All language subtitles for Stratford Festival Macbeth

(Orchestral music)

Downloaded from
YTS.MX

(Dramatic music)

Official YIFY movies site:
YTS.MX

(Dramatic orchestral music)

(Thunder, clapping)

(Yelling)

- When shall we
three meet again?

In thunder,
lightning or in rain?

- When the hurlyburly's done

when the battle's lost and won.

- That will be ere
the set of sun.

- Where the place.

- Upon the heath.

- There to meet with Macbeth.

(Horn calls)

- I come Graymaklin!

- Paddock calls.

- Anon.

- Fair is foul
and foul is fair.

Hover through the
fog and filthy air.

(Yelling)
(Thunder cracks)

- Your Grace!

What bloody man is that?

He can report as seemeth by
his plight, of the revolt

the newest state.

- This is the sergeant, who
like a good and hardy soldier

fought 'gainst my captivity.

Hail, brave friend!

Say to the king the
knowledge of the broil

as thou didst leave it.

- Doubtful it stood
as two spent swimmers,

that do cling together
and choke their art.

The merciless Macdonald,

worthy to be a
rebel, for to that

the multiplying
villanies of nature

do swarm upon him
from the western isles

of kerns and gallow
glasses is supplied.

And 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),

disdaining fortune,
with his brandished

steel, which smoked
with bloody execution,

like valor's minion,
craved out his passage.

Til he faced the slave,
which nere shock hands,

nor bade farewell to
him til he unseamed him

from the nave to the chops

and fixed his head
upon our battlements.

- Oh valiant cousin,
worthy gentlemen!

- Mark king of Scotland, mark.

No sooner justice
had with valor armed

compelled these skipping
kerns to trust their heels,

but the Norwegian king
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.

Except they meant to
bathe in reeking wounds

or memorize another
Golgotha, I cannot tell.

(Laughing)

But I am faint, my
gashes cry for help.

- So well thy words
become thee as thy wounds,

they smack of honor both.

Go get him surgeons.

- My lord!

- Who comes here?

- The worthy Thane of Ross.

- What a hast looks
through his eyes.

So should he look that seems
to speak things strange.

- God save the king.

- Whence camest
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 Bellona's bridegroom,

the brave Macbeth confronted
him with self-comparisons,

point against point
rebellious, arm 'gainst arm.

Curbing his lavish
spirit and, to conclude,

the victory fell on us.

- Great happiness!

- That now Sweno, the Norways'
king, craves composition.

Nor would we deign
him burial of his men,

till he disbursed at
Saint Colme's inch,

ten thousand dollars
to our general use.

(Laughing)

- No more that Thane
of Cawdor shall deceive

our bosom interest.

Go pronounce his present death,

and with his former
title, greet Macbeth.

- I'll see it done.

- What he hath lost,
noble Macbeth hath won.

(Thunder cracking)
(Eerie music)

- Where
hast thou been, sister?

- Killing swine.

- Sister, where thou?

- A sailor's
wife had chestnuts in her lap,

and munched, and
munched, and munched.

'Give me,' quoth I.

'Aroint thee, witch!' the
rump-fed ronyon cries.

Her husband's to Aleppo
gone, master of the Tiger.

But 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 give thee a wind.

- Thou'rt kind.

- And I another.

- I myself have all the other,

and the very ports they blow.

All the quarters that they know,

in the shipman's chart.

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 se'nnights,
nine times nine.

Shall he dwindle, peak and pine.

Though his bark cannot be lost,

yet it shall be tempest-tost.

(gagging)

Look what I have.

Show me, show me.

- Here I have a pilot's thumb,

wrecked as homeward he did come.

- A drum, a drum!

Macbeth doth come.

- 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't called 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't?

Live you?

Or are you aught that
man may question?

You seem to understand me.

By each at once her
chappy finger laying

upon her skinny lip.
You should be women,

and yet your beards forbid me
to interpret that you are so.

- 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,

thou 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 ye
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 grain will
grow and which will not.

Speak then to me, who
neither beg nor fear

your favours nor your hate.

- Hail.

- Hail.

- Hail.

- 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.

By Sinel's death 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,

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 earth 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 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's here?

- 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 silenced with that,

in viewing o'er the rest
of the selfsame day,

he finds thee in the
stout Norweyan ranks,

nothing afeard of
what thyself did make,

strange images of death.

As thick as hail

came post with post,
and every one did bear

thy praises in his
kingdom's great defense,

and poured them down before him.

- 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
wreck, I know not.

But treasons capital,
confessed and proved,

have overthrown him.

- 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?

- 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.

Cousins, 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 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.

- Look, how our partner's rapt.

- If chance will have me king,
why, chance may crown me,

without my stir.

- New honors come upon him.

Like our fresh garments,
cleave not to their mold.

But with the aid of use.

- Come what come may,

time and the hour runs
through the roughest day.

- Worthy Macbeth, we
stay upon your leisure.

- Give me your favor my
dull brain was wrought

with things forgotten.

Kind gentlemen, your pains

are registered where every day
I turn the leaf to read them.

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.

Come, friends.

- Is execution done on Cawdor?

Are not those in
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,

implored your highness'
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.

Worthiest cousin!

The sin of my
ingratitude even now

was heavy on me. Thou
art so far before

that swiftest wing
of recompense is slow

to overtake thee.

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
more than all can pay.

(cheering Macbeth)

- 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 every thing

safe toward your love and honor.

- 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

the Prince of Cumberland,

- Hail, hail
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.

