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When shall we three meet again?

In thunder, lightning, or in rain?

When the hurly-burly's done.

When the battle's lost and won.

Where the place?

Upon the heath.

There to meet with Macbeth.

Fair is foul, and foul is fair.

Hover through the fog and filthy air.

Hail, brave friend.

Say to the king the knowledge of the broil
as though didst leave it.

Doubtful it stood.

As two spent swimmers that do
cling together and choke their art.

The merciless Macdonwald,

with fortune on his
damned quarrel smiling,

showed like a rebel's whore.

But all's too weak.

For brave Macbeth--
well he deserves that name--

discerning fortune, with his brandished
steel which smoked with bloody execution,

like valor's minion carved out
his passage till he faced the slave.

Which ne'er shook hands,
nor bade farewell to him,

till he unseamed him
from the nave to the chops

and fixed his head upon our battlements.

Valiant cousin. Worthy gentleman.

No sooner justice had with valor armed

compelled these skipping kerns
to trust their heels…

but the Norwegian lord, surveying vantage,
with furbished arms

and new supplies of men
began a fresh assault.

Dismayed not this our captains,
Macbeth and Banquo?

Yes.

As sparrows eagles, or the hare the lion.

So they doubly redoubled
strokes upon the foe.

I cannot tell.

My gashes cry for help.

God save the king.

Whence cam'st thou, worthy Thane?

From Fife, great King,

where the Norwegian banners
flout the sky and fan our people cold.

Norway himself, with terrible numbers,
assisted by that most disloyal traitor,

the Thane of Cawdor,
began a dismal conflict.

Till that Macbeth and Banquo,
lapped in proof,

confronted him with self-comparisons.

Point against point rebellious, arm
'gainst arm, curbing his lavish spirit.

And, to conclude…

the victory fell to us.

Great happiness.

No more the Thane of Cawdor
shall deceive our bosom interest.

-No.
-Go pronounce his present death.

I'll see it done.

And with his former title…

greet Macbeth.

Where hast thou been, sister?

Killing swine.

Sister, where thou?

Look what I have.

Show me. Show me!

Here I have a sailor's thumb,
wrecked as homeward he did come.

A drum. A drum!

Macbeth doth come.

Aye.

In a sieve I'll thither sail.

And, like a rat without a tail,
I'll do, I'll do and I'll do.

I'll drain him dry as hay.

Sleep shall neither night nor day…

hang upon his penthouse lid.

He shall live a man forbid.

Weary sennights nine times nine

shall he dwindle, peak and pine.

The weird sisters, hand in hand.

Posters of the sea and land.

Thus do go about, about.

Thrice to thine and thrice to mine.

And thrice again to make up--

Nine.

Peace.

The charm's wound up.

So foul and fair a day I have not seen.

How far is it to Forres?

What are these? So withered
and so wild in their attire,

that look not like the inhabitants
of the earth, and yet are on it.

Live you?
Or are you aught that man may question?

Speak, if you can. What are you?

All 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.

Are ye fantastical?
Or that indeed which outwardly ye show?

If you can look into the seeds of time

and say which grain will grow
and which will not,

speak then to me, who neither beg
nor fear your favor nor your hate.

Lesser than Macbeth, and greater.

Not so happy, yet much happier.

Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none.

So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo.

Banquo and Macbeth.

All hail.

Stay, you imperfect speakers.
Tell me more.

I know I am 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.

Say from whence you owe
this strange intelligence?

Or why upon this blasted heath you stop
our way with such prophetic greeting?

The earth hath bubbles, as the water has.

And these are of them.
Whither are they vanished?

And what seemed corporal melted
as breath into the wind.

Would they had stayed.

Were such things here
as 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 selfsame tune and words.

Who goes there?

The king hath happily received, Macbeth,
the news of thy success.

And when he reads thy personal venture
in the rebels' fight,

his wonders and his praises do contend
which should be thine or his.

We are sent to give thee
from our royal master thanks.

Only to herald thee into his sight,
not pay thee.

And, for an earnest of a greater honor,

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.

Whether he was combined
with those of Norway,

or did line the rebel
with hidden help and vantage,

or that with both he labored
in his country's wrack, I know not.

But treasons capital,
confessed and proved…

have overthrown him.

Thanks for your pains.

Glamis and Thane of Cawdor.

The greatest is behind.

Do you not hope
your children shall be kings?

When those that gave the Thane of Cawdor
to me promised no less to them?

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.

This supernatural soliciting
cannot 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

and 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 single 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.

"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.

Whiles 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 weird 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 mightst 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 do I 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 wouldst highly,
that wouldst thou holily.

Wouldst not play false,
and yet wouldst wrongly win.

