Castlist

CHARACTERS.

Olympic, 1853.

Apparitions, Murderers, Messengers, and an Army of 20,000 Men (more or less), who have been expressly engaged on this occasion—with the Enemy.

[Witch 1], [Witch 2], [Witch 3], [Courtiers], [Seyton], [Chorus], [ Murderer 1], [Murderer 2], [Servant], [Apparition 1], [Apparition 2], [Messenger]

Duncan	King of Scotland, a Monarch of large heart but homœopathic intellects, which is the principal reason of his having “borne his faculties so meek.”	Mr. G. Cooke.
Malcolm	the solitary heir to his Father's vacant crown, who is left heir-apparent without e'er a parent left, his “sainted Mother” having contracted a habit of “dying every day she lived,” which unfortunately resulted in her being taken at her word on one occasion, and buried by accident	Mr. T. J. Rolfe.
Donalbain	his Orphan Brother, who, though he doesn't often speak, is continually off an' on	Miss C. Adams.
Macbeth	the original “Noble Sportsman, who crossed the poor Gipsy's hand with Silver, and listened to the stars,”—his descendants are living to this day	Mr. F. Robson.
Banquo	the “pretty gentleman” who accompanied him, a General, of whom it is unnecessary to go into particulars	Mr. Clifton.
Macduff	Thane of Fife, one Macbeth wishes to “play upon,” but only manages to “fret,” who leaves his native land to seek assistance from Sea ward	Mr. W. Shalders
Rosse [Ross]	who boasts no further affinity to the celebrated Telescope than that he is easily seen through, and continually drawn out for the purpose of being shut up	Mr. Kinloch.
Lennox	a Peer, who appears to say nothing	Mr. Laporte.
Family Physician	an old friend of the Macbeths, who sticks to them like a Leech	Mr. Harris.
Family Porter	like Family Porters generally, engaged for the “heavy” business, with a great deal of body and very little head.	Mr. Beere.
Lady Macbeth	a lady of masculine mind and unbounded spirit, considerably above proof, who saw a few impediments to her “solely sovereign sway, and master'd 'em”	Mrs. A. Phillips
A Gentlewoman	a curious, and as such, by no means uncommon specimen of the genus waiting maid	Miss Rawlings.
A Witch	fine grown young ladies, who, but for the lengths to which they go, could have no claim to be called Lankey-shire witches	Mr. C. Bender.
A Witch	fine grown young ladies, who, but for the lengths to which they go, could have no claim to be called Lankey-shire witches	Mrs. B. Bartlett
A Witch	fine grown young ladies, who, but for the lengths to which they go, could have no claim to be called Lankey-shire witches	Miss I. Adams.

Programme OF SCENERY AND INCIDENTS.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

A BLASTED HEATH.

Discovery of three Impostors in postures most imposing—A wild air (which, being a March, is of course as mad as a March air) announces the return of the Victorious Generals, at the head of the Army above referred to, at present lost sight of in the fog in which they are Scotch missed—Three first-rate tips from the Turf Prophets, and the threads of fate disentangled from the loom of the future.

SCENE II.

CAMP AT FORES.

Wherein the King, in a sudden burst of Hospitality invites himself out to Dinner.

SCENE III.

Gates and Terrace of Macbeth's Castle.

The letter—Affecting conjugal re-union—Preparations made to “welcome the coming,” and subsequently considerably “speed the parting guests”—Fashionable arrivals.

SCENE IV.

Court Yard and Gallery in the Castle.

The King retires to rest (N.B. Night comes on very rapidly in Burlesque Regions)—Macbeth is led to the celebrated air-drawn “dagger dance,” after which, the Royal Duncan (Clipper built A 1) is “cleared outwards with a quick despatch,” and, with his nasty death, concludes his dy-nasty—The discovery!—The alarm!—General confusion of everything, and consternation of everybody.

Grand Pas de Night Gowns and Chamber Candles.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

CHAMBER IN THE CASTLE.

Macbeth receives a visit from two professional gentlemen of experience, for the purpose of drawing up a deed of settlement and undertaking for Banquo.

SCENE II.

THE BANQUET HALL.

Wherein Macbeth exchanges from the Blues into a Light Company, and Banquo returns from a cheap trip to Gravesend to supper, at which he naturally makes his supper-natural appearance.

SCENE III.

A WOOD.

The Exiles—Painful recital—Just cause of action and strictly legal proceedings for excessive distress.

SCENE IV.

THE WITCHES' HAUNT. (IN WYCH STREET.)

The Incantation—The Apparition; a scene in which the useful lesson is inculcated, that “appearances often deceive.”

SCENE V.

A CHAMBER.

Wherein a lady, by no means slow awake, appears particularly fast asleep.

SCENE VI.

A TRULY MOVING SCENE.

Curious translation of De Foe, intended to come out in numbers at the fall of the leaf, illustrated with one large woodcut.

SCENE VII.

Nothing Particular!

All-arming state of things, and an unexpected amount of intelligence from a Gentleman with a goose look.

SCENE VIII.

BEFORE THE CASTLE.

Desperate combat and overthrow of the Tyrant—General resuscitation, repentance, and reconciliation—Common-place but necessary, and it is hoped

SATISFACTORY CONCLUSION.

COSTUMES.

With respect to the Costumes, and the least possible respect to the Authorities (who are singularly vague and unsatisfactory), I have endeavoured to borrow the materials from that Nation with whom the Christian Members of the Legislature appear to be constantly at war; but, of course, without success. Being therefore reluctantly compelled to pay for them, I am naturally anxious that they should be as correct as is consistent with propriety and a moderate outlay. Pinnock informs us, in his admirable Work for the use of Schools, that the early inhabitants of Britain, a few years anterior to the date of this Play, were contented with one light over-coat of paint, fitting closely to the figure, with the trifling addition of a War Club on full dress occasions; but as this Costume, if closely followed, would probably be considered too cool for even the extreme latitudes of Burlesque, it has been thought advisable to discard the entire Suit, with the Strong Club, on this occasion. The continual inroads of the Norsemen, and the invasion of Canute in 1031, may have suggested to the Scots the propriety of receiving a better dressing from their foes than they were able to give them.

History informs us that, in the time of Severus, a barrier of masonry was thrown across the Island (a performance which must have required a tolerably strong Cast) to repel the Marauders, being the only instance of Free Masonry in which there was no Grand Arch, when, as usual, the weakest went to the Wall. After this, the habits of the inhabitants appear to have been Checked Breeches with Legging Continuations as long as they were permitted. Their garments at this period, are represented as of a material known as a coarse Tweed; I have, however, consulted Berwick on the coarse of the Tweed, but with no material result: it is however quite clear, that of whatever stuff they were composed, their enemies, finding they had their own work cut out in subduing the hardy Scots, offered them a peace, and that they eventually made it up between them.

Partly for these reasons, but chiefly because I happen to have them by me. I have introduced the Tunic, Mantle, cross Gartering, and ringed Byrne of the Danes and Saxons, between whom it does not appear that any material difference existed, except that when any

little difference did arise between them, the Saxon Broad Cloth was unpleasantly double-milled.