- The rest is labor,
which is not used for 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!

- 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, yet let that be,

which the eye fears,
when it is done, to see.

- True, worthy Banquo,
he is full so valiant,

and in his
commendations I am fed,

it is a banquet to me.

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

It 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.

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,

which fate and
metaphysical aid doth seem

to have thee crowned withal.

- Madam.

- What is your tidings?

- The king comes here tonight.

- Thou'rt mad to say it.

Is not thy master with him?

Who, were't so, would have
informed for preparation.

- So please you, it is
true our thane is coming.

One of my fellows
had the speed of him,

who, almost dead for
breath, had scarcely more

than would make up his message.

- 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 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,
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.

- Oh, 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.

- We will speak further.

- Only look up clear, to
alter favor ever is to fear.

Leave all the rest to me.

(horses whining)

- This castle hath a
pleasant seat, the air

nimbly and sweetly
recommends itself

unto our gentle senses.

- This guest of summer,

the 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!

- Milady!

- The love that follows us
sometime is our trouble,

which still we thank as love.

Herein I teach you

how you shall bid God
'ild us for your pains,

and thank us for your troubles.

(laughing)

- 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's 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 holp him

to his home before us.

Fair and noble hostess,
we are your guest tonight.

- Your servants ever

have theirs, themselves and
what is theirs, in compt,

to make their audit at
your highness' pleasure,

still to return your own.

- Give me your hand,

conduct me to mine host
we love him highly,

and shall continue our
graces towards him.

By your leave, hostess.

(celebrating)

- 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 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,

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 new-born babe,

striding the blast, or
heaven's cherubim, horsed

upon the sightless
couriers of the air,

shall 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 has almost supped. Why
have you left the chamber?

- 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.

- So what beast was't, then,

that 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.

Nor time nor place

did then adhere, and
yet you would make both.

They have made themselves,
and that their fitness now

does unmake you.

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 compose

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 it?

- 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.

(laughing)

- How goes the night boy?

- The moon is down, I
have not heard the clock.

- And she goes down at twelve.

- I take't, 'tis later, sir.

- Hold, take my sword.

There's husbandry in heaven,
their candles are all out.

Take thee that too.

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 a-bed

he hath been in
unusual pleasure, and

sent forth great
largess to your offices.

This diamond he greets
your wife withal,

by the name of most kind
hostess, and shut up

in measureless content.

- 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 kind'st leisure.

- If you shall cleave to
my consent, when 'tis,

it shall make honor for you.

- So I lose none in seeking
to augment it, but still keep

my bosom franchised
and allegiance clear,

I shall be counseled.

- Good repose the while.

- Thanks, sir the likes to you!

- Go bid thy mistress,
when my drink is ready,

she strike upon the bell.

Get thee to bed.

Is this a dagger
which I see before me,

the handle toward my hand?

Come, let me clutch thee.

I have thee not, and
yet I see thee still.

Art thou not, fatal
vision, sensible

to feeling as to sight?

Or 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.

Mine eyes are made the
fools of 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 which informs

thus to mine eyes.

Now o'er the one halfworld

nature seems dead.

And
wicked dreams abuse

the curtained sleep.
Witchcraft celebrates

pale Hecate's offerings,
and withered murder,

alarumed by his
sentinel, the wolf,

whose howl's his watch,
thus with his stealthy pace.

With Tarquin's ravishing
strides, towards his design

moves 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 whereabout,

and take the present
horror from the time,

which now suits with it.

Whiles I threat, he lives.

Words to the heat of deeds
too cold breath gives.

(bell rings)

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.

(screeching)

Hark.

Peace.

It was the owl that
shrieked, the fatal bellman,

which gives the
stern'st good-night.

He is about it, the doors are
open, and the surfeited grooms

do mock their charge with
snores.

I have drugged their possets,

that death and
nature do contend about them,

whether they live or die.

- Who's there?

- 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.

Had he not resembled my father
as he slept, I had done't.

My husband.

- I have done the deed.

Didst thou not hear a noise?

- I heard the owl scream
and the crickets cry.

Did not you speak?

- When?

- Now.

- As I descended?

- Ay.

- Hark.

Who lies i' the second chamber?

- Donalbain.

- This is a sorry sight.

- A foolish thought,
to say a sorry sight.

- There's one did laugh in's
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.

- There are two 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 does murder
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 am 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.

If he do bleed, I'll gild the
faces of the grooms withal,

for it must seem their guilt.

(knocking)

- Whence is that knocking?

How is't with me, when
every noise appals me?

What hands are here?

Ha,

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 in incarnadine,

making the green one red.

- My hands are of your
color, but I shame

to wear a heart so white.

(knocking)

I hear a knocking
at the south entry.

Retire we to our chamber.

A little water clears
us of this deed.

How easy is it, then?

Your constancy hath
left you unattended.

(knocking)

Hark, more knocking.

Get on your nightgown,
lest occasion call us,

and show us to be watchers.

Be not lost so poorly
in your thoughts.

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

(knocking)

Wake Duncan with thy knocking!

I would thou couldst!

(knocking)

- Here's a knocking indeed!

If a man were porter of
hell-gate,

he should get old

turning the key.

Knock, 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, pleaser.

Have napkins enough about you,

here you'll sweat for it.

Knock, knock!

Who's there, in the
other devil's name?

Faith, here's an

equivocator, that could could

swear on both the scales
against either scale,

who committed treason
enough for God's sake,

yet could not
equivocate to heaven.