Hie thee hither,

that I may pour my spirits in thine ear.

And chastise with the valor of my tongue

all that impedes thee
from the golden round.

Is execution done on Cawdor?

My liege.

I have spoke with one that saw him die,

who did report that very frankly
he confessed his treasons,

implored Your Highness's pardon
and set forth a deep repentance.

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 owed,
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.

O worthiest cousin.

The sin of my ingratitude
even now was heavy on me.

Only I have left to say, more is thy due
than more than all can pay.

The service and the loyalty I owe,
in doing it, pays itself.

Welcome hither.

I have begun to plant thee and will labor
to make thee full of growing.

Noble Banquo, that hast no less deserved,

nor must be known no less to have done so,

let me enfold thee
and hold thee to my heart.

There if I grow, the harvest is your own.

My plenteous joys, wanton in fullness,

seek to hide themselves
in drops of sorrow.

Sons, kinsmen, thanes,

and you whose places are the nearest,

know we will establish our estate
upon our eldest, Malcolm…

whom we name hereafter

prince of Cumberland.

Which honor must not
unaccompanied invest him only,

but signs of nobleness, like stars,
shall shine on all deservers.

From hence to Inverness,
and bind us further to you.

I'll be myself the harbinger
and make joyful

the hearing of my wife with your approach,
so humbly take my leave.

My worthy Cawdor.

Let's after him, whose care is gone before
to bid us welcome.

It is a peerless kinsman.

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 king comes here tonight.

Thou art mad to say it.
Is not thy master with him?

So please you, it is true.
Our thane is coming.

One of my fellows had the speed of him.

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 the toe
topful 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,

nor keep peace between the effect and it.

Come to my woman's breasts

and take my milk for gall,
you murdering ministers,

wherever in your sightless substances
you wait on nature's mischief.

Come, thick night, and pall thee
in the dunnest 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 I feel now the future in the instant.

My dearest love.

Duncan comes here tonight.

And when goes hence?

Tomorrow, as he purposes.

Never shall sun that morrow see.

Your face, my Thane, is as 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's coming must be provided for.

And you shall put this night's
great business into my dispatch.

Which shall to all our nights
and days to come

give solely sovereign sway and masterdom.

Only look up clear.

To alter favor ever is to fear.

Leave all the rest to me.

This castle hath a pleasant seat.

The air nimbly and sweetly recommends
itself unto our gentle senses.

This guest of summer,
temple-haunting martlet,

does approve, by his loved mansionry,

that the heaven's breath
smells wooingly here.

No jutty, frieze, buttress,
nor coign of vantage,

but this bird hath made his pendent bed
and procreant cradle.

Where they most breed and haunt,
I have observed, the air is delicate.

See, see, our honored hostess.

All our service in every point twice done
and then done double

were poor and single business to contend
against those honors deep and broad

wherewith Your Majesty loads our house.

Where is the Thane of Cawdor?

We coursed him at the heels,
and had a purpose to be his purveyor.

But he rides well.
And his great love, sharp as his spur,

hath helped him to his home before us.

Fair and noble hostess,
we are your guest tonight.

Give me your hand.

Conduct me to mine host.

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 instructions,

which, being taught,
return to plague the inventor.

This evenhanded justice commends

the ingredience 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, 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,
striding the blast,

or heaven's cherubim, horsed upon
the sightless couriers of the air,

shall blow this horrid deed in every eye,
that tears shall drown the wind.

I have no spur to prick
the sides of my intent…

only vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps
itself and falls on the other.

How now. What news?

He has almost supped.

Hath he asked for me?

Know you not he has?

We will proceed no further
in this business.

He hath honored 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
wherein 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 valor as thou art in desire?

Wouldst thou have that which thou
esteem'st the ornament of life,

and live a coward in thine own esteem,

letting "I dare not" wait upon "I would,"
like the poor cat in the adage?

Prithee, peace.

I dare do all that may become a man.
Who dares do more is none.

What beast was't, then,
made you break this enterprise to me?

When you durst do it, then you were a man.

And, to be more than what you were,
you would be so much more the man.

I have given suck,

and know how tender 'tis
to love the babe that milks me.

I would, while it was smiling in my face,

have plucked my nipple from his
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 rather shall his day's
hard journey soundly invite him,

his two chamberlains will I
with wine and wassail so convince

that memory, the warder of the brain,
shall be a fume,

and the receipt of reason a limbeck only.

When in swinish sleep, their
drenched natures lie as in a death.

What cannot you and I perform
upon the unguarded Duncan?

What not put upon his spongy officers,

who shall bear the guilt
of our great quell?

Bring forth men-children only.

For thy undaunted mettle
should have composed nothing but males.

