hold theirs themselves
and what is theirs, in trust, to make their audit at your highness' pleasure,
ready to return your own.
Give me your hand.
Conduct me to mine host.
We love him highly
and shall continue our graces toward him.
If it were done when 'tis done,
then 'twere well it were done quickly.
If the assassination could trammel up the consequence
and catch, with his surcease success,
that but this blow might be the be-all and the end-all here,
but here, upon this bank and shoal of time,
we'd jump the life to come.
But...
in these cases we still have judgment here,
that we but teach bloody instruction,
which, being taught, returns to plague the inventor,
this even-handed justice commends the ingredients of our poisoned chalice
to our own lips.
He's here in double trust.
First, as I am his kinsman, and his subject,
strong both against the deed,
then as his host.
Who should, against his murderer, shut the door
and not bear the knife myself!
Besides, this Duncan...
hath borne his faculties so meek,
hath been so clear in his great office,
that his virtues will plead like angels,
trumpet-tongued against the deep damnation of his taking-off.
And pity,
like a naked newborn babe, will blow the horrid deed in every eye,
that tears shall drown the wind.
I have no spur
to prick the sides of my intent, but only...
vaulting ambition,
which o'erleaps itself and falls on the other.
How now, what news?
He's almost supp'd. Why have you left the chamber?
- Has he asked for me? - Know you not, he has?
We will proceed no further in this business.
He hath honoured me of late, and I have bought
golden opinions from all sorts of people,
which would be worn now in their newest gloss,
not cast aside so soon.
Was the hope drunk with which you dressed yourself?
Hath it slept since, and wakes it now to look so green and pale
at what it did so freely?
From this time, such I account thy love.
Art thou afeard to be the same in thine own act and valour
as thou art in desire?
Wouldst thou have that that thou esteemest the ornament of life,
and live a coward in thine own esteem, letting "I dare not" wait upon "I would".
Prithee, peace!
I dare do all that may become a man,
who dares do more, is none.
What beast was it then that made you break this enterprise to me?
When you dared do it, then you were a man.
And to be more than what you were, you would be so much more the man.
Nor time nor place did then adhere, and yet now we have both.
They have made themselves,
and that their fitness now does unmake you!
I have given suck...
and know how tender it is to love the babe that milks me.
I would,
while it was smiling in my face,
have plucked my nipple
from its boneless gums
and dashed the brains out,
had I so sworn as you have done to this!
If we should fail?
We fail?
But screw your courage to the sticking-place,
and we'll not fail.
When Duncan is asleep,
whereto the sooner shall his day's hard journey soundly invite him,
his two chamberlains will I, with wine and wassail, so convince
that memory, the water of the brain, shall be a fume.
When in swinish sleep, their drenched natures lie as in death,
what cannot you and I perform upon the unguarded Duncan?
What not put upon his spongy officers
that shall bear the guilt of our great kill?
Bring forth men-children only,
for thy undaunted mettle should compose nothing but males.
Will it not be received
when we have marked with blood those sleepy two of his own chamber,
used their very daggers that they have done it?
Who shall receive it other,
for we shall make our griefs and clamour roar upon his death.
I'm settled,
and bend up each corporal agent this terrible feat.
Away and mock the time with fairest show.
False face must hide
what the false heart doth know.
How goes the night, son?
The moon is down.
I have not heard the clock.
And it goes down at twelve.
I think it's later, sir.
Hold! Take my sword!
There's husbandry in heaven.
Their candles are all out.
Take thee that, too.
Heavy summons lies like lead upon me.
And yet I would not sleep.
Merciful powers
restraining me, the cursed thoughts that nature gives way to in repose.
- Who's there? - A friend.
What, sir?
Not yet at rest?
The King's a-bed.
He hath been in unusual pleasure
and sent forth great largesse to your household.
Being unprepared, our hospitality was servant to defect,
which else should free have wrought.
All's well.
I dreamt last night of the three Wayward Sisters.
To you, they have showed some truth.
I think not of them.
Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve,
we would spend it in some words upon that business,
if you'd grant the time.
At your kind leisure.
If you shall cleave to my consent, when 'tis,
it shall make honour for you.
So I lose none in seeking to augment it,
but still keep my heart at liberty and allegiance clear.
I shall be counselled.
Good repose, the while.
Go, bid my mistress,
when my drink is ready, she strike upon the bell.
- Get thee to bed. - Thanks, sir.
The like to you.
Is this the dagger which I see before me?
The handle toward my hand?
Come, let me clutch thee.
I have thee not,
and yet I see thee still.
Art thou, fatal vision, sensible to feeling as to sight?
Art thou but a dagger of the mind,
a false creation,
proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
I see thee yet,
in form 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 use,
I see thee still.
And on thy blade and handle,
gouts of blood,
which was not so before.
There's no such thing.
It is the bloody business which informs thus to mine eyes.
Now, o'er the one-half world,
nature seems dead,
and wicked dreams abuse the curtained sleep.
Witchcraft celebrates pale Hecate's offerings
and withered murder.
Thus with his stealthy pace,
towards his design.
I was like a ghost.
Thou sure and firm-set earth, hear not my steps,
which way they walk,
for fear thy very stones prate of my whereabouts,
and take the present horror from the time, which now suits with it.
Whilst I threat, he lives,
words to the heat of deeds too cold a breath gives.
I go.
And it is done.
The bell invites me.
Hear it not, Duncan, for it is a knell
that summons thee to heaven
or to hell.
That which hath made them drunk hath made me bold.
What hath quenched them hath given me fire.
Hark.
Peace.
It was the owl that shrieked,
the fatal bellman which gives the last good night.
He is about it.
The doors are open,
and the overfed grooms do mock their charge with snores.
I have drugged their drinks,
that death and nature do contend about them, whether they live or die.
Alack.
I am afraid they have awaked and 'tis not done!
The attempt and not the deed confounds us.
Hark.
I laid the daggers ready.
He could not miss them.
Had he not resembled my father as he slept,
I had done it.
- My husband. - I have done the deed.
Didst thou not hear a noise?
I heard the owl-scream, and the cricket's cry. Not you speak.
- When? - Now.
- As I descend? - Ay.
Hark!
Who lies in the second chamber?
His sons, Malcolm and Donalbain.
This is a sorry sight.
A foolish thought to say a sorry sight.
One did laugh in his sleep and one cried murder,
that they did wake each other.
I stood and heard them,
but they did say their prayers and addressed them again to sleep.