Oh, come in, equivocator.

(knocking)

Knock, knock, knock!

Who's there?

Faith,

here's an English

(spits)

tailor.

(laugher)

Come hither,

for stealing out
of a French hose.

Come in, tailor.

Here, you may roast your goose.

Knock, knock,

Never at quiet.

What are you?

But this place is
too cold for hell.

I'll devil-porter it no further.

I had thought to have let in

some of all professions
that go the primrose

way to the everlasting bonfire.

(knocking)

Anon, anon!

I pray you, remember the porter.

(audience applauds)

- 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.

(audience laughs)

- What three things does
drink especially provoke?

- Marry, sir, 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,

and 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.

- That it did, sir,
in the very throat on

me but I requited
him for his lie.

And, I think, being too
strong for him, though he took

up my legs sometime, yet I
made a shift to cast him.

- Is thy master stirring?

Our knocking has awaked
him, here he comes.

- Good morrow noble sir.

- 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.

- 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,
for 'tis my limited service.

- 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.

The obscure bird bird clamored
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,
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!

- What is 't you say the life?

- 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!

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!

Malcolm!

Banquo!

As from your graves rise
up, and walk like sprites,

to countenance this horror!

- What's the business,

that such a hideous
trumpet calls to parley

the sleepers of the house?

Speak, speak!

- Oh gentle lady, 'Tis not for
you to hear what I can speak.

The repetition, in a woman's
ear, would murder as it fell.

Oh Banquo, Banquo, our
royal master is murdered!

- Alas, what, in our house?

- Too cruel any where.

Dear Duff, I prithee,
contradict thyself,

and say it is not so.

- 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 renown

and grace is dead.

The wine of life is
drawn, and the mere lees

is left this vault to brag of.

- What is amiss?

- You are, and do not know't

the spring, the head, the
fountain of your blood

is stopped, the very
source of it is stopped.

- Your royal father's murdered.

- Oh,

by whom?

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

Their hands and faces
were an badged with blood,

so were their daggers,
which unwiped we found

upon their pillows.

They stared,
and were distracted.

No man's life was to
be trusted with them.

- 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

Outrun 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?

- Help me hence ho.

- Look to the lady.

- Why do we hold our tongues,

that most may claim
this argument for ours?

- What should be spoken
here, where our fate,

Hid in an auger-hole,
may rush, and seize us?

Let's away. Our tears
are not yet brewed.

- Nor our strong sorrow
upon the foot of motion.

- Look to the lady.

And when we have our
naked frailties hid,

that suffer in
exposure, let us meet.

And question this most
bloody piece of work,

to know it further.

Fears and scruples shake us.

In a great hand of God
I stand, and thence

against the undivulged
pretence I fight

of treasonous malice.

- And so do I.

- So all.

- Let's briefly put
on manly readiness,

and meet in the hall together.

- Well contented.

- What will you do?

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, 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 shift away.

There's warrant in that theft

which steals itself, when
there's no mercy left.

(crying)

(prayer ending)

- Threescore and ten
I can remember well.

Wherein the volume of
which time I have seen

hours dreadful and things
strange, but this sore night

hath trifled former knowings.

- Ay, father.

Thou seest, the heavens,
as troubled with man's act.

Threaten his bloody stage
by the clock, it is day,

yet dark night strangles
the traveling lamp.

Is it night's predominance,
or the day's shame,

that darkness does the
face of earth entomb,

when living light
should kiss it?

- It is 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.

- They did so, to the
amazement of mine eyes

that looked upon it.

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 were suborned.

Malcolm and Donalbain,
the king's two sons,

are stolen away and fled,
which puts upon them

suspicion of the deed.

- 'Gainst nature still!

Thriftless ambition,
that wilt ravin up

it's own life's means!

Then 'tis most like

the sovereignty will
fall upon Macbeth.

- He is already named, and
gone to Scone to be invested.

- 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, father.

- God's benison go with
you, and with those

that would make good of
bad, and friends of foes!

(Scottish music)

- Thou hast it now
king, Cawdor, Glamis, all,

as the weird women
promised, and, I fear,

thou playedst most foully
for't 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.

- Let your highness command
upon me, to the which my duties

are with a most indissoluble
tie forever knit.

- Ride you this afternoon?

- Ay, 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't 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,
filling their hearers

with strange invention
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?

- Ay, my good lord. Our
time does call upon us.

- I wish your horses
swift and sure of foot,

and so I do commend
you to their backs.

Farewell.

Let every man be
master of his time

till seven at night.
To make society

the sweeter welcome,
we will keep ourself

till supper-time alone.

While then, God be with you!

Sirrah, a word with you.

Attend those men our pleasure?

- They are, my lord,
without the palace gate.

- 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 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 valor

to act in safety.

There is none but he whose
being I do fear

and, under him,

my Genius is rebuked,
as, it is said,

Mark Antony's was by Caesar.

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
scepter 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 filed my mind.

For them the gracious
Duncan have I murdered,

put rancours in the
vessel of my peace

only for them, and
mine eternal jewel

given to the common
enemy of man.

To make them kings, the
seed of Banquo kings!

Rather than so, come
fate into the list.

And champion me
to the utterance!

Who's there?

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 our speeches?

Know that it was he 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 gospelled

to pray for this good
man and for his issue,

whose heavy hand hath
bowed you to the grave

and beggared yours for ever?

- We are men, my liege.

- Ay, in the catalogue
ye go for men.

