Macbeth (1983) - full transcript

Macbeth and his wife murder Duncan in order to gain his crown, but the bloodbath doesn't stop there, and things supernatural combine to bring the Macbeths down.


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.

I come, Graymalkin.

Paddock calls.


Fair is foul, and foul is fair.

Hover through the fog
and filthy air.

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 against 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.

A merciless Macdonwald,
worthy to be a rebel,

for to that the multiplying
villainies of nature

do swarm upon him.

From the Western Isles
of Kerns and Gallowglasses
is supplied.

And fortune,
on his damned quarrel smiling,

showed like a rebel's whore.

But, all's too weak.

For brave Macbeth,
and 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 slave,

which ne'er shook hands
nor bade farewell to him

till he unseamed him
from the nave to the chaps!

And fixed his head
upon our battlements.

Oh, valiant,
cuss-worthy, gentlemen.

Because once the sun
begins his reflection,

shipwrecking storms
and direful thunders break,

so from that spring
whence comfort seemed to come,

discomfort swells.

Mark, King of Scotland, mark.

No sooner justice had,
with valour armed,

compelled these skipping kerns
to trust their heels,

than the Norweyan lord,
surveying vantage,

with furbished arms
and new supplies of men,
began a fresh assault.

Dismayed not this our captains,
Macbeth and Banquo?

Yes, as sparrows, eagles,
or the hare, the lion.

If I say sooth, I must report
they were as cannons
overcharged with double cracks,

so they doubly redoubled strokes
upon the foe.

Except they meant to bathe
in reeking wounds

or memorize another Golgotha,
I cannot tell!

I am faint.

My gashes cry for help.

So, well thy words
become thee as thy wounds.

They smack of honour, both.
Go, get him surgeons.

-Who comes here?
-The worthy Thane of Ross.

What a haste
looks through his eyes.

So should he speak
things strange.

God save the King.

Whence camest thou,
worthy Thane?

From Fife, great king,

where the Norweyan 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,
lapped in proof,

confronted him
with self-comparisons,

point against point rebellious,
arm against arm,

curbing his lavish spirit.

And, to conclude,
the victory fell on us.

Great happiness!

That now Sweno,
the Norway's king,
craves composition.

Nor would we deign him
burial of his men

till he disbursed,
at Saint Colme's inch,

$10,000 to
our general use.

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.

-Where hast thou been, sister?
-Killing swine.

Sister, where thou?

A sailor's wife
had chestnuts in her lap,

and mounched, and mounched,
and mounched.

"Give me," quoth I.

"Aroint thee, witch!"
The rump-fed ronyon cries.

Her husband's to Aleppo gone,
master o' 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 card.

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 seven nights,
nine times nine

shall he dwindle,
peak, and pine.

Though his bark cannot be lost,
yet it shall be tempest-tost.

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.

Thrice again to make up nine.

Peace. The charm's wound up.

So foul and fair a day
I have not seen.

How far is it called to Forres?

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

that look not like
the inhabitants o' the earth
but yet are on it?

Live you?

Or are you aught
that man may question?

You seem to understand me,
by each at once,

her choppy finger laying
upon her skinny lips.


You should be women, 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,
that shalt be king hereafter.

Good sir, why do you start,

and seem to fear things
that do sound so fair?

In the name of truth,
are 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.



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.


You imperfect speakers,
tell me more.

By Sine'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! Speak! I charge you!

The earth hath bubbles
as the water has,

and these are of them.

-Wither 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.


What's that?

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
o' the selfsame day,

he finds thee
in the stout Norweyan ranks,

nothing afeard of what
thyself didst 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 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 judgement
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 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.

Two truths are told

as happy prologues
to the swelling act
of the imperial theme.

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 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 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!

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 it were a careless trifle.

There is no art to find
the mind's construction
in the face.

He was a gentleman on whom
I built an absolute trust.

Oh worthiest cousin!