They always lodge together.
One cried, "God bless us", and "Amen", the other,
as if they'd seen me with these hangman's hands.
Listening their fear,
I could not say "Amen"
when they did say "God bless us."
Consider it not so deeply.
But wherefore could I not pronounce "Amen"?
I had most need of blessing,
and "Amen" stuck in my throat.
These deeds must not be thought about in these ways,
so it will make us mad.
I thought I heard a voice...
cry "Sleep no more.
"Macbeth does murder sleep."
The innocent sleep.
Sleep, and knits up the ravelled sleeve of care,
death of each day's life,
sore labour's bath,
balm of hurt minds,
- chief nourisher in life's feast... - What do you mean?
Still it cried, "Sleep no more" to all the house,
"Glamis hath murdered sleep,
"and therefore Cawdor shall sleep no more.
"Macbeth shall sleep no more."
Who was it that thus cried?
Why, worthy Thane,
you do unbend your noble strength to think so brain-sickly of things.
Go get some water
and wash this filthy witness from your hand.
Why have you brought the daggers from the place?
They must lie there. Go carry them and smear the sleepy grooms with blood.
I'll go no more.
I'm afraid to think what I have done.
Look on it again, I dare not.
Infirm of purpose.
Give me the daggers.
The sleeping and the dead are but as pictures.
'Tis the eye of childhood that fears a painted devil.
If he do bleed, I'll gild the faces of the grooms with blood,
for it must seem their guilt.
How is't with me when every noise appalls me?
What hands are here?
They pluck out mine eyes!
Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood clean from my hands?
No, this, my hand will rather
the multitudinous seas incarnadine,
making the green one red.
My hands are of your colour,
but I shame to wear a heart so white.
That's knocking at the south entry.
Retire we to our chamber.
A little water clears us of this deed.
How easy it is then.
Your fear hath left you unattended.
Hark. More knocking.
Put on your nightgown lest someone spy us and see us to be watchers.
Be not lost or poorly in your thoughts.
To know my deed, t'were best not know myself.
Wake Duncan with thy knocking!
I would thou couldst.
Here's a knocking, indeed.
Are you wearing headphones?
Did some of you seriously pay like 60 quid to come and watch a radio drama?
That's quite embarrassing.
Look at you all.
If a man were porter to the gate of hell, there'll be plenty of turning of the key.
There we go. Fuck!
That's a wall.
I'm so sorry, sir. There's no readmission into the auditorium
once the performance is ongoing.
- What? - There's no readmission
once the performance is ongoing, sir.
Pete, I'm in the show.
I don't recognise you.
- Yeah, I'll get a program. - That'll be £17.50.
- What? - That's a bargain.
Mate, I don't have any money!
You must have some money in your pockets inside your skirt, sir.
What did you say?
Money in your skirt, sir.
It's a kilt.
Oh, I'm so sorry.
Do you know why it's called a kilt?
No, I don't, sir.
Because the last man that called it a skirt, I kilt them.
That's hilarious.
Get out of my way. Thank you.
Prick.
Knock, knock, knock.
Who's there?
Knock, knock.
Who's there?
Front row seats!
Look at you, you must be loaded.
Give me your wallet.
He shite himself.
Here's a banker
who hanged themselves on the expectation of plenty.
Come in quickly.
Have napkins enough about you,
you'll sweat for what you did.
Knock, knock,
who's there
in another devil's name. My mother.
No, actually, my ma's an angel. So...
if you laughed at that,
fuck you.
What, you don't think my ma's an angel?
Yes, no? Hello? Anyone in there? Hi!
Here's an equivocator.
who could swear on both the scales,
against either scale,
who committed treason enough, for God's sake,
for wearing those trousers,
but could not equivocate to heaven.
Come in, equivocator.
Sorry.
Woo! No, I've got shorts.
Knock, knock.
Who's there?
Hi.
How you doing?
You having a good time?
You look terrified.
What's your name?
Mate, I don't have headphones on, I can't hear you.
What is it?
No, what is it?
You don't make the jokes, brother, I'm up here.
Liam?
Liam. And where are you from, Liam?
- London. - London?
I'm so sorry.
Right. Well, Faith,
here's an English...
...Eng... Fuck, you're all right.
Eng... Eng...
Englishman.
Come hither for stealing out of a French hose, huh?
Come in, Liam. Here you may roast your goose.
That was too far.
Knock,
knock.
Right, seriously, do none of you understand the concept of a knock-knock joke?
Yeah, I did feel... fucking hell, I got told
a London audience was smarter than the Glasgow one.
Right, when our lovely sound operator Laura gives me a...
I'll say knock-knock, and you go...
Who's there?
Liam, give me those headphones, I cannot hear them.
Fucking hell. Shall we go again? Laura.
Knock-knock.
Who's there?
Louder!
Knock-knock.
- Who's there? - I said louder!
Knock, knock.
Who's there?
All right, for real this time, are you ready?
Knock me, Laura.
Knock, knock.
Who's there?
Never at quiet.
What...
are...
you?
This place is too cold for hell.
I'll be devil's porter no further.
I thought to have let in some of all professions
that go the primrose way to th' everlasting bonfire.
Anon.
I pray you...
remember the porter.
Was it so late, friend, ere you went to bed,
did you do lie so late?
We were carousing till the second cock, sir.
Here comes our gracious master.
Our knocking has awaked him. Here he comes.
Good morrow, Ross, my lord and Lady Macduff.
- Is the King stirring, worthy Thane? - Not yet.
He did command me to call timely on him.
I've almost slipped the hour.
I'll bring you to him.
I know this is a joyful trouble to you, but yet 'tis one.
The labour we delight in physics pain.
This is the door.
I'll make so bold to call.
Goes the King hence today?
He does.
He did appoint so.
The night has been unruly.
Where we lay, our chimneys were blown down,
and as they say, lamentations heard in the air,
strange screams of death
and prophesying, of accents terrible,
of dire commotion and confused events,
new hatched to the woeful time,
the obscure bird clamoured the livelong night.
Some say the earth was feverous
and did shake.
'Twas a rough night.
My young remembrance cannot parallel a fellow to it.
O horror.
- O horror. - What's the matter?
Approach the chamber.
Do not bid me speak.
See and then speak yourselves.
Awake.
Awake, ring the alarum bell.
- Awake! - Murder and treason!
Banquo and Donalbain!
Malcolm, awake!
Shake off this downy sleep,
death's counterfeit,
and look on death itself.
