Original subtitles

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.

That will be ere the set of sun.

– 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.

What bloody man is that?

He can report as seemeth of his plight of the revolt.

Hail, brave friend.

I bring knowledge of the war,

as I did leave it.

Doubtful it stood.

The merciless Macdonald, worthy to be a rebel,

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 valour's minion, carved out his passage till he faced the rebel

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.

But I am faint.

My gashes cry for help.

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.

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!

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 ye 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, and 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 my father'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 self-same tune and words.

– Who's there? – The King hath happily received, Macbeth,

the news of thy success,

and when he reads thy personal venture in the rebels' flight,

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

As thick as hail came post with post,

and every one did bear thy praises in his kingdom's great defence

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 honour,

he bade me, from him, call thee Thane of Cawdor,

in which addition, hail most worthy thane, for it is thine.

What? Can the devil speak true?

The Thane of Cawdor lives.

Why do you dress me in borrowed robes?

Who was the Thane lives yet,

but under heavy judgment bears that life, which he deserves to lose.

Whether he was combined with those of Norway,

or did line the rebel with hidden help and vantage,

or that with both he laboured in his country's wrack, 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 harms,

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 honours come upon him, like our strange garments,

cleave not to their mould, 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 favour. 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.

O 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.

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

Your Highness' part is to receive our duties,

and our duties are to your throne and state,

children and servants, which do but what they should,

by doing everything safe toward your love and honour.

Welcome hither.

I have begun to plant thee,

and will labour to make thee full of growing.

Noble Banquo, that hast no less deserved, 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.

Is execution done on Cawdor or not those in commission yet returned?

My liege, they are not yet come back.

But I have spoke with one that saw him die...

– Mm-hm. – ..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.

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,

which honour must, not unaccompanied, invest him only.

Signs of nobleness,

like stars,

shall shine on all deservers.

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

The rest is labour, 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.

'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.'

Oh.

'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.

Thou'dst have, great Glamis,

that which cries, 'Thus thou must do',

if thou have it, and that which rather thou dost fear to do,

than wishest should be undone.

Oh, hie thee hither...

..that I may pour my spirits in thine ear,

and chastise with the valour of my tongue...

..all that impedes thee from the golden round...

..which fate...

..and metaphysical aid

doth seem to have thee crowned withal.

What is your tidings?

The King comes here tonight.

Thou art mad to say it.

Is not thy master with him? Who, were it so,

would have informed for preparation.

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

one of the 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.

And 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.

O, 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... we will speak further.

Only look up clear.

To alter favour 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, 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 honoured hostess.

Ah!

The love that follows us, sometime is our trouble,

which still we thank as love.

Herein I teach you

how you shall bid God yield us for your pains,

and thank us for your trouble.

All our service in every point twice done,

and then done double,

were poor and single business,

to contend against those honours deep and broad

wherewith Your Majesty loads our house.

Where's the Thane of Cawdor?

We 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.

Give me your hand. Conduct me to mine host.

We love him highly, and shall continue our graces toward him.

By your leave, hostess.

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,

he 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... 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. 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 honoured me of late,

and I have bought golden opinions from all sorts of people,

which would be worn now in their newest gloss,

not cast aside so soon.

Was the hope drunk 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 valour

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 it 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? – Hmm.

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 clamour 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 false heart doth know.

How goes the night, boy?

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

And she goes down at twelve.

I take it, 'tis later, sir.

Hold.

Take my knife.

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.

– Who's there? – A friend.

What, sir,

not yet at rest?

– The King's abed. – Yes.

He hath been in most 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. – Hmm.

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.

If you shall cleave to my consent, when it is, it shall make honour for you.

So I lose none in seeking to augment it,

but still keep my bosom franchised and allegiance clear,

I shall be counselled.

Good repose the while.

Thanks... sir.

The like 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 marshallest 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...

..over the one half-world

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.

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 quench'd them, hath given me fire.

– – Hark!

– – Peace.

It was the owl that shrieked,

the fatal bellman, which gives the sternest 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? What, ho?

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 it.

My husband?

I...

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 in the second chamber?

Donalbain.

– 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.