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

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 infold 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,

which honour must not
unaccompanied invest him only,

but signs of nobleness,
like stars,

shall shine on all deservers.

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

I'll be myself the harbinger,
and make joyful
the hearing of my wife

with your approach,
so humbly take my leave.

My worthy Cawdor.

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 commendation
I am fed.

It is a banquet to me.

Let's after him,
whose care is 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 o' 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.

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 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.


You spirits that tend
on mortal thoughts,

unsex me here,

and fill me,
from the crown to the toe,

topfull 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?

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 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
her pendent bed
and procreant cradle.

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

See, see, our honoured hostess.

The love that follows us
sometimes 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.

For those of old,
and the late dignities
heaped up to them,

we rest your hermits.

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.

Give me your hand.

Conduct me to mine host.
We love him highly

and shall continue
our graces towards him.

If it were done when 'tis done,

then 'twere well
it were done quickly.

If the assassination could
trammel up the consequence,

and catch with his
surcease, success,

that but this blow might be
the be all and the end all here,

but here, upon this bank
and shoal of time,

we'd jump the life to come.

But in these cases,
we still have judgement 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 newborn babe
striding the blast,

or heaven's cherubin
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,

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 afeared 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?

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

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,
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 thine 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 't?

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 the false heart doth know.

How goes the night, boy?

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

And she goes down at 12:00.

-I take it, 'tis later, sir.

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 abed.

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 kindest leisure.

If you shall cleave
to my consent,

when 'tis,
it shall make honour for you.

So, I lose none
in seeking to augment it,

but still keep my 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?


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 my 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 half world
nature seems dead,

and wicked dreams abuse
the curtained sleep.

Witchcraft celebrates
pale Hecat's offerings,

and withered murther, alarumed
by his sentinel, the wolf,

whose howl's his watch,

thus with this stealthy pace,
with Tarquin's ravishing stride,

toward his design moves
like a ghost.

Thou sure and firm set earth,
hear not my steps,

which way they walk,
for fear the very stones prate
of my whereabout

and take the present horror
from the time
which now suits with it.

Whiles I threat, he lives.


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.




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.


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?

-As I descended?


-Who lies in the second chamber?

-This is a sorry sight.
-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, then they did say
their prayers and address
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 I
not pronounce Amen?

I had most need of blessing.
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 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 guild the faces
of the grooms withal,

for it must seem their guilt.


Whence is that knocking?

How is it with me
when every noise appals me?

What hands are here?

Hah. They pluck out mine eyes.

Will all great Neptune's ocean

wash this blood clean
from my hand?


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
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.



Here's a knocking indeed.

If a man were porter
of hell gate, he should
have old turning the key.


Knock, knock, knock.

Who's there
i' the name of Beelzebub?

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

Come in time,

have napkins enow 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 swear in both
the scales against either scale,

who committed treason enough
for God's sake, yet
could not equivocate to heaven.

Oh, come in, equivocator.

Knock, knock, knock!
Who's there?

Faith, here's an English tailor,
come hither, for stealing
out of a French hose!

Oh, come in, tailor!
Here you may roast your goose.

Knock, knock, never at quiet?
What are you?

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 everlasting bonfire.

Anon, anon!

I pray you remember the porter!

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

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

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

What three things
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, sir.

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,
i' 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 i' 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.

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
o' the building!

-What is it you say, the life?
-His majesty?

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

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

Awake, awake!
Ring the alarum bell!

Murder, 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 and Banquo!

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

Ring the bell!

What's the business, that such
a trumpet calls to parley
the sleepers of the house?

-Speak, speak!
-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!

What, in our house?

Too cruel anywhere!

Dear Duff, I prithee contradict
thyself, and say 'tis 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.

-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.

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 entry.

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.


Let's briefly put
on manly readiness,
and meet i' 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 fortunes
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 shot
hath not yet lighted,

and the 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.

Threescore and ten
I can remember well,

within the volume of which time
I have seen hours dreadful
and things strange,

but this sore night
hath trifled former knowings.