Harold Hardrada, King of Norway, is described by Snorre as wearing, A. D. 1066, a blue Tunic and handsome Helmet; but, as the Gentlemen of this period were not remarkable for honesty, it is by no means impossible that they properly belonged to some one else.

Roderick, King of Strathclyde, is mentioned as sleeping on a Feather Bed, proving somewhat paradoxically that, however downy his pillow might be, he was sufficiently wide awake to be down upon it.

During the five centuries previous to the Norman Conquest, the Scots made great advances; and as, when a Scotchman once moves, he is famous for not going back again, there is every reason to believe that no halts took place in their march of improvement, and that the fashion of their Dress and Buildings were precisely what were most convenient to themselves.—I have strictly followed their example.

On the subject of Banquo's Umbrella, which has been borrowed from a stand of the period, I have availed myself of the valuable ignorance of a friend—who expects I shall return it—and to whom I take this opportunity of acknowledging an obligation which I feel I shall never repay.

MACBETH TRAVESTIE. ACT I. SCENE I. —A Blasted Heath.—“Thunder, Lightning, Hail, and Rain,” The Three Witches discovered crouching, one smoking a short pipe, R. Enter Macbeth and Banquo, under an umbrella, L.

Ban.
So half-and-half a day I never met.

Macb.
A mixture of Scotch hail and heavy wet.

Ban.
I told you when we started, my fine feller,
'Twas wise to bring the family umbreller.

Macb.
You will allow me to observe, my pippin,
You get it's shelter, and I get it's drippin'. (The Witches come forward)

1st Witch.
Cross the poor gipsey's hand, my valiant soldier.

2nd Witch.
My noble sportsmen, have your fortune told yer.

3rd Witch.
That pretty gentleman will sure be fortunate.

1st Witch.
A blue-eyed lady loves you.

Ban.
There—no more.
Egypt's dark daughter has become a bore.

Macb.
Say, rather, Egypt's mummy—by the dress,
Of doubtful sex. (To Witches) What are ye?

Witches.
Can't you guess?

Macb.
You should be women, but I never saw
One who wore whiskers and a beard before;
And long among the fair sex might I seek
For one who shewed so little bare-faced cheek.
A lady in your likeness would be jeered,

Unless as a Daguerrotype by Beard.
A Newgate “fringe” infringes on our rights.
What are ye, hideous fair ones, gentle frights?

Witches. (bridling up)
Well, I am sure!

Ban.
My friends, don't heed his ravings,
He seems a deal bored with your little shavings.

1st Witch.
Hail, Thane of Glamis!

2nd Witch.
Thane of Cawdor, hail!

3rd Witch.
Macbeth by perseverance shall not fail
To be the King of Scotland!

All.
Hail! hail! hail!

Macb.
what mean these salutations, noble Thane?

Ban.
These showers of “hail” anticipate your reign

Macb. (to Witches)
Young woman, do you see aught in my eye
That smacks at all of verdure, that you try
To gammon me? I'm far too old a bird
Thus to be caught with chaff—it's too absurd.
In what the first fair creature says, no harm is,—
By Sinel's death, I know I'm Thane of Glamis;
But this fact is in my digestion sticking—
The Thane of Cawdor is alive—and kicking—
A jovial old cove:—and to be King!
I'm sure I never dreamt of such a thing.

Ban. (to Witches)
Excuse me, ladies—ain't you going it?
My lot now,—I don't care much for knowing it;
For, as for reading fortunes in the stars,
Men all have the same mother-planet—Ma's,—
Suckled alike in the same “Milky way,”
And born to trouble;—so, what you may say
Won't overwhelm me much with fear or hope,—
To cope with horrors is man's horos-cope!
With nonsense, therefore, don't attempt to cram one,
And, as you'd save your bacon, spare your gammon.

Witches.
Thou shall get kings, though thou thyself be none!

Ban.
Oh, stuff and fiddlesticks!

Macb. (aside)
I'm diddled—done!
Don't go, young women, till you've said from whence
You owe this very strange intelligence:
For, in an intellectual point of view,

We don't look for intelligence in you.
D'ye think that we don't know the time of day
That on this blasted heath you stop our way?
Answer! I'll send you, if you don't soon speak,
Upon a flying visit to next week! (Witches vanish, R. H.)
They're vanished!

Ban.
I'm sorry this you troubles;—
The earth, Sir, like the water, has its bubbles. Enter Rosse R.H.

Rosse.
Macbeth, the King has sent me as you see,
To wish you joy of this great victory.
He says he knows you're a right-down good chap—
For hardest blows don't care the smallest rap—
At sight of swords and bayonets don't stick—
And stand a mortar like a regular brick;—
He bids me, therefore, hail you Cawdor's Thane!

Macb.
Good gracious me! why, there it is again!
It's very queer! Why, Banquo, did you ever?

Ban.
I confidently may affirm, I never!

Macb.
Upon my life, the King is very kind!
Glamis aud Cawdor! (aside) The greatest is behind.
It Chance insists upon my regal sway,
Why, Chance may crown me—that's all I've to say! (stands abstracted)

Ban. (to Rosse)
By those weird ladies' strange announcements trapped,
He seems quite struck.

Rosse.
Yes—I observe he's rapt.

Ban.
New honours come upon men like new shoes to them—
Cramping them dreadfully till they grow used to them.
So have I seen the ball-room maiden's fixes
To don a pair of Houbigaut's ‘short sixes.’
Severe the struggle, but, the thumb once passed,
They fit as easy as a glove at last! (slaps Macbeth on the shoulder—he starts)
Come, let's be moving!

Macb.
How you made me start!

Ban.
Let's start together, then.

Macb.
With all my heart!

Rosse.
Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure.

Mac.
I will attend you with a deal of pleasure.
March, there! (aside) Those witches! What on earth could bring em? (aloud)
Advance your standards!...Banquo, hoist the gingham!

Trio—“Auld Lang Syne.”—Rob Roy. Ban.
Let those old quaint 'uns go to pot,
  Nor e'er be brought to mind;
To rest content with what you've got,
  Best policy you'll find! Macb.
Can these old quaint 'uns be forgot,
  E'en were I so inclined,
Who told me two good things? (aside) I wot
  The greatest is behind! Rosse.
I can't stop talking any more;
  Come—else the King you'll find
Blame you, who ne'er fell short before,
  For falling short behind! (Ensemble—Chorus—and exeunt arm-in-arm, under the umbrella, R. SCENE II. —A Chamber in the Palace—Trumpet. Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donaldbain, Lennox, Lords, and Attendants, R., meeting Macbeth, Banquo, and Rosse, L,

Dun.
Noble Macbeth, to this heart let me fold yer.
We've just now heard all from a bloody soldier,
Who said you skewered M'Donald through and through.
Sir, you're a trump, and, Banquo, so are you.
The joy within us, friends, like steam, is pent,

And we must bust if we can't give it vent!
How to give utterance to what we feel
We know not,—'spose we cotton to a reel? AIR—“Jim Crow,” to which Macbeth, Banquo, and Rosse dance a reel at back—Duncan dances fantastically by himself in front.

