The Dramatic Works of William Shakspeare

Macduff is fled to England.

Macb.

Len. Ay, my good lord.

Fled to England?

Macb. Time, thou anticipat'st' my dread exploits :

The flighty purpose never is o'ertook,

Unless the deed go with it: From this moment,
The very firstlings of my heart shall be
The firstlings of my hand. And even now

To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and done:

The castle of Macduff I will surprise;
Seize upon Fife; give to the edge o'the sword
His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls
That trace his line. No boasting like a fool ;
This deed I'll do, before this purpose cool:
But no more sights!-Where are these gentlemen?
Come, bring me where they are.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IL-Fife. A room in Macduff's castle.
Enter Lady Macduff, her Son, and Rosse.

L. Macd. What had he done, to make him fly the land?

Rosse. You must have patience, madam.
L. Macd.

He had none:

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:4 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,

L. Macd. Yes, he is dead; how wilt thou do for a father?

Son. Nay, how will you do for a husband? L. Macd. Why, I can buy me twenty at any market.

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. Maed. 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 hang'd, that swear and lie?

L. Macd. Every one.

Son. Who must hang them?

L. Macd. Why, the honest men.

Son. Then the liars and swearers are fools: for there are liars and swearers enough to beat the honest men, and hang up them.

L. Macd. Now, God help thee, poor monkey? But how wilt thou do for a father?"

Son. If he were dead, you'd weep for him: if you would not, it were a good sign that I should quickly have a new father."

L. Macd. Poor prattler! how thou talk'st!
Enter a Messenger.

Mess. Bless you, fair dame! I am not to you known,

Though in your state of honour I am perfect."
I doubt, some danger does approach you nearly:
If you will take a homely man's advice,
Be not found here; hence, with your little ones.
To fright you thus, methinks, I am too savage;
To do worse to you, were fell cruelty,

you!

Which is too nigh your person. Heaven preserve [Exit Messenger. Whither should I fly?

dare abide no longer. L. Macd.

I have done no harm. But I remember now

And do not know ourselves; when we hold rumour! am in this earthly world; where, to do harm,

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.
[Exit Rossc.
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.

(1) Preventest, by taking away the opportunity. (2) Follow.

(3) i. e. Our flight is considered as evidence of

our treason.

Weep our sad bosoms empty.

Maed.
Let us rather
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, I will.
What you have spoke, it may be so, perchance.
This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongue,
Was once thought honest: you have lov'd him well;
He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young; but
something

You may deserve of him through me; and wisdom
To offer up a weak, poor, innocent lamb,
To appease an angry god.

Macd. I am not treacherous.
Mal.

But Macbeth is.

A good and virtuous nature may recoil,
In an imperial charge. But 'crave your pardon;
That which you are, my thoughts cannot transpose:
Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell :
Though all things foul would wear the brows of
grace,

Yet grace must still look so.
Macd.
I have lost my hopes.
Mal. Perchance, even there, where I did find
my doubts.

Why in that rawness left you wife and child
(Those precious motives, those strong knots of love,)
Without leave-taking ?-I pray you,
Let not my jealousies be your dishonours,
But mine own safeties:-You may be rightly just,
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.-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 absolute fear of you.
I think, our country sinks beneath the yoke;
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.

Maed.

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.

Macd.

Not in the legions Of horrid hell, can come a devil more damn'd In evils, to top Macbeth.

Mal.

(1) Birthright.

I grant him bloody,

(2) Befriend.

(3) i, e. A good mind may recede from goodness in the execution of a royal commission.

Macd.

Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful,
Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin
That has a name: But there's no bottom, none,
In my voluptuousness: your wives, your daughters,
Your matrons, and your maids, could not fill up
The cistern of my lust; and my desire
All continent impediments would o'er-bear,
That did oppose my will: Better Macbeth,
Than such a one to reign.
Boundless intemperance
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.
We have willing dames enough; there cannot be
That vulture in you, to devour so many
As will to greatness dedicate themselves,
Finding it so inclin'd.

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, Destroying them for wealth. Macd.

This avarice Sticks deeper; grows with more pernicious root Than summer-seeding lust: 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.

