1 WITCH.
When shall we three meet again?
In Thunder, Lightning, or in Rain?

2 Witch.
When the Hurly-burly's done,
When the Battel's lost and won.

3 Witch.
That will be e'er the set of Sun.

1 Witch.
Where the place?

2 Witch.
Upon the Heath.

3 Witch.
There to meet with Macbeth,

1 Witch.
I come, Gray-Malkin.

All.
Padocke calls—anon—Fair is foul, and foul is fair.
Hover through the fog and filthy Air. [They rise from the Stage, and fly away. SCENE II. A Palace. Enter King, Malcolme, Donalbain, Lenox, with Attendants, meeting a bleeding Captain.

King.
What bloody Man is that? He can report,
As seemeth by his Plight, of the Revolt
The newest State.

Mal.
This is the Serjeant,
Who like a good and hardy Soldier fought
'Gainst my Captivity; Hail, hail, brave Friend!
Say to the King, the Knowledge of the broil,
As thou didst leave it.

Cap.
Doubtful it stood;
As two spent Swimmers, that do cling together,
And choak their Art: The merciless Macdonnel
(Worthy to be a Rebel, for to that
The multiplying Villanies of Nature
Do swarm upon him) from the Western Isles
Of Kernes and Gallow-glasses is supply'd,
And Fortune on his damned Quarry smiling,
Shew'd like a Rebels Whore. But all's too weak;
For brave Macbeth, well he deserves that Name,
Disdaining Fortune, with his brandisht Steel,
Which smoak'd with bloody Execution,
Like Valours Minion, carv'd out his Passage,
'Till he fac'd the Slave;
Which never shook Hands, nor bid farewel to him,
'Till he unseam'd him from the Nave to th' Chops,
And fix'd his Head upon our Battlements.

King.
O valiant Cousin! worthy Gentleman!

Cap.
As whence the Sun gins his Reflection,
Shipwracking Storms and direful Thunders breaking;
So from that Spring, whence Comfort seem'd to come,
Discomfort swells: Mark, King of Scotland, mark;
No sooner Justice had, with Valour arm'd,
Compell'd these skipping Kernes to trust their Heels,
But the Norweyan Lord surveying Vantage,
With furbisht Arms and new Supplies of Men,
Began a fresh assault.

King.
Dismaid not this our Captains, Macbeth and Banquo?

Cap.
Yes, as Sparrows Eagles;
Or the Hare the Lion.
If I say sooth, I must report they were
As Cannons overcharg'd with double Cracks,
So they doubly redoubled Stroaks on the Foe:
Except they meant to bathe in reeking Wounds,
Or memorize another Golgotha,

I cannot tell—
But I am faint, my Gashes cry for help—

King.
So well thy Words become thee, as thy Wounds,
They smack of Honour both: Go, get him Surgeons. Enter Rosse and Angus.
Who comes here?

Mal.
The worthy Thane of Rosse.

Len.
What haste looks through his Eyes?
So should he look, that seems to speak things strange.

Rosse.
God save the King.

King.
Whence cam'st thou, worthy Thane?

Rosse.
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, lapt in proof,
Confronted him with Self-comparisons,
Point against Point, rebellious Arm 'gainst Arm,
Curbing his lavish Spirit: And to conclude,
The Victory fell on us.

King.
Great Happiness.

Rosse.
That now Sweno, the Norway's King,
Craves Composition:
Nor would we deign him burial of his Men,
'Tis he disbursed, at St. Colmes-hill,
Ten thousand Dollars, to our general use.

King.
No more that Thane of Cawdor shall deceive
Our bosom Interest. Go, pronounce his present Death,
And with his former Title, greet Macbeth.

Rosse.
I'll see it done.

King.
What he hath lost, noble Macbeth hath won. [Exeunt. SCENE III. The Heath. Thunder. Enter the three Witches.

1 Witch.
Where hast thou been, Sister?

2 Witch.
Killing Swine.

3 Witch.
Sister, where thou?

1 Witch.
A Sailor's Wife had Chestnuts in her Lap,
And mouncht, and mouncht, and mouncht;
Give me, quoth I.
Aroint thee, Witch, the Rump-fed Ronyon cries.
Her Husband's to Aleppo gone, Master o'th' 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.