Dun.
That dance has gi'en our appetite a whet,
And made us precious dry. Go, some one, get
A pot of half-and-half. Stay, (to Macbeth) how far hence
Do you hang out? We'll dine at your expense.
What says Macbeth? You see, we're self-invited.

Macb.
Lady Macbeth, I'm sure, will be delighted.
We lodge at No. 3, in the next street.

Dun.
We'll pick a bone.

Macb.
An' your highness think it meet.

Dun.
Put 't to the vote,—say how the ballot goes.

Ban.
The “Ayes,” my lord, are precious near the “Noes.”

Dun.
Oh! blow the “Noes!” (to Macbeth) Sir, dine with you we will;
We like to get a chop without a bill.
But mind, for dainties we don't care a butto

Macb.
We've in the house some excellent cold mutton,
That we were going to dine off; but for you,
We'll put the house into a regular stew.
I'll fly, my lord—the modest banquet order.

Dun.
Adieu, Macbeth, our worthy Thane of Cawdor.

Macb.
To obey, my lord, I'm off like any cracker. (aside)
Stars! dowse your glims, and keep a little backer,
Lest light should show these ninnies what I'm at,
And from the bag let out my dreadful cat! Exit R.

Dun.
We've said our Royal say,—let's on. But no,—
We'll try our Royal voice before we go.

AIR—Duncan.—“Bow, wow, wow.”
Oh, we are Caledonia's king, and, matters not to mince, sirs,
We think we may assert ourselves a very pattern prince, sirs.
Now tell me true, my subjects all, d'ye think that any one can
Point out, amid the monarchs round, a jollier king than Duncan?

Chorus—Courtiers.—No, no, no! Dun.
'Cause if you can, speak out at once! Courtiers.
Oh—no, no, no!
By some I'm called a tyrant; but I'll trouble you to find, sirs,
The interest of the State neglected—where my own's combined, sirs.
Speak out—there's no compulsion, but you must—and I opine, sirs,
I ne'er yet checked a wish of yours—when it happened to be mine, sirs. Courtiers.
No, no, no! Dun.
'Cause if I did, speak out at once! Courtiers.
No, no, no! (bowing)

Ban.
Shall you lodge there, my lord, or spend the day?

Dun.
Not being Ferguson, perhaps we may. Exeunt Omnes, R. SCENE III. —Terrace of Macbeth's Castle. Enter Lady Macbeth, reading a letter, R.

Lady M. (reading)
“We met, 'twas on a heath, and on that day
“When victory had flushed us; really they
“Both turned our blood to curds and stopped our way;
“Sally, report has said, and I have got
“A gothic notion, they know what is what;
“They called me, dear, all manner of rum things:
“While Cawdor's title in my noddle rings,
“Would you believe it? but a flunkey brings
“The news of Cawdor's death; I have to thank
“That queer old file for giving me his rank.
“One hailed me King—I pause to wipe my eye,
“For it's affecting.—Sally, dear, good bye!
“Ever affectionately yours, till death
“Pops on his extinguisher,

“Samuel Macbeth.”

Yet will thy scruples my intentions clog;
To go at once the unadulterate hog
Is not thy nature. Thou'rt the style of buck
That has the will to sin, but not the pluck.
Come, Macbeth, let me pour into thine ears
My notions of what's what; chastise the fears
Alone impede thy sovereignty.—How now? Enter Seyton, L.
Out with thy news, and tell us,—What's the row?

Seyt.
The King comes here to-night.

Lady M.
Whence did you glean it?
The King come here? you surely cannot mean it?
If't be so, where's thy master, then—Macbeth?

Seyt.
Madam, I've nearly run myself to death,
To bring the news—indeed, I'm out of breath;
The worthy Thane comes with him.

Lady. M.
With him?—So!
Well, if that's all, why, fellow, don't you go?

Seyt. (hesitating)
Your ladyship, I've been running, and the weather
Is hot and dry; so, Madam, altogether—

Lady M.
Speak out thy errand,—wilt stand here a week?
Come to the pint at once.

Seyt.
The pint I seek
Is one of beer—I prefers half-and-half,
Which to your ladyship's best health I'd quaff;
I hope your ladyship don't think me rude.

Lady M.
You'll find, down stairs, some excellent homebrewed.
No more—now walk! Exit Seyton L.
Fiends who delight to vex,
Do me the kindness just to change my sex!
Let me no shadow of remorse now feel!
Make me a lump of guilt from head to heel!
Fulfil, I pray, this delicate request,
And add aught that your kindness may suggest,
Yet mask it all with stuff they call soft sawder.

Enter Macbeth, L.
Welcome, great Glamis!—welcome, worthy Cawdor!
Nay greater! (they embrace)

Macb.
Ducky! Duncan comes to-night
To stay and sup with us.

Lady M.
Yes, that's all right. (significantly)
When goes he hence?

Macb.
To-morrow he'll endeavour.

Lady M. (mysteriously)
Not if I knows it, Sammy—trust me, never!

Macb.
What mean you?

Lady M.
Why, at such things you a muff are!

Macb.
You wouldn't have me spifflicate the buffer?
I must think more of this.

Lady M.
Look (so thou wilt less
Suspicion rouse) particularly guiltless—
Leave all the rest to me.

Macb.
The rest? Don't fret at all;—
If I do this, no rest for me—you'll get it all.

Duet.—Air—“There's a good time coming.” Lady M.
There's a good chance coming, Sam—
  A good chance coming!
If the King comes here to-day,
We're not such flats as throw away
  The good chance coming! Macb.
But, my love, it's very wrong—
  Nothing could be wronger
Than such a thing— Lady M.
Well, hold your tongue,
  And wait a little longer! Chorus.—Repeat and exeunt R. Air—“Sich a gittin' up stairs”—Enter Duncan and Rosse, L. U. E., much out of breath—the former with a carpet-bag and umbrella.

Dun.
We're up at last, but I'm quite out of breath
In coming up so high; and where's Macbeth?

The castle's pleasant, and the prospect fair
To look upon.

Rosse.
What a delicious air
Upon the hill—

Dun.
Well, p'r'aps your right, but I,
To tell the truth, don't like my hare so high!
Ha, ha! Egad! that's not so bad a one.

Rosse.
A what, my liege?

Dun.
Of course, I mean the pun—
Hare—high,—d'ye twig?—But you don't laugh.

Rosse.
My lord,
I was just going to, upon my word! (laughs forcedly)

Dun.
Methinks your apprehension somewhat shady.
There, that'll do, you muff!—Here comes the lady. Enter Lady Macbeth, with a garden bonnet on, and a watering pot in hand, R.U.E.

Lady M.
Yo do us proud, my liege—our best attention
Can ne'er repay this awful condescension;
Though ill prepared for such a guest—

Dun.
Ne'er mind,
Madam, you're super-eminently kind.
We're quite en garçon, the rest behind us lag,
Whilst we walked forward with out carpet-bag;
And as for splendour, we don't care a pin for it,
But just dropped in—

Lady M. (aside)
Egad! you've just dropped in for it. (aloud)
My Lord, the best our poor house can supply
Is at your highness' service.

Dun.
By the bye,
Forgive me—but to-night a berth Macbeth
Has promised.

