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Macbeth Quotes

STUDY
PLAY
Fair is foul, and foul is fair Hover through the fog and filthy air.
Witches
What bloody man is that? He can report, As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt The newest state.
Duncan
This is the sergeant Who like a good and hardy soldier fought 'Gainst my captivity. Hail, brave friend! Say to the king the knowledge of the broil As thou didst leave it.
Malcolm
O valiant cousin! Worthy gentleman!
Duncan
So well thy words become thee as thy wounds; They smack of honor both. Go get him surgeons.
Duncan
From Fife, great king, Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky And fan our people cold. Norway himself, with terrible numbers, Assisted by that most disloyal traitor, The thane of Cawdor, began a dismal conflict, Till that Bellona's bridegroom, lapped in proof, Confronted him with self-comparisons, Point against point, rebellious arm 'gainst arm, Curbing his lavish spirit; and to conclude, The victory fell on us.
Ross
That now Sweno, the Norways' king, craves composition. Nor would we deign him burial of his men Till he disbursed at Saint Colme's Inch Ten thousand dollars to our general use.
Ross
No more that thane of Cawdor shall deceive Our bosom interest: go pronounce his present death, And with his former title greet Macbeth.
Duncan
What he hath lost, noble Macbeth hath won.
Duncan
So foul and fair a day I have not seen.
Macbeth
How far is 't called to Forres?—What are these So withered and so wild in their attire, That look not like th' inhabitants o' th' Earth, And yet are on 't?—Live you? Or are you aught That man may question? You seem to understand me, By each at once her choppy finger laying Upon her skinny lips. You should be women, And yet your beards forbid me to interpret That you are so.
Banquo
Good sir, why do you start and seem to fear Things that do sound so fair? (to the WITCHES) I' th' name of truth, Are ye fantastical, or that indeed Which outwardly ye show? My noble partner You greet with present grace and great prediction Of noble having and of royal hope, That he seems rapt withal. To me you speak not. If you can look into the seeds of time And say which grain will grow and which will not, Speak, then, to me, who neither beg nor fear Your favors nor your hate.
Banquo
Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more. By Sinel's death I know I am thane of Glamis. But how of Cawdor? The thane of Cawdor lives, A prosperous gentleman, and to be king Stands not within the prospect of belief, No more than to be Cawdor. Say from whence You owe this strange intelligence, or why Upon this blasted heath you stop our way With such prophetic greeting. Speak, I charge you.
Macbeth
The earth hath bubbles, as the water has, And these are of them. Whither are they vanished?
Banquo
Into the air, and what seemed corporal Melted, as breath into the wind. Would they had stayed.
Macbeth
Were such things here as we do speak about? Or have we eaten on the insane root That takes the reason prisoner?
Banquo
The king hath happily received, Macbeth, The news of thy success, and when he reads Thy personal venture in the rebels' fight, His wonders and his praises do contend Which should be thine or his. Silenced with that, In viewing o'er the rest o' the selfsame day, He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks, Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make, Strange images of death. As thick as tale Can post with post, and every one did bear Thy praises in his kingdom's great defense, And poured them down before him.
Ross
And, for an earnest of a greater honor, He bade me, from him, call thee thane of Cawdor: In which addition, hail, most worthy thane, For it is thine.
Ross
What, can the devil speak true?
Banquo
(aside) Glamis, and thane of Cawdor! The greatest is behind. (to ROSS and ANGUS) Thanks for your pains. (aside to BANQUO) Do you not hope your children shall be kings, When those that gave the thane of Cawdor to me Promised no less to them?
Macbeth
That, trusted home, Might yet enkindle you unto the crown, Besides the thane of Cawdor. But 'tis strange. And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, The instruments of darkness tell us truths, Win us with honest trifles, to betray 's In deepest consequence. (to ROSS and ANGUS) Cousins, a word, I pray you.
Banquo
(aside) Two truths are told, As happy prologues to the swelling act Of the imperial theme. (to ROSS and ANGUS) I thank you, gentlemen. (aside) This supernatural soliciting Cannot be ill, cannot be good. If ill, Why hath it given me earnest of success, Commencing in a truth? I am thane of Cawdor. If good, why do I yield to that suggestion Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair And make my seated heart knock at my ribs, Against the use of nature? Present fears Are less than horrible imaginings.
