1 Witch.
Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd.* ^note

2 Witch.
Twice and once the hedge-pig whin'd.

3 Witch.
Harper cries, 'tis time, 'tis time.

1 Witch.
Round about the cauldron go,
In the poison'd entrails throw. [They march round the Cauldron, and throw in the several Ingredients, as for the Preparation of their Charm.
Toad, that under the cold stone.
Days and nights has thirty-one,
Swelter'd venom sleeping got;
Boil thou first i' th' charmed pot.

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

1 Witch.
Fillet of a fenny snake,
In the cauldron boil and bake;
Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
Adder's fork, and blind worm's sting,
Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing,
For a charm of pow'rful trouble,
Like a hell-broth, boil and bubble.

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

3 Witch.
Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf,
Witches mummy; maw and gulf

Of the ravening salt sea shark;
Root of hemlock, digg'd i' th' dark;
Liver of blaspheming Jew;
Gall of goat, and slips of yew,
Sliver'd in the moon's eclipse;
Nose of Turk, and Tartar's lips;
Finger of birth strangled babe,
Ditch-deliver'd by a drab;
Make the gruel thick and slab.
Add thereto a tyger's chawdron,
For the ingredients of our cauldron.

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

2 Witch.
Cool it with a baboon's blood,
Then the charm is firm and good. Enter Hecate, and other three Witches.

Hec.
O! well done! I commend your pains,
And every one shall share i' th' gains.

2 Witch.
Hold, by the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes. [A knocking.
Open locks, whoever knocks. Enter Macbeth.

Macb.
How now, you secret, black, and midnight hags,
What is't you do?

All.
A deed without a name.

Macb.
I conjure you, by that which you profess,
(Howe'er you come to know it) answer me.
Though you untie the winds, and let them fight
Against the churches; though the yesty waves
Confound and swallow navigation up;
Though bladed corn be lodg'd, 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 germins, tumble all together,
Even 'till destruction sicken; answer me,
To what I ask you.* ^note

1 Witch.
Speak.

2 Witch.
Pronounce.

3 Witch.
Demand.

Hec.
We'll answer.

1 Witch.
Say if th' hadst rather hear it from our mouths,
Or from our masters!

Macb.
Call 'em: let me see 'em.

1 Witch.
Pour in sow's blood, that hath eaten
Her nine farrow; grease that's sweaten
From the murd'rer's gibbet, throw
Into the flame.

All.
Come high or low:
Thyself and office deftly shew. [Thunder. Apparition of an armed head, rises.* ^note

Macb.
Tell me, thou unknown power—

1 Witch.
He knows thy thought:
Hear his speech, but say thou nought.

App.
Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! beware Macduff.
Beware the Thane of Fife—dismiss me—enough. [Descends.

Macb.
Whate'er thou art, for thy good caution, thanks,
Thou'st harp'd my fear aright. But one word more.—

1 Witch.
He will not be commanded; here's another,
More potent than the first. [Thunder. Apparition of a bloody child, rises.

App.
Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth!

Macb.
Had I three ears, I'd hear thee.

App.
Be bloody, bold, and resolute; laugh to scorn
The pow'r of man; for none, of woman born,
Shall harm Macbeth. [Descends.

Macb.
Then live, Macduff: what need I fear of thee?
But yet I'll make assurance double sure,

And take a bond of fate; thou shalt not live,
That I may tell pale-hearted fear it lies;
And sleep in spight of thunder.* ^note [Thunder. Apparition of a Child crowned, with a tree in his hand, rises.
What is this,
That rises like the issue of a king,
And wears upon his baby-brow the round
And top of sovereignty?

All.
Listen, but speak not.

App.
Be lion-mettled, proud, and take no care,
Who chafes, who frets, or who conspirers are:
Macbeth shall never vanquish'd be, until
Great Birnam wood to Dunsinane's high hill
Shall come against him. [Descends.

Macb.
That will never be.
Who can impress the forest, bid the tree
Unfix his earth-bound root? Sweet boadments!
—Yet my heart
Throbs to know one thing; tell me, (if your art
Can tell so much) shall Banquo's issue ever
Reign in this kingdom?

All.
Seek to know no more. [The Cauldron sinks into the ground.

Macb.
I will be satisfied. Deny me this,
And an eternal curse fall on you! let me know,
Why sinks that cauldron? and what noise is this?