Lady M. (aside)
Yes, your berth will be your death! (aloud)
So please you, I'll go see the feast prepared,
And mind your royal highness' bed's well aired! Exit R.

Dun.
We follow, Marm— (he is impeded by the carpet-bag and umbrella)
I say, Rosse, my good feller,
Just lend a hand here with this curst umbrella! Exeunt R.

SCENE IV. —A Gallery of the Castle—folding doors C.—doors R. and L. Enter Lady Macbeth, with a candle in her hand, followed by Duncan, C.

Duet.—Air—“Truandaise.” Dun.
Well, Ma'am, here I am—
  And, to tell no lies of it,
We feel—dead beat—
  That's about the size of it. Lady M.
Then, Sire, to retire,
  Perhaps to rest were wise, if it
Should suit your royal highness' gracious pleasure! Dun.
Yes!
  The night is—wettish—
    And likely to be riotous,
  Yet we—must be—
    Up early; so, to quiet us,
  Kind friend, pray send
    Some gruel, or such diet as
A treacle posset, or of arrowroot a mess! (they dance to the air, a Pas de Fascination)

Dun.
Good night, good hostess—think on what we've said. Exit R.

Lady M.
You'll get your gruel—when you've gone to bed! Exit L. A Servant, with a tray, on which are oysters and porter, passes over L. to R. Enter Macbeth—he suddenly sees the Servant, brings him down the stage, drinks, swallows an oyster, and motions him off—Servant exits L.H.

Macb.
If done at all, the sooner such a thing
Is done, the better.—But to kill a king
In this off-hand way's rather a rum go,
Or, as the French say, hardly “comme il faut.”

First, I'm his kinsman, in a sort of way;
(How many times removed, I cannot say;)
Then, for a host, you know, to slay his lodger
Ain't quite the thing—and such a rare old codger
Is Duncan, on his breath to put a stopper,
I fear me, won't be looked upon as proper.
The subject's rather difficult to handle.

Duncan is heard to bawl without—
I'll thank you to bring up my chamber candle;
From Glamis' Thane you can a night-cap borrow;
And call me, please, at seven o'clock to-morrow.
I'll leave my boots outside. (Noise of boots dropping)

Macb.
Alas! poor feller!

Dun. (without)
Dry at the kitchen fire my umbereller.

Macb.
This misplaced confidence—too soon he'll rue it! Enter Lady Macbeth, L.

Lady M.
The old boy's a-bed, and now's your time to do it!

Macb.
I'm out of sorts—I feel a kind of dizziness,
And won't proceed no further in this business.

Lady M.
What! give it up?

Macb.
To tell the truth, I'm loath
To stop the old man's wizen.

Lady M.
But your oath?
You're bold enough when there's no danger nigh—
When once it comes, then you're for “fighting shy.”

Macb.
I dare do all that may a man become.

Dady M.
To an oath once made you should stick fast—by Gum!
If t's not from cowardice you keep aloof,
Strike off the prince, and let me have a proof!

Song—Lady Macbeth.—Air—“Jeanette and Jeannot.”
You ain't going for to slay, for to slay the old King yet—
But I recommend you do it now, for fear you should forget;
For I see with half an eye, you haven't half a mind to go;—
Can you look me, Sammy, in the face, and say it is not so?

When you near the turn-up bedstead whereupon the old cock's laid,
I fear you'll quite forget the valiant promise you have made;
With your hand upon his shoulder, and your dagger in his side,
You'll be taking some rum fancies, and yet leave the job untried.
You'll be taking, &c.

Macb.
Suppose the King disposed of—yet, my dear,
It seems my next course isn't over clear,—
Malcolm, my cousin, nine times removed, or so!
I'm in a fix—I fear it is no go!

Lady M.
Nine times removed already! Then it's plain
It can't hurt him to remove him once again!
Macbeth, pluck up a little courage—do man!

Macb.
Who would believe you were a female woman?
We shall be sorry for it!

Lady M.
For a warrior,
I may say that I never saw a sorrier!
Can you have sought in battle, undismayed,
So often the affray, to be afraid?

Macb.
Egad! I'll do it!

Lady M,
Why do you turn so pale?

Macb.
An awkward thought's just struck me—should we fail?

Lady M.
Fail? Stuff and nonsense! Fail? Your courage screw
But to the sticking-place, and we shall do.
Come—“if you die a pantile, be a brick!”

Macb.
The sticking-place is the place where I stick

Lady M.
Duncan's attendants are so full of beer,
They'll be quite muddled, that is very clear;
When they're asleep, bedaub their faces o'er—

Macb.
With blood? I understand. Oh my! oh lor!
Is this a clasp-knife, such as ploughboys use
For cutting bread and cheese?—You'll me excuse,
Perhaps you're but a clasp-knife of the brain! (snatches at it)
Egad! I missed it. There it is again.
And on 'ts blade gouts of—No—the maker's name,

Which was not there before! It's all a sham! (Clock strikes two) (starts)
Bless me! what's that? It gave me such a shock!

Lady M.
It's plain to me you don't know what's o'clock;
It's just struck two.

Macb.
How fast the time has run!
My hand is only on the stroke of one!

SONG—Lady Macbeth. Air—“Lucy Neal.”
Softly slip your shoes off,
  Soft to the chamber steal: Exit Macbeth, R.H.
When Duncan finds you by his side.
  How happy he will feel!
But soft!—he is about it!—
  I thought I heard a squeal:
Now Duncan has it in his side,
  How happy he must feel! Re-enter Macbeth, with daggers—his face white, his hands red.

Lady M.
Is 't done, my husband? What's the matter now?

Macb.
I've done the deed!—didn't you hear the row?
I stumbled (where I hadn't seen them standing)
Over the old boy's bluchers, on the landing.
You heard it?

Lady M.
No one else did.

Macb.
That's all right.
But just look here—this is a sorry sight. (Looking at his hands)

Lady M.
Pshaw! stuff!

Macb.
One sung out in his sleep—how soon,
I fear, he'll sing to quite another tune!
They were both beery,—one declared outright
He'd no intention to go home that night,
And, as in hideous mockery of the scene,
Added, in hiccups, it was “all serene!”
The other, in no high state of sobriety,
Heedless of manners, sung out, “Tulla-li-ety!”
I couldn't echo it—“What was amiss?”

Lady M.
Oh! nonsense now—you mustn' think of this.

Macb.
How much more need of joyousness had I, yet he
Sung, and I couldn't echo, “Tulla-li-ety!”

Lady M.
Why did you bring those daggers from their places?
Go, take them back, and smear the sleepers' faces
With blood.

Macb. (doggedly)
No: come, you know, I've done one murder;
That's quite enough, and I sha'n't go no furder.

Lady M.
Don't leave the job unfinished, come now, don't;
Go.

Macb.
If I do, I'm—Never mind, I won't!

Lady M.
Be mine the task, since you the courage lack.
Give me the daggers. I shall soon be back! Exit R.

Macb. (solus)
Were all the waters of the Serpentine
With those of the New River to combine—
Were e'en the potent Thames to lend its aid,
And Regent Park's canal—I am afraid,
Failing to wash from off my hands this gore,
They'd make red what mud-coloured was before Re-enter Lady Macbeth—her hands red.