Macbeth
My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, Shakes so my single state of man That function is smothered in surmise, And nothing is but what is not.
Macbeth
If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me Without my stir.
Macbeth
New honors come upon him, Like our strange garments, cleave not to their mold But with the aid of use.
Banquo
Come what come may, Time and the hour runs through the roughest day.
Macbeth
Give me your favor. My dull brain was wrought With things forgotten. Kind gentlemen, your pains Are registered where every day I turn The leaf to read them. Let us toward the king. (aside to BANQUO) Think upon what hath chanced, and, at more time, The interim having weighed it, let us speak Our free hearts each to other.
Macbeth
Is execution done on Cawdor? Are not Those in commission yet returned?
Duncan
My liege, They are not yet come back. But I have spoke With one that saw him die, who did report That very frankly he confessed his treasons, Implored your highness' pardon, and set forth A deep repentance. Nothing in his life Became him like the leaving it. He died As one that had been studied in his death To throw away the dearest thing he owed As 'twere a careless trifle.
Malcolm
There's no art To find the mind's construction in the face. He was a gentleman on whom I built An absolute trust.
Duncan
O worthiest cousin, The sin of my ingratitude even now Was heavy on me. Thou art so far before That swiftest wing of recompense is slow To overtake thee. Would thou hadst less deserved, That the proportion both of thanks and payment Might have been mine! Only I have left to say, More is thy due than more than all can pay.
Duncan
The service and the loyalty I owe In doing it pays itself. Your highness' part Is to receive our duties, and our duties Are to your throne and state children and servants, Which do but what they should, by doing everything Safe toward your love and honor.
Macbeth
Welcome hither. I have begun to plant thee, and will labor To make thee full of growing. (to BANQUO) Noble Banquo, That hast no less deserved, nor must be known No less to have done so, let me infold thee And hold thee to my heart.
Duncan
There, if I grow, The harvest is your own.
Banquo
My plenteous joys, Wanton in fullness, seek to hide themselves In drops of sorrow. Sons, kinsmen, thanes, And you whose places are the nearest, know We will establish our estate upon Our eldest, Malcolm, whom we name hereafter The prince of Cumberland; which honor must Not unaccompanied invest him only, But signs of nobleness, like stars, shall shine On all deservers. (to MACBETH) From hence to Inverness, And bind us further to you.
Duncan
The rest is labor which is not used for you: I'll be myself the harbinger and make joyful The hearing of my wife with your approach. So humbly take my leave.
Macbeth
(aside) The prince of Cumberland! That is a step On which I must fall down, or else o'erleap, For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires. The eye wink at the hand, yet let that be Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see.
Macbeth
True, worthy Banquo. He is full so valiant, And in his commendations I am fed; It is a banquet to me.—Let's after him, Whose care is gone before to bid us welcome: It is a peerless kinsman.
Duncan
"They met me in the day of success, and I have learned by the perfectest report they have more in them than mortal knowledge. When I burned in desire to question them further, they made themselves air, into which they vanished. Whiles I stood rapt in the wonder of it came missives from the king, who all-hailed me 'Thane of Cawdor,' by which title, before, these weird sisters saluted me, and referred me to the coming on of time with 'Hail, king that shalt be!' This have I thought good to deliver thee, my dearest partner of greatness, that thou might'st not lose the dues of rejoicing, by being ignorant of what greatness is promised thee. Lay it to thy heart, and farewell."
Macbeth
Glamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be What thou art promised. Yet do I fear thy nature; It is too full o' th' milk of human kindness To catch the nearest way: thou wouldst be great, Art not without ambition, but without The illness should attend it. What thou wouldst highly, That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false, And yet wouldst wrongly win.
Lady Macbeth
Thou'ld'st have, great Glamis, That which cries, "Thus thou must do," if thou have it, And that which rather thou dost fear to do, Than wishest should be undone. Hie thee hither, That I may pour my spirits in thine ear And chastise with the valor of my tongue All that impedes thee from the golden round, Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem To have thee crowned withal.