Mal. But I have none: The king-becoming graces,

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,
Acting it many ways. Nay, had I power, I should
Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell,
Uproar the universal peace, confound
All unity on earth.

Macd.

O Scotland! Scotland!

Mal. If such a one be fit to govern, speak; I am as I have spoken.

Macd.

Fit to govern!
No, not to live.-O nation miserable,
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 lived. 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

(4) Legally settled by those who had the final adjudication. (5) Lascivious, (7) Plenty,

From over-credulous haste: 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. 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.

Enter a Doctor.

Mal. Well; more anon.-Comes the king forth,
I pray you?

Doct. Ay, sir: there are a crew of wretched souls,
That stay his cure: their malady convinces
The great assay of art; but, at his touch,
Such sanctity hath heaven given his hand,
They presently amend.

Mal.

I thank you, doctor. [Ex. Doct.
Macd. What is the disease he means?
Mal.
'Tis call'd the evil :
A most miraculous work in this good king;
Which often since my here-remain in England,
I have seen him do. "How he solicits heaven,
Himself best knows: but strangely-visited people,
All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye,
The mere despair of surgery, he cures;
Hanging a golden stamp3 about their necks,
Put on with holy prayers: and 'tis spoken,
To the succeeding royalty he leaves

The healing benediction. With this strange virtue,
He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy;

And sundry blessings hang about his throne,
That speak him full of grace.

The means that make us strangers!
Rosse.

Sir, Amen.

Macd. Stands Scotland where it did?
Rosse.
Alas, poor country;
Almost afraid to know itself! It cannot
Be call'd our mother, but our grave: where nothing,
But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile ;
Where sighs, and groans, and shrieks that rent the
air,

Are made, not mark'd; where violent sorrow seems
A modern ecstasy; the dead man's knell

Is there scarce ask'd, for who; and good men's
lives

Expire before the flowers in their caps,
Dying, or ere they sicken.

Macd.

Too nice, and yet too true!

O, relation

(1) Over-hasty credulity.
(2) Overpowers, subdues.
The coin called an angel,

tidings,

Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumcur
Of many worthy fellows that were out;
Which was to my belief witness'd the rather,
For that I saw the tyrant's power a-foot:
Now is the time of help; your eye in Scotland
Would create soldiers, make our women fight,
To doff's their dire distresses.

Mal.
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.

Rosse.
"Would I could answer
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.

Macd.

What concern they?
The general cause? or is it a fee-grief,'
Due to some single breast?

Rosse.

No mind, that's honest, But in it shares some wo; though the main part Pertains to you alone.

Macd.

If it be mine,

Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it.
Rosse. Let not your ears despise my tongue for

Savagely slaughter'd: to relate the manner,
Were, on the quarry' of these murder'd deer,
To add the death of you.

Mal.

Merciful heaven!—'
What, man! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows;
Give sorrow words: the grief, that does not speak,
Whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it break.
Macd. My children too?
Rosse.

That could be found.
Macd.
My wife kill'd too?

Rosse.
Mal.

Wife, children, servants, all

And I must be from thence!
I have said.
Be comforted:
Let's make us med'cines of our great revenge,
To cure this deadly grief.

Macd. He has no children.-All my pretty ones?
Did you say, all ?-O, hell-kite!-All!
What, all my pretty chickens, and their dam,
At one fell swoop?

Mal. Dispute it like a man.
Macd.

But I must also feel it as a man:

I cannot but remember such things were,

(4) Common distress of mind.

That were most precious to me.-Did heaven look-Fie, my lord, fie! a soldier, and afear'd? What

on,

And would not take their part? Sinful Macduff,
They were all struck for thee! naught that I am,
Not for their own demerits, but for mine,
Fell slaughter on their souls: Heaven rest them
now!

Mal. Be this the whetstone of your sword: let
grief

Convert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage it.
Macd. O, I could play the woman with mine

eyes,

And braggart with my tongue!-But, gentle heaven,
Cut short all intermission; front to front,
Bring thou this fiend of Scotland, and myself;
Within my sword's length set him; if he 'scape,
Heaven forgive him too!

