Imatges de pàgina
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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 1-Where are these gentle-

men ?

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Enter Lady MACDUFF, her SON, and ROSSE. L. Maed. What bad he done, to make him fly the land?

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

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,

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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.

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

I pray you, school yourself: But, for your hus-I
band,

He is noble, wise, judicions, 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.-1 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 father

less.

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 Rosse.

L. Maed. Sirral, || your father's dead; And what will you do now? How will you live?

Son. As birds do, mother.

L. Mucd. What, with worms and flies? Son. With what I get, I mean; and so do they.

L. Macd. Poor bird! thoud'st 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. 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 would take a homely inan'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,
Which is too nigh your person.
Heaven pre-
serve you!

dare abide no longer.

[Exit MESSENGER. L. Macd. Whither should I fly ?

I have done no barm. But I remember now

am in this earthy world; where, to do harm, Is often laudable; to do good, sometime, Accounted dangerous folly: Why then, alas! Do I put up that womanly defence, To say I have done no harm ?What are these faces ?

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L. Macd. Yes, he is dead; how wilt thou do Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds

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I speak not as in an 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 suudry ways than ever,
By him that shall succeed.

Macb. 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. I grant him bloody, 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 daugh

ters,

Your matrous, 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.

Macd. Boundless intemperance

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In nature is a tyranny; it hath been
The untimely emptying of the bappy 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 pernicions 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 inere own: All these are portable,+
With other graces weigh'd.

Mul. 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

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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 Mac-
beth

By many of these trains bathg sought to win me
Into his power; and modest wisdom plucks me
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. 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 thau life: my first false speaking

Was this upon myself: What I am truly,
Is thine and my poor country's, to coinmand
Whither, indeed, before thy here-approach,
Old Siward, with ten thousand warlike men,
Ail ready at a point, was setting forth:

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Now we'll together: And the chance of good- | dwband to Why are you

'Tis hard to reconcile.

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 their dire distresses.

Mal. Be it their comfort,

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We are coming thither; gracious England hath
Lent us good Siward and ten thousand men ;
en Fondo An older and a better soldier none
abnim hy
Enter a DOCTOR. Ysbad,That Christendom gives out.
Mal. Well; more anon.-Comes the king
forth, I pray you? hoon to
Doct. Ay, Sir: there are a crew of wretched
aviat Doa,bo
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.

Macd. What is the disease he means ?
Mal. 'Tis call'd the evil :

A most miraculous work in this good king;202
Which often, since my here-remain in Eng-
land,

I have seen him do. How he solicits heaven, but strangely-visited Himself best knows :

All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye,
The mere despair of surgery, he cures ;
Hanging a golden stamp + about their necks,
Put on with holy prayers: and 'tis spoken,
To the succeeding royalty he leaves

The healing benediction. With this strange vir-
tue,

He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy;
And sundry blessings hang about his throne,
That speak him full of grace.

Enter RossEest

Macd. See, who comes here ? Must rem
Mal. My countryman; but yet I know him

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When I came hither to transport the tidings, Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumour of many worthy fellows that were out; Which was to my belief witness'd the rather, Overpowers, subdues.

A compliment to the Stuarts, who touched for the 1 Commen distress of mind.

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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. I shall do so;

ed) sem blo
But I must also feel it as a man lif

I cannot but remember such things were,
That were not precious to me.-Did heaven
look 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
tom blueda
now!

Mal. Be this the whetstone of your sword:
To w [it.
Jet grief
Convert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage
Macd. O I could play the woman with mine

And braggart with my tongue!--But, gentle
heaven,

Cut short all intermission; § front to front,
Bring thou this fiend of Scotland and anyself;
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
or you may go to do my
The night is long, that never finds the day.

[Exeunt.

• Put off.
t A grief that has a single owner.
+ Catch.
All pause.
The game after it is killed.

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ACT V.

the gate. Come, come, come, come, give me your band; What's done, cannot be undone : To

SCENE I.-Dunsinane.—A Room in the Cas-bed, to bed, to bed. [Exit Lady MACBETH.

tle.

Enter a DOCTOR of Physic, and a waiting
GENTLEWOMAN.

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 bave seen her rise from her bed, throw her night-gown upon her, unlock her closet, take forth paper, fold it, write upon it, read it, afterwards seal it, and again return to bed; yet all this while iu a most fast sleep.

Doct. A great perturbation in nature! to receive at once the benefit of sleep, and do the I effects of watching. In this slumbry agitation, besides her walking, and other actual performances, what, at any time, bave 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 ber, to seem thus washing her hands; I have known ber 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!-Fie, my lord, fie! a soldier, and afear'd? What 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 sight 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 I have known those which have walked in their sleep, who have died holily in their beds.

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

Doct. Even so?

Lady M. To bed, to bed; there's knocking at

• Dark.

Doct. Will she go now to bed ?
Gent. Directly.

Doct. Foul whisperings are abroad: Unna-
tural deeds

Do breed unnatural troubles: Infected minds
To their deaf pillows will discharge their se-
More needs she the divine, than the physi-

crets.

cian.

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.

Gent. Good night, good doctor. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.-The Country near Dunsinane.
Enter with Drum and Colours, MENTITE,
CATHNESS, ANGUS, LENOX, and Soldiers.
Ment. The English power is near, led on by
Malcolm,

His uncle Siward, and the good Macduff.
Revenges burn in them: for their dear canses
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 unrought youths, but 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 bat 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
His secret murders sticking on his bands:
Now minutely revolts upbraid his faith-breach;
Those he commands, move only in command,
Nothing in love: now does he feel the title
Hang loose about him, like a giant's robe
Upon a dwarfish thief.

Ment. Who then shall blame
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 medecin of the sickly weal;
And with him pour we, in our country's parge,
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 Mal-
colm !
know
Was he not born of woman? The spirits that
All mortal consequents, pronounc'd me thus:
Fear not, Macbeth; no man, that's bern of
woman,

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The devil damn thee black, thou cream-fac'd | SCENE IV.-Country near Dunsinane: A

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Give me my armour.

Seg. 'Tis not needed yet.
Macb. I'll put it on.

Send out more horses, skirr the country
round;

Hang those that talk of fear.-Give me mine

armour.

How does your patient, doctor?

Dect. Not so sick, my lord,

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

Macb. Cure ber of that:

Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd;
Plick from the memory a rooted sorrow;
Raze out the written troubles of the brain;
And, with some sweet oblivious antidote,

Wood in view.

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[Exeunt, marching. Within the

SCENE V.-Dunsinane.
Castle.

Enter, with Drums and Colours, MACBETH,
SEYTON, and Soldiers.

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,

Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff,Till famine and the ague eat them up :

Which weighs upon the heart?

Doct. Therein the patient

Must minister to himself.

Macb. Throw physic to the dogs, I'll none of it.

Come, put mine armour on; give me my

staff:

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Were they not forc'd with those that should be

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