As hounds and greyhounds,
mongrels, spaniels, curs,

shoughs, water-rugs and
demi-wolves, are clept

all by the
name of dogs.

The valued file

distinguishes the swift,
the slow, the subtle,

the housekeeper, the
hunter, every one

according to the gift
which bounteous nature

hath in him closed,
whereby he does receive

particular addition.

From the bill that writes
them all alike,

and so of men.

Now, if you have a
station in the file,

not it 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,

who wear our health
but sickly in his life,

which in his death were perfect.

- I am one, my liege,

whom the vile blows and
buffets of the world

have so incensed that
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 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 near'st of
life and though I could

with barefaced 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, 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.

- Through our lives.

- Your spirits
shine through you.

Within this hour at most

I will advise you where
to plant yourselves.

Acquaint you with the
perfect spy of the time,

the moment on't, for't
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, 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, my lord.

- Abide within, I'll
call upon you straight.

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.

- Nought's had, all's spent,

where our desire is
got without content.

'Tis safer to be
that which we destroy

than by destruction
dwell in doubtful joy.

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 scotched the
snake, not killed it.

She'll close and be herself,
whilst our poor malice

remains in danger
of her former tooth.

But let the frame
of things disjoint.

Both the worlds suffer.

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 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, 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.

Unsafe the while, that we

must lave our honors in
these flattering streams,

and make our faces
vizards to our hearts,

disguising what they are.

- You must leave this.

- Oh, full of scorpions
is my mind, dear wife!

Thou know'st that Banquo,
and his Fleance, lives.

- But in them nature's
copy's not eterne.

- There's comfort yet,
they are assailable,

then be thou jocund.

Ere the bat hath flown 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,

while 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, prithee, go with me.

- But who
did bid thee join with us?

- Macbeth.

- He
needs not our mistrust,

since he delivers our offices
and what we have to do.

Then stand with us.

The west yet glimmers
with some streaks of day.

Now spurs the lated
traveler apace

to gain the timely inn,
and near approaches

the subject of our watch.

Hark, I hear horses.

- Give us
light there, ho.

Then 'tis he the rest

that are within the
note of expectation

already are in the court.

His horses go about.

- Almost
a mile but he does usually,

so all men do, from
hence to the palace gate

make it their walk.

- A light,

a light.

- 'Tis he.

- Stand to't.

- It will
be rain tonight.

Let it come down.

(lightning)

(Screaming)

- Who
did strike out the light?

Wast not the way?

- 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.

(cheering)

- You know your own
degrees, sit down at first

and last the hearty welcome.

- Thanks to your majesty.

- 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.

- Milady.

- See, they encounter thee
with their hearts' thanks.

Both sides are even here
I'll sit in the midst.

Be large in 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?

- Ay 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 'scaped.

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

Whole as the marble,
founded as the rock,

as broad and general
as the casing air

but now I am cabined,
cribbed, confined, bound in

to saucy doubts and
fears, but Banquo's safe?

- Ay, my good lord safe
in a ditch he bides,

with twenty trenched
gashes on his head,

the least a death to nature.

- 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 sold,

that is not often vouched
and given with welcome.

- Sweet remembrancer!

Now, good digestion
wait on appetite,

and health on both!

- Health on both.

- May't 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.

- The table's full.

- Here is a place reserved, sir.

- Where?

- Here, my good lord.

What is't that
moves your highness?

- Which of you have done this?

- What, my lord?

- Thou canst not say
I did it.

Never shake 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 much you note him,

you shall 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 appall the devil.

- Oh proper stuff!

This is the very
painting of your fear.

This is the air-drawn
dagger which, you said,

led you to Duncan.

Oh, these flaws and starts,

impostors to true
fear, would well become

a woman's story at
a winter's fire,

authorized by her grandam.

Shame itself!

Why do you make such faces?

When all's 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.

If charnel-houses and
our graves must send

those that we bury
back, our monuments

shall be the maws of kites.

- What, quite unmanned in folly?

- If I stand here, I saw him.

- Fie, for shame!

- Blood hath been shed ere
now, in the olden time,

ere human statute
purged the gentle weal.

Ay, and since too, murders
have been performed

too terrible for the
ear the times 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 from our
stools this is more strange

than such a murder is.

- My worthy lord, your
noble 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,

and then 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,

whom we miss.

Would he were here!

To all, and him, we
thirst, and all to all.

- Our duties,
and the pledge.

- 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.

Take any shape but
that, and my firm nerves

shall never tremble
or be alive again.

And dare me to the
desert with thy sword,

if trembling I inhabit then,
protest me the baby of a girl.

Hence, horrible shadow!

Unreal mockery, hence!

Why, so being gone,

I am a man again,
pray you, stay 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,

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 is 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 and trees to speak.

Augurs and understood
relations have

by magot-pies and choughs
and rooks brought forth

the secret'st man of blood.

What is the night?

- Almost at odds with
morning, which is which.

- How say'st thou, that
Macduff denies his person

At our great bidding?

- Did you send to him, sir?

- I heard 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, and betimes
I will, to the weird sisters.

More shall they speak,
for now I am 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 are yet but young in deed.

- Things have
been strangely borne.

The right-valiant
Banquo walked too late,

whom, you may say, if't
please you, Fleance killed.

For Fleance fled men
must not walk too late.

And now I hear Macduff
lives in disgrace

because he failed his
presence at the tyrant's feast.

Sir, can you tell where
he bestows himself?

- The son of Duncan,
Lives in the English court.

Thither Macduff is gone to
pray the holy king Edward for

his aid to wake Northumberland
and warlike Siward.