Ah, good father,
thou seest the heavens

as troubled with man's act
threatens his bloody stage.

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

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

that darkness does the face
of earth entomb when
living light should kiss it?

'Tis unnatural,
even like the deed that's done.

On Tuesday last, a falcon
towering in her pride of place

was by a mousing owl
hawked at and killed.

And Duncan's horses, a thing
most strange and certain,

beauteous and swift,
the minions of their race,

turned wild in nature,
broke their stalls, flung out,

contending 'gainst obedience
as they would make war
with mankind.

'Tis said they eat each other.

They did so to the amazement
of mine eyes
that looked upon 't.

Here comes the good Macduff.

How goes the world, sir, now?

Why, see you not?

Is 't 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 stol'n away and fled,

which puts upon them
suspicion of the deed.

'Gainst nature still.

Thriftless ambition that wilt
ravin up thine 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.

Where is Duncan's body?

Carried to Colmekill,
the sacred storehouse
of his predecessors

and guardian of their bones.

-Will you to Scone?
-No, cousin. I'll to Fife.


I will thither.

Well, may you see things
well done there.


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.

Thou hast it now.

King, Cawdor, Glamis,
all as the weird women promised,

and I fear thou play'dst
most foully for it.

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

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

If there come truth from them
as upon thee, Macbeth,
their speeches shine.

Why, by the verities
on thee made good,

may they not be
my oracles as well
and set me up in hope?

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?
-Aye, my good lord.

We should have else
desired your good advice
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.

-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
wherewithal we shall have cause
of state craving us jointly.

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

-Goes Fleance with you?
-Aye, my good lord.

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 7:00 at night.

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

Sirrah, a word with you.

Whiles then, God be w' ye.

-Attend those men our leisure?
-They are, my lord,
without the 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 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 was 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 filed my mind,

for them the gracious Duncan
have I murdered,

put rancour 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?

Was it not... yesterday
we spoke together?

It was, so please your highness.

Well then.


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 born in hand,
how crossed, the instruments,

who wrought with them
and all things else
that should 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 natures
that you can let this go?

Are you so gospeled to pray for
this good man and for his issue

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

We are men, my liege.

Aye, in the catalogue
ye go for men,

as hounds and greyhounds,
mongrels, spaniels,

curs, shoughs, water rugs,
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 that 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 i' 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

hath so incensed
that I am reckless
what I do to spite the world.

And I another,
so weary with disasters,
tugged with fortune,

I would set my life
on any chance to mend it,
or be rid on 't.

Both of you know Banquo
was your enemy.

True, my lord.

So is he mine,

and in such bloody distance

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

And though I could
with barefaced power

sweep him from my sight
and bid my will avouch it, yet,

I must not,

for certain friends
that are both his and mine,

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 o' 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.

Is Banquo gone from court?

Aye, madam,
but returns again tonight.

Say to the King I would attend
his leisure for a few words.

Madam, I will.

Naught'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 scorched
the snake, not killed it.

She'll close and be herself,
whiles 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 to 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.

Ah, Duncan is in his grave.

After life's fitful fever,
he sleeps well.

Treason has done his worst.

Nor steel, nor poison,
malice domestic,

foreign levy, nothing
can touch him further.

Come on.

Gentle my lord,

sleek o'er your rugged looks.

Be bright and jovial
among your guests tonight.

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,

making our faces vizards
to our hearts
disguising what they are!

You must leave this!

Full of scorpions
is my mind, dear wife!

Thou knowest that Banquo
and his Fleance lives.

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

Aye, there's comfort yet.

They are assailable.

Then be thou jocund.

Ere the bat hath flown
his cloistered flight,

ere to black Hecat'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,

whiles night's black agents
to their preys do rouse.


Thou marvel'st at my words,
but hold thee still.

Things bad begun
make strong themselves...

By ill.

So, prithee.

Go with me.

Who did bid thee join with us?