Will it not be received,
when we have marked with blood

those sleepy two of his own chamber
and used their very daggers,

that they have done't?

Who dares receive it other,

as we shall make our griefs
and clamor roar upon his death?

I am settled…

and bend up each corporal agent
to this terrible feat.

Away, and mock the time with fairest show.

False face must hide
what the false heart doth know.

The moon is down.
I've not heard the clock.

She goes down at 12.

I take it, 'tis later, sir.

Here. Take my sword.

There's husbandry in heaven.

Their candles are all out.

A heavy summons lies like lead upon me,
and yet I would not sleep.

Merciful powers,
restrain in me the cursed thoughts

that nature gives way to in repose.

-Give me my sword. Who's there?
-A friend.

What, sir, not yet at rest?
The king's abed.

He hath been in unusual pleasure,

and sent forth great largess
to your offices.

Being unprepared,
our will became the servant to defect,

which else should free have wrought.

All's well.

I dreamt last night
of the three weird 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 would grant the time.

At your kindest leisure.

Repose the while.

Thanks, sir. The like to you.

Go bid thy mistress,

when my drink is ready,
she strike upon the bell.

Is this a 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 not, fatal vision,
sensible to feeling as to sight?

Or art thou 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 marshal'st me
the way that I was going.

And such an instrument I was to use.

Mine eyes are made
the fools o' the other senses,

or else worth all the rest.

I see thee still,

and on thy blade and dudgeon
gouts of blood, which was not so before.

There's no such thing.

It is the bloody business
that informs thus to mine eyes.

Thou sure and firm-set earth,
hear not my steps, which way they walk,

for fear thy very stones prate
of my whereabout.

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.

Hark!

Peace.

It was the owl that shrieked,

the fatal bellman,
which gives the stern'st good night.

He is about it.

That which hath made them drunk
hath made me bold.

What hath quenched them
hath given me fire.

The doors are open,

and the surfeited grooms
do mock their charge with snores.

Amen.

I have drugged their possets,

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 their daggers ready.
He could not miss 'em!

My husband.

I have done the deed.

Didst thou not hear a noise?

-When?
-Now.

-As I descended?
-Aye.

Hark.

This is a sorry sight.

A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight.

There's 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.

The grooms were lodged together.

One cried, "God bless us,"

and, "Amen," the other,

as they had 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 not
I pronounce "amen"?

I had most need of blessing,
and "amen" stuck in my throat.

These deeds must not
be thought after these ways.

So, it will make us mad.

Methought I heard a voice cry,
"Sleep no more.

Macbeth hath murdered sleep."

The innocent sleep.

Sleep that knits up
the raveled sleeve of care,

the death of each day's life,
sore labor's bath,

balm of hurt minds,
great nature's second course,

-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 brainsickly of things.

Go. Get some water, and wash
this filthy witness from your hand.

Why did you bring
these 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't 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.

I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal,
for it must seem their guilt.

My hands are of your color,
but I shame to wear a heart so white.

Whence is that knocking?

How is it 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 hand?

No, this my hand will rather
the multitudinous seas incarnadine,

making the green one red.

To know my deed,
'twere best not know myself.

Wake Duncan with thy knocking!

I would thou couldst.

Here's a knocking indeed.

If a man were porter of hell-gate,

he should have old turning the key.

Knock, knock!

Who's there, in the name of Beelzebub?

Here's a farmer, that hanged himself
on the expectation of plenty.

Come in time. Here you'll sweat for it.

Knock, knock.

Here's an equivocator, that could swear
in both the scales against either scale,

yet could not equivocate to heaven.

Come in, equivocator.

Knock, knock. Who's there?

Here's an English tailor, come hither
for stealing out of a French hose.

Come in, tailor.
Here you may roast your goose.

Knock, knock. Never at quiet.

But this place is too cold for hell.

I'll devil-porter it no further. Anon!

I pray you, remember the porter.

Was it so late, friend, ere you went
to bed, that you do lie so late?

Faith, sir, we were carousing
till the second cock.

And drink, sir, is a great provoker
of three things.

-What three things?
-Nose-painting, sleep and urine.

Lechery, sir, it provokes, and unprovokes.

It provokes the desire,
but it takes away the performance.

Therefore, much drink may be said to be
an equivocator with lechery.

It makes him, and it mars him.
It sets him on, and it takes him off.

It persuades him, disheartens him,
makes him stand to, and not stand to.

In conclusion, equivocates him in a sleep,
and, giving him the lie, leaves him.

I believe drink gave thee
the lie last night.

Good morrow, both.

Is the king stirring, worthy Thane?

Not yet.

He did command me to call timely on him.
I have almost slipped the hour.