That, by the help of these we
may again sleep to our nights,

free from bloody
knives, and this report

hath so exasperate
Macbeth that he

prepares for some
attempt of war.

Some holy angel fly to
the court of England

and unfold his message
ere Macduff come.

That a swift blessing
may soon return

to this our suffering country
under a hand accursed.

- I'll send my prayers with him.

- Thrice the
brinded cat hath mewed.

- Thrice and
once the hedge-pig whined.

- Harpier
cries 'Tis time, 'tis time.

- Round about the cauldron go,

in the poisoned
entrails throw. toad.

That under cold stone
days and nights has thirty-one

sweltered venom sleeping got.

Boil thou first in
the charmed pot.

- Double, double
toil and trouble,

fire burn, and cauldron bubble.

- Fillet of a fenny snake,

in the cauldron boil and bake.

Eye of newt and toe of frog,

wool of bat and tongue of dog.

Adder's fork and
blind-worm's sting,

lizard's leg and owlet's wing,

for a charm of powerful trouble,

like a hell-broth
boil and bubble.

- Double, double
toil and trouble,

Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

- Scale of dragon,
tooth of wolf,

witches' mummy, maw and gulf.

Finger of birth-strangled babe.

Ditch-delivered by a drab,
make the gruel thick and slab.

Add thereto a tiger's chaudron,

for the ingredients
of our cauldron.

- Double, double
toil and trouble,

fire burn and cauldron bubble.

- Cool it with a baboon's blood,

then the charm is firm and good.

(spitting)

- By the pricking of my thumb,

something wicked this way comes.

(knocking)

Open, locks, whoever knocks!

- 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.

Though you untie the
winds and let them fight

against the churches,
though the yesty waves

confound and swallow
navigation up.

Though bladed corn be
lodged and trees blown down,

though castles topple
on their warders' heads.

Though palaces and
pyramids do slope

their heads to their
foundations, though the treasure

of nature's Germans
tumble all together,

even till destruction
sicken, answer me

to what I ask you.

- Speak.

- Demand.

- We'll answer.

- Say, if thouedst rather
hear it from our mouths,

or from our masters?

- Call 'em, let me see 'em.

- Pour in sow's
blood, that hath eaten

her nine litter,
grease that's sweaten

from the murderer's gibbet
throw into the flame.

- Come, high or low,

thyself and office deftly show!

- Tell me, thou unknown power.

- He knows thy thought, hear his
speech, but say thou nought.

- Macbeth, Macbeth,
Macbeth, beware Macduff,

Beware the Thane of
Fife, dismiss me, enough.

- Whate'er 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?

But yet I'll make
assurance double sure,

and take a bond of fate
thou shalt not live,

that I may tell
pale-hearted fear it lies,

and sleep in spite of thunder.

(lightning)

- 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.

- Be lion-mettled,
proud, and take no care

who chafes, who frets,
or where conspirers are.

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 earth-bound root?

Sweet bodements, good!

Rebellious dead, rise
never till the wood

of Birnam rise, and
our high-placed Macbeth

shall 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 so much.

Shall 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.

why sinks that cauldron?

And what noise is this?

- Show.

- Show.

- Show.

- Show his eyes,
and grieve his heart.

Come like shadows, so depart!

- Thou art too like
the spirit of Banquo down!

Thy crown does sear
mine eye-balls.

This one is like the
former, filthy hags!

Why do you show me this?

Still more?

Start, eyes!

What? Will the line stretch
out to the crack of doom?

Another still, I'll see no more,

and yet the next appears
and 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 at them for his.

What, is this so?

Where are they?

Gone?

Let this pernicious hour stand
aye accursed in the calendar!

(horse whines)

Come it, without there!

- What's
your grace's will?

- 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?

- Ay, my lord.

- Time, thou anticipatest
my dread exploits.

The flighty purpose
never is o'ertook

unless the
deed go with it.

From this moment,

the very 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
this purpose cool.

But no more sights!

Where are these gentlemen?

Come, bring me where they are.

(eerie music)

(audience applauds)

(low dramatic music)

(baby crying)

(Lady Macduff shushing)

- 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.

All is the fear and
nothing is the love.

As little is the
wisdom where the flight

so runs against all reason.

- My dearest coz, I
pray you, calm 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 are 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 move.

I take my leave of you.

Shall not be long but
I'll be here again.

Things at their
worst will cease,

or else climb upward to
what they were before.

My dearest coz,
blessings upon you!

- Fathered he is, and
yet he's fatherless.

- I am so much a fool,
should I stay longer,

it would be my disgrace
and your discomfort.

I take my leave at once.

(Lady Macduff grumbles)

- Sirrah, your father's dead.

And what will you do now?

How will you live?

- As birds do, mother.

- What, with worms and flies?

- With what I get, I
mean, and so do they.

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?

- (chuckles) Why, I can buy
me twenty at any market.

(audience laughs)

- Then you'll buy
'em to sell again.

- Thou speaks with all thy
wit, and yet, of faith,

with wit enough for thee.

- Was my father a
traitor, mother?

- Ay, 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?

- Every one.

- 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.

- (laughs) Now, God help
thee, poor monkey! (chuckles)

But how wilt thou
do for a father?

- If he were dead,
you'd weep for him.

If you would not,

it were a good sign that I

should quickly
have a new father.

(Lady Macduff laughs)
(audience laughs)

- Poor prattler, how thou talks!

- Bless you, fair dame.

I am to you not known.