2 Witch.
I'll give thee a Wind,

1 Witch.
Th'art kind.

3 Witch.
And I another.

1 Witch.
I my self have all the other,
And the very Ports they blow,
All the Quarters that they know,
I'th' Shipman's Card.
I'll drain him dry as Hay;
Sleep shall neither Night nor Day,
Hang upon his Pent-house Lid;
He shall live a Man forbid;
Weary Sev'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.

2 Witch.
Shew me, shew me.

1 Witch.
Here, I have a Pilot's Thumb,
Wrackt as homeward he did come. [Drum within.

3 Witch.
A Drum, a Drum.
Macbeth doth come.

All.
The weyward Sisters, Hand in Hand,
Posters of the Sea and Land.
Thus do go about, about,
Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine,
And thrice again to make up nine.
Peace, the Charm's wound up. Enter Macbeth and Banquo, with Soldiers and other Attendants.

Macb.
So foul and fair a Day I have not seen.

Ban.
How far is't call'd to Soris?—What are these?
So wither'd, and so wild in their attire,
That look not like th' Inhabitants o'th' Earth,

And yet are on't? Live you, or are you ought
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.

Macb.
Speak if you can; what are you?

1 Witch.
All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, Thane of Glamis!

2 Witch.
All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, Thane of Cawdor!

3 Witch.
All hail, Macbeth! that shalt be King hereafter.

Ban.
Good Sir, why do you start, and seem to fear
Things that do sound so fair? i'th' name of Truth,
Are ye fantastical, or that indeed [To the Witches.
Which outwardly ye shew? my noble Partner,
You greet with present Grace, and great Prediction
Of noble having, and of Royal hope,
That he seems wrapt 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.

1 Witch.
Hail!

2 Witch.
Hail!

3 Witch.
Hail!

1 Witch.
Lesser than Macbeth, and greater.

2 Witch.
Not so happy, yet much happier.

3 Witch.
Thou shalt get Kings, though thou be none;
So all hail! Macbeth and Banquo.

1 Witch.
Banquo and Macbeth, all hail!

Macb.
Stay, you imperfect Speakers, tell me more;
By Sinel'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 Prophetick Greeting?—
Speak, I charge you. [Witches vanish.

Ban.
The Earth hath bubbles, as the Water has;
And these are of them: Whither are they vanish'd?

Macb.
Into the Air: and what seem'd corporal,
Melted, as breath into the Wind.
Would they had staid.

Ban.
Were such things here, as we do speak about?
Or have we eaten of the insane Root,
That takes the Reason Prisoner?

Macb.
Your Children shall be Kings.

Ban.
You shall be King.

Macb.
And Thane of Cawdor too; went it not so?

Ban.
To th' self-same tune, and words; who's here? Enter Rosse and Angus.

Rosse.
The King hath happily receiv'd, 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; Silenc'd with that,
In viewing o'er the rest o'th' self-same day,
He finds thee in the stout Norweyan Ranks,
Nothing afraid, of what thy self 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 pour'd them down before him.

Ang.
We are sent,
To give thee, from our Royal Master, thanks,
Only to Herald thee into his sight,
Not pay thee.

Rosse.
And for an earnest of a greater Honour,
He bad me, from him, call thee Thane of Cawdor:
In which Addition, hail, most worthy Thane!
For it is thine.

Ban.
What, can the Devil speak true?

Macb.
The Thane of Cawdor lives;
Why do you dress me in his borrowed Robes?

Ang.
Who was the Thane, lives yet,
But under heavy Judgment bears that Life,
Which he deserves to lose.
Whether he was combin'd with those of Norway,
Or else did line the Rebel with hidden help,
And vantage; or that with both he labour'd
In his Country's wrack, I know not:

But Treasons Capital, confess'd, and prov'd,
Have overthrown him.

Macb.
Glamis, and Thane of Cawdor! [Aside.
The greatest is behind. Thanks for your pains. [To Angus.
Do you not hope your Children shall be Kings? [To Banquo.
When those that gave the Thane of Cawdor to me,
Promis'd no less to them?

Ban.
That trusted home,
Might yet enkindle you into 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's
In deepest Consequence.
Cousins, a word, I pray you. [To Rosse and Angus.