Up! Up!
And see the great doom's image.
Banquo, Malcolm!
Horror! Ring the bell.
What's the business
that such a hideous trumpet calls to parley the sleepers of the house?
Speak! Speak!
Oh, gentle lady, it is not for you to hear what I can speak.
The repetition, in a woman's ear, would murder, as I spoke.
O, Banquo! Banquo!
Our royal master's murdered.
What? In our house?
Too cruel, anywhere.
Dear Duff, I pray thee, contradict thyself,
and say it is not so!
Had I but died an hour before this chance, I had lived a blessed time.
But from this instant,
there's nothing serious in mortality.
All is but toys.
What is amiss?
You are,
and do not know it.
Your royal father's murdered.
By whom?
Those of his chamber, as it seemed, had done it.
Their hands and faces were all badged with blood.
So were their daggers, which, unwiped, we found upon their pillows.
Oh, yet I do repent me of my fury
that I did kill them.
Wherefore did you so?
Who can be wise, amazed, temperate, and furious,
loyal and neutral in a moment?
No man.
The expedition of my violent love outran the pauser, reason.
Here lay Duncan,
his silver skin laced with his golden blood.
They're the murderers, their daggers breached with gore.
Who could refrain,
that had a heart to love,
and in that heart, courage to make it known?
Help!
Why do we hold our tongues, that most may claim this argument for ours?
What should be spoken here,
where our danger, hid round every corner, may rush and seize us?
Let's away.
Look to the lady.
And when we have our naked frailties hid,
that suffer in exposure,
let us question this most bloody piece of work to know it further.
Fears and scruples shake us.
In the great hand of God I stand,
I'll fight this treasonous malice.
And so shall I.
- So all. - So all.
What will you do?
Let's not consort with them.
To show what an unfelt sorrow is an office which the false man does easy.
I'll to England.
To Ireland, I.
Our separated fortune shall keep us both to safer.
Where we are, there's daggers in men's smiles.
The near in blood, the nearer bloody.
Therefore to horse.
And let us not be dainty of leave-taking, but swift away.
There's warrant in that theft, which steals itself,
when there's no mercy left.
I have seen hours dreadful and things strange,
but this sore night hath trifled former knowings.
Thou see'st the heavens, as if troubled with man's act,
threatens his bloody stage.
By the clock 'tis day,
and yet dark night strangles the sun,
and darkness does the face of earth entomb,
when living light should kiss it?
'Tis unnatural,
even like the deed that's done.
On Tuesday last, a falcon, towering in her pride of place,
was by a mousing owl hawked at and killed.
And Duncan's horses,
a thing most strange and certain, turned wild in nature, broke their stalls,
charged out as they would make war with mankind.
'Tis said they eat each other.
They did.
Here comes the good Macduff.
How goes the world, sir, now?
Why, see you not?
Is it known, who did this more than bloody deed?
Those that Macbeth hath slain.
Alas, the day!
What good could they pretend?
They sure were bribed.
Malcolm and Donalbain, the King's two sons, are stolen away and fled,
which puts upon them suspicion of the deed.
Then 'tis most like the sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth.
He is already named and gone to Scone to be invested.
Where is Duncan's body?
Rowed out to the Isle of Colmekill,
the sacred storehouse of his predecessors and guardian of their bones.
Will you to Scone?
No, cousin, I'll to Fife.
Well, I will thither.
Well, may you see things well done there. Adieu.
Lest our old robes sit easier than our new.
Farewell, Macduff.
God's blessings go with you.
Thou hast it now,
King, Glamis, Cawdor,
all.
Just as the wayward women promised,
and I fear you played most foully for it.
Yet it was said,
the crown would not live on in thy posterity,
but that myself would be the root and father of many kings.
If there come truth from them,
as upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine,
why, by the prophesies on thee made good,
may they not be my oracles as well,
and set me up in hope?
But hush,
no more.
Here's our chief guest.
If he had been forgotten, it had been as a gap in our great feast
and all things unbecoming.
Tonight we'll hold a solemn supper, sir, and I'll request your presence.
Let Your Highness
command upon me.
Ride you this afternoon?
Aye, my good lord.
We should have else desired your good advice in this day's council.
But we'll talk tomorrow.
Is it far you ride?
As far, my lord, as we'll fill up the time 'twixt now and supper.
Go not, my horse, the better.
I must become a borrower of the night
for a dark hour or two.
Fail not our feast.
My lord, I will not.
We hear our bloody cousins Malcolm, Donalbain
are now in England and in Ireland,
not confessing,
their cruel parricide,
filling their hearers
with strange invention.
But of that tomorrow.
Father! Father to horse! To horse!
Goes Fleance with you?
Ay, my good lord.
The time does call upon us.
I wish your horses swift and sure of foot. Farewell.
Let every man be master of his time till seven at night.
To make society the sweeter welcome, we will keep ourself till suppertime alone.
While then, God be with you.
God be with you.
Sirrah, a word with you.
Attend those men, our pleasure?
Bring them before us. Bring them before us.
To be thus is nothing.
But to be safely thus.
Our fears in Banquo stick deep
and in his royalty of nature reigns that which would be feared,
'tis much he dares.
And to that dauntless temper of his mind, he hath a wisdom
that doth guide his valour to act in safety.
None but he whose being I do fear,
and under him my genius is rebuked.
He chid the sisters,
when first they put the name of King upon me,
and bade them speak to him.
Then, prophet-like, they hailed him father to a line of kings.
Upon my head they placed a fruitless crown,
and put a barren sceptre in my grip,
thence to be wrenched with an unlineal hand.
No son of mine succeeding.
If it be so,
for Banquo's issue, have I defiled my mind?
For them, the gracious Duncan have I murdered?
Put rancours in the vessel of my peace to make them kings?
The sons of Banquo, kings?
Now go to the door and stay there till we call.
Was it not yesterday we spoke together?
It was, so please Your Highness.
Well then.
Now,
have you considered of my speeches?
Know that it was he,
in the times past, which held you so under your proper fortune,
which you thought had been our innocent self.
This, I told you in our last conference,
proved how you were deluded with false promises.
How crossed, the instruments, who wrought with them,
and all things else which might,
even to a soul half-crazed, say,
"Thus did Banquo."
- You made it known to us. - I did so,
and went further,
which is now our point of second meeting.
Do you find
your patience so predominant in your nature
that you can let this go?
Are you so holy
to pray for this good man and for his children,
whose heavy hand hath bowed you to the grave and beggared yours forever?