I fear some danger does
approach you nearly.

If you will take a holy man's
advice, be not found here.

Hence, with your little ones.

To fright you thus,
methinks, I am too savage.

To do worse to you
were fell cruelty,

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 sometime
accounted dangerous folly.

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

to say I have done no harm?

(women screaming)
What are these faces?

- Where
is your husband?

- I hope in no place
so unsanctified

where such as thou
may'st find him.

- He's a traitor.

- Thou liest!

- Young fry of treachery!

(Son yells)
(Lady Macduff screams)

- Murder, murder!

(dramatic music)

(birds chirping)

- Let us seek out some
desolate shade, and there,

weep our sad bosoms empty.

- Let us rather hold
fast the mortal sword.

Each morn new widows
howl, new orphans cry,

new sorrows strike
heaven on the face,

that it resounds as if
it felt with Scotland.

- 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, but something you
may deserve of him through me,

and to a wisdom to offer up
a weak poor innocent lamb

to appease an angry god.

- I am not treacherous.

- But Macbeth is.

A good and virtuous nature may
recoil in an imperial charge.

But I shall crave your pardon.

That which you are my
thoughts cannot transpose.

Angels are bright still,
though the brightest fell.

- I have lost my hopes.

- Perchance even there
where I did find my doubts.

Why in that rawness
left you wife and child,

those precious motives,
those strong knots of love,

without leave-taking?

I pray you, let not my
suspicions be your dishonors,

but mine own safeties.

- Bleed!

Bleed, poor country!

Great tyranny!

Lay thou thy basis sure, for
goodness dare not check thee.

Fare thee well, Lord, I
would not be the villain

that thou think'st
for the whole space

that's in the tyrant's grasp,
and the rich East to boot.

- 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
goodly thousands.

But,

for all this,

when I shall tread
upon the tyrant's head,

or wear it on my sword.

Yet my poor country
shall have more vices

than it had before,

more suffer and more
sundry ways than ever,

by him that shall succeed.

- What should he be?

- It is myself I mean,

in whom I know all the
particulars of vice

so grafted that,

when they shall be opened,

black Macbeth Will
seem as pure as snow,

and the poor state
esteem him as a lamb,

being compared with
my confineless harms.

- Not in the legions
of horrid hell

can come a devil more damned
in evils to top Macbeth.

- I grant him bloody, luxurious,

avaricious, false,
deceitful, sudden, malicious,

smacking of every
sin that has a name.

But there's no bottom,
none, in my voluptuousness,

your wives, your daughters,
your matrons and your maids,

could not fill up the,

cistern of my lust.

Better Macbeth than
such an one to reign.

- Boundless intemperance
in nature is a tyranny.

And it hath been the
fall of many kings.

But fear not yet to take
upon you what is yours.

You may convey your pleasures
in a spacious plenty,

and yet seem cold, the
time you may so hoodwink.

We have willing dames enough.

- With this,

there grows in my most
ill-composed affection

such a stanchless avarice
that, were I king,

I should cut off the
nobles for their lands,

desire his jewels and
this other's house.

And my more-having
would be as a sauce

to make me hunger more.

That I should forge
quarrels unjust

against the good and loyal,
destroying them for wealth.

- This avarice sticks deeper,

grows with more pernicious
root than summer-seeming lust,

and it hath been the
sword of our slain kings.

Yet do not fear.

Scotland hath plenty
to fill up your will.

Of your mere own.

All these are portable,
with other graces weighed.

- But I have none.

The king-becoming
graces, as justice,

verity, temperance, stableness,

bounty, perseverance,

mercy, lowliness, devotion,
patience, courage, fortitude,

I have no relish of them.

Nay, had I power,

I should pour the sweet
milk of concord into hell,

uproar the universal peace,
confound all unity on earth.

- O Scotland, Scotland!

- If such a one be
fit to govern, speak.

I am as I have spoken.

- Fit to govern!

No, not to live.

O nation miserable,

with an untitled tyrant
bloody-sceptered,

when shalt thou see thy
wholesome days again,

since that the truest
issue of thy throne

by his own interdiction
stands accused,

and does blaspheme his breed?

Thy father was a
most sainted king.

The queen that bore thee,

oftener upon her knees
than on her feet,

died every day she lived.

Fare thee well!

These evils thou
repeat'st upon thyself

have banished me from Scotland.

O my breast, thy hope ends here!

- Macduff, this noble passion,

child of integrity,

hath from my soul wiped
the black scruples,

reconciled my thoughts to
thy good truth and honor.

Devilish Macbeth by
many of these trains

hath sought to win
me into his power,

and modest wisdom plucks me
from over-credulous haste.

But, God above deal
between thee and me!

For even now I put
myself to thy direction,

and here abjure the taints
and blames I laid upon myself,

for strangers to my nature.

I am yet unknown to
woman, never was forsworn,

scarcely have coveted
what was mine own,

and delight no less
in truth than life.

My first false speaking
was this upon myself.

What I am truly, is thine,

and my poor country's
the command.

Whither indeed, before thy
here-approach, old Siward,

with ten thousand warlike
men, already at a point,

was setting forth.

Now we'll together.

Why are you silent?

- Such welcome and
unwelcome things at once.

'Tis hard to reconcile.

See, who comes here?

- My countryman, but
yet I know him not.

- Well, my ever-gentle
cousin, welcome hither.

(Macduff chuckles)

- I know him now.

Good God, may time 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 rent the air
are made, not marked.