He needs not our mistrust
since he delivers our offices,

and what we have to do,
to the direction just.

Then stand with us.

The west yet glimmers
with some streaks of day.

Now spurs the lated traveller
apace to gain the timely inn.

And near, the subject
of our watch approaches.

I hear horses.

Give us a light there! Ho!

Then 'tis he.

The rest 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!
-'Tis he.

Stand to 't.


It will be rain tonight.

Let it come down!


Fly, good Fleance! Fly!

Fly! Fly!

Thou mayest revenge!

O slave!

Who did strike out the light?
Was 't not the way?

There's but one down,
the son is fled.

We have lost the best half
of our affair.

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

You know your own degrees.
Sit down.

-At first and last,
a 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."

See, they encounter thee
with their hearts' thanks.

Now 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?
-Aye, my lord.

His throat is cut.
That I did for him.

Thou art the best
of the cut-throats.

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

If thou didst it,
thou art the nonpareil.

Most royal sir,
Fleance is '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'm cabined,
cribbed, confined,

bound into saucy doubts
and fears.

-But Banquo's safe?
-Aye, my good lord.

Safe in a ditch he bides,
with 20 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.

Now 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,

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

Sweet remembrancer!

Now good digestion wait
on appetite, and health on both!

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 't your highness to grace
us with your royal company?

The table's full.

Here is a place reserved, sir.

-Here, my good lord.

What is it that moves
your highness?

Which of you have done this?

What, my good lord?

Thou canst not say I did it.
Never shake
thy gory locks at me!

Gentlemen, rise.
His highness is not well.

Sit, worthy friends.

My lord is often thus
and hath been from his youth.

Pray you keep seat.
The fit is momentary.

Upon a thought,
he will again be well.

If much you note him,
you shall offend him
and extend his passion.

Feed, and regard him not.

-Are you a man?
-Aye, and a bold one.

That dare look on that
which might appal 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! All 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!

The time has been
that when the brains were out,

the man would die,
and there an end.

But now, they rise again
with 20 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!
Then I'll sit down.

Come, 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!

TOGETHER: 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.

Approach thou like
the rugged Russian bear,

the armed rhinoceros,
or the Hyrcan tiger.

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!


Why, so.

Being gone, I am a man again.

Pray you, sit still.

You have displaced the mirth,
broke the good meeting

with most admired disorder.

Can such things be,

and overcome us
like a summer's cloud
without our special wonder?

You make me strange even
to that 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?
-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 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 hear it by the way.

There's not a one of them,
but in his house
I keep a servant feed.

But I will send. I will
tomorrow. And betimes,
I will to the weird sisters.

More they shall 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 in 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.



We'll to sleep.

My strange and self-abuse
is the initiate fear
that wants hard use.

We are yet but young

in deed.

Thrice the brinded cat
hath mewed.

Thrice, and once
the hedge pig whined.

The 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 31

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.
-Toe of frog.

-Wool of bat.
-And tongue of dog.

Adder's fork
and blindworm's sting.

Lizard's leg and howlet'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.

Witch's mummy.

Maw and gulf
of the ravin'd salt sea shark.

Root of hemlock
digged in the dark.

Liver of blaspheming Jew.

Gall of goat and slips of yew
slivered in the moon's eclipse.

Nose of Turk and Tartar's lips.

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.

By the pricking of my thumbs,
something wicked this way comes.

Open, locks, whoever knocks!

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, how e'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
germens tumble all together

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


We'll answer.

Say, if thou'dst 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 farrow.

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 naught.

Macbeth. Macbeth. Macbeth.

Beware Macduff.
Beware the Thane of Fife.

Dismiss me. Enough.

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.

I'll 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?

Listen, but speak not to 't.

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 earthbound root?

Sweet bodements! Good!

Rebellion's head, 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 arts
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 upon you!



Show his eyes
and grieve his heart.

Come like shadows, so depart.

Thou art too like
the spirit of Banquo.


Thy crown does sear
mine eyeballs.