Lady Macbeth
Thou 'rt mad to say it. Is not thy master with him, who, were 't so, Would have informed for preparation?
Lady Macbeth
The raven himself is hoarse That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan Under my battlements. Come, you spirits That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here, And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full Of direst cruelty. Make thick my blood. Stop up the access and passage to remorse, That no compunctious visitings of nature Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between The effect and it! Come to my woman's breasts, And take my milk for gall, you murd'ring ministers, Wherever in your sightless substances You wait on nature's mischief. Come, thick night, And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell, That my keen knife see not the wound it makes, Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark To cry "Hold, hold!"
Lady Macbeth
Great Glamis, worthy Cawdor, Greater than both, by the all-hail hereafter, Thy letters have transported me beyond This ignorant present, and I feel now The future in the instant.
Lady Macbeth
O, never Shall sun that morrow see! Your face, my thane, is as a book where men May read strange matters. To beguile the time, Look like the time. Bear welcome in your eye, Your hand, your tongue. Look like th' innocent flower, But be the serpent under 't. He that's coming Must be provided for; and you shall put This night's great business into my dispatch, Which shall to all our nights and days to come Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom.
Lady Macbeth
Only look up clear. To alter favor ever is to fear. Leave all the rest to me.
Lady Macbeth
This castle hath a pleasant seat. The air Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself Unto our gentle senses.
Duncan
This guest of summer, The temple-haunting martlet, does approve, By his loved mansionry, that the heaven's breath Smells wooingly here. No jutty, frieze, Buttress, nor coign of vantage, but this bird Hath made his pendant bed and procreant cradle. Where they most breed and haunt, I have observed, The air is delicate.
Banquo
See, see, our honored hostess! The love that follows us sometime is our trouble, Which still we thank as love. Herein I teach you How you shall bid God 'ild us for your pains, And thank us for your trouble.
Duncan
All our service, In every point twice done and then done double, Were poor and single business to contend Against those honors deep and broad wherewith Your majesty loads our house. For those of old, And the late dignities heaped up to them, We rest your hermits.
Lady Macbeth
Where's the thane of Cawdor? We coursed him at the heels and had a purpose To be his purveyor; but he rides well, And his great love, sharp as his spur, hath holp him To his home before us. Fair and noble hostess, We are your guest tonight.
Duncan
Your servants ever Have theirs, themselves, and what is theirs in compt, To make their audit at your highness' pleasure, Still to return your own.
Lady Macbeth
Give me your hand. Conduct me to mine host. We love him highly And shall continue our graces towards him. By your leave, hostess.
Duncan
If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well It were done quickly. If the assassination Could trammel up the consequence, and catch With his surcease success; that but this blow Might be the be-all and the end-all here, But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, We'd jump the life to come.
Macbeth
But in these cases We still have judgment here, that we but teach Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return To plague th' inventor: this even-handed justice Commends the ingredients of our poisoned chalice To our own lips. He's here in double trust: First, as I am his kinsman and his subject, Strong both against the deed; then, as his host, Who should against his murderer shut the door, Not bear the knife myself.
Macbeth
Besides, this Duncan Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been So clear in his great office, that his virtues Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against The deep damnation of his taking-off; And pity, like a naked newborn babe, Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, horsed Upon the sightless couriers of the air, Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye, That tears shall drown the wind. I have no spur To prick the sides of my intent, but only Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself And falls on th' other.
Macbeth
We will proceed no further in this business. He hath honored me of late, and I have bought Golden opinions from all sorts of people, Which would be worn now in their newest gloss, Not cast aside so soon.
Macbeth
Was the hope drunk Wherein you dressed yourself? Hath it slept since? And wakes it now, to look so green and pale At what it did so freely? From this time Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard To be the same in thine own act and valor As thou art in desire? Wouldst thou have that Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life, And live a coward in thine own esteem, Letting "I dare not" wait upon "I would, " Like the poor cat i' th' adage?
Lady Macbeth
Prithee, peace: I dare do all that may become a man; Who dares do more is none.