Where violent sorrow
seems a modern ecstasy.

And good men's lives
expire before the flowers

in their caps.

- O, relation, too
nice, and yet too true!

- 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.

- Well be not a miser of
your speech, how goes it?

- When I came hither to
transport these tidings,

which I have heavily borne,

there ran a rumor of many a
worthy fellow out in the field,

which was to my belief
witnessed the rather,

for that I saw the
tyrant's power afoot.

Now is the time of help.

Your eye in Scotland
would create soldiers,

make our women fight.

- Be it their comfort
we are coming thither.

Gracious England hath
lent us good Siward

and ten thousand men.

An older and a better soldier
none in Christendom gives out.

- That 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 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 bares some woe,

though the main part
pertains to you alone.

- Well 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 of a heaviest sound

that ever yet they heard.

- Humh!

I guess at it.

- Your castle is surprised,

your wife and babes
savagely slaughtered.

To relate the manner,

were, on the quarry of
these 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.

- 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.

What all my pretty ones?

Did you say all?

O Hell-kite!

All?

What, all my pretty chickens

and their dam 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.

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 converts to anger,
blunt not the heart, enrage it.

- O, I could play the
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.

And if he 'scape,
heaven forgive him too!

- Come, go we to the king,

our power is ready.

Our lack is nothing
but our leave.

Macbeth is ripe for shaking.

Receive what cheer you may.

The night is long that
never finds the day.

(dramatic orchestral music)

- I have two nights
watched with you,

but can perceive no
truth in your report.

When was it the last
time she 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
then again return to bed.

Yet all this while
in a most fast sleep.

- A great perturbation
in nature,

to receive at once
the benefits of sleep,

and do the effects of watching!

In this slumbery agitation,
besides her walking,

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

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

- You may to me, and 'tis
most meet you should.

- Neither to you nor any one.

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.

- How came she by that light?

- Why, it stood by her.

She has light by her
continually, 'tis 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 to continue
in this a quarter of an hour.

- Yet,

here's a spot.

- Hark!

She speaks.

I will set down
what comes from her,

to satisfy my remembrance
the more strongly.

- 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?

- Do you mark that?

- The Thane of Fife had a wife.

Where is she now?

What, will these
hands ne'er be clean?

No more o' that, my
Lord, no more o' that.

You mar all with this starting.

- Go to, go to, you have
known what you should not.

- She has spoke what she
should not, I am sure of that.

Heaven knows what she has known.

- Here's the smell
of the blood still.

All the perfumes of Arabia

will not sweeten

this little hand.

Oh,

oh!

(Lady Macbeth screams and sobs)

- What a sigh is there!

The heart is sorely charged.

- I would not have such
a heart in my bosom

for the dignity
of the whole body.

- Well, well, well--

- Pray God it be, sir.

- This disease,

is beyond my practice.

Yet I have known those which
have walked in their sleep

that have died
holily in their beds.

- 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.

- Even so?

- To bed, to bed!

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!

- Will
she go now to bed?

- Directly.

- Unnatural deeds do
breed unnatural troubles.

More needs she the divine
than the physician.

God,

God forgive us all!

Look after her.

Remove from her the
means of all annoyance,

and still keep eyes upon her.

And so, good night.

My mind she has mated,
and amazed my sight.

I think, but dare not speak.

- Good night,

good doctor.

(crickets chirping)
(ominous orchestral music)

- Strike out the light.

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 file of all the gentry.

There is Siward's son,

and many unrough
youths that even now

protest their first of 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.

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.

- Who then shall blame
his pestered senses

to recoil and start,

when all that is within
him does condemn itself

for being there?

- Well,

march we on, to give obedience
where it is truly owed.

Meet we the medicine
of the sickly weal,

and with him pour we in our
country's purge each drop of us.

- Or so much as it needs,

to dew the sovereign
flower and drown the weeds.

Make we our march
towards Birnam.

(dramatic chiming)

- Bring me no more
reports, let them fly all.

Till Birnam wood
remove to Dunsinane,

I cannot taint with fear.

What's the boy Malcolm?

Was he not born of woman?

The spirits that know
all mortal consequence

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, and mingle
with the English epicures.

The mind I sway by and the
heart I bear shall never sag

with doubt nor shake with fear.

(servant grunts)

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

Where gott'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.

(servant cries)

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 sear, the yellow leaf.

And that which should
accompany old age, as honor,

love, obedience,

troops of friends,

I must not look to have.

But, in their stead, curses,
not loud but deep, mouth-honor,

breath, which the poor heart
would fain deny, and dare not.

Seyton, I say!

- What's your gracious pleasure?

- What news more?

- All is confirmed, my
Lord, which was reported.

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

Give me my armor.

- 'Tis not needed yet.

- I'll put it on.

Send out more horses,
scour 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

that weighs upon the heart?

- Therein the patient
must minister to himself.

(Macbeth laughs)

- Throw physic to the
dogs, I'll none of it.

Come, put mine armor
on, give me my sword.

Seyton, send out.

Doctor,

the Thanes fly from me.

Come, sir, dispatch.

If thou couldst, doctor,
cast the water of my land,

find her disease,

and purge it to a sound
and pristine health,

I would applaud thee
to the very echo,

that should applaud again.

Pull it off, I say.

What rhubarb, cyme, or
what purgative drug,

would scour these English hence?

Hear'st thou of them?

- Ay, my good Lord,

your royal preparation
makes us hear something.

- Bring it after me.

I will not be afraid
of death and bane,

till Birnam forest
come to Dunsinane.