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

A third is like the former!

Filthy hags,
why do you show me this?

A fourth?

Start, eyes!

What, will the line stretch out
to the crack of doom?

Another yet?

A seventh?

I'll see no more!

And yet the eighth appears,
who bears a glass
which shows me many more.

And some I see
that twofold balls
and treble sceptres carry.

Horrible sight!

Well, now I see 'tis true,

for the blood-bolter'd Banquo
smiles upon me,
and points at them for his.


Is this so?

Aye, sir.

All this is so.

Where are they?


Let this pernicious hour stand
aye accursed in the calendar!

My former speeches have
but hit your thoughts,
which can interpret further.

Only I say things
have been strangely borne.

The gracious Duncan
was pitied of Macbeth.
Marry, he was dead.

And 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.

Who cannot want the thought,
how monstrous it was
for Malcolm and for Donalbain

to kill their gracious father?

Damn'd fact.
How it did grieve Macbeth.

Did he not straight
in pious rage
the two delinquents tear,

that were the slaves of drink
and thralls of sleep?

Was not that nobly done?
Aye, and wisely too.

For it would have angered
any heart alive
to hear the men deny it.

So that I say,
he has borne all things well,

and I do think that had he
Duncan's sons under his key,

as and please heaven
he shall not,

they should find
what 'twere to kill a father,
so should Fleance.

But peace, for from
broad words and 'cause

he failed his presence at
the tyrant's feast, I hear
Macduff lives in disgrace.

Sir, can you tell
where he bestows himself?

The son of Duncan
from whom this tyrant holds
the due of birth

lives in the English court
and is received of the most
pious Edward with such grace

that the malevolence of fortune,
nothing takes
from his high respect.

Thither Macduff is gone
to pray the holy king
upon his aid

to wake Northumberland
and warlike Siward,
that by the help of these,

with him above
to ratify the work,

we may again give
to our tables meat,
sleep to our nights,

free from our feasts
and banquets bloody knives,

do faithful homage
and receive free honours.

All of which we pine for now.

And this report hath
so exasperate their king

that he prepares
for some attempt of war.

-Sent he to Macduff?
-He did.

And with an absolute
"Sir, not I,"

the cloudy messenger
turns me his back and hums,
as who should say,

"You'll rue the time
that clogs me with this answer."

And, that well might advise him
to a caution, to hold what
distance his wisdom can provide.

Some holy angel fly to the court
of England and unfold
his message ere he come,

that a swift blessing may soon
return to this our suffering
country under a hand accursed!

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 damn'd
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?
-Aye, my good lord.

Time, thou anticipatest
my dread exploits.

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.

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.


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 none.

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.

Father'd 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.

Sirrah, your father is dead.

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

As the birds do, mother.

What, with worms and flies?

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

Poor bird, 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.

How wilt thou do for a father?

Nay, how will you do
for a husband?

Why, I can buy me 20
at any market.

Then you'll buy 'em
to sell again.

Thou speak'st with all thy wit,

and yet, in faith...

'tis wit enough for thee.

Was my father a traitor, mother?

Aye, that he was.

What is a traitor?

Why, one that swears and lies.

And be all traitors that do so?

Every one that does so is
a traitor and must be hanged.

And must they all be hanged
that swear and lie?

Every one.

Who must hang them?

Why, the honest men.

Then the liars
and swearers are fools,

for there are liars and swearers
enow to beat the honest men
and hang up them.

Now God help thee, poor monkey.

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.

Poor prattler, how thou talk'st!

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

though in your state
of honour I am perfect.

I doubt some danger
does approach you nearly.

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

Well, 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.

Well, 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 defence to say

"I have done no harm?"

What are these faces?

Where's your husband?

I hope in no place
so unsanctified

where such as thou
mayst find him.

-He's a traitor.
-Thou liest,
thou shag ear'd villain!

What, you egg?



Young fry of treachery.


Let us seek out
some desolate shade.