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,
lamentings heard in the air.

Strange screams of death and prophesying,
with accents terrible, of dire combustion

and confused events new hatched
to the woeful time.

And the obscure bird…

-Your Majesty?
-…clamored the livelong night.

Some say, the earth was feverous
and did shake.

'Twas a rough night.

Horror! Horror! Horror!

Tongue nor heart cannot
conceive nor name thee.

-What's the matter?
-Confusion now hath made his masterpiece.

Most sacrilegious murder hath broke
ope the Lord's anointed temple,

and stole thence the life of the building.

Mean you His Majesty?

Approach the chamber,
and destroy your sight with a new Gorgon.

Do not bid me speak.
See, and then speak yourselves.

Awake! Awake! Ring the alarum bell!

Murder and treason!

As from your graves rise up, and walk
like sprites, to countenance this horror!

Banquo and Donalbain! Malcolm! Awake!

Up! Up! And see the great doom's image!

Malcolm! Banquo!

Had I but died an hour before this chance…

I had lived a blessed time.

For, from this instant,

there's nothing serious in mortality.
All is but toys.

What's the business,

that such a hideous trumpet calls
to parley the sleepers of the house?

-Renown and grace is dead.
-Speak! Speak!

The wine of life is drawn,

and the mere lees
is left this vault to brag of.

Banquo. Banquo.

Our royal master's murdered.

Woe, alas!

-What, in our house?
-Too cruel anywhere.

-What is amiss?
-You are, and do not know it.

The spring, the head,
the fountain of your blood is stopped.

The very source of it is stopped.

Your father…

is murdered.

By whom?

Those of his chamber,
as it seemed, had done it.

Their hands and faces
were all badged with blood.

Yet I do repent me of my fury,
that I did kill them.

-Why?
-Wherefore did you so?

Who can be wise, amazed,

temperate and furious,
loyal and neutral, in an instant?

No man.

The expedition of my violent love
outran the pauser, reason.

Here lay Duncan,

his silver skin laced
with his golden blood.

And his gashed stabs looked like a breach
in nature for ruin's wasteful entrance.

There, the murderers,
steeped in the colors of their trade,

their daggers unmannerly
breeched with gore.

Who could refrain,
that had a heart to love,

and in that heart courage
to make his love known?

Look to the lady.

And when we have our naked frailties hid,
which suffer in exposure,

let us meet,

and question this most bloody
piece of work, to know it further.

Why do we hold our tongues,

that most may claim
this argument for ours?

Let's away.

-Our tears are not yet brewed.
-Let's not consort with them.

To show 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 the safer.

Where we are…

there's daggers in men's smiles.

The near in blood, the nearer bloody.

This murderous shaft that's shot
hath not yet lighted.

And our safest way is to avoid the aim.

Therefore, to horse.
And let us not be dainty of leave-taking.

Here comes the good Macduff.

How goes the world, sir, now?

Is't known who did this
more than bloody deed?

Those that Macbeth hath slain.

Alas, the day.
What good could they pretend?

Well, they were suborned.

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's already named,
and gone to Dunsinane to be invested.

Will you to Dunsinane?

No, cousin. I'll home to Fife.

Well…

I will thither.

May you see things well done there. Adieu.

Lest our old robes sit easier
than our new.

He that has and a little tiny wit

With a heigh-ho, the wind and the rain

Must make content
With his fortunes fit

For the rain it raineth every day

Threescore and ten I can remember well,

within the volume of which time

I have seen hours dreadful
and things strange.

But this sore night
hath trifled former knowings.

Good father.

Thou seest the heavens,

as troubled with man's act,
threatens the bloody stage.

By the clock, 'tis day,

and yet dark night strangles
the traveling lamp.

Is't night's predominance,
or the day's shame,

that 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,

beauteous and swift,

the minions of their race,
turned wild in nature,

broke their stalls, flung out,
contending 'gainst obedience,

as they would make war with mankind.

'Tis said they ate each other.

Thou hast it now.

King, Cawdor,

Glamis…

all. As the weird women promised.

And, I fear,
thou play'dst most foully for it.

Yet it was said
it should not stand in thy posterity,

but that myself should be
the root and father of many kings.

If there come truth from them--

as upon thee, Macbeth,
their speeches shine--

why, by the verities 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-thing unbecoming.

Tonight we hold a solemn supper, sir.
And I'll request your presence.

Ride you this afternoon?

Aye, my good lord.

We should have else desired
your good advice,

which still hath been both grave
and prosperous, in this day's council.

But we'll take tomorrow.

Is it far you ride?

As far, my lord, as will fill up the time
'twixt this and supper.

Go not my horse the better,

I must become a borrower of the night
for a dark hour or twain.

