R. H.(A)8Q0175.
Mal.
Let us seek out some desolate shade, and there
Weep our sad bosoms empty.
Macduff.
Let us rather
Hold fast the mortal sword; and, like good men,
Bestride our down-fall'n birthdom.1 note 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'd out
Like syllable of dolour.
Mal.
What you have spoke, it may be so perchance.
This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues,
Was once thought honest: you have lov'd him well;
He hath not touch'd you yet.
Macduff.
I am not treacherous.
Mal.
But Macbeth is.
A good and virtuous nature may recoil,
In an imperial charge.2 note
Macduff.
I have lost my hopes.
Mal.
Perchance, even there, where I did find my doubts.
Why in that rawness3 note 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,
-- 75 --
But mine own safeties:—You may be rightly just,
Whatever I shall think.
Macduff.
Bleed, bleed, poor country!
Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure,
For goodness dares not check thee!
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 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.
Macduff.
What should he be?
Mal.
It is myself I mean: in whom I know
All the particulars of vice so grafted,
That, when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth
Will seem as pure as snow; and the poor state
Esteem him as a lamb, being compar'd
With my confineless harms.
Macduff.
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, and my desire:
Nay, had I power. I should
Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell,
Uproar the universal peace, confound
All unity on earth.
Macduff.
O Scotland! Scotland!
-- 76 --
Mal.
If such a one be fit to govern, speak:
Macduff.
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,
Oftener upon her knees than on her feet,
Died every day she lived.4 note
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;5 note but Heaven above
Deal between thee and me! for even now
I put myself to thy direction, and
Unspeak my own detraction; here abjure
The taints and blames I laid upon myself,
For strangers to my nature. 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 of goodness,
Be like our warranted quarrel! Why are you silent?
Macduff.
Such welcome and unwelcome things at once,
'Tis hard to reconcile.
Enter Rosse, L.
See, who comes here?
-- 77 --
Mal.
My countyman; but yet I know him not.
Macduff.
My ever gentle cousin, welcome hither.
Mal.
I know him now: good heav'n, betimes remove
The means that make us strangers!
Ros.
Sir, amen.
Macduff.
Stands Scotland where it did?
Ros.
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 rent the air,
Are made, not mark'd; where violent sorrow seems
A modern ecstacy,6 note 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.
Macduff.
O, relation,
Too nice, and yet too true!
Mal.
What is the newest grief?
Ros.
That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker;
Each minute teems a new one.
Macduff.
How does my wife?
Ros.
Why, well.
Macduff.
And all my children?
Ros.
Well too.
Macduff.
The tyrant has not batter'd at their peace?
Ros.
No; they were well at peace, when I did leave them.
Macduff.
Be not a niggard of your speech: how goes it?
Ros.
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 doff7 note their dire distresses.
Mal.
Be it their comfort,
We are coming thither: gracious England hath
-- 78 --
Lent us good Siward, and ten thousand men;
An older and a better soldier, none
That Christendom gives out.
Ros.
'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 should not latch them.8 note
Macduff.
What concern they?
The general cause? or is it a fee-grief,9 note
Due to some single breast?
Ros.
No mind, that's honest,
But in it shares some woe; though the main part
Pertains to you alone.
Macduff.
If it be mine,
Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it.
Ros.
Let not your ears despise my tongue for ever,
Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound,
That ever yet they heard.
Macduff.
Humph! I guess at it.
Ros.
Your castle is surpris'd; your wife and babes
Savagely slaughter'd: to relate the manner,
Were, on the quarry10 note of these murder'd deer,
To add the death of you.
Mal.
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.
Macduff.
My children too?
Ros.
Wife, children, servants—all
That could be found.
Macduff.
And I must be from thence!
My wife kill'd too?
Ros.
I have said.
Mal.
Be comforted:
-- 79 --
Let's make us med'cines of our great revenge,
To cure this deadly grief.
Macduff.
He has no children!—All my pretty ones?
Did you say, all?—O, hell-kite!—All?
What, all my pretty chickens, and their dam,
At one fell swoop?
Mal.
Dispute it like a man.
Macduff.
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.
Mal.
Be this the whetstone of your sword: let grief
Convert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage it.
Macduff.
O, I could play the woman with mine eyes,
And braggart with my tongue!—But, gentle heaven,
Cut short all intermission;11 note front to front
Bring thou this fiend of Scotland, and myself;
Within my sword's length set him; if he 'scape,
Heaven forgive him too!
[Exeunt, R.
SCENE II.
—CHAMBER WITHIN MACBETHS' CASTLE AT DUNSINANE.
Enter a Doctor of Physic, and a Gentlewoman, L.
Doc.
I have two nights watched with you, but can perceive
no truth in your report. When was it she last
walked?
Gen.
Since his majesty went into the field, I have seen
her rise from her bed, throw her night-gown 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.
Doc.
What, at any time, have you heard her say?
-- 80 --
Gen.
That, sir, which I will not report after her.
Doc.
You may, to me; and 'tis most meet you should.
Gen.