Lady M.
My hands are like yours—p'r'aps a little redder. (Loud Knocking)
I thought I heard a knock;—we'd best to bed.

Macb.
Ah!
And not to lose the public's good opinion—

Lady M.
We'll red our eyebrows with a Spanish inion. (Knocking repeated)

DUET.—Air—“Who's dat knocking at de dor?” Macb,
Who's that knocking at the door? (Knock) Lady M.
Who's that knocking at the door? (Knock) Macb.
  I don't care a pin,
  He sha'n't come in. Lady M.
  Our hands are not clean,
  So he can't come in!

Both.
Whoever is a-knocking at the door, at the door?
  Whoever is a-knocking at the door? (Loud Knocking)

Macb.
There's certainly a knock—let's in to rest;
All's safe—a host won't be a murderer guessed. Exeunt L. Knocking.—A Porter passes across the stage, L. to C., rubbing his eyes, and yawning, as just awake. Enter Macduff, the Porter following, from C.D.

Macd.
I hope you've kept me long enough, before
You condescended to unbar the door.
What ails the porter, that he can't appear!

Port.
It's not the porter's fault—it was the beer;
I drank too freely; besides, I am so stout,
It takes me some time, Sir, to get about.

Macd,
I have to call the King—fetch me a light,—
His room?

Port.
Upstairs, the first door on your right. Exit Macduff, R.
And now to sleep again—we've work to-morrow,
Should the King stay. (going) Macduff rushes on R.

Macd.
Oh! horror! horror! horror
A hideous sight—tongue cannot name nor tell!
Alarm the house, and ring the upstairs bell! Porter goes to back, and rings vigorously) Enter Macbeth, Lady Macbeth, Banquo, Malcolm, Donalbain, Rosse, Lenox, and Attendants, on all sides, in great confusion, with night dresses and nightcaps on, and with lighted chamber candles in their hands—they surround Macduff, and sing

Chorus—‘Out, John.” (First Part.)
How, Sir—how, Sir!
What's the matter now, Sir?
For goodness' sake, speak out at once,
And tell us what's the row, Sir!

Macd.
Oh, Sirs—oh, Sirs!
Here's a heavy blow, Sirs,
Has fallen on our country and
The Princes! Here's a go, Sirs! The rest.
Well, Sir—well, Sir!
Is anybody ill, Sir?
Why do you bring us all down stairs
In this here dishabille, Sirs? Macd.
He's dead, Sirs—dead, Sirs!
Horrid to be said, Sirs,
While we were fast asleep, the King
Was murdered in his bed, Sirs! (general consternation) Chorus.
Oh, Sirs—oh, Sirs!
Here's a heavy blow, Sirs,
Has fallen on our sountry and
The Princes! Here's a go, Sirs!

Macb.
What! Royal Duncan murdered? You don't mean it!

Macd.
I'd not believe it, if I hadn't seen it. Macbeth draws, and exit R. (to Malcolm)
Oh, Princes, you have lost your Royal Dad

Lady M.
And in our house, too! Oh, this is too bad (faints into Banquo's arms)

Malc.
Our bark of happiness no longer floats! Re-enter Macbeth, with drawn sword, R.

Macb.
Well, never mind—I've cut the villains' throats!
I almost do repent me of my fury,
And know the case was matter for a jury.

Macd.
You didn't kill them?

Macb.
Though my rage be chid.
I've a persuasion that I rather did.
But if you doubt about the rogues infernal,
Their last account read in that chamber's journal! (pointing off R.)
I can restrain myself when any one can;
But here at full length lay the Royal Duncan,
Dead as a herring, door-nail, or a hammer!

Malc.
D'ye mean to stuff us?

Macb.
Sir, I scorn a crammer!
There lay the grooms, where sleep and crime had linked them.
Crimsoned with blood, even before I'd pinked them!

Chorus—“Robert le Diable.” Chorus.
Our grief and sorrow within compass,
  We can't keep—our tears must flow.
Oh, crikey! won't there be a rumpus,
  When poor Duncan's fate they know. They dance the accompaniment—Macbeth and Lady Macbeth exchange glances and signs with each other. Chorus.
Who could have had a heart so cruel?— Macb.
Ah! who could? I should like to know— Chorus.
As to give the King his gruel?
  Who could strike the coward blow. Dance. Chorus repeated.
Our grief and sorrow, &c. Dance as before; at the conclusion of which, Macbeth, Lady Macbeth, Banquo, and Macduff fall into the attitudes in the “Pas de Quatre”—Lady Macbeth, C., crosses her arms over her breast; the other Characters form a Tableau. END OF ACT THE FIRST. ACT II. SCENE I. —A Chamber in the Castle. Enter Macbeth as King, L.

Macb.
Those ladies were prophetic,—Duncan's dead.
And I as certainly reign in his stead.
To sovereignty I have shown my cousins, rather

They ain't no nearer, though they've got no Father.
And so they promised:—'Gad! but I don't see
They shouldn't be right with Banquo as with me!
A nice man in his way, but I incline,
To think he'll prove a nice young man in mine.
They told him—e'en now in my ears it rings—
He should be father of a line of kings.
If this be so, he'll be for overthrowing of
My rule, and reaping what I've had the sowing of.
I can't stand this; and since I've had the luck
To leap into the throne, no want of pluck
Shall kick me out! Shall all concisely put it—
“He scarce had got his ‘luckie’ ere he ‘cut it?’”
Perish the thought! He'll his ambition rue. Enter Two Murderers, L.
Ah! gentlemanly villains—how d'ye do?
You have considered what I said to you last night?

1st Mur.
Ay, and will do't, my Lord.

Macb.
Well, that's all right
To do it myself I shouldn't care a jot,
But, on the whole, perhaps, I'd better not.
My friends, you see, are his, and I doubt whether
They'd quite approve it,—in fact, altogether,
'Twere best you do it;—name your own reward,
And claim it when it's done.

Murderers.
Agreed, my Lord!

Macb.
He rides to-night with the boy Fleance, and
Now is your time to—Eh?—you understand? (significantly)

Murderers.
Perhaps we rather do.

Macb.
Well, come and tell
Me when 'tis done, and till 'tis done—farewell! Exeunt Murderers L.
Banquo, your bird of Michaelmas is cooked,
And, carriage free, you're by the down train booked! Enter Lady Macbeth, as Queen, R.

Lady M.
Come now, cast off this nonsense—this is folly;
Your end is now attained, so let's be jolly!

Macb.
I don't know why you this disturbance make,
You know we've only scotched the Scottish snake,
Not killed it—and that I can't sleep, nor you,
For fear that we should nap it when we do!
Reflect, my dear—Banquo and Fleance live.

Lady M.
And, pray, what trouble can this knowledge give?
Don't give way to these foolish fancies—don't;
They will not live for ever.

Macb. (significantly)
No, they won't—
I've taken care of that.

Lady M.
Mind now, at supper,
You drop this style of talk—it won't be proper;
But deck your face in smiles.

Macb.
There—that's enough.
D'ye think, my dear, that I'm not “up to snuff?”
The confidence of our guests we mustn't lose—
So mind your P's and don't forget your Q's.

