Malc.
The Sun shall see us Drain the Tyrants Blood
And Dry up Scotlands Tears: How much we are
Oblig'd to England, which like a kind Neighbour
Lifts us up when we were Faln below
Our own Recovery.

Seym.
VVhat VVood is this before us?

Malc.
The VVood of Birnam.

Seym.
Let every Souldier hew him down a Bough,
And bear't before him: By that we may
Keep the Number of our Force undiscover'd
By the Enemy.

Malc.
It shall be done. VVe Learn no more than that

The Confident Tyrant keeps still in Dunsinane,
And will endure a Seige.
He is of late grown Conscious of his Guilt,
Which makes him make that City his Place of Refuge.

Macd.
He'll find even there but little Safety;
His very Subjects will against him Rise.
So Travellers flie to an Aged Barn
For Shelter from the Rain; when the next Shock
Of Wind throws down that Roof upon their Heads,
From which they hop'd for Succour.

Len.
The wretched Kernes which now, like Boughs, are ty'd
To forc'd Obedience; will, when our Swords
Have cut those Bonds, start from Obedience.

Malc.
May the Event make good our Guess:

Macd.
It must, unless our Resolutions fail
They'l kindle, Sir, their just Revenge at ours:
Which double Flame will singe the Wings of all
The Tyrants hopes; depriv'd of those Supports,
He'll quickly Fall.

Seym.
Let's all retire to our Commands; our Breath
Spent in Discourse does but defer his Death,
And but delays our Vengeance.

Macd.
Come let's go;
The swiftest haste is for Revenge too slow. [Exeunt. Enter Macbeth, and Souldiers.

Macb.
Hang out our Banners proudly o're the Wall,
The Cry is still, they Come: Our Castles Strength
Will Laugh a Siege to Scorn: Here let them lie
Till Famine eat them up: Had Seaton still
Been ours, and others who now Increase the Number
Of our Enemies, we might have met 'em
Face to Face. [Noise within.
What Noise is that?

Ser.
It seems the Cry of Women.

Macb.
I have almost forgot the Taste of Fears,
The time has been that Dangers have been my Familiars.
Wherefore was that Cry?

Ser.
Great Sir, the Queen is Dead.

Macb.
She should have Di'd hereafter,
I brought Her here, to see my Victimes, not to Die.

To Morrow, to Morrow, and to Morrow,
Creeps in a stealing pace from Day to Day,
To the last Minute of Recorded Time:
And all our Yesterdays have lighted Fools
To their Eternal Homes: Out, out that 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 Ideot, full of Sound and Fury
Signifying Nothing. [Enter a Messenger.
Thou comest to use thy Tongue: Thy Story quickly.

Mess.
Let my Eyes speak what they have seen,
For my Tongue cannot.

Macb.
Thy Eyes speak Terror, let thy Tongue expound
Their Language, or be for ever Dumb.

Mess.
As I did stand my Watch upon the Hill,
I lookt towards Birnam, and anon me thoughts
The Wood began to move.

Macb.
Lyar and Slave.

Mess.
Let me endure your Wrath if't be not so:
Within this three Mile may you see it coming,
I say, a moving Grove.

Macb.
If thou speakst False, I'll send thy Soul
To th' other World to meet with moving Woods,
And walking Forrests;
There to Possess what it but Dreamt of here.
If thy Speech be true, I care not if thou doest
The same for me. I now begin
To doubt the Equivocation of the Fiend,
They bid me not to fear till Birnam Wood
Should come to Dunsinane: And now a Wood
Is on its March this way; Arm, Arm.
Since thus a Wood do's in a March appear,
There is no Flying hence, nor Tarrying here:
Methinks I now grow weary of the Sun,
And wish the Worlds great Glass of Life were run. Exeunt.

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