Macb.
Two Truths are told, [Aside.
As happy Prologues to the swelling Act
Of the imperial Theam. I thank you, Gentlemen—
This supernatural solliciting
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 murther yet is but fantastical,
Shakes so my single State of Man,
That Function is smother'd in surmise,
And nothing is, but what is not.

Ban.
Look how our Partner's rapt.

Macb.

If Chance will have me King, why chance may crown me

Ban.
New Honours come upon him,
Like our strange Garments, cleave not to their mould,
But with the aid of use.

Macb.
Come what come may,
Time and the Hour runs thro' the roughest Day.

Ban.
Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure.

Macb.
Give me your Favour:
My dull Brain was wrought with things forgotten.
Kind Gentlemen, your Pains are registred,
Where every Day I turn the Leaf to read them.
Let us toward the King; think upon [To Banquo.
What hath chanc'd, and at more time,
The interim having weigh'd it, let us speak
Our free Hearts each to other.

Ban.
Very gladly.

Macb.
'Till then enough:
Come, Friends. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. A Palace. Flourish. Enter King, Malcolme, Donalbain, Lenox, Attendants.

King.
Is Execution done on Cawdor?
Are not those in Commission yet return'd?

Mal.
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
Confess'd his Treasons, implor'd your Highness pardon,
And set forth a deep Repentance.
Nothing in his Life became him,
Like the leaving it. He dy'd,
As one that had been studied in his Death,
To throw away the dearest thing he ow'd,
As 'twere a careless trifle.

King.
There's no Art,
To find the Mind's Construction in the Face:
He was a Gentleman on whom I built
An absolute trust. Enter Mackbeth, Banquo, Rosse, and Angus.
O worthiest Cousin!
The Sin of my Ingratitude even now
Was heavy on me. Thou art so far before,
That swiftest Wind of Recompence is slow,
To overtake thee. Would thou hadst less deserv'd,

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.

Macb.
The Service and the Loyalty I owe,
In doing it, pays it self.
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 every thing safe toward your Love
And Honour.

King.
Welcome hither:
I have begun to plant thee, and will labour
To make thee full of growing. Noble Banquo,
That hast no less deserv'd, and must be known,
No less to have done so: Let me enfold thee,
And hold thee to my Heart.

Ban.
There if I grow,
The Harvest is your own.

King.
My plenteous Joys,
Wanton in fulness, seek to hide themselves
In drops of Sorrow. Sons, Kinsman, 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 Envernes,
And bind us further to you.

Macb.
The rest is labour, which is not us'd for you;
I'll be my self the Harbinger, and make joyful
The hearing of my Wife with your approach,
So humbly take my leave.

King.
My worthy Cawdor!

Macb.
The Prince of Cumberland!—that is a step,
On which I must fall down, or else o'er-leap, [Aside.
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. [Exit.

King.
True, worthy Banquo; he is full so valiant,
And in his Commendations 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. [Exeunt. SCENE V. An Apartment in Mackbeth's Castle. Enter Lady Mackbeth alone with a Letter.

Lady.

They met me in the Day of Success; and I have learn'd by the perfect'st Report, they have more in them, than mortal Knowledge. When I burnt in desire to question them further, they made themselves Air, into which they vanish'd. Whiles I stood rapt in the wonder of it, came Missives from the King, who all, hail'd me Thane of Cawdor, by which Title before, these wayward Sisters saluted me, and referr'd 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 might'st not lose the dues of rejoycing by being ignorant of what Greatness is promis'd thee. Lay it to thy Heart, and farewel.

Mes.
The King comes here to Night,

Lady.
Thou'rt mad to say it.
Is not thy Master with him? who, wer't so,
Would have inform'd for Preparation.

Mes.
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.

Lady.
Give him tending,
He brings great News. The Raven himself is hoarse, [Exit Messenger.
That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan
Under my Battlements. Come you Spirits,
That tend on mortal Thoughts, unsex me here,
And fill me from the Crown to the Toe, top-full
Of direct 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
Th'effect, and it. Come to my Woman's Breasts,
And take my Milk for Gall, you murth'ring Ministers,
Where-ever in your sightless Substances,
You wait on Nature's Mischief. Come, thick Night,
And pall thee in the dunnest Smoak of Hell,
That my keen Knife see not the wound it makes,
Nor Heav'n peep through the Blanket of the dark,
To cry, hold, hold. Enter Macbeth.
Great Glamis! worthy Cawdor! [Embracing him.
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.

