2 Witch. Fillet of a fenny snake,
In the cauldron boil and bake:
Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting,
Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing,
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
All. Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire, burn; and, cauldron, bubble.
3 Witch. Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf; Witches' mummy; maw, and gulf3, Of the ravin'd 6 salt-sea shark; Root of hemlock, digg'd i'the dark; Liver of blaspheming Jew; Gall of goat, and slips of yew, Sliver'd in the moon's eclipse; Nose of Turk, and Tartar's lips; Finger of birth-strangled babe, Ditch-deliver'd by a drab, Make the gruel thick and slab : Add thereto a tiger's chaudron, For the ingredients of our cauldron.
All. Double, double toil and trouble; Fire, burn; and, cauldron, bubble.
2 Witch. Cool it with a baboon's blood, Then the charm is firm and good.
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A deed without a name.
Macb. I conjure you, by that which you profess,
(Howe'er you come to know it,) answer me:
Though you untie the winds, and let them fight
Against the churches; though the yesty waves
Confound and swallow navigation up;
Though bladed corn be lodg'd7, and trees blown
down;
Though castles topple on their warders' heads;
Though palaces, and pyramids, do slope
Their heads to their foundations; though the treasure
Of nature's germins 9 tumble all together,
Even till destruction sicken, answer me
To what I ask you.
1 Witch. Say, if thou'dst rather hear it from our
7 Laid flat by wind or rain.
9 Seeds which have begun to sprout.
An Apparition of a bloody Child rises.
Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth!
Macb. Had I three ears, I'd hear thee. App. Be bloody, bold, And resolute: laugh to scorn the power of man, For none of woman born shall harm Macbeth.
Macb. Then live, Macduff: What need I fear of
But yet I'll make assurance double sure,
And take a bond of fate: thou shalt not live;
That I may tell pale-hearted fear, it lies,
And sleep in spite of thunder. What is this,
Thunder. An Apparition o a Child crowned, with a tree in his hand, rises.
That rises like the issue of a king;
And wears upon his baby brow the round
And top of sovereignty?
2 Touched on a passion as a harper touches a string
What! will the line stretch out to the crack of doom?
Another yet? -
- A seventh? I'll see no more: -
And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass,
Which shows me many more; and some I see,
That two-fold balls and treble scepters carry :
Horrible sight! Ay, now, I see, 'tis true;
For the blood-bolter'd 3 Banquo smiles upon me,
And points at them for his. What, is this so?
. But why
1 Witch. Ay, sir, all this is so :
Stands Macbeth thus amazedly?
Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprights,
And show the best of our delights;
I'll charm the air to give a sound,
While you perform your antique round:
That this great king may kindly say,
Our duties did his welcome pay.
[Musick. The Witches dance, and vanish. Macb. Where are they? gone? - Let this pernicious hour
Stand aye accursed in the calendar!
Come in, without there!
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His flight was madness: When our actions do not,
Our fears do make us traitors.
Rosse.
You know not,
Whether it was his wisdom or his fear.
L. Macd. Wisdom! to leave his wife, to leave his babes,
His mansion, and his titles, in a place
From whence himself does fly? He loves us not;
He wants the natural touch: for the poor wren,
The most diminutive of birds, will fight,
Her young ones in her nest, against the owl.
All is the fear, and nothing is the love;
As little is the wisdom, where the flight
So runs against all reason.
Rosse.
My dearest coz,
I pray you, school yourself: But, for your husband,
He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows
The fits o'the season. I dare not speak much further:
But cruel are the times, when we are traitors,
And do not know ourselves; when we hold rumour
From what we fear, yet know not what we fear;
But float upon a wild and violent sea,
Each way, and move. — I take my leave of you :
Shall not be long but I'll be here again :
Things at the worst will cease, or else climb upward
To what they were before. My pretty cousin,
Blessing upon you!
L. Macd. Father'd he is, and yet he's fatherless. Rosse. I am so much a fool, should I stay longer, It would be my disgrace, and your discomfort : I take my leave at once.
[Erit Rosse. L. Macd. Sirrah, your father's dead; And what will you do now? How will you live? Son. As birds do, mother.
L. Macd. What, with worms and flies? Son. With what I get, I mean; and so do they. L. Macd. Poor bird! thou'dst never fear the net, nor lime, The pit-fall, nor the gin.
Son. Why should I, mother? Poor birds they are not set for.
My father is not dead, for all your saying.
L. Macd. Yes, he is dead; how wilt thou do for
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Son. Then you'll buy 'em to sell again.
L. Macd. Thou speak'st with all thy wit; and yet i'faith,
With wit enough for thee.
Son. Was my father a traitor, mother?
L. Macd. Ay, that he was.
Son. What is a traitor?
L. Macd. Why, one that swears and lies.
Son. And be all traitors, that do so?
L. Macd. Every one that does so, is a traitor, and must be hanged.
Son. And must they all be hanged, that swear and lie? L. Macd. Every one.
Son. Who must hang them?
L. Macd. Why, the honest men.
would not, it were a good sign that I should quickly | Though all things foul would bear the brows of grace, have a new father. I have lost my hopes.
L. Macd. Poor prattler! how thou talk'st.
Enter Murderers.
Mur. Where is your husband?
Yet grace must still look so.
Macd.
Mal. Perchance, even there, where I did find
my doubts.
Why in that rawness left you wife, and child,
(Those precious motives, those strong notes of love,)
Without leave-taking?
I pray you,
Let not my jealousies be your dishonours,
But mine own safeties:
Whatever I shall think.
Macd
Bleed, bleed, poor country!
Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure,
For goodness dares not check thee! wear thou thy
wrongs,
Thy title is affeer'd! 8
- Fare thee well, lord: I would not be the villain that thou think'st For the whole space that's in the tyrant's grasp, And the rich East to boot.