Lady M.
Be witty, be amusing—don't be caught
On things a-musing which you didn't ought.

Duet.—“Midas.” Lady M.
Fears and starts are now no service
  Try to be a jolly, jolly dog,—
Each knock at the door now makes you nervous;
To conscience you must grow imperv'ous,—
  Go at once the entire hog! Macb. (doubtfully)
      Fol de riddle lol! Lady M.
      Fol de riddle lol! Both.
    Ri fol, &c. Macb.
When crime from right has power to swerve us,
  Conscience will the folly, folly dog,—
Groans and fits and starts won't serve us,
To pity we must grow imperv'ous,—
  As you say—go the whole hog.

Lady M.
      Fol de riddle lol! Macb.
      Fol de riddle lol! Both.
    Ri fol, &c. Exeunt R.H. SCENE II. —Hall of the Castle. Flourish.—A Banquet prepared.—Macbeth, Lady Macbeth, and Attendants, all sit as Macbeth speaks.

Macb.
Come, take your seats, my hearties—ne'er mind me,
I'm going to have a short soliloquy. (aside)
'Tis time 'twas done! Enter Servant, L.
Fellow, I didn't call!

Serv.
My lord, two gents a-waiting in the hall
Request a haudience.

Macb.
Why this modest shyness?
What sort of gentlemen?

Serv.
Your Royal Highness,
Two blacker muzzled rascals—

Macb.
That's enough.
They are my friends—so shew them up, you muff! Exit Servant, L. Enter Two Murderers, L.

Macb.
Well, my good-looking friends, you've done it?

1st Mur.
Rather!
We couldn't catch the son, but stuck the father.

Macb.
He's dead? that's well;—but incomplete's my joy.
You couldn't stick a little trifling boy?
This fault the deed of half its merits rifles.

1st Mur.
My lord, we're not the men to stick at trifles!
The youngster held the torch, and went before—

Macb.
Doubtless 'twas one of “Child's Night Lights” he bore.

Had he but been disposed of, I were free,—
But the young torcher lives to torture me.

1st Mur.
The boy the glimmering of my toothpick sees,
And cries—“Pa, I scent treason in the trees.”
“Come on,” says Banquo, “I don't care a curse.”
The son replies—“Go, Father, and fare worse!”

Macb.
Come, draw it mild, my hearties—you're no lispers;
They're sure to hear your very loud stage whispers:
Go on.

1st Mur.
We fixed the governor, but he
Cried—“Fleance, flee and save yourself—fly, flee!”
He ran too fast—we couldn't catch the kid.

Macb.
Humph!—Banquo you left a corse?

1st Mur.
O'course we did.

Macb.
That'll do; but mind, I expect, when I engages
Workmen, they'll not mind striking for their wages! Exeunt Murderers, L. —(to Guests)
Your pardon, friends—I join ye. How is this?
Our good friend Banquo from the feast we miss.

Lady M.
Oh, he'll soon come; sit down, and never fear.

Macb.
Meanwhile, to drink his health—a glass of beer.
Our good friend Banquo—wishing he was here. (drinks) The Ghost of Banquo rises, all white, and takes Macbeth's seat.

Rosse.
Will it please your highness sit?

Macb.
There ain't no chair.

Lady M.
No chair? what's this?

Macb. (seeing Ghost)
Oh crimini! look there!

Lady M.
At what?

All.
At what, my lord?

Macb.
There—don't you see? (to Ghost)
Vy do you vink your vicked eye at me?

Rosse,
We had better leave him.

Lady M.
Gents, you'd better not.

Rosse.
He's mad!

Lady M.
It's nothing but a way he's got.

Macb.
Come as the rugged Russian bear, or armed

Rhinoceros, I shouldn't be alarmed!
Take any shape but that!—Dont at me cock yer eye
In such a way! Get out, unreal mock-er-y!

Air—“Ole Dan Tucker.”
Get out of the way, you white-faced buffer! (three times)
No one asked you to come to supper!
Learn that Macbeth's not the chap—no,
To care 'cause an old fool pops up a trap—no;
For you, or your bones, I don't care a rap—no;
But out of that door head-first you slap go;
So get out of the way, &c. During the above, Banquo takes from either side two rib-bones, a pair in each hand, and plays bones accompaniment —They dance—At the conclusion, Macbeth kicks the Ghost off R., and sinks exhausted into a chair.

Lady M.
His Highness can't be well—there's something hitching,
And I must beg you all to “clear the kitchen.” Air—“Clar de kitchen;” during which, Guests go off in confusion—Lady Macbeth seems to be remonstrating with and upbraiding Macbeth, in dumb show, and Exeunt R. SCENE III. —A wood. Enter Malcolm and Macduff, L.

Mal.
Let's seek a spot where we may pipe our eye,
And in a corner have a jolly cry.

Macd.
Cry? Nonsense! If Macbeth you'd be restraining,
Practice your fisticuffs—go into training,—
Meet him and mill him like a man of metal.

Mal.
Agreed!—together his account we'll settle.
He is a bad 'un.

Macd.
Bad as half-crowns wrought
At Brummagem, or knives of pedlar, bought.

Mal.
Ah! who comes here? My countryman, and yet
I know him not. Enter Rosse L.

Macd.
You surely don't forget
My cousin Rosse? (to Rosse) This sad and downcast eye
Explain, my gentle coz, and say cos why?
Stands Scotland where it did?

Rosse.
Why, scarcely so:
That can't be said to stand which falls so low.

Mal.
I feared as much.

Macd. (to Rosse)
Oh! near relation, you,
Ain't over nice, but very much too true.
What grief's in newest cut?

Rosse
Sir, your expression
Suggests my answer—'tis ‘pain à discretion.’

Macd.
Quiet yet reigns within my private house?

Rosse.
Quiet that would not fright a nervous mouse.

Macd.
My wife and children guarded;

Rosse.
Without doubt,
Uncommon closely—

Macd.
Tell me all—speak out!

Rosse.
Alas! Macbeth, the tyrant of our nation,
Issued but yesterday this proclamation:—
“Considering James Macduff has gone away,
“Which his last quarter's rent he didn't pay,
“And while he thinks himself to roam at large able,
“Has left his family to the parish chargeable;
“Considering each separate why and wherefore,
“Considering everything beside them—therefore,
“To find for such a poser a solution,
“We in his house do put an execution.”

Macd.
And he did put one in?

Rosse.
Aye, in a jiffey.

Macd.
And seized the furniture I thought so spiffy,
My chairs and tables?

Rosse.
Sold up, every stick!

Macd.
My mattrass?

Rosse.
Got his money for your tick.

Macd.
And my American clock, that went so well?

Mal.
Without reserve it seems a regular sell!

Macd.
Where are my wife and children?

Rosse.
Under guard,
Stowed in the Union casual pauper ward.

Macd.
My furniture all gone at one fell swoop.
My wife and children fed on pauper soup,
Lettered and numbered on their several clothes
Like circulating novels?

Mal.
I propose
An early mill to sack him.