We are men, my liege.
Ay.
In the catalogue, you go for men.
As hounds and greyhounds,
mongrels, spaniels, curs, shoughs, water rugs and demi-wolves are clept
all by the name of dogs.
Now if your station in that catalogue
is not the worst rank of manhood,
say it,
and I will put that business in your bosoms
whose execution
takes your enemy off,
grapples you to the heart and love of us.
I am one, my liege,
whom the vile blows and buffets of the world hath so incensed,
I am reckless what I do to spite the world.
And I another,
so weary with disasters, tugged with fortune,
that I would set my life on any chance to mend it or be rid of it.
Both of you
know Banquo was your enemy.
- True, my lord. - True, my lord.
So is he mine,
and in such bloody distance
that every minute of his being thrusts against my heart of life,
and though I could,
with bare-faced power, sweep him from my sight,
and bid my will avouch it,
yet I must not,
for certain friends that are both his and mine,
whose loves I may not drop,
but wail his fall,
who I myself struck down.
We shall, my lord, perform what you command us.
- Though our lives are... - Your spirits shine through you.
Within this hour at most, I will advise you where to plant yourself
the moment on't, for it must be done tonight.
And something from the palace,
always think that I require a clearness.
And with him,
Fleance, his son, that keeps him company,
whose absence is no less material to me
than is his father's,
must embrace the fate of that dark hour.
Resolve yourselves apart, I'll come to you anon.
- We are resolved. - We are resolved.
All upon you straight. Abide within.
It is concluded.
Banquo, thy soul's flight.
If it find heaven,
must find it out tonight.
Is Banquo gone from court?
Ay, madam, but returns again tonight.
Say to the king, I would attend his leisure for a few words.
Madam, I will.
Naught's gained,
and all is spent,
where our desire is got without content.
It's safer to be that which we destroy,
than by destruction, dwell in doubtful joy.
How now, my lord, why do you keep alone?
Your sorriest fancies your companion's making,
using those thoughts which should indeed have died with them you think on?
Things without all remedy should be without regard.
What's done is done.
We have scorched the snake, not killed it.
She'll heal and be herself
whilst our poor malice remains in danger of her former fangs.
But let the frame of things disjoint, worlds fall apart.
Ere we will eat our meal in fear
and sleep in the affliction of these terrible dreams
that shake us nightly.
Better be with the dead,
whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace
than in the torture of the mind to lie
in restless ecstasy.
Duncan's in his grave.
After life's fitful fever, he sleeps well.
Treason's done his worst,
nor steel, nor poison,
malice domestic, foreign trouble.
Nothing can touch him further.
Come on, gently, my lord.
Sleek o'er your rugged looks.
Be bright and jovial among your guests tonight.
So shall I, love.
And so, I pray, be you.
Let your remembrance apply to Banquo.
Present him eminence, both with eye and tongue.
We are unsafe the while that we must laugh
and make our faces vizards to our hearts, disguising what they are.
You must leave this.
Full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife.
Thou knowest that Banquo and his Fleance lives.
But in them nature need not be eternal.
There's comfort yet, they are assailable.
Then be thou jocund.
Before the bat hath flown his cloistered flight,
there shall be done...
a deed of dreadful note.
- What's to be done? - Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck,
till thou applaud the deed.
Come, sealing night,
scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day,
and with thy bloody and invisible hand,
cancel and tear to pieces that great bond which keeps me pale.
Light thickens,
and the crow makes wing to the rooky wood.
Good things of day begin to droop and drowse,
whilst night's black agents to their preys do rouse.
Thou marvell'st at my words,
but hold thee still.
Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill.
So,
please,
go with me.
The west yet glimmers with some streaks of day
and near approaches the subject of our watch.
Hark.
'Tis Banquo.
There will be rain tonight, son.
Let it come down.
- Treachery! - Father!
Father!
Fly, good Fleance!
Fly, fly, fly!
O villain!
There's but one down.
The son is fled.
You know your own degrees,
sit down!
At first and last, the hearty welcome!
Ourself will mingle with society and play the humble host.
Our hostess keeps her state,
but in best time we will require her welcome.
Pronounce it for me, sir,
to all our friends, for my heart speaks,
they are welcome!
See? They encounter thee with their hearts' thanks.
Both sides are even, here, I'll sit in the midst.
Be large and mirth, anon,
we'll drink a measure the table round.
There's blood upon thy face.
'Tis Banquo's then.
'Tis better thee without, than he within.
Is he dispatched?
My lord, his throat is cut, that I did for him.
Thou art the best of the cut-throats.
Yet he's good that did the like for Fleance.
If thou didst it, thou art the nonpareil.
Most royal sir,
Fleance is escaped.
Then comes my fit again, I'd else been perfect.
Whole as the marble, founded as the rock.
As broad and general as the open air.
But now I'm cabined, cribbed, confined,
bound into saucy doubts and fears.
But Banquo's safe?
Aye, my good lord.
Safe in a ditch, he lies.
Thanks for that.
There the grown serpent lies.
The worm that's fled.
Hath nature that in time will venom breed.
No teeth for the present. Get thee gone.
Tomorrow we'll hear ourselves again.
My royal lord, you do not give the cheer.
The feast is cold,
that is not often vouched, while it's a-making.
We must give welcome,
to feed were best at home.
But here the sauce to meat is ceremony,
our tables bare without it.
Sweet remembrancer. Now,
good digestion wait on appetite,
and health on both!
Slante!
Here had we now
all our country's finest roofed,
were the graced person of our Banquo present,
who may I rather challenge for unkindness than pity for mischance.
His absence, sir, lays blame upon his promise.
Please't, your highness, to grace us with your royal company?
The table's full.
Here is a place reserved, sir.
Where?
Here, my good lord.
What is it that moves Your Highness?
Which of you have done this?
What, my good lord?
Thou canst not say I did it!
Never shake thy gory locks at me!
Gentlemen, rise.
His Highness is not well.
Sit, worthy friends.
My lord is often thus, and hath been from his youth.
Pray you, keep seat.
The fit is momentary.
Upon a thought he will again be well.
If you much note him, you will offend him, and extend his passion.
Feed, and regard him not.
Are you a man?
Ay, and a bold one,
that dare look on that which might appal the devil.
O proper stuff.
This is the very painting of your fear.
This is the air-drawn dagger which you said led you to Duncan.
These flaws and starts would well become a woman's story at a winter's fire.
