Macb.
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 lye,
'Till famine and the ague eat them up:
Were they not † ^noteforc'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.

Macb.
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 of hair
Would at a dismal treatise rouze, and stir
As life were in't. I have supt full with horrors,
Direness familiar to my slaught'rous thoughts
Cannot once start me. Wherefore was that cry?

Sey.
The Queen is dead.

Macb.
She should have dy'd hereafter;
There would have been a time for such a word.
&plquo;To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow
&plquo;Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
&plquo;To the last syllable of recorded time;

&plquo;And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
&plquo;The way to ^{b note}study death. Out, out, brief candle!
&plquo;Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
&plquo;That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
&plquo;And then is heard no more! It is a tale
&plquo;Told by an ideot, full of sound and fury,
&plquo;Signifying nothing! Enter a Messenger.
Thou com'st to use thy tongue: thy story quickly.

Mes.
My gracious lord,
I should report that which I say I saw,
But know not how to do't.

Macb.
Well, say it, Sir.

Mes.
As I did stand my watch upon the hill,
I look'd toward Birnam, and anon methought
The wood began to move.

Macb.
Liar, and slave! [Striking him.

Mes.
Let me endure your wrath, if't be not so:
Within this three mile you may see it coming;
I say, a moving grove.

Macb.
If thou speak'st false,
Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive
'Till famine cling thee: If thy speech be sooth,
I care not if thou do'st for me as much—
I pull in resolution, and begin
To doubt th' 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!
If this which he avouches do's appear,
There is no flying hence, nor tarrying here;

&plquo;I'gin to be a weary of the sun,
&plquo;And wish the state o'th' world were now undone.
&plquo;Ring the alarum bell, blow wind, come wrack,
At least we'll die with harness on our back. [Exeunt.

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