– 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 ravelled sleeve of care,

the death of each day's life,

sore labour'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,

'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 hands.

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... I'll go no more.

I am afraid to think what I have done.

Look on it again, I dare not.

Infirm of purpose! Give me the daggers.

– –

The sleeping and the dead are but as pictures.

'Tis the eye of childhood that fears a painted devil.

If he do bleed,

I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal,

for it must seem their guilt.

– – Whence is this knocking?

How is it 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...

..incarnadine,

making the green one red.

My hands are of your colour,

but I shame to wear a heart so white.

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.

– – 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.

Wake Duncan with thy knocking.

I would thou couldst.

Oh, 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 clamoured the livelong night.

Some say the Earth was feverous and did shake.

– 'Twas a rough night. –

My young remembrance cannot parallel a fellow to it.

O, horror!

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 stolen thence the life of the building!

– What is it 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!

O, gentle lady, 'tis not for you to hear what I can speak.

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

O, Banquo, Banquo, our royal master's murdered!

Woe, alas!

What, in our house?

Too cruel anywhere.

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 is nothing serious in mortality.

All is but toys.

Renown and grace is dead.

The wine of life is drawn,

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

– 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 royal father's murdered.

O, by whom?

Those of his chamber, as it seemed, had done't.

Their hands and faces were all 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.

O, yet I do repent me of my fury...

..that I did kill them.

Wherefore did you so?

Oh...

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.

And there, the murderers, steeped in the colours 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 the 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, 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, but shift away.

There's warrant in that theft

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

How goes the world, sir, now?

By the clock 'tis day, and yet dark night strangles the travelling 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?

Why, see you not?

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 will ravin up thine own life's means.

Then 'tis most like the sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth.

And he'll to Scone to be invested now.

– 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.

God's benison go with you, and with those that would make good of bad

and friends of foes.

Thou hast it now,

King, Cawdor, Glamis, all...

..as the Weird Women promised.

And I fear...

..thou played'st 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.

Let Your Highness command upon me,

to the which my duties are with a most indissoluble tie for ever knit.

– Oh. 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 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,

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.

Let every man be master of his time till seven at night.

To make society the sweeter welcome, we will keep ourself till suppertime alone.

While then, God be with you!

Sirrah...

..a word with you.

Attend those men our pleasure?

They are, my lord.

Bring them before us.

To be thus is nothing...

..but to be safely thus.

Our fears in Banquo stick deep,

and in his royalty of nature

reigns that which would be feared.

'Tis much he dares, and to that dauntless temper of his mind,

he hath a wisdom that doth guide his valour to act in safety.

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 sceptre in my grip,

thence to be wrenched with an unlineal hand,

no son of mine succeeding.

If it be so, for Banquo's issue

have I defiled my mind.

For them, the gracious Duncan have I murdered,

put rancours in the vessel of my peace, only for them,

and mine eternal jewel...

..given to the common enemy of man,

to make them kings,

the seeds of Banquo kings.

Rather than so, come fate into the list,

and champion me

to the utterance.

Who's there?

Ah.

Now go to the door and stay there till we call.

So was it not yesterday we spoke together?

It was, so please Your Highness.

Well, then, now have you considered of my speeches?

Know that it was he,

in the times past,

which held you so under 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.

Yeah. 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 in 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,

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 lie on any chance,

to mend it, or be rid of on it.

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,

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.

– Though 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 it, for 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, 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.

I'll call upon you straight. Abide within.

It is concluded.

Banquo...

..thy soul's flight, if it find heaven...

..must find it out 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.

But let the frame of things disjoint,

both the worlds suffer, before 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.

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.

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 honours in these flattering streams,

and make our faces vizards to our hearts, disguising what they are.

You must leave this.

O, 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 his cloistered flight,

ere to black Hecate's summons

the shard-born 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?

Oh...

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.

Mmm. So prithee,

go with me.

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.

Thrice the brinded cat hath mewed.

Thrice, and once the hedge-pig whined.

Harpier cries...

..'tis time.

'Tis time.

'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.

Ho! Give us a light there, ho!

Oh!

It will be rain tonight.

Let it come down.

O, treachery!