Shame itself.
Why do you make such faces?
When all is done, you look but on a stool.
Prithee, see there! Behold! Look.
Lo! How say you?
Why, what care I?
If thou canst nod, speak too!
What, quite unmanned in folly?
If I stand here, I saw him.
Fie, for shame!
Blood hath been shed ere now.
The time has been
that when the brains were out, the man would die,
and there an end.
But now they rise again and push us from our stools.
My noble lord,
your worthy friends do lack you.
I do forget.
Do not muse at me, my most worthy friends.
I have a...
strange infirmity, which is nothing to those that know me.
Come, love and health to all. I'll sit down.
Give me some wine.
Fill, full, I drink to the general joy of the whole table.
And to our dear friend Banquo...
- Banquo. - ...whom we miss.
Would he were here.
To all and him, we thirst,
and all to all!
Avaunt and quit my sight, let the earth hide thee!
Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold.
Thou hast no speculation in those eyes
which thou dost glare with.
Think of this, good peers, but as a thing of custom.
'Tis no other, only it spoils the pleasure of the time.
What man dare, I dare, approach thou like the rugged Russian bear,
the armed rhinoceros, or the savage tiger?
Take any shape but that,
and my firm nerves will never tremble
or be alive again!
Dare me to the desert with thy sword.
If trembling I inhabit then, protest me,
A baby of a girl!
A horrible shadow!
Unreal mockery hence!
Why so?
Being gone, I'm a man again.
Pray you, sit still.
You have displaced the mirth,
broke the good meeting with most admired disorder.
Can such things be,
and overcome us like a summer's cloud without our special wonder?
You make me strange,
when now I think you can behold such sights,
and keep the natural ruby of your cheeks,
when mine are blanched with fear.
What sights, my lord?
I pray you, speak not!
He grows worse and worse.
The question enrages him.
At once, good night. Stand not upon the order of your going, but go at once.
Good night.
- Better health attend. - And better health attend, His Majesty.
A kind good night to all.
Good night.
It will have blood,
they say.
Blood will have blood.
Stones have been known to move and trees to speak,
auguries and invisible relations, have
by maggot-pies
and crows and rooks,
brought forth
the blood of secret murder.
What's the night?
It's almost morning,
though both do look alike.
What sayst thou that Macduff denies his person
at our great bidding?
Did you send to him, sir?
I hear it by the way, but I will send.
There's not a one noble now but in this house
I keep a servant fed.
I will tomorrow,
and betimes I will to the Wayward Sisters.
More shall they speak,
for now I'm bent to know.
By the worst means the worst.
For mine own good, all causes shall give way.
I am in blood,
stepped in so far that should I wade no more,
returning were as tedious as go o'er.
Strange things I have in head, that will to hand,
which must be acted
ere they may be scanned.
You lack the season of all natures,
sleep.
Come, we'll to sleep.
My strange and self-abuse
is the initiate fear, that wants hard use.
We're yet but young.
Indeed.
Things have been strangely borne.
The gracious Duncan was pitied of Macbeth after he was dead.
But peace.
Who cannot want the thought how monstrous it was for Malcolm and for Donalbain
to kill their gracious father?
Damned fact.
How it did grieve Macbeth.
I do think he has Duncan's sons under his key.
Can you tell where Macduff bestows himself?
The son of Duncan, from whom this tyrant holds his birthright,
lives in the English court,
thither Macduff is gone to pray the Holy King,
that by the help of these, and by the help of him above,
we may again give to our table meat, sleep to our nights.
Sent he to Macduff, and called him to return?
He did, and answered absolute, "Sir, not I".
I'll send my prayers with him.
By the pricking of my thumbs,
something wicked this way comes,
open, locks, whoever knocks.
Now, now, you secret, black and midnight hags, what is't you do?
A deed without a name.
I conjure you,
by that which you profess, answer me.
Though you untie the winds and let them fight,
though bladed corn be trampled, trees blown down,
though castles topple on their keepers' heads,
though palaces and pyramids do bend their heads to their foundation,
though the treasure of nature's seedlings tumble all together,
even till destruction's sickened?
Answer me!
Do what I ask you!
Speak.
Demand.
We'll answer.
Say if thou would rather hear it from our mouths or from the masters.
Call them, let me see them.
'Tis time,
'tis time,
'tis time.
Round about the cauldron, go,
in the poisoned entrails throw.
Toad, that under cold stone,
days and nights as thirty-one,
sweltered venom, sleeping got.
Boil thou first in charmed pot.
Double, double, toil and trouble.
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
Fillet of fenny snake,
in the cauldron, boil and bake.
- Eye of newt. - Toe of frog.
- Wool of bat. - And tongue of dog.
Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting.
Lizard's leg and owl's wing.
For a charm of powerful trouble,
like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
Scale of dragon, tooth of wolfe,
witch's mummy, mouth and gulf,
of the glutted salt-sea shark,
root of hemlock digged in the dark.
Finger of birth-strangled babe,
ditch-delivered by a drab.
Add thereto a tiger's children
for the ingredients of our cauldron.
Cool it with a baboon's blood,
then the charm is firm and good.
Tell me, thou unknown power.
He knows thy thought.
Hear his speech, but say thou naught.
Macbeth, Macbeth,
Macbeth, beware Macduff.
Beware the Thane of Fife.
Dismiss me, enough.
Whatever thou art, for thy good caution, thanks.
Thou hast harped my fear aright,
but one word more.
He will not be commanded.
Here's another, more potent than the first.
Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth!
Had I three ears, I'd hear thee.
Be bloody, bold, and resolute.
Laugh to scorn the power of man,
for none of woman-born shall harm Macbeth.
Then live, Macduff, what need I fear of thee?
Listen, but speak not to it.
Macbeth shall never vanquish be,
until Great Birnam Wood
to high Dunsinane Hill shall come against him.
That will never be.
Who can impress the forest,
bid the tree unfix his earthbound root?
Rebellious dead,
rise never, till the wood of Birnam rise!
And our high-placed Macbeth will live the lease of nature,
pay his breath to time and mortal custom!
Yet my heart throbs to know one thing.
Tell me, if your art can tell as much,
will Banquo's issue ever reign in this kingdom?
Seek to know no more.
I will be satisfied.
Deny me this, and an eternal curse fall on you.
Let me know!
- Show. - Show.
What noise is this?
Show his eyes, grieve his heart.
Come like shadows, so depart.
Thou are too like the spirits of Banquo.
Down.