Mal.
This tune goes manly.
Come, go we to the king; our power is ready;
Our lack is nothing but our leave: Macbeth
Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above
Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer you
may;

The night is long, that never finds the day. [Exe.

Doct. I have two nights watched with you, but can perceive no truth in your report. When was it she last walked ?

Gent. Since his majesty went into the field, I have seen her rise from her bed, throw her night

need we fear who knows it, when none can call our power to account ?-Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?" Doct. Do you mark that?

Lady M. The thane of Fife had a wife; Where is she now?-What, will these hands ne'er be clean?-No more o'that, my lord, no more o'that: you mar all with this starting.

Doct. Go to, go to; you have known what you should not.

Gent. She has spoke what she should not, I am sure of that: Heaven knows what she has known. Lady M. Here's the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh! oh! oh!

Doct. What a sigh is there! The heart is sorely charged.

Gent. I would not have such a heart in my bosom, for the dignity of the whole body. Doct. Well, well, well,

Gent. 'Pray God, it be, sir.

Doct. This disease is beyond my practice: Yet have known those which have walked in their sleep, who have died holily in their beds.

Lady M. Wash your hands, put on your nightgown; look not so pale:-I tell you yet again, Banquo's buried; he cannot come out of his grave.

Doct. Even so?

the gate. Come, come, come, come, give me your
Lady M. To bed, to bed; there's knocking at
hand; What's done, cannot be undone: To bed,
to bed, to bed.
[Exit Lady Macbeth.
Doct. Will she go now to bed?
Gent. Directly.

Doct. Foul whisperings are abroad: Unnatural
deeds

gown upon her, unlock her closet, take forth paper, Do breed unnatural troubles: Infected minds fold it, write upon it, read it, afterwards seal it, and To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets. again return to bed; yet all this while in a most More needs she the divine, than the physician.fast sleep.

Doct. A great perturbation in nature! to receive at once the benefit of sleep, and do the effects of watching. In this slumbry agitation, besides her walking, and other actual performances, what, at any time, have you heard her say?

Gent. That, sir, which I will not report after her. Doct. You may, to me; and 'tis most meet you should.

Gent. Neither to you, nor any one, having no witness to confirm my speech.

Enter Lady Macbeth, with a taper. Lo you, here she comes! This is her very guise; and, upon my life, fast asleep. Observe her; stand close.

Doct. How came she by that light?
Gent. Why, it stood by her: she has light by
her continually; 'tis her command.

Doct. You see, her eyes are open.
Gent. Ay, but their sense is shut.

Doct. What is it she does now? Look, how she rubs her hands.

Gent. It is an accustomed action with her, to seem thus washing her hands; I have known her continue in this a quarter of an hour.

Lady M. Yet here's a spot.

Doct. Hark, she speaks: I will set down what comes from her, to satisfy my remembrance the more strongly.

Lady M. Out, damned spot! out, I say!-One; Two; Why, then 'tis time to do't:-Hell is murky! . (1) All pause. (2) Dark, (3) Confounded.

God, God, forgive us all! Look after her;
Remove from her the means of all annoyance,
And still keep eyes upon her :-So, good night:
My mind she has mated, and amaz'd my sight:
think, but dare not speak.
Good night, good doctor.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.—The country near Dunsinane. En-
ter, with drum and colours, Menteth, Cathness,
Angus, Lenox, and Soldiers.

Gent.

Ment. The English power is near, led on by

Malcolm,

His uncle Siward, and the good Macduff.
Revenges burn in them: for their dear causes
Would, to the bleeding, and the grim alarm,
Excite the mortified man."
Ang.
Near Birnam wood
Shall we well meet them; that way are they coming.
Cath. Who knows, if Donalbain be with his

brother?

Len. For certain, sir, he is not: I have a file
Of all the gentry; there is Siward's son,
And many unrough youths, that even now
Protest their first of manhood.

Ment.
What does the tyrant?
Cath. Great Dunsinane he strongly fortifies:
Some say, he's mad; others, that lesser hate him,
Do call it valiant fury: but, for certain,
He cannot buckle his distemper'd cause
Within the belt of rule.
Ang.

Now does he feel

(4) A religious; an ascetic, (5) Unbearded.