Macbeth
What beast was 't, then, That made you break this enterprise to me? When you durst do it, then you were a man; And to be more than what you were, you would Be so much more the man. Nor time nor place Did then adhere, and yet you would make both. They have made themselves, and that their fitness now Does unmake you. I have given suck, and know How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me. I would, while it was smiling in my face, Have plucked my nipple from his boneless gums And dashed the brains out, had I so sworn as you Have done to this.
Lady Macbeth
We fail? But screw your courage to the sticking-place, And we'll not fail. When Duncan is asleep— Whereto the rather shall his day's hard journey Soundly invite him—his two chamberlains Will I with wine and wassail so convince That memory, the warder of the brain, Shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason A limbeck only: when in swinish sleep Their drenchèd natures lie as in a death, What cannot you and I perform upon The unguarded Duncan? What not put upon His spongy officers, who shall bear the guilt Of our great quell?
Lady Macbeth
Bring forth men-children only, For thy undaunted mettle should compose Nothing but males. Will it not be received, When we have marked with blood those sleepy two Of his own chamber and used their very daggers, That they have done 't?
Macbeth
Who dares receive it other, As we shall make our griefs and clamor roar Upon his death?
Lady Macbeth
I am settled, and bend up Each corporal agent to this terrible feat. Away, and mock the time with fairest show. False face must hide what the false heart doth know.
Macbeth
Double, double toil and trouble, Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.
Witches
Oh well done! I commend your pains, And every one shall share i' th' gains. And now about the cauldron sing, Like elves and fairies in a ring, Enchanting all that you put in.
Hectate
How now, you secret, black, and midnight hags? What is 't you do?
Macbeth
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 yeasty waves Confound and swallow navigation up, Though bladed corn be lodged 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 germens tumble all together, Even till destruction sicken, answer me To what I ask you.
Macbeth
Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! Beware Macduff. Beware the thane of Fife. Dismiss me. Enough.
First Apparition
Whate'er thou art, for thy good caution, thanks. Thou hast harped my fear aright. But one word more—
Macbeth
Be bloody, bold, and resolute. Laugh to scorn The power of man, for none of woman born Shall harm Macbeth
Second Apparition
Then live, Macduff. What need I fear of thee? 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.
Macbeth
What is this That rises like the issue of a king, And wears upon his baby-brow the round And top of sovereignty?
Macbeth
Be lion-mettled, proud, and take no care Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are. Macbeth shall never vanquished be until Great Birnam Wood to high Dunsinane Hill Shall come against him.
Third Apparition
That will never be. Who can impress the forest, bid the tree Unfix his earthbound root? Sweet bodements! Good! Rebellious dead, rise never till the wood Of Birnam rise, and our high-placed Macbeth Shall live the lease of nature, pay his breath To time and mortal custom. Yet my heart Throbs to know one thing. Tell me, if your art Can tell so much: shall Banquo's issue ever Reign in this kingdom?
Macbeth
I will be satisfied. Deny me this, And an eternal curse fall on you! Let me know. Why sinks that cauldron? And what noise is this?
Macbeth
Thou art too like the spirit of Banquo. Down! Thy crown does sear mine eyeballs. And thy hair, Thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first. A third is like the former.—Filthy hags! Why do you show me this? A fourth? Start, eyes! What, will the line stretch out to th' 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 twofold balls and treble scepters carry. Horrible sight! Now I see 'tis true; For the blood-boltered Banquo smiles upon me And points at them for his.
Macbeth
Where are they? Gone? Let this pernicious hour Stand aye accursèd in the calendar! Come in, without there.
Macbeth
Infected be the air whereon they ride, And damned all those that trust them! I did hear The galloping of horse. Who was 't came by?
Macbeth
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 th' edge o' th' sword His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls That trace him in 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.
Macbeth
What had he done to make him fly the land?
Lady Macduff
You must have patience, madam.
Ross
He had none. His flight was madness. When our actions do not, Our fears do make us traitors.
Lady Macduff
You know not Whether it was his wisdom or his fear.
Ross
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.
Lady Macduff
My dearest coz, I pray you school yourself. But for your husband, He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows The fits o' th' season. I dare not speak much further; But cruel are the times when we are traitors And do not know ourselves; when we hold rumor From what we fear, yet know not what we fear, But float upon a wild and violent sea Each way and none. 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.