Fly, good Fleance. Fly! Thou mayest revenge...

Thus do go, about, about, thrice to thine,

and thrice to mine,

and thrice again, to make up nine.

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.

The Weird Sisters...

..hand in hand,

posters of the sea and land,

as by the strength of their illusion,

will draw him on to his confusion.

He shall spurn fate, scorn death,

and bear his hopes above wisdom, grace and fear.

And we all know, security is mortals' chiefest enemy.

Peace...

..the charm's wound up.

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.

– Your Majesty. – Your Majesty.

See, they encounter thee with their hearts' thanks.

Both sides are even.

Here I'll sit in the midst. Be large in mirth.

What?

Anon we'll drink a measure the table round.

There's blood upon thy face.

'Tis Banquo's then.

'Tis better thee without than he within. Is he dispatched?

My lord, his throat is cut. That I did for him.

Thou art the best of the cut-throats...

..yet he is 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, 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 is safe?

Ay, my good lord. Safe in a ditch he bides,

with twenty trenched gashes to 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 you gone. Tomorrow we'll hear ourselves again.

My royal lord, you do not give the cheer.

Oi!

The feast is sold that is not often vouched,

while 'tis a-making, 'tis given with welcome.

To feed were best at home.

From thence, the sauce to meat is ceremony,

meeting were bare without it.

Sweet remembrancer. Now good digestion wait on appetite,

and health on both!

Your Majesty.

May it please, Your Highness, sit.

Here...

had we now our country's honour 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 it, Your Highness, to grace us with your royal company?

The... 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 good lord?

Thou canst not say I did it.

Never shake thy gory locks at me!

– Friends, rise. His Highness is not well. – Sit, worthy friends.

My lord is often thus, and has been from his youth.

I 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 appal the devil.

O, proper stuff! This is the very painting of your fear!

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

O, these flaws and starts,

impostors to true fear, would well become a woman's story at a winter's fire,

authorised 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 will 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 times.

Ay, and since too, murders have been performed

too terrible for the ear.

The times have 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. Forgive me, my most worthy friends.

I have a strange infirmity,

which is nothing to those that know me.

Come, love and health to all. Then I'll sit down.

Na, na, na, na, na!

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.

There is no speculation in those eyes which thou dost glare with.

Think of this, good peers, but as a thing of custom.

'Tis no other, only it spoils the pleasure of the time.

What man dare, I dare.

Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear,

the armed rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger.

Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves will 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...

..I am a man again.

I pray you, sit...

..still.

You have displaced the mirth...

..broke the good meeting with most admired disorder.

Can such things be and overcome us like a summer's cloud,

without our special wonder?

You make me strange even to the disposition that I owe

when now I think you can behold such sights

and keep the natural ruby of your cheeks,

while 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 maggot pies and choughs and rooks,

brought forth the secretest 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?

No, 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 fee'd.

I will tomorrow, and betimes I will, to the Weird Sisters.

More shall they speak,

for 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 but young...

..in deed.

By the pricking of my thumbs...

..something wicked this way comes.

How now, you secret, black and midnight hags!

What is it you do?

A deed without a name.

I conjure you by that which you profess.

However you come to know it, answer me.

Though you untie the winds and let them fight against the churches,

though the yeasty 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 germen tumble all together

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?

Well, call 'em, let me see 'em.

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.

What is this

that rises like the issue of a king

and wears upon his baby-brow

the round and top of sovereignty?

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?

Hmm? 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, yet, yet, 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.

– What... 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.

And thy hair, thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first.

The third is like the former.

Filthy hags, why do you show me this?

A fourth? Start, eyes!

What, will the line stretch out 'til the crack of doom?

Another yet? A seventh? I'll see no more.

And yet the eighth appears,

who bears a glass which shows me many more.

Horrible sight!

And yet now I see 'tis true.

For the blood-boltered Banquo smiles at me

and points at them for his.

What, is this so?

Ay, sir.

It shall be so.

Where are they? Gone?

Let this pernicious hour stand aye accursed in the calendar.

Come in, without there.

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 it came by?

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

Macduff is fled to England.

Fled to England?

Ay, my good lord.

Time, thou anticipat'st 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... no more sights.