Fail not our feast.

My lord, I will not.

We hear, our bloody cousins are bestowed
in England and in Ireland,

not confessing their cruel parricide.

But of that tomorrow,

when therewithal we shall have
cause of state craving us jointly.

Hie you to horse.
Adieu, till you return at night.

Goes Fleance with you?

Aye, my good lord.

I wish your horses swift and sure of foot.

And so I do commend them to your backs.

Farewell.

Attend those men our pleasure?

They do, my lord.

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 Banquo in the times past

which held you so under fortune,

which you thought had been
our innocent self.

This I made good to you in our last
conference, passed in probation with you,

how you were borne in hand,
how crossed, the instruments,

who wrought with them, and all things else

that might to half a soul
and to a notion 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…

gospeled to pray for this good man
and for his issue,

whose heavy hand hath bowed you
to the grave and beggared yours forever?

We are men, my liege.

Aye, in the catalog ye go for men.

Now, if you have a station in the file,
not in the worst rank of manhood, say it.

And I will put that business
in your bosoms,

whose execution takes your enemy off.

I am one, my liege,

whom the vile blows and buffets
of the world have so incensed

that I'm 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 on't.

Both of you know Banquo was your enemy.

True, my lord.

So is he mine.

And in such bloody distance,

that every minute of his being
thrusts against my nearest of life!

And though I could with barefaced power
sweep him from my sight

and bid my will avouch it, yet I must not.

And thence it is that I
to your assistance do make love,

masking the business from the common eye
for sundry weighty reasons.

We shall, my lord,
perform what you command us.

Though our lives--

Your spirits shine through you.

It must be done tonight,
and something from the palace.

Always thought that I require a clearness.

And with him, to leave no rubs
nor botches in the work,

Fleance, his son, must embrace
the fate of that dark hour.

We are resolved, my lord.

Resolve yourselves apart.

Is Banquo gone from court?

Aye, madam, but returns again tonight.

How now, my lord.

Why do you keep alone,

of sorriest fancies
your companions making,

using those thoughts which should indeed
have died with them they 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 close and be herself,

whilst our poor malice remains
in danger of her former tooth.

Better be with the dead,
whom we, to gain our peace,

have sent to peace, than on the torture
of the mind to lie in restless ecstasy.

Duncan is in his grave.

After life's fitful fever he sleeps well.

Treason has done his worst.
Nor steel, nor poison,

malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing…
can touch him further.

Come on. Gentle my lord,
sleek o'er your rugged looks.

Be bright and jovial
among your guests tonight.

Full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife.

Thou knowest that Banquo,
and his Fleance, lives.

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 guide his valor
to act in safety.

There's none but he whose being I do fear.

You must leave this.

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,

put a barren scepter in my grip,

thence to be wrenched
with an unlineal hand.

No son of mine succeeding.

If't be so, for Banquo's issue
have I filed my mind.

For them the gracious Duncan
have I murdered.

Put rancors in the vessels of my peace
only for them.

And mine eternal jewel given
to the common enemy of man,

to make them kings!

The seeds of Banquo kings!

But in them nature's copy is not eterne.

There's comfort yet.

They are assailable. Then be thou jocund.

Ere the bat hath flown
his cloistered flight.

Ere to black Hecate's summons
the shard-borne beetle

with his drowsy hums
hath rung night's yawning peal,

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, seeling 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,

as night's black agents
to their prey do rouse.

Thou marvel'st at my words.
But hold thee still.

Things bad begun
make strong themselves by ill.

Who did bid thee join with us?

Macbeth.

He needs not our mistrust,
since he delivers our offices

and what we have to do
to the direction just.

Then stand with us.

A light. A light!

Give us a light there, boy.

It'll be rain tonight.

Let it come down.

Fleance!

Fly, Fleance! Fly!

There's but one down. The son is fled.

We have lost best half of our affair.

Well, let's away,
and say how much is done.

How say'st thou, that Macduff denies
his person at our great bidding?

-Did you send to him, sir?
-Your Majesty.

You know your own degrees. Sit down.

At first and last the hearty welcome.

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 o' the cutthroats.

Yet he's good
that did the like for Fleance.

If thou didst it, thou art the nonpareil.

Most royal sir…

Fleance is scaped.

Then comes my fit again.
I had else been perfect.

But Banquo's safe?

Aye, my good lord.

Safe in a ditch he bides,
with twenty trenched gashes on his head.

The least a death to nature.

There the grown serpent lies.

The worm that fled hath nature
that in time will venom breed,

no teeth for the present.

Get thee gone.

My royal lord, you do not give the cheer.

Sweet remembrancer.

Now, good digestion wait on appetite,
and health--

On both.