Ross
Fathered he is, and yet he's fatherless.
Lady Macduff
I am so much a fool, should I stay longer It would be my disgrace and your discomfort. I take my leave at once.
Ross
Poor bird! Thou 'dst never fear the net nor lime, The pitfall nor the gin.
Lady Macduff
Why, I can buy me twenty at any market.
Lady Macduff
Sirrah, your father's dead. And what will you do now? How will you live?
Lady Macduff
Thou speak'st with all thy wit; and yet, i' faith, With wit enough for thee.
Lady Macduff
Every one that does so is a traitor and must be hanged.
Lady Macduff
Now, God help thee, poor monkey! But how wilt thou do for a father?
Lady Macduff
Whither should I fly? I have done no harm. But I remember now I am in this earthly world, where to do harm Is often laudable, to do good sometime Accounted dangerous folly. Why then, alas, Do I put up that womanly defense, To say I have done no harm?
Lady Macduff
I hope, in no place so unsanctified Where such as thou mayst find him.
Lady Macduff
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 yelled out Like syllable of dolor.
Macduff
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 tongues, Was once thought honest. You have loved him well. He hath not touched you yet. I am young, but something You may deserve of him through me, and wisdom To offer up a weak, poor, innocent lamb T' appease an angry god.
Malcolm
A good and virtuous nature may recoil In an imperial charge. But I shall 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.
Malcolm
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 dishonors, But mine own safeties. You may be rightly just, Whatever I shall think.
Malcolm
Bleed, bleed, poor country! Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure, For goodness dare not check thee. Wear thou thy wrongs; The title is affeered.—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.
Macduff
Be not offended. 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.
Malcolm
It is myself I mean, in whom I know All the particulars of vice so grafted That, when they shall be opened, black Macbeth Will seem as pure as snow, and the poor state Esteem him as a lamb, being compared With my confineless harms.
Malcolm
Not in the legions Of horrid hell can come a devil more damned In evils to top Macbeth.
Macduff
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 daughters, Your matrons, and your maids could not fill up The cistern of my lust, and my desire All continent impediments would o'erbear That did oppose my will. Better Macbeth Than such an one to reign.
Malcolm
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 hoodwink. 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 inclined.
Macduff
With this there grows In my most ill-composed 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.
Malcolm
This avarice Sticks deeper, grows with more pernicious root Than summer-seeming lust, and it hath been The sword of our slain kings. Yet do not fear; Scotland hath foisons to fill up your will, Of your mere own. All these are portable, With other graces weighed.
Macduff
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.
Malcolm
O Scotland, Scotland!
Macduff
If such a one be fit to govern, speak. I am as I have spoken.
Malcolm
Fit to govern? No, not to live.—O nation miserable, With an untitled tyrant bloody-sceptered, When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again, Since that the truest issue of thy throne By his own interdiction stands accursed, And does blaspheme his breed?—Thy royal father Was a most sainted king. The queen that bore thee, Oftener upon her knees than on her feet, Died every day she lived. Fare thee well! These evils thou repeat'st upon thyself Have banished me from Scotland.—O my breast, Thy hope ends here!
Macduff
Macduff, this noble passion, Child of integrity, hath from my soul Wiped the black scruples, reconciled my thoughts To thy good truth and honor. Devilish Macbeth By many of these trains hath sought to win me Into his power, and modest wisdom plucks me From overcredulous 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 than life. My first false speaking Was this upon myself. What I am truly, Is thine and my poor country's to command.
Malcolm
Whither indeed, before thy here-approach, Old Siward, with ten thousand warlike men, Already at a point, was setting forth. Now we'll together, and the chance of goodness Be like our warranted quarrel! Why are you silent?
Malcolm
'Tis called 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 swoll'n 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.
Malcolm
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.
Malcolm
Alas, poor country! Almost afraid to know itself. It cannot Be called our mother, but our grave, where nothing, But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile; Where sighs and groans and shrieks that rend the air Are made, not marked; where violent sorrow seems A modern ecstasy. The dead man's knell Is there scarce asked for who, and good men's lives Expire before the flowers in their caps, Dying or ere they sicken.
