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 foison' to fill up your will,
Of your mere own. All these are portable
With other graces weigh'd.

Macd. What's the disease he means? Mal.

[Exit Doctor.

'T is call'd the evil:

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.

Macd.

O Scotland, Scotland!

!

Mal. If such a one be fit to govern, speak:
I am as I have spoken.
Macd.
Fit to govern
No, not to live.-O, nation miserable!
With an untitled tyrant, bloody-scepter'd,
When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again,
Since that the truest issue of thy throne

By his own interdiction stands accurs'd,

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.
These evils thou repeat'st upon thyself
Have banish'd me from Scotland.-O, my breast!
Thy hope ends here.

Mal.
Macduff, this noble passion,
Child of integrity, hath from my soul
Wip'd the black scruples, reconcil'd 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, 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,
Old Siward, with ten thousand warlike men,
Already at a point, was setting forth.

Now, we'll together; and the chance of goodness
Be like our warranted quarrel. Why are you silent?
Macd. Such welcome and unwelcome things at

once,

'T is hard to reconcile.

1 foisons in f. e. ; plenty. 2 Overcomes.

The mere despair of surgery, he cures;
Hanging a golden stamp about their necks,
Put on with holy prayers: and 't is spoken,

To the succeeding royalty he leaves

The healing benediction. With this strange virtue,
He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy,

And sundry blessings hang about his throne,
That speak him full of grace.

Macd.

Enter RossE.

See, who comes here? Mal. My countryman; but yet I know him not. Macd. My ever-gentle cousin, welcome hither. Mal. I know him now. Good God, betimes remove The means that make us strangers!

Macd. Stands Scotland where it did?
Rosse.

Alas, poor country!
Almost afraid to know itself. It cannot
Be call'd our mother, but our grave; where nothing,
But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile:
Where sighs, and groans, and shrieks that rend the air,
Are made, not mark'd; where violent sorrow seems
A modern ecstasy: the dead man's knell

Is there scarce ask'd, for whom; and good men's lives
Expire before the flowers in their caps,
Dying or ere they sicken.

Macd. Be not a niggard of your speech: how goes it?
Rosse. 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 witness'd the rather,
For that I saw the tyrant's power a-foot.
Now is the time of help. Your eye in Scotland
Would create soldiers, make our women fight,
To doff their dire distresses.

Mal.
Be it their comfort,
We are coming thither. Gracious England hath
Lent us good Siward, and ten thousand men:
An older, and a better soldier, none
That Christendom gives out.

Doct. Even so ?

Lady M. 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. [Exit Lady MACBETH. Doct. Will she go now to bed? Gent. Directly.

Doct. 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 amaz'd my sight. I think, but dare not speak. Gent.

Good night, good doctor. [Exeunt. SCENE II.—The Country near Dunsinane. Enter, with Drum and Colours, MENTETH, CATHNESS, ANGUS, Lenox, and Soldiers.

Ment. 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.

To dew the sovereign flower, and drown the weeds. Make we our march towards Birnam.

[Exeunt, marching. SCENE III.-Dunsinane. -Dunsinane. A Room in the Castle. Enter MACBETH, Doctor, and Attendants. Macb. 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 pronounc'd me thus:"Fear not, Macbeth; no man that 's born of woman

Shall e'er have power upon thee."-Then fly, false
And mingle with the English epicures: [thanes,
The mind I sway by, and the heart I bear,
Shall never sag with doubt, nor shake with fear.
Enter a Servant.

The devil damn thee black, thou cream-fac'd loon!
Where got'st thou that goose look?
Serv. There is ten thousand-

Macb.

Serv.

Geese, villain?

Soldiers, sir.
Macb. Go, prick thy face, and over-red thy fear,
Thou lily-liver'd boy. What soldiers, patch ?3
Death of thy soul ! those linen cheeks of thine
Are counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whey-face ?
Serv. The English force, so please you.
Macb. Take thy face hence.-[Exit Serv.] Seyton !-
I am sick at heart,

When I behold-Seyton, I say!-This push
Will chair" me ever, or disseat me now.
I have liv'd long enough: my May 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.
Seyton!-
Enter SEYTON.

Sey. What is your gracious pleasure?
Macb.
What news more?
Sey. All is confirm'd, my lord, which was reported.
Macb. I'll fight, till from my bones my flesh be hack'd.
Give me my armour.

Sey.

Macb. I'll put it on.

'Tis not needed yet.

Macb. Throw physic to the dogs; I'll none of it.Come, put mine armour on: give me my staff.Seyton, send out.-Doctor, the thanes fly from me.Come, sir, despatch.-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 't off, I say.What rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drug, Would scour these English hence ?-Hear'st thou of them?

Doct. Ay, my good lord: your royal preparation Makes us hear something.

9

A

Doct. Were I from Dunsinane away and clear, Profit again should hardly draw me here.

SCENE IV.-Country near Dunsinane: a Wood in

view.

Enter, with Drum and Colours, MALCOLM, old SIWARD, and his Son, MACDUFF, MENTETH, CATHNESS, ANGUS, LENOX, ROSSE, and Soldiers marching.

Mal. Cousins, I hope, the days are near at hand, That chambers will be safe.

Ment. We doubt it nothing.