Thy crown does sear mine eyeballs.
And every king I see is like the first.
A third is like the former.
Filthy hags, why do you show me this?
A fourth?
Start, eyes.
What, will the line stretch out to the crack of doom?
Another yet?
A seventh?
I'll see no more.
And yet the eighth appears,
who bears a glass which shows me many more.
Horrible sight! Now I see 'tis true.
For the blood-boltered Banquo smiles upon me
and points them out as being all his heirs.
What, is this so?
Where are they?
Gone. Come in, without there.
What's your Grace's will?
Saw you the Wayward Sisters?
No, my lord.
- Came they not by you? - No, indeed, my lord.
Infected be the air whereon they ride.
- Who was it came by? - 'Tis two or three, my lord,
that bring you word.
Macduff is fled to England.
Fled to England?
Aye, my good lord.
Time, thou anticipates my dread exploits.
From this moment the very firstlings of my heart shall be
the firstlings of my hand,
be it thought and done.
The castle of Macduff I will surprise.
Seize upon Fife,
give to the edge of the sword his wife, his babes,
and all unfortunate souls that trace him in his line.
No boasting like a fool.
This deed I'll do, before this purpose cool.
Macbeth, beware the Thane of Fife.
What hath my husband done to make him fly,
and like a runaway to live in England?
- You must have patience, madam. - He had none.
His flight was madness.
When our actions do not, our fears do make us traitors.
You know not whether it was his wisdom or his fear.
Wisdom?
To leave his wife, to leave his babes,
his mansion and his titles in a place from whence himself does fly?
He loves us not.
He wants the natural touch.
For the poor wren, the most diminutive of birds,
will fight for her young ones in the nest against the owl.
All is the fear and nothing is the love,
as little as the wisdom when the flight so runs against all reason.
My dearest coz, I pray you, school yourself,
but for your husband, he is noble,
wise, judicious, and best knows the present troubles.
I dare not speak much further.
But cruel are the times when we are traitors and do not know ourselves,
when we hold rumour from what we fear,
yet know not what we fear, but float
upon a wild and violent sea each way and move.
I take my leave of you.
It shall not be long, but I'll be here again.
Things at the worst shall cease,
or else climb upward to what they were before.
My pretty cousin,
blessing upon you.
Fathered he is, and yet he is fatherless.
I am so much the fool if I stay any longer.
It would be my disgrace and your discomfort, I take my leave.
Sirrah, your father's dead.
What will you do now?
How will you live?
As birds do, Mother.
What, eating worms and flies?
With what I get, I mean.
And so do they.
Poor bird.
Thou dost never fear the net, nor the lime,
the pit-trap, nor the snare.
Why should I, Mother?
Poor birds, they are not worth the trapping.
My father is not dead, for all you're saying.
Yes, he is dead.
So how wilt thou do for a father?
Nay, how wilt you do for a husband?
Thou speak'st with all thy wit, and yet
in faith with wit enough for thee.
Was my father a traitor, Mother?
Aye.
That he was.
What is a traitor?
Why, one that swears and lies.
And be all traitors that do so?
Every one that does so is a traitor,
and must be hanged.
And must they all be hanged, that swear and lie?
Everyone.
Who must hang them?
Why, the honest men.
Then the liars and swearers are fools,
for there are liars and swearers enough to beat the honest men and hang up them.
God help thee, poor monkey.
But how wilt thou do for a father?
If he were dead, you'd weep for him.
If he were dead, and you did not weep,
it were a good sign that I should quickly have a new father.
Poor prattler, how thou talk'st!
Bless you, fair dame, I doubt some danger doth approach you nearly.
Be not found here, hence with your little ones!
To fright you thus, methinks, I am too savage,
but this fell cruelty will do you worse, which is too nigh your person.
Heaven preserve you, I dare abide no longer.
Whither should I fly?
I have done no harm.
But I remember now I am in this earthly world where to do harm is often laudable,
to do good accounted dangerous folly.
Why then do I put up that womanly defence to say I have done no harm?
What are these faces?
Where is your husband?
I hope, in no place so unsanctified, were such as thou mayest find him.
- He's a traitor. - Thou liest, thou shag-haired villain!
What? You egg!
Young chick of treachery!
No!
Let us seek out some desolate shade, and there weep our sad bosoms empty.
Let us rather hold fast the mortal sword,
and like good men, bestride our down-fallen country.
Each new morn, new widows howl,
new orphans cry.
New sorrows strike heaven on the face,
that it resounds as if it felt with Scotland.
What I believe, I'll wail.
What know, believe, and what I can redress, as I shall find the time to, friend, I will.
What you have spoke,
it may be so, perchance.
This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues, was once thought honest.
You have loved him well.
He hath not touched you yet.
I am young.
I fear you may betray me to deserve of him.
And it's wisdom to offer up a weak, poor, innocent lamb
to appease an angry god.
I am not treacherous.
Macbeth is.
But I shall crave your pardon.
Why, in this danger left you wife and child,
those precious motives, those strong knots of love without leave-taking?
Bleed.
Bleed, poor country.
Great tyranny, thy basis now is sure, for good men dare not check thee.
Fare thee well, lord.
I would not be the villain that thou think'st
for all the space that's in the tyrant's grasp.
I pray you, think not my suspicions be your dishonours, but mine own safeties.
You may be truly honest, whatever I shall think.
Be not offended.
I speak not as in absolute fear of you.
I think our country sinks beneath the yoke.
It weeps, it bleeds,
and each new day a gash is added to her wounds.
I think, withal,
there would be hands uplifted in my right.
And here, from gracious England, have I offer of 10,000 soldiers to support our cause.
- But more anon. - See who comes here.
My countryman, but I know her not.
My ever gentle cousin, welcome hither.
I know her now.
Good God, betimes remove the means that make us strangers.
Sir, amen.
Stands Scotland where it did?
Alas, poor country,
almost afraid to know itself,
where violent sorrow seems a modern ecstasy.
And how does my wife?
Why, well.
And all my children?
Well, too.
The tyrant has not battered at their peace?
No, they were well at peace when I did leave them.
Be not a miser of your speech.
How goes it?
There's a rumour of many worthy fellows that rebel.
Now is the time for help.
Your presence in Scotland would create soldiers,
make our people fight to doff their dire distresses...
Be it their comfort.
We are coming thither.
Gracious England hath lent us good Siward and ten thousand men.
Would I could answer this comfort with the like.
But I have words that would be howled out in the desert air,
for hearing should not catch them.