Macd.
So we will,
And play the game of more sacks to the mill. Draws his sword and rushes out L., followed by Malcolm and Rosse. SCENE IV. —A Dark Cave.—In the middle, a large cauldron, boiling—The Three Witches discovered dancing round it, and singing.

Witches.
We'll raise a jolly good spell—oh!
We'll raise a jolly good spell—oh!
We'll raise a jolly good spell—oh!
  Macbeth to terrify!
  Macbeth to terrify!
  Macbeth to terrify!
It's a way they had on the stage—oh!
When Melodrame was all the rage—oh!
The audience with spells to engage—oh!
  So we'll at a spell have a shy!
  So we'll, &c.

THE INCANTATION. 1st Witch.
Apron-strings of old maids—tabbies;
Tongues of spifflicated babbies;
Joinville of a greasy gent,
Reeking with unhallowed scent! 2nd Witch.
Beards of maggots, maws of mummies,
Fingers of flue-strangled chummies;
Heap in humbugs all to aid us—
Banjos, bones, and serenaders!

Holloway's grease, and Frampton's pills,
Fuel fierce of human ills!
Mild emetics—one a dose is;
Seventy-seven street-sweepers' noses!
Fashion new, that taste perverts—
See “the last new thing in shirts!”
Slangy coats, of aspect rare;
And the “gent's real head of air!” All Three
Double, double, toil and trouble—
Fire burn, and cauldron bubble! Enter Macbeth at back, sliding in.

Macb.
That's right, my hearties, keep the pot a boiling
I trust I'm not a family party spoiling.
Perhaps you'll tell me what it is you brew,
For I've dropped in to take pot luck with you;
That is, I'd know my destiny;—you see,
I'm not so easy as I'd wish to be.

1st Witch.
You've come to the right shop, my Lord, for we
Can read the future.

Macb.
Read? You know full well,
It takes you all you know to raise a spell!

2nd Witch.
Learn, Macbeth, for your hautiness of late,
Yours is a sort of horti-cultural fate!

Macb.
No matter—let me know it!

1st Witch.
If it ease you;
But don't blame me if what you hear don't please you. Gong—Crash—The Apparition of an Armed Head rises, and sings.

Air—“The Fall of Paris.” App.
Macbeth, you are green indeed, to wish to kno the sort of plight
That you are like to be in, ere you can say you're settled quite,
Listen to the say of one who knows about as much as you,

And settled once is settled quite—but in another point of view.
First and foremost of the lot, you'd best beware the Thane of Fife—
For if you don't take good care, he's like to prove your bane of life:
  Since your conduct such is,
  Keep out of his clutches;
Since you caused the death of Banquo, and a very many more.

Macb.
Shall I by empty prophecies be bothered?
No, never! Apparition, you be—smothered! Apparition descends.
Know, for your chaff, Sir, I don't care a straw;
Give me good news, or let me hear no more.
I thought this queer abode would bode me well;—
I've strange suspicions that this cave's a sell!

1st Witch.
We're not to blame for doing as you bade us;
Come up, then, Ethiopian—

Macb.
Sir, and aid us! Gong—The Apparition of an Ethiopian Serenader with banjo, rises, and sings.

Air—“Come, darkies, sing” App.
I wonder you this agitation show,
  In coming here to question us ti-night;
'Cause by this time you surely ought to know
There's no man born can beat Macbeth in fight! Chorus.
Sing, sing, ye witches sing:
  Sing till the cavern ring, ring, ring!
  Sing, sing, ye witches sing;
  Sing to Macbeth the King! Apparition descends.

Macb.
That's something like; the Thane of Fife, now, soon
Will play his fife to quite another tune.
But what is this, Gong—The Apparition of a “Gent” rises.
That rises like the issue of a snob,
And bears upon his baby brow the nob
And mark of gentishness?

App.
No trouble ere shall visit Cawdor's Thane
Till Birnam Wood be come to Dunsinane. (Disappears)

Macb.
If e'er I from the cares of state am freed,
A dunce-inane must I then be indeed!
By these low spirits I am quite elated;
Perhaps you'll tell me, Sir—I wish he'd waited;
An awkward thought is rankling in my gizzard,
That Banquo's sons should reign—and sure it is hard
To abdicate for him—p'r'aps you'll assist.
For, though he's Scotch, his reign will not be missed;
Show me.

Witch.
No further seek it!

Macb.
Let me know;
I'm quite determined the whole hog to go!

1st Witch.
Show!

2nd Witch.
Show!

3rd Witch.
Show!

All.
Show his eyes, and give him pain;
Show, and then go back again! Gong—The Apparitions of Eight Kings, pass over, as they are mentioned, R. to L., behind gauze at back; the last bears a glass of brandy and water— Lastly, Banquo, who points to them, applying his finger to his nose, in derision of Macbeth.

Macb.
What's this? A king!—and not a bit like me!
Two more! Hallo! why, two and one make three!
A fourth!—a fifth! (to Witches) Come, that's enough at present;
Carried too far, a joke becomes unpleasant.
A sixth! Stop this long male train, I implore of you!—
A seventh! Has your mother any more of you?—
Don't try on me light sovereigns to pass.
I'll see no more! Yet, here's one bears a glass
Of other spirits! Worst of all my woes,
Banquo uplifts his finger to his nose—
An action in a ghost most impolite—
Taking what vulgar street boys call “a sight!”
Say—is this royal lot to him alloted?

1st Witch.
You would know all, you know, and now you've got it! Music.—The dance from “Der Freyschutz,” they then vanish.

Macb.
That's cool, at any rate! If ever I
Come here again, I'll know the reason why! Exit L. SCENE V. —A Chamber of the Castle. Enter a Physician and Gentlewoman.

Phys.
Walk in her sleep? Nonsense, I don't believe you!
I've watched three nights, and yet—

Gent.
I'd not deceive you;
I've seen her oft, if you've not chanc'd to meet her:
I am her watch.

Phys.
For once be a repeater,
And tell me what she said.

Gent.
Not for the earth!
'Twould be as much, Sir, as my place is worth.

Phys.
What is the cause of this?

Gent.
'Tis but, they say,
A way she's got.

Phys.
How does she get a-way
Unnoticed from her chamber?

Gent.
Well, that's more
Then I know—hush! she's here, so hold your jaw. Enter Lady Macbeth, a lighted candle in her hand, C. doors—During the following dialogue and symphony, she advances to the front, stares vacantly around her, retires up and deposits her candle on a little table at the back, then comes forward.

Gent. (to Physician)
And fast asleep!

Phys. (to Gentlewoman)
How came she by that light?

Gent.
She always burns one in a shade at night.

Phys.
How fixed and stern her eye!

Gent.
Hush! you'll her make
Look more a-stern to find you in her wake!

SONG.—Air—“The Cork Leg.” Lady M.
I've told my story again and again;
But I'll tell it once more to make it quite plain—
How I, the wife of Cawdor's Thane,
Am the biggest rascal in Dunsinane!
Ri, too, ral, loo, &c.
How that night, when all was still,
And Macbeth of wine had taken his fill,
I urged him, much against his will,
The King for to go, and to take, and to kill!
Ri, too, ral, loo, &c.