Ross
No, they were well at peace when I did leave 'em.
Ross
When I came hither to transport the tidings, Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumor Of many worthy fellows that were out; Which was to my belief witnessed the rather For that I saw the tyrant's power afoot. Now is the time of help. Your eye in Scotland Would create soldiers, make our women fight, To doff their dire distresses.
Ross
Be 't 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.
Malcolm
Would I could answer This comfort with the like. But I have words That would be howled out in the desert air, Where hearing should not latch them.
Ross
What concern they? The general cause, or is it a fee-grief Due to some single breast?
Macduff
Let not your ears despise my tongue forever, Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound That ever yet they heard.
Ross
No mind that's honest But in it shares some woe, though the main part Pertains to you alone.
Ross
Your castle is surprised, your wife and babes Savagely slaughtered. To relate the manner, Were, on the quarry of these murdered deer To add the death of you.
Ross
Merciful heaven! What, man! Ne'er pull your hat upon your brows. Give sorrow words. The grief that does not speak Whispers the o'erfraught heart and bids it break.
Malcolm
Be comforted. Let's make us med'cines of our great revenge, To cure this deadly grief.
Malcolm
I shall do so, But I must also feel it as a man. I cannot but remember such things were That were most 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 now.
Macduff
Be this the whetstone of your sword. Let grief Convert to anger. Blunt not the heart, enrage it.
Malcolm
Oh, I could play the woman with mine eyes And braggart with my tongue! But, gentle heavens, 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.
Macduff
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.
Malcolm
When the hurly-burly's done, When the battles, lost and won.
Witches
Upon her skinny lips; you should be women,/And yet your beards forbid me to interpret,/that you are so.
Banquo
Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and urine. Lechery it provokes and unprovokes; it provides desire, but it takes away the performance. It makes him and it mars him.
Porter
They have tied me to a stake. I cannot fly, But, bearlike, I must fight the course. What's he That was not born of woman? Such a one Am I to fear, or none.
Macbeth
Thou 'lt be afraid to hear it.
Macbeth
Thou wast born of woman. But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn, Brandished by man that's of a woman born.
Macbeth
That way the noise is. Tyrant, show thy face! If thou beest slain, and with no stroke of mine, My wife and children's ghosts will haunt me still. I cannot strike at wretched kerns, whose arms Are hired to bear their staves. Either thou, Macbeth, Or else my sword with an unbattered edge I sheathe again undeeded. There thou shouldst be; By this great clatter, one of the greatest note Seems bruited. Let me find him, Fortune, And more I beg not.
Macduff
We have met with foes That strike beside us.
Malcolm
Why should I play the Roman fool and die On mine own sword? Whiles I see lives, the gashes Do better upon them.
Macbeth
Of all men else I have avoided thee. But get thee back. My soul is too much charged With blood of thine already.
Macbeth
I have no words. My voice is in my sword. Thou bloodier villain Than terms can give thee out!
Macduff
Thou losest labor. As easy mayst thou the intrenchant air With thy keen sword impress as make me bleed. Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests; I bear a charmèd life, which must not yield To one of woman born.
Macbeth
Despair thy charm, And let the angel whom thou still hast served Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb Untimely ripped.
Macduff
Accursèd be that tongue that tells me so, For it hath cowed my better part of man! And be these juggling fiends no more believed, That palter with us in a double sense, That keep the word of promise to our ear, And break it to our hope. I'll not fight with thee.
Macbeth
Then yield thee, coward, And live to be the show and gaze o' th' time. We'll have thee, as our rarer monsters are, Painted on a pole, and underwrit, "Here may you see the tyrant."
Macduff
I will not yield, To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet, And to be baited with the rabble's curse. Though Birnam Wood be come to Dunsinane, And thou opposed, being of no woman born, Yet I will try the last. Before my body I throw my warlike shield. Lay on, Macduff, And damned be him that first cries, "Hold, enough!"
Macbeth
Your son, my lord, has paid a soldier's debt. He only lived but till he was a man, The which no sooner had his prowess confirmed In the unshrinking station where he fought, But like a man he died.