336

His pester'd senses to recoil, and start, When all that is within him does condemn Itself, for being there?

Cath.

Well, march we on,
To give obedience where 'tis truly ow'd:
Meet we the medicin of the sickly weal;
And with him pour we, in our country's purge,
Each drop of us.

Len.
Or so much as it needs,
To dew the sovereign flower, and drown the weeds.
Make we our march towards Birnam.

[Exeunt, marching. SCENE III-Dunsinane. A room in the castle. Enter Macbeth, Doctor, and attendants. Macb. Bring me no more reports; let them fly all;

Till Birnam wood remove to Dunsinane,
I cannot taint with fear. What's the boy Malcolm?
Was he not born of woman? The spirits that know
All inortal consequents, pronoune'd me thus:
Fear not, Macbeth; no man, that's born of woman,
Shall e'er have power on thee.---Then fly, false
thanes,

And mingle with the English epicures:"
The mind I sway by, and the heart I bear,
Shall never sagg with doubt, nor shake with fear.
Enter a Servant.

The devil damn thee black, thou cream-fac'd loon ;'
Where got'st thou that goose-look ?
Serv. There is ten thousand-
Mach.

Geese, villain?
Serv.
Soldiers, sir.
Macb. Go, prick thy face, and over-red thy fear,
Thou lily-liver'd boy. What soldiers, patch ?a
Death of thy soul! those linen cheeks of thine
Are counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whey-face?
Serv. The English force, so please you.
Macb. Take thy face hence.-Seyton!-I am

sick at heart,

When I behold-Seyton, I say!-This push
Will cheer me ever, or disseat me now.
I have liv'd long enough: my way of life
Is fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf:
And that which should accompany old age,
As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends,
I must not look to have; but, in their stead,
Curses, not loud, but deep, mouth-honour, breath,
Which the poor heart would fain deny, but dare not.
Seyton!-

Enter Seyton.

Sey. What is your gracious pleasure? Macb.

As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies,
That keep her from her rest.

Macb.
Cure her of that:
Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd;
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow;
Raze out the written troubles of the brain;
And, with some sweet oblivious antidote,
Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff
Which weighs upon the heart?

Doct.

Must minister to himself.

Therein the patient

Macb. Throw physic to the dogs, I'll none of it.-
Come, put mine arinour on; give me my staff:-
Seyton, send out.-Doctor, the thanes fly from me:—
Come, sir, despatch:-If thou could'st, doctor, cast
The water of my land, find her disease,
And purge it to a sound and pristine health,
I would appland thee to the very echo,
That should applaud again.-Pull't off, I say.-
What rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drug,
Would scour these English hence ?-Hearest thou

of them?

Doct. Ay, my good lord; your royal preparation Makes us hear something.

Macb.

[Exit.

Bring it after me.-will not be afraid of death and bane, Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane. Doct. Were I from Dunsinane away and clear, Profit again should hardly draw me here. [Exil. SCENE IV.-Country near Dunsinane: A wood in view. Enter, with drum and colours, Mal colm, Old Siward and his Son, Macduff, Men teth, Cathness, Angus, Lenox, Rosse, and Soldiers, marching.

Mal. Cousins, I hope, the days are near at hand That chambers will be safe. Ment. We doubt it nothing.. Siw. What wood is this before us? Ment.

The wood of Birnam.

Mal. Let every soldier hew him down a bough, And bear't before him; thereby shall we shadow The numbers of our host, and make discovery Err in report of us.

Sold. It shall be done. Siw. We learn no other, but the confident tyrant Keeps still in Dunsinane, and will endure Our setting down befor't.

Mal. 'Tis his main hope: For where there is advantage to be given, Both more and less' have given him the revolt; And none serve with him but constrained things, Whose hearts are absent too.

Macd.

Let our just censures Attend the true event, and put we on Industrious soldiership.

Siw.

The time approaches, That will with due decision make us know What news more?What we shall say we have, and what we owe. Sey. All is confirm'd, my lord, which was re-Thoughts speculative, their unsure hopes relate; But certain issue strokes must arbitrate:" ported.

Macb. I'll fight, till from my bones my flesh be Towards which, advance the war.

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