Please, Your Highness, sit.

Here had we now
our country's honor 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.

Here is a place reserved.

What is't 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!

Gentles, all 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.

Are you a man?

Aye, and a bold one,

that dare look upon
that which might appall the devil.

This is the very painting of thy fear.

This is the air-drawn dagger
which, you said, led you to Duncan.

If I stand here, I saw him!

Fie, for shame.

The time has been, that,
when the brains were out,

the man would die, and there an end!

But now they rise again, with
twenty mortal murders on their crowns,

and push us to our stools!

This is more strange
than such a murder is!

Avaunt! Quit my sight!

Thy bones are marrowless!

Thy blood is cold!

Thou hast no speculation in those eyes.

Hence, horrible shadow!

Unreal mockery, hence!

Why, so…

being gone…

I am a man again.

Do not muse at me, my most worthy friends.

I have a strange infirmity,
which is nothing to those that know me.

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
even to the disposition that I owe,

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.
Question enrages him.

At once, good night.

Stand not upon the order of your going,
but go at once.

Good night.
And better health attend His Majesty--

A kind good night to all.

It will have blood.

They say…

blood will have blood.

Stones have been known to move,
trees to speak.

Augurs and understood relations
have by the magpies

and crows and rooks brought forth
the secret'st man of blood.

What is the night?

Almost at odds with morning,
which is which.

How sayest 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 of them
but in his house I keep a servant feed.

I will tomorrow unto the weird sisters.
More shall they speak.

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 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 are yet but young in deed.

'Tis time.

'Tis time.

By the pricking of my thumbs,

something wicked this way comes.

How 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,
howe'er you come to know it, answer me.

Even till destruction sicken,
answer me to what I ask you.

Speak.

-Demand.
-We'll answer.

Say if thou'dst rather hear it
from our mouths, or from our masters?

Call 'em. Let me see 'em.

Double, double toil and trouble.

Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.

Double, double toil and trouble.
Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.

Double, double toil and trouble.
Fire burn, and cauldron bubble…

Finger of birth-strangled babe,

ditch-delivered by a drab.

Liver of blaspheming Jew,

gall of goat, and slips of yew.

Silvered in the moon's eclipse,
nose of Turk and Tartar's lips.

Here's the blood of a bat.

-Put in that.
-Put in that.

Round about the cauldron go.

In the poisoned entrails throw.

For a charm of powerful trouble,

like a hell-broth boil and bubble.

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.

Whate'er thou art,
for thy good caution, thanks.

Thou hast harped my fear aright.
But one thing 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?

Yet I will make assurance double sure,
and take a bond of fate.

Thou shalt not live.

That I might tell
pale-hearted fear it lies,

and sleep in spite of thunder.

But what is this that rises
like the issue of a king,

and wears upon his baby-brow
the round and top of sovereignty?

Listen, but speak not to it.

Macbeth shall never vanquished 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?

Yet my heart throbs
to know one thing more.

Tell me, if your art can tell so much.

Shall Banquo's issue ever reign
in this kingdom?

Seek to know no more.

Seek to know no more.

Saw you the weird sisters?

-No, my lord.
-Came they not by you?

No, indeed, my lord.

Infected be the air whereon they ride.

And damned all those that trust them!

I did hear the galloping of horse.
Who was't came by?

'Tis two or three, my lord,
that bring you word.

Macduff is fled to England.

-Fled to England?
-Aye, my good lord.

Time, thou anticipat'st my dread exploits.

From this moment,

the firstlings of my heart
shall be the firstlings of my hand.

And even now, to crown my thoughts
with acts, 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 the purpose cool!

But no more sights!

Only, I say,
things have been strangely borne.

The gracious Duncan was pitied of Macbeth.

After he was dead.

And the right-valiant Banquo
walked too late.

Whom, you may say, if it please you,
Fleance killed, for Fleance fled.

Men must not walk too late.
I hear Macduff lives in disgrace.

Sir, can you tell
where he bestows himself?

Malcolm, the son of Duncan,
from whom this…

tyrant holds the due of birth,

lives in the English court.

Thither Macduff is gone
to pray upon his aid.

And this report hath so exasperate Macbeth
that he prepares for some attempt at war.

Some holy angel fly
to the court of England

and unfold this message ere he come,

that a swift blessing may soon return
to this our suffering country…

under a hand accursed.

What had he done,
to make him fly the land?

-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, her young ones
in her nest, against the owl.

My dearest coz,
I pray you, school yourself.

But for your husband,
he is noble, wise, judicious,

and best knows the fits of the season.

I dare not speak much further.

But cruel are the times,

when we're traitors
and do not know ourselves,

when we hold rumor from what we fear,
yet know not what we fear,

but float upon a wild and violent sea
each way and none.

