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.

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 fell^{1 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,

Till famine cling^{2 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 harness^{3 note} on our back. [Bell Rings.—Flourish.—Exeunt, R.

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