1 Witch.
Appear!

2 Witch.
Appear!

3 Witch.
Appear!

All.
Shew his eyes, and grieve his heart;
Come like shadows, so depart. [Eight Kings appear, and pass over in order; the last with a glass in his hand; then Banquo.

Macb.
Thou art too like the spirit of Banquo—down!
Thy crown doth sear mine eye-balls— [To the first.

A second like the first—
A third is like the former—filthy hags!
Why do you shew me this?—A fourth—start eye!
A fifth!
Another yet!—A seventh! I'll see no more—
And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass,
Which shews me many more.
Horrible sight! nay, now I see, 'tis true;
For the blood-bolter'd Banquo smiles upon me,
And points at them for his. What! is this so?* ^note

1 Witch.
Ay, sir, all this is so: but why
Stands Macbeth thus amazedly?
Come, sisters, chear we up his sprights,
And shew the best of our delights;
I'll charm the air to give a sound,
While you perform your antick round;
That this great king may kindly say,
Our duties did his welcome pay. [Musick. [A dance of Furies, and then all vanish.

Macb.
Where are they? Gone?—Let this pernicious hour
Stand ay accursed in the calendar!
Come in, there— Enter Lenox.

Len.
What's your grace's will?

Macb.
Saw you the weyward sisters?

Len.
No, my lord.

Macb.
Came they not by you?

Len.
No, indeed, my lord.

Macb.
Infected be the air whereon they ride,
And damn'd all those that trust them! I did hear
The galloping of horse. Who was't came by?

Len.
'Twas two or three, my lord, that bring you word,
Macduff is fled to England.

Macb.
Fled to England?

Len.
Ay, my good lord.

Macb. [Aside.]
Time, thou anticipat'st my dread exploits:
The flighty purpose never is o'ertook,

Unless the deed go with it. From this moment,
The very firstlings of my heart shall be
The firstlings of my hand.
The castle of Macduff I will surprise,
Seize upon Fife, give to the edge o' th'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. [Exeunt. Scene SCENE changes to Macduff's Castle at Fife. Enter Lady Macduff, her Son, and Rosse.* ^note

L. Macd.
What had he done to make him fly the land?

Rosse.
You must have patience, madam.

L. Macd.
He had none;
His flight was madness; when our actions do not;
Our fears do make us traitors.

Rosse.
You know not,
Whether it was his wisdom, or his fear.

L. Macd.
Wisdom? to leave his wife, to leave his babes,
His mansion, and his titles, in a place
From whence himself doth fly? he loves us not;
He wants the nat'ral 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 reasons.

Rosse.
My dearest cousin,
I pray you school yourself; but for your husband,
He's noble, wife, judicious, and best knows
The fits o' th' season. I dare not speak much farther,

But cruel are the times, when we are traitors,
And do not know ourselves: when we hold rumour
From what we fear, yet know not what we fear;
But float upon a wild and violent sea,
Each way, and move. I take my leave of you;
Shall not belong 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!

L. Macd.
Father'd he is, and yet he's fatherless.

Rosse.
I am so much a fool, should I stay longer,
It would be my disgrace, and your discomfort.
I take my leave, at once. [Exit Rosse. Enter Angus.

Ang.
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; hence, with your little ones.
Heav'n preserve you!
I dare abide no longer. [Exit Angus.

L. Macd.
Whither should I fly?
I've done no harm. But I remember now,
I'm 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'd done no harm? [Exeunt. Scene SCENE changes to the King of England's Palace. Enter Malcolm and Macduff.* ^note

Mal.
Let us seek out some desolate shade, and them
Weep our sad bosoms empty.

Macd.
Let us, rather,
Hold fast she mortal sword;

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 yell'† ^note out
Like syllables of Grief.

Mal.
This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongue
Was once thought honest: you have lov'd him well,
He hath not touch'd you, yet. I'm young, but something
You may discern of him through me, and wisdom
To offer up a weak, poor, innocent lamb,
T'appease an angry god.

Macd.
I am not treacherous.

Mal.
But Macbeth is.
A good and virtuous nature may recoil,
In an imperial charge.

Macd.
I've lost my hopes.

Mal.
Perchance, e'en there, where I did find my doubts.
Let not my jealousies be your dishonours,
But mine own safeties: you may be rightly just,
Whatever I shall think.