And there, weep
our sad bosoms empty.

Let us rather hold fast
the mortal sword

and like good men bestride
our downfallen 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 I believe, I'll wail.

What know, believe.

And what I can redress,
as I shall find the time
to friend, I will.

What you have spoke,
it may be so perchance.

This tyrant whose sole name
blisters our tongues
was once thought honest.

You have loved him well.
He hath not touched you yet.

I am young,
but something you may deserve
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 at 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.

Though all things foul
would wear the brows of grace,
yet grace must still look so.

-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
jealousies be your dishonours,
but mine own safeties.

You may be rightly just
whatever I shall think.


Bleed, poor country.

Great tyranny lay thou
thy basis sure, for goodness
dare not check thee.

Wear thou thy wrongs,
the title is afeared.

Fare thee well, lord.
I would not be the villain
that thou think,

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 damn'd
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

and my desire
all continent impediments

would overbear
that did oppose my will.

Better Macbeth
than such an one to reign.

Boundless intemperance

in nature is a tyranny.

It hath been th' untimely
emptying of the happy throne,
and 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.

There cannot be that vulture
in you to devour so many

as will to greatness
dedicate themselves,
finding it so inclined.

With this, there grows in
my most ill-composed affections

such a staunchless avarice,
that were I king,

I should cut off the nobles
for their lands,

desire his jewels,
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 foisons 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,

but abound in the division
of each several crime,
acting it many ways.

Nay, had I power,
I should pour the sweet milk
of concord into hell,

uproar the universal peace,
confound all unity on earth.

-Oh, 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

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 royal 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 that thou repeat'st
upon thyself hath banished me
from Scotland!

Oh, 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 honour.

Devilish Macbeth by many of
these trains has sought
to win me into his power

and modest wisdom plucks me
from overcredulous haste.

But God above deal
between thee and me.

For even now I put myself
to thy direction
and unspeak mine own detraction,

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,

at no time broke my faith,
would not betray the devil
to his fellow 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 to command,

whither indeed before thy
here approach, good Siward,

and 10,000 warlike men
already at a point
were setting forth.

Now we'll together,
and the chance of goodness
be like our warranted quarrel.

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.

My ever gentle cousin,
welcome hither.

I know him now.

Good god betimes
remove the means
that make us strangers.

-Sir, Amen.
-Stands Scotland where it did?

Alas, poor country,
almost afraid to know itself.

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.

The dead man's knell
is there scarce ask'd for who,
and good men's lives expire

before the flowers
in their caps,
dying or ere they sicken.

Oh, 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?

-And all my children?
-Well too.

The tyrant has not battered
at their peace?

No, they were well at peace
when I did leave 'em.

Be not a niggard of your speech.
How goes 't?

When I came hither
to transport the tidings,
which I have heavily borne,

there ran a rumour
of many worthy fellows
that were out,

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 't 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,
that shall possess them

with the heaviest sound
that ever yet they heard.

Hmm. 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, ne'er pull your hat
upon your brows.
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!

My pretty ones,

did you say?


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.

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

But, gentle heavens!

Cut short all intermission.

Front to front, bring thou this
fiend of Scotland and myself!

Within my sword's length,
set him.

If he escape,


Forgive him too!

This tune goes manly.

Come. Go we to the King
Our power is ready. Our lack
is nothing but our leave.

Macbeth is right for shaking,
and the powers above
put on their instruments.

Receive what cheer you may,
the night is long
that never finds the day.

I have two nights watched
with you, but can perceive
no truth in your report.

When was it she last walked?

Since his majesty went into
the field, I have seen her rise
from her bed,

throw her nightgown
upon her, unlock her closet,
take forth paper,

fold it, write upon it, read it,
afterwards seal it,
and again return to bed.

Yet, all this while
in a most fast sleep.

A great perturbation in nature,
to receive at once
the benefit of sleep

and do the effects of watching.

In this slumbery agitation,
besides her walking
and other actual performances,

what at any time
have you heard her say?