Where are these gentlemen? Come, bring me where they are.

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, 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 are traitors and do not know ourselves.

When we hold rumour from what we fear, yet know not what we fear,

but float upon a wild and violent sea each way and move.

I take my leave of you.

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

Things at the worst will cease,

or else climb upward to what they were before.

My pretty cousin...

..blessing upon you.

Fathered he is, and yet he's fatherless.

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

it would be my disgrace and your discomfort.

I take my leave at once.

Sirrah.

Your father's dead.

And what will you do now? Hmm?

How will you live?

As birds do, Mother.

What, with worms and flies?

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

Poor birds.

Thou'dst never fear the net nor lime, the pitfall nor the gin.

Why should I, Mother?

Poor birds they are not set for.

My father is not dead, for all your saying.

Yes, he is dead.

And how wilt thou do for a father?

Nay, how will you do for a husband?

Why, I can buy me twenty at any market.

Then you'll buy 'em to sell again.

Thou speak'st with all thy wit,

and yet, in 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.

God help thee, poor monkey.

Bless you, fair dame. I am not to you known,

though in your state of honour I am perfect.

I know some danger does approach you nearly.

If you will take a homely 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 near 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 is sometime accounted dangerous folly.

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

to say I have done no harm?

What are these faces?

Where is your husband?

I hope in no place so unsanctified

where such as thou mayst find him.

He is a traitor.

Thou liest, thou shag-haired villain!

– – No, no!

You're welcome, gracious Macduff, to England.

And in this, our desolate shade, let us weep our sad bosoms empty.

Let us rather, young Malcolm, 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 dolour.

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 gain of him through me,

and 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.

Why in that rawness left you wife and child,

those precious motives, those strong knots of love, without leave-taking?

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.

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 should 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.

Boundless intemperance in nature is a tyranny.

It hath been the untimely emptying of the happy throne

and fall of many kings.

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

With this there grows in my most ill-composed affection

such a staunchless 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.

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 foisons to fill up your will.

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 accursed

and does blaspheme his breed?

Thy royal father...

was a most sainted king.

The queen that bore thee,

oft'ner upon her knees than on her feet,

died every day she lived.

Fare thee well.

Macduff.

This noble passion,

child of integrity...

..hath from my soul wiped the black scruples...

..reconciled my thoughts to thy good truth and honour.

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.

What I am truly is thine...

..and my poor country's to command.

Now... we'll together...

..and the chance of goodness be like our warranted quarrel.

See who comes here.

My ever-gentle cousin.

Welcome hither.

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 that who knows nothing, is once seen to smile,

where sighs, and groans, and shrieks that rend the air,

are made, not marked.

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 miser of your speech. How go'est?

When I came hither to transport the tidings,

which I have heavily borne,

there ran a rumour of many worthy fellows that rebelled,

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 to doff their dire distresses.

Be it their comfort. We are coming thither.

Gracious England hath lent us good Siward, and 10,000 men.

An older 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 of 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 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.

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 convert to anger.

Blunt not the heart,

enrage it.

O, 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.

And if he 'scape...

..heaven forgive him too!

When was it she last walked?

I have seen her rise from her bed, throw her nightgown upon her,

unlock her closet, and again return to bed,

yet all this while in a most fast sleep.

And in this slumbery agitation,

besides her walking and other actual performances,

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

That, which I will not report after her.

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

Neither to you nor anyone,

having no witness to confirm my speech.

Look, here she comes. This is her very guise.

Upon my life, fast asleep. Observe her, stand close.

– You see her eyes are open. – Ay.

But their sense is shut.

What is it she does now?

Look how she rubs her hands.

This is an accustomed action with her,

to seem thus washing her hands.

I have known her 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 of that, my lord, no more of that.

- – You mar all with this starting. - Go to.

Go to. You have heard 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!

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. – This disease is beyond my practice.

Yet I have known those which have walked in their sleep,

who have died holily in their beds.

Wash your hands, put on your nightgown, and 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.

Foul whisperings are abroad.

Unnatural deeds do breed unnatural troubles.

Infected minds to their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets.

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.

So, good night.

My mind she has mated, and amazed my sight.