Neither to you, nor any one; having no witness to
confirm my speech. Lo you, here she comes! This is her
very guise; and, upon my life, fast asleep. Observe her;
stand close.
(they go up to the back)
Enter Lady Macbeth, with a light, from vaulted passage, R. C.
Doc.
How came she by that light?
Gen.
Why, it stood by her: she has light by her continually;
'tis her command.
Doc.
You see, her eyes are open.
Gen.
Ay, but their sense is shut.
Doc.
What is it she does now? Look, how she rubs
her hands.
Gen.
It is an accustomed action with her, to seem thus
washing her hands; I have known her continue in this a
quarter of an hour.
Lady M.
Yet here's a spot.
Doc.
Hark, she speaks.
Lady M.
Out damned spot! out, I say!—One; Two;
Why, then 'tis time to do't:—Hell is murky!—Fie, my
lord, Fie! a soldier, and afear'd? 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?
Doc.
Do you mark that?
Lady M.
The Thane of Fife had a wife; where is she
now?—What, will these hands ne'er be clean?—No
more of that, my lord, no more o'that: you mar all with this
starting.
Doc.
Go to, go to; you have known what you should not.
Gen.
She has spoke what she should not, I am sure of
that: Heaven knows what she has known.
Lady M.
Here's the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes
of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh!
oh! oh!
Doc.
What a sigh is there! The heart is sorely charged.
Gen.
I would not have such a heart in my bosom, for the
dignity of the whole body.
-- 81 --
Lady M.
Wash your hands, put on your nightgown; look
not so pale:—I tell you yet again, Banquo's buried; he
cannot come out of his grave.
Doc.
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, R. C.
Doc. (after a pause)
Will she now go to bed?
Gen.
Directly.
Doc.
More needs she the divine, than the physician.—
Look after her;
Remove from her the means of all annoyance,
And still keep eyes upon her: heaven forgive us all.
[Exeunt Gentlewoman, R. C., Doctor, L.
SCENE III.
—COURT OF THE CASTLE.
Flourish. Enter Macbeth, Lords, and Attendants, R.
Macbeth.
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 on thee.”—Then fly, false thanes,
And mingle with the English epicures:(B)8Q0176
The mind I sway by, and the heart I bear,
Shall never sagg1 note with doubt, nor shake with fear.
Enter an Officer, R.
The devil damn thee black, thou cream-fac'd loon!2 note
Where gott'st thou that goose look?
Off.
There is ten thousand—
-- 82 --
Macbeth.
Geese, villain?
Off.
Soldiers, sir.
Macbeth.
Go, prick thy face, and over-red thy fear,
Thou lily-liver'd boy. What soldiers, patch?3 note
Death of thy soul! those linen cheeks of thine
Are counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whey-face?
Off.
The English force, so please you.
Macbeth.
Take thy face hence.
[Exit Officer, R.
Seyton!—I am sick at heart,
When I behold—Seyton, I say!—this push
Will cheer 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, but dare not.
Seyton!—
Enter Seyton, R.
Sey.
What is your gracious pleasure?
Macbeth.
What news more?
Sey.
All is confirm'd, my lord, which was reported.
Macbeth.
I'll fight, till from my bones my flesh be hack'd.
Enter the Doctor, R.
Send out more horses, skirr the country round;
Hang those that talk of fear.
How does your patient, doctor?
Doc. (L. C.)
Not so sick, my lord,
As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies,
That keep her from her rest.
Macbeth.
Cure her of that:
Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd;
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow;
Raze out the written troubles of the brain;
And with some sweet oblivious antidote,
-- 83 --
Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous grief,4 note
Which weighs upon the heart?
Doc.
Therein the patient
Must minister to himself.
Macbeth.
Throw physic to the dogs, I'll none of it.—
Give me my staff:
Seyton, send out.—Doctor, the thanes fly from me:—
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 would applaud again.—
What rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drug,
Would scour these English hence?—Hearest thou of them?
Doc.
Ay, my good lord; your royal preparation
Makes us hear something.
Macbeth.
Bring it after me.—
I will not be afraid of death and bane,
Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane.
[Flourish. Exeunt, R.
SCENE IV.
—COUNTRY NEAR DUNSINANE.
March. Enter Malcolm, Old Siward and his Son, Macduff, Menteth, Cathness, Angus, Lenox, Rosse, and Attendants, L.
Mal.
Cousins, I hope, the days are near at hand,
That chambers will be safe.
Macduff.
We doubt it nothing.
Siw.
What wood is this before us?
Macduff.
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.
-- 84 --
Len.
It shall be done.
Siw.
We learn no other, but the confident tyrant
Keeps still in Dunsinane, and will endure
Our setting down before't.
Macduff.
'Tis his main hope:
For where there is advantage to be given,1 note
Both more and less have given him the revolt;
And none serve with him but constrained things,
Whose hearts are absent too.
Siw.
Let our just censures
Attend the true event, and put we on
Industrious soldiership.
Macduff.
The time approaches,
That will with due decision make us know
What we shall say we have, and what we owe.2 note
Thoughts speculative their unsure hopes relate;
But certain issue strokes must arbitrate:3 note
Towards which, advance the war.
