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:
^{4 note}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.

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. ^{5 note}

Direness, familiar to my slaught'rous thoughts,
Cannot once start me. Wherefore was that Cry?

Sey.
The Queen, my Lord, 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;^{6 note}The way to dusky 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!&prquo; 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 may you 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 dost for me as much.—
^{7 note}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 towards Dunsinane. Arm, arm, and out!
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 state o'th' world were now undone.
Ring the alarum Bell; blow, wind! come, wrack!
At least, we'll die with harness on our back. [Exeunt.

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