TRIO.—Air—“George Barnwell.”
  And he stuck his dagger deep in
    Duncan's very royal ribs;
  And he did it when he was sleeping. Phys. (to Gent.)
Is she telling truth or fibs? Lady M.
Folder-iddle, &c. (1st line of Chorus) Phys. (to Gent.)
Folder-iddle, &c. (2nd line) Gent. (to Phys.)
Folder-iddle, &c. (3rd line) Lady M.
Folder-iddle, &c. (4th line) Lady Macbeth dances, by herself, the accompaniment —Physician with Gentlewoman; at the conclusion he attempts to kiss her; she slaps his face, when the Air suddenly changes to—“Who's dat knocking at de door?”

Lady M.
Who's that knocking at the door?
  Who's that knocking at the door?
    Here's a spot—no, there's not;
    Out, damned spot, or I shall go to pot!
For there's somebody a-knocking at the door—at the door!
For there's a somebody knocking at the door!

—(spoken)
Come to bed—come to bed! Snatches up the candle and exit hastily, C.—Physician and Gentlewoman exeunt L.

SCENE VI. —Another Chamber. Enter Macbeth, as for battle, with a truncheon—and Attendants.

Macb.
Bring me no more reports; 'tis written “No man
Shall tackle Macbeth that is born of woman!”
Hang out our banners from the outward walls,
The cry is still, “They come!” Look out for squalls;
I've a suspicion that there'll be a row. Enter Messenger, R.
Yon lily-livered milk-sop spoon—how now?

Mess.
My lord, the English are in sight! You must
Call out your army—'neath a cloud of dust
They are coming down.

Macb.
Aye, and if I'm not wrong,
They'll come down handsome with the dust ere long,
To be well out of this— Enter Second Messenger, R.
At once declare
Your news, and don't stand like an idiot there!

Mess.
As I, my lord, kept guard, from Birnam tract
The wood seemed moving.

Macb. (punches his head)
Liar!

Mess.
It's a fact!
A funny sight, to see a grove go roving!

Macb.
Funny? it was a precious sight too moving!

Mess.
Beneath the trees they crouching came, like thieves;
They made their bows, and then they took their leaves.
They're coming down—we know not how to turn 'em.

Macb.
Curse Birnam Wood!—would any one would burn 'em!
Go, ask them if their mother knows they're out!
A ball or two will send them to the rout!
I vote we show them, when we do begin,
We're not sewn up, although we are hemmed in!
Give blows for blows, and stick to them like wax;
At least, we'll die with harness on our backs!

SONG.—Air—“Follow, follow o'er the Mountain.”
Follow, follow—if they're mounting
  To our breaches, do you see?
Though for taste there's no accounting,
  I would not in their shoes be!
Follow, follow—nothing doubting—
  And success I guarantee,
Though I've no more time for spouting
  Till redeemed my pledge shall be! Chorus—repeat, and exeunt L. SCENE VII. —Battle Field—Castle in the distance. Trumpet.—Enter Macduff, with sword drawn, L.

Macduff
Where's he who to the workhouse sent my babbies?
I'll settle him, s'help me several Jewish Rabbies! Enter Macbeth L.—crosses to R.
Turn, coward, or I'll make you! Turn and face me!

Macb.
No, youngster, no,—a fight with you'd disgrace me!
Your threats I laugh at, and your taunts I scorn,—
Macbeth don't yield to one of woman born!

Macduff.
And such am I!

Macb.
Liar!

Macduff.
Well, you're another!
I never had no father, nor no mother!

Macb.
No! you don't say so?

Macduff.
You turn pale! art staggered?

Macb.
I really couldn't fight with such a bla'guard!

Macduff.
To empty prophecies this comes of trusting.

Macb.
No parents? Lor! it's really quite disgusting!
I really can't—

Macduff.
Then yield, beast! and to badger ye,
We'll have you in a travelling menagerie,
Stirred up between the bars with heartless poles,
Or poked at by the ladies' parasols,—
And o'er it thus inscribe—for want of betterer—
“Here you may see the live”—you know—et cetera;

Adding, moreover, “He's put here becos
He led a life he didn't ought to was!

Macb.
Have you been draining cups of whiskey toddy,
That thus you boast? No, no,—before my body
I throw my shield!

Macduff.
Hallo! that's not a bad one!

Macb.
I mean I should have thrown it, if I had one!
At it like one o'clock! Lay on, Macduff!
Perhaps you'll sing out when you've had enough! They fight in the extreme of melodrame—a pause.

Macduff.
Why, you're sewn up! (to Audience) I'll into him now pitch!

Macb.
No, not sewn up, I've only got one stitch! They fight as before—Macbeth falls.
—Oh lor! Will some one a physician run for?
For I've a strange suspicion that I'm done for! (dies)

Macd.
Ha, ha, my boy! hurrah! His neck I'll wring,
Cut off his head, then cut off to the king. Enter Malcolm, Lords, Army, Attendants, &c.

Malc.
There is no need, for see, the king is here!
Refresh our soldier with a pint of beer. A pint of beer is brought to Macduff, he drinks, and passes it on to the Army, &c.

Macd.
The tyrant's dead! you now the kingdom claim;
Receive the crown. (presenting it) Duncan enters, comes between them, nods and winks at them, takes the crown, and places it on his own head. They fall back in astonishment.

Dun.
Thank you! if it's all the same
To you, I'll wear it. (puts it on)

Malc.
Well, this is a baulker!
I thought that you were spifflicated.

Dun.
Walker!
I'm not the cove, my boy, so soon to die.

Macduff.
Well, well—I never!

Macb. (rising to a sitting posture, and looking round)
No more did I!
If that old cock can jest and sport his squibs

After those several oners in the ribs,
I don't see why I shouldn't live as well—
And so here goes. (rises)

Macduff.
I say—hallo, my swell!
You're an ex-Monarch—but it don't appear,
If treble X., you'd think yourself small beer!

Macb. (to Duncan)
I tender, Sir, of course, my resignation, (They appear satisfied)
Since all's in train for me to leave my station.
So at your feet I lay my regal diadem
Without regret, nor wish again that I had 'em. Enter, at back, Banquo and Lady Macbeth, arm-in-arm, the latter with an extravagant bonnet, parasol, and shawl—They make their way through the Army to the front.

Macb.
My wife, and Banquo too! this is a treat.

Ban.
You don't down there get half enough to eat;
I didn't like it, and so, with your wife,
Gave up the ghost.

Macb.
Died?

Lady M.
No, we came to life.

Macb.
We live at present, but how long, depends
Upon the kind indulgence of our friends;
Let me entreat them but their favour give,
And kind applause, and we shall truly live!

FINALE—from “L'Elisir d' Amore.” Macb. and Lady M.
Now, if we've the approbation
  Of our kind friends here to-night,
We shall need no incantation
  To find out that all goes right.
For we who are assembled here, to gain your kind applause,
Will all die again with pleasure, I am sure, in such a cause. Ban.
Will all die again with pleasure. Macduff.
Will all die in such a cause. All.
Will all die again with pleasure,
I am sure, in such a cause! R. Macd. Ban. Lady M. Macb. Dun. Malc. Don. L.

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