[March. Exeunt, R.
SCENE V.
—DUNSINANE. WITHIN THE CASTLE.
Enter Macbeth, Seyton, and Soldiers, R.
Macbeth.
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 forc'd with those that should be ours,
We might have met them dareful, beard to beard,
And beat them backward home. What is that noise?
(a cry within of women)
Sey.
It is the cry of women my good lord.
[Exit, R.
-- 85 --
Macbeth.
I have almost forgot the taste of fears:
The time has been, my senses would have cool'd
To hear a night-shriek; and my fell1 note 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 slaught'rous thoughts,
Cannot once start me.—
Re-enter Seyton, R.
Wherefore was that cry?
Sey.
The queen, my lord, is dead.
Macbeth.
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 an Officer, R.
Thou com'st to use thy tongue; thy story quickly.
Off.
Gracious my lord,
I should report that which I say I saw,
But know not how to do it.
Macbeth.
Well, say, sir.
Off.
As I did stand my watch upon the hill,
I look'd toward Birnam, and anon, methought
The wood began to move.
Macbeth. (striking him)
Liar, and slave!
Off.
Let me endure your wrath, if't be not so:
Within this three mile may you see it coming;
I say, a moving grove.
Macbeth.
If thou speak'st false,
Upon the next tree thou shalt hang alive,
-- 86 --
Till famine cling2 note thee: if thy speech be sooth,
I care not if thou dost for me as much.—
[Exit Officer, R.
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. Arm, arm, and out!—
[Exit an Officer, R.
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 the estate o' the world were now undone.
Ring the alarum bell:—Blow, wind! come, wrack;
At least we'll die with harness3 note on our back.
[Bell Rings.—Flourish.—Exeunt, R.
SCENE VI.
—VIEW NEAR THE CASTLE.
Enter Malcolm, Old Siward, Macduff, &c., L.; and their Army with boughs.
Mal. (without)
Now near enough; your leafy screens throw down,
And show like those you are:—
[Trumpet heard; the boughs are thrown down and the Army discovered.
You, worthy uncle,
Shall, with my cousin, your right-noble son,
Lead our first battle: worthy Macduff, and we,
Shall take upon us what else remains to do,
According to our order.
Siw.
Do we but find the tyrant's power to-night,
Let us be beaten, if we cannot fight.
-- 87 --
Macduff.
Make all our trumpets speak; give them all breath,
Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death.
[March and exeunt R.
SCENE VII.
—OUTER COURT OF THE CASTLE.
Enter Macbeth, R.
Macbeth.
They have tied me to a stake; I cannot fly,
But, bear-like, I must fight the course.1 note—What's he,
That was not born of woman? Such a one
Am I to fear, or none.
[Exit, L.
Alarums. Enter Macduff, R.
Macduff.
That way the noise is. Tyrant, show thy face:
If thou be'st slain, and with no stroke of mine,
My wife and children's ghosts will haunt me still.
I cannot strike at wretched kernes, whose arms
Are hired to bear their staves; either thou, Macbeth,
Or else my sword, with an unbatter'd edge,
I sheath again undeeded. (Alarums) There thou should'st be;
By this great clatter, one of greatest note
Seems bruited:2 note Let me find him, fortune!
And more I beg not.
[Exit, L. Alarums.
SCENE VIII.
—BEFORE THE CASTLE.
Enter Macbeth at back, L.
Macbeth.
Why should I play the Roman fool, and die
-- 88 --
On mine own sword?1 note
whiles I see lives, the gashes
Do better upon them.
Enter Macduff, L.
Macduff.
Turn, hell-hound, turn.
Macbeth.
Of all men else I have avoided thee:
But get thee back, my soul is too much charg'd
With blood of thine already.
Macduff.
I have no words,
My voice is in my sword; thou bloodier villain
Than terms can give thee out!
Alarums—they fight.
Macbeth.
Thou losest labour:
As easy mayst thou the intrenchant air
With thy keen sword impress, as make me bleed:
Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests;
I bear a charmed life, which must not yield
To one of woman born.
Macduff.
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.
Macbeth.
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.
Macduff.
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.”
Macbeth.
I'll not yield,
To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet,
-- 89 --
And to be baited with the rabble's curse.
Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane,
And thou oppos'd, being of no woman born,
Yet I will try the last: lay on, Macduff;
And damn'd be he that first cries, “Hold, enough.”2 note
[Alarms—Shouts—Fight—Macbeth is Slain.
Enter Malcolm, Old Siward, Rosse, Lenox, Angus, Cathness, Menteth, and Soldiers, R. Malcolm is raised on a shield in C. Shouts. Flourish.(C)8Q0177
THE END.
-- 90 --
Charles Kean [1853], Shakespeare's tragedy of Macbeth, with Locke's music; arranged for representation at the Princess's Theatre, with historical and explanatory notes, by Charles Kean. As first performed on Monday, February 14th, 1853 (Printed by John K. Chapman and Co. [etc.], London) [word count] [S35900].