- Were I from Dunsinane
away and clear,

profit again should
hardly draw me here.

(dramatic chiming)

- Cousins!

(Malcolm laughs)

I hope the days are near at
hand that chambers 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
the numbers of our host

and make discovery
err in report of us.

- 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.

For where there is
advantage to be given,

both high and low have
given him the revolt,

and none serve with him
but constrained things

whose hearts are absent too.

- Let our just censures
attend the true event,

and put we on
industrious soldiership.

- The time approaches that
will with due decision

make us know what we shall
say we have and what we owe.

Thoughts speculative
their unsure hopes relate,

but certain issue
strokes must arbitrate.

Towards which advance the war.

(dramatic chiming)

- Hang out our banners
on the outward walls.

The cry is still, they come.

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

There let them lie till famine
and the ague eat them up.

Were they not stuffed with
those that should be ours,

we might have met them
dareful, beard to beard,

and beat them backward home.

(women screaming)

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
life were in't.

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,

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.

(footsteps tapping)

Thou com'st to use thy
tongue, thy story quickly.

- Gracious my Lord, I should
report that which I say I saw,

but know not how to do it.

- Well, say, sir.

- As I did stand my
watch upon the hill,

I looked toward
Birnam, and anon,

methought, the
wood began to move.

- Liar and slave!

- Let me endure your
wrath, if it 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.

If thy speech be truth,

I care not if thou
dost for me as much.

I pull in resolution,

and begin to doubt the
equivocation of the fiend

that lies like truth.

Fear not, till Birnam
wood be come to Dunsinane.

And now a wood comes
toward Dunsinane!

Arm, arm, and out!

If this which he
avouches does appear,

there is nor flying
hence nor tarrying here.

I gin to be aweary of the sun,

and wish the estate o'
the world were now undone.

Ring the alarum-bell!

Blow, wind!

Come, wrack!

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

(dramatic orchestral music)

- Now near enough!

Your shady screens throw down.

And show like those you are.

You, worthy uncle,
shall, with my cousin,

your right-noble son,
lead our first battle.

Worthy Macduff and
we shall take upon us

what else remains to do,
according to our order.

- Fare you well.

Do we but find the
tyrant's power tonight,

let us be beaten,
if we cannot fight.

- Make all our trumpets speak.

Give them all breath,

those clamorous harbingers
of blood and death.

(swords clanking)
(men grunting)

- They have 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 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.

(grunting and yelling)
(swords clanking)

(Young Siward yells)

- Thou wast born of woman

but swords I smile at,
weapons laugh to scorn,

brandished by a man
that's of a woman born.

- That way the noise is.

Tyrant, show thy face!

If thou be'st slain and
with no stroke of mine,

my wife and children's
ghosts will haunt me still.

Either thou, Macbeth,

or else my sword with
an unbattered edge

I sheathe again undeeded.

(men yelling)

There thou shouldst be
by this great clatter.

Let me find him, fortune!

And more I beg not.

- This way, my Lord.

The castle's gently rendered.

The tyrant's people on
both sides do fight.

The noble Thanes do
bravely in the war.

The day almost itself
professes yours,

and little is to do.

- We have met with foes
that strike beside us.

- Enter, sir, the castle.

- Why should I play
the Roman fool,

and die on my own sword?

While'st I see lives, the
gashes do better upon them.

- Turn, hell-hound,

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.

(men grunting)
(swords clanking)

- Thou losest labor.

As easy may'st 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.

- With despair thy charm
and let the dark angel

whom thou still hast
served tell thee,

Macduff was from his mother's
womb untimely ripped.

- Accursed be that
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
show and gaze of time.

We'll have thee, as
our rarer monsters are,

painted on a pole,
and underwrit,

here may you see the tyrant.

- 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 of no woman born,
yet I will try the last.

Before my body I throw
my warlike shield.

Lay on, Macduff,

and damned be he

that first cries, hold, enough!

(men grunting)
(swords clanking)

- I would 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.

- Macduff is missing,
and your noble son.

- Your son, my Lord, has
paid a soldier's debt.

He only lived but
till he was a man.

The which no sooner had
his prowess confirmed

on the unshrinking
station where he fought,

but like a man he died.

- Then he is dead?

- Ay, and brought off the field.

Your cause of sorrow must
not be measured by his worth,

for then it hath no end.

- Had he his hurts before?

- Ay, on the front.

- Why then, God's soldier be he!

Had I as many sons

as I have hairs,

I would not wish them
to a fairer death.

And so, his knell is knolled.

- He's worth more sorrow,
and that I'll spend for him.

- He's worth no more.

They say he parted well,
and paid his score.

And so, God be with him!

Here comes newer comfort.

- Hail,

King!

For so thou art.

Behold,

where stands the
usurper's cursed head.

The time is free.

I see thee compassed
with thy kingdom's pearl,

that speak my salutations
in their minds,

whose voices I desire
aloud with mine.

- Hail,
King of Scotland!

(men cheering and yelling)

- We shall not spend a
large expense of time

before we reckon with
your several loves,

and make us even with you.

What's more to do,

which would be planted
newly with the time,

as calling home 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.

This, and what needful
else that calls upon us,

by the grace of grace,

we will perform in
measure, time and place.

So, thanks to all at
once and to each one,

whom we invite to see
us crowned at Scone.

- Hail,
King of Scotland!

Hail, King of Scotland!

Hail, King of Scotland!

(audience applauds and cheers)

(dramatic orchestral music)