My pretty cousin.

Fathered he is, and yet he's fatherless.

Sirrah, your father's dead.

And what will you do now?
How will you live?

My father is not dead,
for all your saying.

Yes, he is dead.

How wilt thou do for a father?

Nay, how will you do for a husband?

Why, I can buy me 20 at any market.

Then you'll buy 'em to sell again.

Thou speak'st with all thy wit,
and yet 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.

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.

-My lady.
-How thou talk'st.

Bless you, fair dame!

I am not to you known, though
in your state of honor I am perfect.

I doubt some danger
does approach you nearly.

If you will take a homely maid's advice,

be not found here.

Hence, with your little ones.

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 sometime
accounted dangerous folly.

Why then, alas, do I put up
that womanly defense,

to say I have done no harm?

Where is your husband?

I hope, in no place so unsanctified
where such as thou mayst find him.

-He's a traitor.
-Thou liest!

-No!
-What, you egg!

No, no, no! No!

No! No! No!

Let us seek out some desolate place,

and there weep our sad bosoms empty.

Let us rather hold fast the mortal sword,

and like good men bestride
our downfall birthdom.

Each new morn new widows howl,

new orphans cry,
new sorrows strike heaven on the face,

that it resounds
as if it felt with Scotland,

and yelled out like syllable of dolor.

What you've spoke, it may be so perchance.

This tyrant, whose sole name
blisters our tongues,

was once thought honest.

See, who comes here?

My ever-gentle cousin.

Welcome hither.

I know him now.

Good God, betimes remove the means
that makes us strangers.

Sir, amen.

Stands Scotland where it did?

Alas, poor country.

Almost afraid to know itself.

It cannot be called our mother,
but our grave,

where nothing, but who knows nothing,
is once seen to smile.

Where sighs and groans and shrieks
that rend the air are made, not marked.

Where violent sorrow seems
a modern ecstasy.

What's the newest grief?

That of an hour's age
doth hiss the speaker.

Each minute teems a new one.

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 'em.

Be not a niggard of your speech.
How goes it?

When I came hither
to transport the tidings,

which I have heavily borne,

there ran a rumor of many
worthy fellows that were out.

Now is the time of help.

Your eye in Scotland would create
soldiers, make our women 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.

A stronger and a better soldier
none that Christendom gives out.

Would I could answer
this comfort with the like.

But I have words that would be
howled out in the desert air,

where hearing should not latch them.

What concern they?

The general cause?

Or is it a fee-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.

To relate the manner…

were, on the quarry of this murdered deer,
to add the death of you.

Merciful heaven.

What, man?

Give sorrow words.

The grief that does not speak whispers
the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break.

My children too?

Wife, children, servants,
all that could be found.

-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 hellkite. All?

What, all my pretty chickens
and their dam in 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.

Did heaven look on,
and would not take their part?

Sinful Macduff.

They were all struck for thee.

Naught that I am,
not for their own demerits, but for mine,

fell slaughter on their souls.

-Heaven rest them now.
-Be this the whetstone of your sword.

Let grief convert to anger.
Blunt not the heart, enrage it.

I could play the woman with mine eyes
and braggart with my tongue.

But, gentle heavens,
cut short all intermission.

Front to front bring thou
this fiend of Scotland and myself.

Within my sword's length set him.

If he scape…

heaven forgive him too.

When was it she last walked?

Since His Majesty went into the field,

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.

In this slumbery agitation,

besides her walking
and other actual performances,

what, at any time, have you heard her say?

That, sir, which I will not
report after her.

Neither to you nor anyone,

having no witness to confirm my speech.

Lo you, here she comes.

This is her very guise.
And, upon my life, fast asleep.

-Observe her. Stand close.
-You see, her eyes are open.

Aye, but their senses are shut.

How came she by that light?

She has light by her continually.
'Tis her command.

What is it she does now?

Look, how she rubs her hands.

I have known her continue in this
a quarter of an hour.

Yet here's a spot.

Hark. She speaks.

Out, damned spot. Out, I say.

One… two.

Why, then, 'tis time to do it.

Hell is murky.

Fie, my lord, fie! A soldier, and afeard?

What need we fear who knows it,
when none can call our power to account?

Yet who would have thought the old man
to have had so much blood in him?

The Thane of Fife had a wife.
Where is she now?

What?

No more o' that, my lord, no more of that.

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 sigh is there.

The heart is sorely charged.

This disease is beyond my practice.

Yet I have known those
which have walked in their sleep

who have died holily in their beds.

God, God forgive us all.

Wash your hands, put on your nightgown.

Look not so pale.

