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 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.

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^{2 note}




Would at a dismal treatise rouse, and stir,
As life were in't. I have supp'd full with horrors:
Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts,
Cannot once start me.—Wherefore was that cry?

Sey.
The queen, my lord, is dead^{3 note}.

Macb.
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^{4 note}
. 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 a Messenger.
Thou com'st to use thy tongue; thy story, quickly.

Mess.
Gracious my lord,
I shall report that which I say I saw,
But know not how to do't.

Macb.
Well, say, sir.

Mess.
As I did stand my watch upon the hill,
I look'd toward Birnam, and anon, methought,
The wood began to move^{5 note}







.

Macb.
Liar, and slave!

Mess.
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^{6 note}: if thy speech be sooth,
I care not if thou dost 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, does appear,
There is nor flying hence, nor tarrying here.
I 'gin to be a-weary of the sun,
And wish th' estate o' the 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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