I think...

..but dare not speak.

Good night, good doctor.

Our power is ready.

Our lack is nothing but our leave.

Macbeth is ripe for shaking,

and the powers above put on their instruments.

Receive what cheer you may.

The night is long that never finds the day!

The English power is near, led on by Malcolm,

his uncle Siward and the good Macduff.

Revenges burn in them,

for their dear causes would to the bleeding and the grim alarm

excite the mortified man.

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.

– How 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.

Now minutely revolts upbraid his faith-breach.

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 'tis 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.

Bring me no more reports, let them all fly.

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 consequences have pronounced me thus.

'Fear not, Macbeth.

'No man that's born of woman shall ever 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.

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.

Ooh, ooh!

What soldiers, patch?

Death of thy soul. Those linen cheeks of thine are counsellors to fear.

What soldiers, whey-face?

The English force, so please you!

Get 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 honour...

..love,

obedience... troops of friends,

I must not look to have.

But in their stead...

..curses, not loud, but deep,

mouth-honour, breath,

which the poor heart would fain deny,

but dare not. Huh?

Seyton!

– 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 armour.

– '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 armour!

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.

Come, put mine armour on.

Give me my sword.

Seyton, send out.

Doctor, the thanes fly from me.

Come, sir, dispatch.

If thou couldst, doctor...

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 would applaud again.

Just pull it off, I say.

What rhubarb, senna, 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.

Bleurgh!

Bring it after.

I will not be afraid of death and bane,

till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane.

Hup!

Cousins,

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 wrongful discovery 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 more and less 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 our unsure hopes relate.

But certain issue, strokes must arbitrate,

towards which, advance the war.

Hang out our banners on the outward walls.

The cry is still, 'They come.'

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

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

Were they not forced with those that should be ours,

we might have met them dareful, beard to beard,

and beat them backward home.

Ah.

Hmm.

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.

Thou comest 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 sooth...

..I care not if thou dost for me as much.

Oh! Oh!

I pull in resolution and begin to doubt

the equivocation of the fiend that lies like truth.

'Fear not, till Birnam Wood do come to Dunsinane',

and now a wood comes towards 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 of the world were now undone.

Ring the alarum bell!

Blow wind, come wrack.

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

This way, my lord. Your leafy screens throw down,

now show like those you are.

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.

Worthy Macduff and we shall take upon us what else remains.

– Hey! – I pray you, sir!

Look.

– Let him go. – Come on.

Heaven rest them now.

We have met with foes that strike beside us.

Make all the trumpets speak, give them all breath,

those clamorous harbingers of blood and death.

Enter, sir, the castle!

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 any hotter name than 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.

But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn,

brandish'd by man that's of a woman born.

That way is the noise.

Tyrant, show thy face!

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

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

I cannot strike at wretched kerns,

whose arms are hired to bear their staves.

Either thou, Macbeth,

or else my sword with an unbattered edge I sheathe again undeeded.

Let me find him.

Fortune and more I beg not.

Why should I play the Roman fool,

and die on mine own sword?

Whiles 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...

..thou bloodier villain than terms can give thee out.

Thou losest labour.

As easy mayst thou the intrenchant air with thy keen sword impress

as make me bleed.

Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests.

I bear a charmed life

and 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 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,

and 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 the time.

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

painted upon a pole, and underwrit, 'Here may you see the tyrant.'

I will not yield

to kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet,

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 him that first cries, 'Hold! Enough!'

I would the friends we miss were safe arrived.

Hail, King!

For so thou art.

Behold where lies the usurper's cursed head.

The time is free.

I see thee compassed with thy kingdom's pearl...

..that speak my salutation in their minds...

..whose voices I desire aloud with mine.

Hail...

..King of Scotland!

Hail, King of Scotland!

We shall not spend a large expense of time

before we reckon with your several loves

and make us even with you.

My thanes and kinsmen,

henceforth be earls,

the first that ever Scotland in such an honour named.

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...

..who, as 'tis thought, by self and violent hands...

..took off her life.

This...

..and what needful else that calls upon us,

by the grace of grace...

..we will perform in measure...

..time...

..and place.

Come.