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

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

Neither to you nor anyone,
having no witness
to confirm my speech.

Lo you, here she comes.

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

-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!
-Aye, but their sense is shut.

-What is it she does now?

Look how she rubs her hands.

It is an accustomed action
with her to be seen thus
washing her hands.

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

Yet here's a spot.

Hark, she speaks.

Out, damned spot.

Out, I say.

One, two...

Why then, 'tis time to do it.

Hell is murky.

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

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

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

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.

Yet! 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, sir.

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.
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.




Give me your hand.

What's done cannot be undone.

To bed!

To bed!

To bed!

-Will she go now to bed?

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.
-Good night, good doctor.

My mind she has mated
and amazed my sight.

I think, but dare not speak.

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 meet them.
That way are they coming.

Who knows if Donalbain
be with his brother?

For certain, sir, he's 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.

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 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 consequences
have pronounced me thus.

"Fear not, Macbeth, no man
that's born of woman shall e'er
have power upon thee."

Then fly, false thanes,
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 are 10,000...

-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 counsellors to fear.

-What soldiers, wheyface?
-The English force, sir.

Take thy face hence! Seyton!

I am almost 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 fall'n
into the sear,

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 and dare not.


-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.

-Bring 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!
Bring me my 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.

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, senna,
or what purgative drug
would scour these English hence?

Hear'st thou of them?

Aye, my good lord.
Your royal preparations
make 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.

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
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 't.

'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
their unsure hopes relate,

but certain issue strokes
must arbitrate.

Toward which, advance the war.

Hang out our banners
on the outward walls!

The cry is still, "They come."

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

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

Were they not forced
with those that should be ours,

we might have met them dareful,
beard to beard,
and beat them backward home.


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 it.

I have supped full with horrors.

Direness, familiar
to my slaughterous thoughts,
cannot once start me.

Wherefore was that cry?

The Queen, my lord, is dead.

She should have died hereafter.
There would have been a time
for such a word.


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.

It is full of sound and fury,


Thy 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 stood 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.

I pull in resolution,

and begin to doubt
the equivocation of the fiend
that lies like truth.

"Fear not till Birnam wood
do come to Dunsinane."

And now a wood comes
toward Dunsinane.



And out!

If this which he avouches
does appear, there is nor
flying hence nor tarrying here.

I 'gin to be aweary o' 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!

Now near enough.

Your leafy 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 will take
upon 's 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.

They have tied me to a stake.
I cannot fly,

but bearlike,
I must fight the course.

What is he that
was not born of woman?

Such a one am I to fear,
or none.

What is thy name?

Thou'st 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.


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,

brandished by man
that's of a woman born.


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 sheath 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, hellhound.


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 well mayst thou
the intrenchant air

with thy keen blade impress
as make me bleed.

I bear a charmed life,

which must not yield
to one of woman born.

Despair thy charm,

and let the angel whom thou
still hast served tell thee

Macduff was
from his mother's womb

untimely ripped!

Accursed be the tongue
that tells me so,

for it hath cowed
my better part of man.

And be these juggling fiends
no more believed

that palter with us
in a double sense,

that keep the word of promise
to our ear

and break it to our hope.

I'll not fight with thee.

Then yield thee, coward!

And live to be the 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!"

This way, my lord.

The castle's gently rendered.

The day almost itself
professes yours,
and little is to do.

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,
hath paid a soldier's debt.

He only lived,
but till he was a man,

the which no sooner
had his prowess confirmed

in the unshrinking station
where he fought,
but like a man he died.

Then he is dead.

Your cause of sorrow must not
be measured by his worth,
for then it hath no end.

-Had he his hurts before?
-Aye, 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.

Hail, King.

For so thou art.

The time is free.

I see thee compassed
with thy kingdom's pearl,

who 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, as would be
newly planted 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 fiendlike 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.

So thanks to all at once

and to each one whom we invite
to see us crowned at Scone.