Macd.
Bleed, bleed, poor country?
Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure,
For goodness dares not check thee! Wear thou thy wrongs,
His title is affear'd. Fare thee well, lord:
I would not be the villain that thou think'st,
For the whole space that's in the tyrant's grasp,
And the rich east to boot.

Mal.
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 up-lifted 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.

Macd.
Not in the legions
Of horrid hell, can come a devil more damn'd
In evils, to top Macbeth.

Mal.
I grant him bloody,
Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful,
But there's no bottom, none,
In my voluptuousness:
Nay, had I power, I should
Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell,
Uproar the universal peace, confound
All unity on earth.* ^note

Macd.
Oh Scotland! Scotland!—

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

Macd.
Fit to govern?
No, not to live. Oh, nation miserable,
With an untitled tyrant, bloody-sceptred!
When shalt thou see thy wholsome days again?
Since that the truest issue of thy throne,
By his own interdiction stands accurst,
And does blaspheme his breed. Thy royal father
Was a most sainted king; the queen that bore thee,
Oftner upon her knees than on her feet,
Dy'd every day she liv'd. Oh! fare thee well!
These evils, thou repeat'st upon thyself,
Have banish'd me from Scotland. Oh, 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 pow'r: and modest wisdom plucks me

From over-credulous haste: but Heav'n above
Deal between thee and me! for even now
I put myself to thy direction, and
Unspeak my own detraction; 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,
All ready at a point, was setting forth.
Now we'll together, and the chance, O goodness,
Be like our warranted quarrel! Why are you silent?

Macd.
Such welcome, and unwelcome things, at once,
'Tis hard to reconcile.* ^note Enter Rosse.

Macd.
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 Heav'n betimes remove
The means that make us strangers!

Rosse.
Sir, amen.

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 e'er they sicken.

Macd.
Oh, relation
Too nice, and yet too true!

Mal.
What's the newest grief?

Rosse.
That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker,
Each minute teems a new one.

Macd.
How does my wife?

Rosse.
Why, well—

Macd.
And all my children?

Rosse.
Well, too.—

Macd.
The tyrant has not batter'd at their peace?

Rosse.
No; they were all at peace, when I did leave 'em.

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 rather,
For that I saw the tyrant's power a-foot:
Now is the time of help; your eye in Scotland
Would create soldiers, and make women fight,
To doff their dire distresses.

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

Rosse.
Would I could answer
This comfort with the like! but I have words,
That would be howl'd out in the desert air,
Where hearing could not catch them.* ^note

Macd.
What concern they?
The gen'ral cause? or is it a grief,
Due to some single breast?

Rosse.
No mind that's honest,
But in it shares some woe; tho' the main part
Pertains to you alone.

Macd.
If it be mine,
Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it.

Rosse.
Let not your ears despise my tongue for ever,
Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound,
That ever yet they heard.

Macd.
At once, I guess, and am afraid to know!

Rosse.
Your castle is surpriz'd, your wife and babes
Savagely slaughter'd. To relate the manner,
Were on the quarry of these murder'd deer
To add the death of you.

Mal.
Merciful heav'n!
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.† ^note

Macd.
My children, too!—

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

Macd.
And I not with them. My wife kill'd, too!

Rosse.
I've said.

Mal.
Be comforted.
Let's make us med'cines of our great revenge,
To cure this deadly grief.

Macd.
He has no children.—All my pretty ones?
Did you say all? what all? oh, hell-kite, all?
What all my pretty chickens, and their dam,
At one fell swoop?

Mal.
Dispute it like a man.

Macd.
I shall do so.
But I must also feel it as a man.* ^note
I cannot but remember such things were,
That were most precious to me: did heav'n look on,
And would not take their part? Sinful Macduff,
They were all struck for thee!
Not for their own demerits, but for mine.

Mal.
Be this the whetstone of your sword, let grief
Convert to wrath: blunt not the heart, enrage it.

Macd.
O, I could play the woman with mine eyes,
And braggart with my tongue. But, gentle heav'n!
Cut short all intermission: front to front,
Bring thou this fiend of Scotland, and myself;
Within my sword's length set him, if he 'scape
Then heav'n forgive him too!

Mal.
This tune goes manly:
Come, go we to the king, our power is ready;
Our lack is nothing but our leave. Macbeth
Is 'ripe for shaking, and the powers above
Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer you may;
The night is long that never finds the day. [Exeunt.† ^note End of the Fourth Act.

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