I tell you yet again, Banquo's buried.
He cannot come out on's grave.

Foul whisperings are abroad.

Unnatural deeds do breed
unnatural troubles.

Infected minds to their deaf pillows
do discharge their secrets.

More needs she the divine
than the physician.

-Will she go now to bed?
-Directly.

There's knocking at the gate. Come! Come!

Come, come. Give me your hand.

What's done cannot be undone.

To bed.

To bed.

To bed.

To bed.

What wood is this before us?

The wood of Birnam.

The English power is near,
led on by Malcolm,

his cousin Siward and the good Macduff.

Revenges burn in them.

What does the tyrant?

Great Dunsinane he strongly fortifies.

Some say he's mad.

Others that lesser hate him
do call it valiant fury.

But, for certain, he cannot buckle his
distempered cause within the belt of rule.

Now does he feel his secret murders
sticking on his hands.

Those he commands move only
in command, nothing in love.

Now does he feel
his title hang loose about him,

like a giant's robe upon a dwarfish thief.

The devil damn thee black,
thou cream-faced loon!

Where got'st thou that goose look?

-There is ten thousand--
-Geese, villain?

Soldiers, sir.

Go prick thy face, and over-red thy fear,
thou lily-livered boy.

What soldiers, patch?

Death of thy soul.

Those linen cheeks of thine
are counselors to fear.

What soldiers, whey-face?

The English force, so please you.

Take thy face hence.

Seyton!

I am sick at heart, when I behold--
Seyton, I say!

This push will cheer me ever,
or disseat me now.

I have lived long enough.

My way of life is fallen into the sere,
the yellow leaf.

And that which should accompany old age,

as honor, love, obedience,
troops of friends,

I must not look to have.

Seyton, what news more?

All is confirmed, my lord,
which was reported.

I'll fight till from my bones
my flesh be hacked.

-Give me mine armor.
-'Tis not needed yet.

I'll put it on. Send out more horses.

Skirr the country round.
Hang those that talk of fear.

Give me mine armor!

How does your patient, doctor?

Not so sick, my lord,

as 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 stuffed bosom

of that perilous stuff
which weighs upon the heart?

Therein the patient
must minister to himself.

Throw physic to the dogs! I'll none of it!

Seyton! Send out!

I will not be afraid of death and bane,

till Birnam Forest come to Dunsinane!

Let every soldier hew him down
a bough and bear it before him.

It shall be done.

We learn no other but the confident tyrant
keeps still in Dunsinane,

and will endure
our setting down before it.

'Tis his main hope.

And none serve with him
but constrained things

whose hearts are absent too.

Hang out our banners on the outward walls!

The cry is still, "They come!"

Our castle's strength will laugh
a siege to scorn.

Here let them lie till famine
and the ague eat them up!

Lead our first battle.

Worthy Macduff and we shall take upon's
what else remains to do.

Do we but find the tyrant's power tonight,

let us be beaten, if we cannot fight.

Towards which advance the war!

This way! This way!

Were they not forced
with those that should be ours,

we might have met them dareful,
beard to beard,

and beat them backward home.

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!

What is that noise?

It is the cry of women, my good lord.

I have almost forgot the taste of fears.

The time has been,

my senses would have cooled
to hear a night-shriek.

And my fell of hair would
at a dismal treatise rouse

and stir as if life were in't.

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, 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 is 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.

Gracious my lord, I should report
that which I say I saw,

but know not how to do it.

Well, say, sir.

I looked toward Birnam,
and anon, methought,

the wood began to move.

Let me endure your wrath, if't be not so.

Within this three mile may you see
it coming, I say, a moving grove.

If thou speak'st false,

upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive,
till famine cling thee.

"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!

Ring the alarum bell!

Blow, wind! Come, wrack!

At least we'll die
with harness on our back.

What is 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, abhorred tyrant.

With my sword
I'll prove the lie thou speak'st!

Thou wast born of woman.

Turn, hellhound, turn!

Of all men else I have 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.

Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests.

I bear a charmed life,

which must not yield,
to one of woman born.

Despair thy charm.

And let the angel whom thou
still hast served tell thee,

Macduff was from his mother's womb
untimely ripped.

Accursed be thy tongue that tells me so.

-I will not fight with thee.
-Then yield thee, coward!

I will not yield, to kiss the ground
before young Malcolm's feet,

and to be baited with the rabble's curse.

Though Birnam Wood be come
to Dunsinane and thou opposed,

being not of woman born,
yet I will try the last.

Lay on, Macduff.

And damned be him that first cries,
"Hold, enough!"

All hail, King of Scotland.

Hail, King of Scotland!

Hail, King of Scotland!
Hail, King of Scotland!

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