I speak not as in an absolute fear of you.
What are these I think our country sinks beneath the yoke;
L. Macd. I hope, in no place so unsanctified,
Where such as thou mayst find him.
Mur.
He's a traitor.
Son. Thou ly'st, thou shag-ear'd villain,
Mur.
What, you egg? [Stabbing him.
Young fry of treachery?
He has killed me, mother;
I
pray you.
[Dies.
[Exit Lady MACDUFF, crying Murder,
and pursued by the Murderers.
England. A Room in the King's
Enter MALCOLM and MACduff.
It weeps, it bleeds; and each new day a gash
Is added to her wounds: I think, withal,
There would be hands uplifted in my right;
And here from gracious England, have I offer
Of goodly thousands: But, for all this,
When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head,
Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country
Shall have more vices than it had before;
More suffer, and more sundry ways than ever,
By him that shall succeed.
Macd.
What should he be ?
Mal. It is myself I mean: in whom I know
All the particulars of vice so grafted,
That, when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth
Will seem as pure as snow; and the poor state
Esteem him as a lamb, being compar'd
With my confineless harms. I grant him bloody,
Mal. Let us seek out some desolate shade, and Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful,
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Hold fast the mortal sword; and, like good men,
Bestride our downfall'n birthdom: Each new morn,
New widows howl; new orphans cry; new sorrows
Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds
As if it felt with Scotland, and yell'd out
Like syllable of dolour.
Mal.
What I believe, I'll wail;
What know, believe; and, what I can redress,
As I shall find the time to friend 6, I will.
What you have spoke, it may be so, perchance.
This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues,
Was once thought honest: you have lov'd him well;
He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young; but
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In nature is a tyranny; it hath been
The untimely emptying of the happy throne,
And fall of many kings. But fear not yet
To take upon you what is yours: you may
Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty,
And yet seem cold, the time you may so hood-wink.
Mal.
With this, there grows,
In my most ill-compos'd affection, such
A stanchless avarice, that, were I king,
I should cut off the nobles for their lands;
Desire his jewels, and this other's house :
And my more-having would be as a sauce
To make me hunger more; that I should forge
Quarrels unjust against the good, and loyal,
But Macbeth is. Destroying them for wealth.
A good and virtuous nature may recoil,
In an imperial charge.7 But crave your pardon;
That which you are, my thoughts cannot transpose:
Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell:
5 I am perfectly acquainted with your rank.
7 i. e. A good mind may recede from goodness in the execution of a royal commission.
Macd.
This avarice
Grows with pernicious root; and it hath been
The sword of our slain kings: Yet do not fear;
Scotland hath foysons to fill up your will.
Of your mere own: All these are portable,
With other graces weigh'd.
8 Legally settled by those who had the final adjudication.
9 Passionate.
1 Plenty.
2 May be endured.
Mal. But I have none: The king-becoming | Himself best knows; but strangely visited people,
As justice, verity, temperance, stableness,
Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness,
Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude,
I have no relish of them; but abound
In the division of each several crime,
All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye,
The mere despair of surgery, he cures ;
Hanging a golden stamp 5 about their necks,
Put on with holy prayer: and 'tis spoken,
To the succeeding royalty he leaves
The healing benediction. With this strange virtue,
Acting it many ways. Nay, had I power, I should He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy;
Uproar the universal peace, confound
All unity on earth.
Macd.
Mal. If such a one be fit to govern, speak:
O Scotland! Scotland!
I am as I have spoken.
Fit to govern!
O nation miserable,
No, not to live.
With an untitled tyrant bloody-scepter'd,
When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again!
Since that the truest issue of thy throne
By his own interdiction stands accurs'd,
And does blaspheme his breed?— Thy royal father
Was a most sainted king; the queen, that bore thee,
Oftner upon her knees than on her feet,
Died every day she liv'd. Fare thee well!
These evils, thou repeat'st upon thyself,
Have banish'd me from Scotland. - O, my breast,
Thy hope ends here!
Mal.
Macduff, this noble passion,
Child of integrity, hath from my soul
Wip'd the black scruples, reconcil'd my thoughts
To thy good truth and honour. Devilish Macbeth
By many of these trains hath sought to win me
Into his power; and modest wisdom plucks me
From over-credulous haste3: But God above
Deal between thee and me! for even now
I put myself to thy direction, and
Unspeak mine own detraction: here abjure
The taints and blames I laid upon myself,
For strangers to my nature.
I am yet
Unknown to woman; never was forsworn;
Scarcely have coveted what was mine own;
At no time broke my faith; would not betray
The devil to his fellow; and delight
No less in truth than life: my first false speaking
Was this upon myself: What I am truly,
Is thine, and my poor country's, to command:
Whither, indeed, before thy here-approach,
Old Siward, with ten thousand warlike men,
All ready at a point, was setting forth:
Now we'll together; and the chance of goodness,
Be like our warranted quarrel! Why are you silent?
Macd. Such welcome and unwelcome things at once,
'Tis hard to reconcile.
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And sundry blessings hang about his throne,
That speak him full of grace.
Be it their comfort,
We are coming thither: gracious England hath
Lent us good Siward, and ten thousand men ;
An older, and a better soldier none
That Christendom gives out.
This comfort with the like! But I have words
That would be howl'd out in the desert air,
Where hearing should not latch them.
The general cause? or is it a
Due to some single breast?
What concern they? fee-grief 9,
No mind that's honest, But in it shares some woe; though the main part Pertains to you alone.
Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it.
5 The coin called an angel. 6 Common distress of mind. 7 Put off. 8 Catch. 9 A grief that has a single owner.
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