Siw. What wood is this before us?
Ment.

The wood of Birnam.
Mal. Let every soldier hew him down a bough,
And bear 't before him: thereby shall we shadow
The numbers of our host, and make discovery
Err in report of us.

That will with due decision make us know
What we shall say we have, and what we owe.
Thoughts speculative their unsure hopes relate,
But certain issue strokes must arbitrate;
Towards which, advance the war. [Exeunt, marching.

SCENE V.-Dunsinane. Within the Castle. Enter, with Drums and Colours, MACBETH, SEYTON, and Soldiers.

Macb. 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 farc'd3 with those that should be ours,
We might have met them dareful, beard to beard,
[A cry within, of Women.
And beat them backward home. What is that noise?

Sey. It is the cry of women, my good lord.

[Exit.*

Macb. I have almost forgot the taste of fear. The time has been, my senses would have quail'd3 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 supp'd full with horrors: Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts, Cannot once start me.

Re-enter SEYTON."

Wherefore was that cry? Sey. The queen, my lord, is dead.

Macb. She should have died hereafter':
There would have been a time for such a word.-
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,

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.

Enter a Messenger.

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

1 given in f. e. 2 Greater. 3 forc'd in f. e. 4 Not in f. e.

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 th' equivocation of the fiend,

That lies like truth: "Fear not, till Birnam wood
Do come to Dunsinane ;"-and now a wood
Comes toward Dunsinane.-Arm, arm, and out !—
If this, which he avouches, does appear,
There is nor flying hence, nor tarrying here.
I 'gin to be a-weary of the sun,

And wish th' 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. [Exeunt.
SCENE VI.—The Same. A Plain before the Castle.
Enter, with Drums and Colours, MALCOLM, old SIWARD,
MACDUFF, &c., and their Army with Boughs.

Mal. 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,
Shall take upon 's what else remains to do,
According to our order.

Siw.

Fare you well.Do we but find the tyrant's power to-night, Let us be beaten, if we cannot fight.

Macd. Make all our trumpets speak; give them all breath, Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death. [Exeunt. Alarums continued. SCENE VII.-The Same. Another Part of the Plain.

Enter MACBETH.

Macb. 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.

Enter young SIWARD.
Yo. Siw. What is thy name?
Macb.

Thou 'lt be afraid to hear it.
Yo. Siw. No; though thou call'st thyself a hotter
name,
Than any is in hell.

Macb. My name's Macbeth. Yo. Siw. The devil himself could not pronounce a title More hateful to mine ear.

Macb. No, nor more fearful. Yo. Siw. Thou liest, abhorred tyrant: with my sword I'll prove the lie thou speak'st.

Macb.

[They fight, and young SIWARD is slain.
Thou wast born of woman :-

But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn,
Brandish'd by man that's of a woman born.

Alarums. Enter MACDUff.

[Exit.

Macd. That way the noise is.-Tyrant, show thy face!

5 cool'd: in f. e. 6 Skin. 7 Not in f. e.

Macd. Turn, hell-hound, turn. Macb. Of all men else I have avoided thee: But get thee back; my soul is too much charg'd With blood of thine already.

Macd. I have no words ; My voice is in my sword: thou bloodier villain Than terms can give thee out!

Macb.

[They fight. Thou losest labour. As easy may'st thou the intrenchant air With thy keen sword impress, as make me bleed: Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests;

1 bear a charmed life, which must not yield
To one of woman born.

Macd.
Despair thy charm ;
And let the angel, whom thou still hast serv'd,
Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb
Untimely ripp'd.

Macb. Accursed be that tongue that tells me so,
For it hath cow'd my better part of man :
And be these juggling fiends no more believ'd,
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.
Macd. Then, yield thee, coward,

And live to be the show and gaze o' the time:
We'll have thee, as our rarer monsters are,
Painted upon a pole, and underwrit,

"Here may you see the tyrant."

Macb.

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 oppos'd be of no woman born,
Yet I will try the last. Before my body

I throw my warlike shield: lay on, Macduff,
And damn'd be he that first cries, "Hold, enough!"
[Exeunt, fighting.
Retreat. Flourish. Re-enter, with Drum and Colours,
MALCOLM, old SIWARD, ROSSE, Thanes, and Soldiers.
Mal. I would, the friends we miss were safe arriv'd.
Siw. Some must go off; and yet, by these I see,
So great a day as this is cheaply bought.

Mal. Macduff is missing, and your noble son.
Rosse. Your son, my lord, has paid a soldier's debt:
He only liv'd but till he was a man,

The which no sooner had his prowess confirm'd
In the unshrinking station where he fought,
But like a man he died.
Siw.

Then he is dead?

I see thee compass'd with thy kingdom's pearl,
That speak my salutation in their minds
Whose voices I desire aloud with mine,—
Hail, king of Scotland!

All.
Hail, king of Scotland! [Flourish.
Mal. We shall not spend a large expense of time,
Before we reckon with our several loves,

And make us even with you. My thanes and kinsmen,
Henceforth be earls; the first that ever Scotland
In such an honour nam'd. What's more to do,
Which would be planted newly with the time,—
As calling home our exil'd 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 't is 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 crown'd at Scone.

[Flourish. Exeunt.

1 Not in f. e.