What concern they?
The general cause,
or is it a grief due to some single breast?
No mind that's honest, but in it shares some woe,
though the main part pertains to you alone.
If it be mine, keep it not from me. Quickly, let me have it.
Let not your ears despise my tongue forever,
which shall possess them with the heaviest sound
that ever yet they heard.
I guess at it.
Your castle is surprised,
your wife and babes savagely slaughtered.
Merciful heaven.
What, man!
Give sorrow words, the grief that does not speak,
whispers the over-fraught heart and bids it break.
My...
children killed too?
Wife, children, servants,
all that could be found.
And I must be from thence?
My wife killed too?
- I have said. - Be comforted.
Let's make us medicines of our great revenge
to cure this deadly grief.
He has no children!
All my pretty ones?
Did you say...
all?
O Hell.
All?
What, all my pretty chicks and their hen at one fell swoop?
Dispute it like a man.
I shall do so.
But I must also feel it as a man!
I cannot but remember such things were,
that were most precious to me.
What, did heaven look on and would not take their part?
Be this the whetstone of your sword.
Let grief convert to anger.
Blunt not the heart, enrage it.
Oh, I could play the woman with mine eyes,
and braggart with my tongue.
Gentle heavens, cut short all intermissions,
front to front, bring thou this fiend of Scotland and myself,
within my sword's length set him.
This tune goes manly.
Our power is ready.
Macbeth is ripe for shaking.
Receive what comfort you may.
No night so long that never finds the day.
I have
two nights watched with you,
but can perceive no truth in your report.
When was it she last walked?
Since His Majesty went into battle,
I have seen her rise from her bed, throw her nightgown upon her,
unlock her closet, take forth paper, fold it, write upon it, read it afterwards, seal it,
and again return to bed.
Yet all this while in a most fast sleep.
A great perturbation in nature.
In this slumbery agitation, besides her walking,
what at any time have you heard her say?
That, sir, which I will not report.
You may to me, and it is most meet you should.
Neither to you, nor anyone, having no witness to confirm my speech.
Lo you, here she comes.
This is her very manner,
and upon my life, fast asleep.
How came she by that light?
Why, it stood by her.
She has a light by her continually. It's her command.
You see, her eyes are open.
Ay, but their sense are shut.
What is it she does now?
Look how she rubs her hands.
It is an accustomed action with her, to seem thus washing her hands.
I have known her continuing this a quarter of an hour.
Yet here's a spot still.
Hark, she speaks.
Out, damned spot. Out, I say.
One.
Two.
When, then 'tis time to do it.
Hell is murky.
Fie, my lord, fie.
A soldier and afraid?
What need we fear when none can call our power to account?
Yet...
who would have thought the old man to have had...
so much...
blood in him?
Do you mark that?
The Thane of Fife had a wife.
Where is she now?
What?
Will these hands never be clean?
No more of that, my lord. No more.
You mar all this with starting.
Go to, go to.
You have known what you should not.
She has spoke what she should not.
I am sure of that.
Here's the smell of the blood still.
All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this...
little...
hand.
What a cry is there!
The heart is sorely charged.
I would not have such a heart in my bosom for all her estate.
- Well, well, well. - Oh, pray God it be, sir.
This disease is beyond my practice.
Yet I have known those which have walked in their sleep,
who have died holily in their bed.
Wash your hands,
put on your nightgown, look not so pale.
I tell you yet again, Banquo is buried.
He cannot come out of his grave.
Even so?
To bed.
There's knocking at the gate.
Come. Come.
Come.
Come, give me your hand.
What's done cannot be undone.
To bed.
Will she go now to bed?
Directly.
Foul whisperings are abroad.
Unnatural deeds do breed unnatural troubles,
infected minds, to their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets.
God, God forgive us all.
Look after her.
Remove from her the means to do self-harm
and still keep eyes upon her.
So good night.
My mind she has baffled and amazed my sight.
I think,
but dare not speak.
Good night, good doctor.
The English power is near, led on by Malcolm, his uncle Siward, and the good Macduff.
Revenges burn in them.
Near Birnam Wood shall we well meet them.
That way are they coming.
Who knows if Donalbain be with his brother?
For certain, sir, he is not.
I have a list of all the soldiers.
There is Siward's son and many unrough youths who even now do protest their first manhood.
What does the tyrant?
Great Dunsinane he strongly fortifies.
Some say he's mad.
Others that lesser hate him do call it valiant fury.
Now does he feel his secret murders sticking on his hands.
Those he commands move only in command, nothing in love.
Then march we on to Malcolm, to show obedience where it is truly owed.
Make we our march towards Birnam!
- To Birnam! - To Birnam!
Bring me no more reports,
let them fly all.
Till Birnam Wood removed to Dunsinane, I cannot taint with fear.
What's the boy, Malcolm?
Was he not born of woman?
The spirits that know all mortal consequences have pronounced me thus.
Fear not, Macbeth.
No man that's born of woman shall e'er have power upon thee.
Then fly, false Thanes,
mingle with the drunken English louts.
The mind I sway by and the heart I bear
will never sag with doubt nor shake with fear.
Oh, the devil damn thee, thou cream-faced loon.
Where got'st thou that goose look?
There is ten thousand.
Geese, villain?
Soldiers, sir.
What, soldiers, patch?
Death of thy soul.
Those linen cheeks of thine are counsellors to fear.
What soldiers, whey-face?
The English force, so please you.
Take thy face hence.
Seyton!
I'm sick at heart when I behold...
Seyton, I say!
This push
will cheer me ever or dethrone me now.
I've lived long enough.
My way of life is fallen into the sere,
the yellow leaf.
And that which should accompany old age as honour,
love, obedience,
troops of friends,
I must not look to have,
but in their stead.
Curses,
not loud but deep,
mouth-honour,
breath.
Seyton!
What's your gracious pleasure?
What news more?
All is true, my lord, which was reported.
I'll fight till from my bones my flesh be hacked.
Bring me my armour.
It is not needed yet.
I'll put it on.
Send out more horses,
skirr the country round,
hang those that talk of fear.
Bring me mine armour!
How does your patient, Doctor?
Not so sick, my lord.
She is troubled with thick-coming fancies that...
keep her from her rest.
Cure her of that.
Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased,
pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow,
raze out the written troubles of the brain,
and with some sweet, oblivious antidote,
cleanse the clogged bosom of that perilous stuff
which weighs upon the heart?