Macb.
My dearest Love,
Duncan comes here to Night.

Lady.
And when goes hence?

Macb.
To Morrow, as he purposes.

Lady.
O never,
Shall Sun that Morrow see.
Your Face, my Thane, is as a Book, where Men
May read strange Matters to beguile the time.

Look like the time, bear welcome in your Eye,
Your Hand, your Tongue; look like the innocent Flower,
But be the Serpent under't. 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.

Macb.
We will speak further.

Lady.
Only look up clear:
To alter Favour ever is to fear.
Leave all the rest to me. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. The Castle Gate. Hautboys and Torches. Enter King, Malcolm, Donalbain, Banquo, Lenox, Macduff, Rosse, Angus, and Attendants.

King.
This Castle hath a pleasant Seat; the Air
Nimbly and sweetly recommends it self
Unto our gentle Senses.

Ban.
This Guest of Summer,
The Temple-haunting Martlet does approve,
By his lov'd Mansonry, that the Heav'n's breath,
Smells wooingly here. No jutty frieze,
Buttrice, nor Coigne of Vantage, but this Bird
Hath made this pendant Bed, and procreant Cradle:
Where they most breed, and haunt, I have observ'd,
The Air is delicate. Enter Lady.

King.
See! see, our honour'd Hostess!
The Love that follows us, sometime is our Trouble,
Which still we thank as Love. Herein I teach you,
How you shall bid god-eyld us for your Pains,
And thank us for your Trouble.

Lady.
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,
Heap'd up to them, we rest your Hermits.

King.
Where's the Thane of Cawdor?
We courst 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 to Night.

Lady.
Your Servants ever,
Have theirs, themselves, and what is theirs in compt,
To make their Audit at your Highness Pleasure,
Still to return your own.

King.
Give me your Hand;
Conduct me to mine Host, we love him highly,
And shall continue our Graces towards him.
By your leave, Hostess. [Exeunt. SCENE VII. An Apartment. Hautboys, Torches. Enter divers Servants with Dishes and Service over the Stage. Then Macbeth.

Macb.
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 School of time—
We'ld jump the Life to come. But in these Cases,
We still have Judgment here, that we but teach
Bloody Instructions, which being taught, return
To plague th'ingredience of our poison'd 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 Murtherer shut the Door,
Not bear the Knife my self. Besides, this Duncan,
Hath born his Faculty so meek; hath been
So clear in his great Office, that his Virtues
Will plead like Angels, Trumpet tongu'd against
The deep Damnation of his taking off:
And Pity, like a naked New-born Babe,
Striding the Blast, or Heavens Cherubin, hors'd

Upon the sightless Curriers 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, but only
Vaulting Ambition, which o'er-leaps it self, Enter Lady.
And falls on th'other—
How now? What News?

Lady.
He has almost sup'd; why have you left the Chamber?

Macb.
Hath he ask'd for me?

Lady.
Know you not, he has?

Macb.
We will proceed no further in this Business.
He hath honour'd 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.

Lady.
Was the hope drunk,
Wherein you drest your self? 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 afraid
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 i'th' Adage.

Macb.
Prethee, Peace:
I dare do all that may become a Man;
Who dares do more is none.

Lady.
What Beast was't then,
That made you break this enterprize to me?
When you durst do it, then you were a Man;
And to be more than what you were, you would
Be so much more the Man. Nor time, nor place
Did then adhere, and yet you would make both:
They have made themselves, and that their fitness now
Do's 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 pluckt my Nipple from his boneless Gums,

And dasht the Brains out, had I but so sworn
As you have done to this.

Macb.
If we should fail?—

Lady.
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 Wassel, 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 lye as in a Death,
What cannot you and I perform upon
Th'unguarded Duncan? What, not put upon
His spungy Officers? Who shall bear the Guilt
Of our great Quell!

Macb.
Bring forth Men-Children only:
For thy undaunted Metal should compose
Nothing but Males. Will it not be receiv'd,
When we have mark'd with Blood those sleepy two
Of his own Chamber, and us'd their very Daggers,
That they have don't?

Lady.
Who dares receive it other,
As we shall make our Griefs and Clamour roar,
Upon his Death?

Macb.
I am setled, 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. [Exeunt.

Previous section

Next section