Therein the patient must minister to himself.
Throw physics to the dogs! I'll none of it.
Come, put mine armour on. Give me my sword.
Seyton, send for reinforcements.
Doctor, the thanes fly from me.
Come, sir, dispatch!
If thou couldst, Doctor, test the water of my land,
find her disease, purge it to a sound and pristine health,
I'd applaud thee
to the very echo that would applaud again.
Take it off, I say.
What rhubarb,
senna, what purgative drug would scour these English hence, eh?
Hear'st thou of them?
- Ay, my lord. - Ay, my lord.
I will not be afraid of death and bane
till Birnam Forest come to Dunsinane.
Cousins, I hope the days are near at hand that Scotland will be safe.
We doubt it nothing.
What wood is this before us?
The wood of Birnam.
Let every soldier hew him down a bough and bear it before him,
thereby shall we shadow our numbers to our enemy.
It shall be done!
We learn no other, but the confident tyrant keeps still in Dunsinane,
and will endure our setting siege before it.
All his men have given him revolt,
and none serve with him but constrained things
whose hearts are absent too.
Let our true judgment attend the final outcome,
and put we on industrious soldiership.
The time approaches, thoughts speculative their unsure hopes relate,
for certain issues, force must arbitrate,
towards which advance the war.
Hang out your banners on the outward wall!
The cry is still, "They come!"
Our castle's strength would laugh a siege to scorn.
Here, let them lie!
Till famine and the Aegu eat them up.
Were they not reinforced with those who fled us,
we might have met them dareful, beard to beard,
and beat them backward home.
What's that noise?
It is the cry of women, my good lord.
I've almost forgot the taste of fear.
Time has been,
my senses would have cooled to hear a night shriek.
And my head of hair,
would at a ghostly story rouse and stir as life were in it.
I have supped full with horrors.
Direness,
familiar to my slaughterous thoughts,
cannot once start me.
Wherefore was that cry?
The queen,
my lord,
is dead.
She should have died hereafter.
There would have been a time for such a word.
Tomorrow...
and tomorrow...
creeps in this petty pace from day to day
to the last syllable of recorded time.
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death.
Out,
out, brief candle.
Life's but a walking shadow,
a poor player
that struts and frets his hour upon the stage
and then is heard no more.
It is a tale
told by an idiot...
full of sound and fury,
signifying nothing.
Thou com'st to use thy tongue, thy story, quickly.
Gracious my lord, I should report that which I say I saw
but I know not how to do it.
Well, say, sir.
As I did stand my watch upon the hill,
I looked toward Birnam, and anon, me thought
the wood...
began to move.
Liar.
Within this three mile may you see it coming.
I say, a moving grove.
If thou speak'st false,
upon the next tree shall thou hang alive till famine cling thee.
I pull in resolution and begin to doubt
the equivocation of the fiend that lies like truth.
"Fear not, till Birnam Wood do come to Dunsinane,"
and now a wood comes toward Dunsinane.
Arm, arm and out!
If this which he avouches does appear,
there is no flying hence nor tarrying here.
I 'gin to be aweary of the sun
and wish the estate of the world were now undone.
Ring the alarum bell!
Blow, wind, come wrack!
At least we'll die with harness on our back.
Now, near enough.
Your leafy screens throw down and show like those you are.
Make all our trumpets speak!
give them all breath!
Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death!
They've tied me to a stake I cannot fly,
but bear-like I must fight the course.
What's he that was not born of woman?
Such a one am I to fear or none.
What's thy name?
Thou'lt be afraid to hear it.
No, though thou call'st thyself a hotter name than any is in hell!
My name's Macbeth.
The devil himself could not pronounce a title more hateful to mine ear.
No.
Nor more fearful.
Thou liest, abhorrent tyrant!
With my sword, I'll prove the lie thou speak'st!
Thou wast born of woman.
But swords I smile at,
weapons laugh to scorn,
brandished by a boy
that's of a woman born.
That way the noise is.
Tyrant, show thy face!
If thou beest slain and with no stroke of mine,
my wife and children's ghosts will haunt me still.
I cannot strike at wretched mercenaries.
It will be thou, Macbeth,
or else my sword, with an unbattered edge, I sheathe again unblooded.
Let me find him, fortune, and more I beg not.
The castle is surrendered.
The tyrants' people on both sides do fight.
The day itself almost professes ours,
and little is to do.
Even our foes do strike beside us.
Enter, sir, the castle.
Why should I play the Roman fool and fall on mine own sword?
Whilst I see lives, the gashes do better on them?
Turn around!
Of all men else have I avoided thee, but get thee back.
My soul is too much charged with blood of thine already.
I have no words.
My voice is in my sword.
Thou losest labour,
as easy mayst thou the intrenchant air with thy keen sword impress as make me bleed,
I bear a charmed life,
which must not yield to one of woman born.
Despair thy charm!
Macduff was from his mother's womb untimely ripped.
Accursed be the tongue that tells me so,
for it hath cowed my better part of man.
And be these juggling fiends no more believed,
that palter with us in a double sense,
that keep the word of promise to our ear,
and break it to our hope.
I'll not fight with thee.
Then yield thee,
coward,
and live to be the spectacle of the time.
We'll have thee, as our rarer monsters are,
painted upon a pole and underwrit,
"Here may you see the tyrant!"
I will not yield to kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet.
Though Birnam Wood do come to Dunsinane,
and thou opposed, being of no woman born,
yet I will try the last.
Lay on, Macduff!
And damned be him that first cries,
"Hold! Enough!"
Hail...
King.
For so thou art.
Behold where lies the cursed usurper.
The time...
is free.
Hail, King of Scotland!
- Hail, King of Scotland! - Hail, King of Scotland!
My thanes and kinsmen,
what's more to do, which would be planted newly with the time,
as calling forth
our exiled friends abroad that fled the snares
of watchful tyranny,
producing forth
the cruel ministers of this dead butcher,
and his fiend-like queen,
who, as 'tis thought,
by self and violent hands,
took off her life.
This,
and what needful else there is,
by the grace of grace, we will perform,
in measure,
time,
and place.
How I wish the friends we miss were safe arrived.
Some must go off,
and yet by these I see
so great a day as this is cheaply bought.
Your son, my lord,
has paid a soldier's debt.
Then he is dead?
Aye, and brought off the field.
Why then,
God's soldier be he now.
He's worth more sorrow, and that I'll spend for him.
He's worth no more,
so God be with him.
Here comes newer comfort.
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