Ross
Ay, and brought off the field. Your cause of sorrow Must not be measured by his worth, for then It hath no end.
Ross
He's worth more sorrow, And that I'll spend for him.
Malcolm
Hail, king! For so thou art. Behold where stands The usurper's cursèd head. The time is free. I see thee compassed with thy kingdom's pearl, That speak my salutation in their minds, Whose voices I desire aloud with mine. Hail, King of Scotland!
Macduff
We shall not spend a large expense of time Before we reckon with your several loves And make us even with you. My thanes and kinsmen, Henceforth be earls, the first that ever Scotland In such an honor named. What's more to do, Which would be planted newly with the time, As calling home our exiled friends abroad That fled the snares of watchful tyranny, Producing forth the cruel ministers Of this dead butcher and his fiendlike queen, Who, as 'tis thought, by self and violent hands Took off her life; this, and what needful else That calls upon us, by the grace of Grace, We will perform in measure, time, and place. So, thanks to all at once and to each one, Whom we invite to see us crowned at Scone.
Malcolm
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 forced with those that should be ours, We might have met them dareful, beard to beard, And beat them backward home.
Macbeth
I have almost forgot the taste of fears. The time has been my senses would have cooled To hear a night-shriek, and my fell of hair Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir As life were in 't. I have supped full with horrors. Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts Cannot once start me.
Macbeth
She should have died hereafter. There would have been a time for such a word. Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, 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. 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.
Macbeth
If thou speak'st false, Upon the next tree shall thou hang alive Till famine cling thee. 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 aweary of the sun, And wish th' estate o' th' world were now undone.— Ring the alarum-bell!—Blow, wind! Come, wrack! At least we'll die with harness on our back.
Macbeth
Now near enough. Your leafy screens throw down, And show like those you are.—You, worthy uncle, Shall, with my cousin, your right-noble son, Lead our first battle. Worthy Macduff and we Shall take upon 's what else remains to do, According to our order.
Malcolm
Make all our trumpets speak; give them all breath, Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death.
Macduff
Hold, take my sword. There's husbandry in heaven; Their candles are all out. Take thee that too. A heavy summons lies like lead upon me, And yet I would not sleep. Merciful powers, Restrain in me the cursèd thoughts that nature Gives way to in repose.
Banquo
This diamond he greets your wife withal, By the name of most kind hostess, and shut up In measureless content.
Banquo
I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters: To you they have showed some truth.
Banquo
I think not of them. Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve, We would spend it in some words upon that business, If you would grant the time.
Macbeth
Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee. I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling as to sight? Or art thou but A dagger of the mind, a false creation, Proceeding from the heat-oppressèd brain?
Macbeth
I go, and it is done. The bell invites me. Hear it not, Duncan, for it is a knell That summons thee to heaven or to hell.
Macbeth
That which hath made them drunk hath made me bold. What hath quenched them hath given me fire.
Lady Macbeth
Had he not resembled My father as he slept, I had done 't.
Lady Macbeth
But wherefore could not I pronounce "Amen"? I had most need of blessing, and "Amen" Stuck in my throat.
Macbeth
Go get some water, And wash this filthy witness from your hand. Why did you bring these daggers from the place? They must lie there. Go carry them and smear The sleepy grooms with blood.
Lady Macbeth
Methought I heard a voice cry, "Sleep no more! Macbeth does murder sleep"—the innocent sleep, Sleep that knits up the raveled sleave of care, The death of each day's life, sore labor's bath, Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, Chief nourisher in life's feast.
Macbeth
No, this my hand will rather The multitudinous seas incarnadine, Making the green one red.
Macbeth
My hands are of your color, but I shame To wear a heart so white.
Lady Macbeth
Retire we to our chamber. A little water clears us of this deed. How easy is it, then! Your constancy Hath left you unattended.
Lady Macbeth
To know my deed, 'twere best not know myself. Wake Duncan with thy knocking. I would thou couldst.
Macbeth
Here's a knocking indeed! If a man were porter of hell-gate, he should have old turning the key
Porter
'Faith sir, we were carousing till the second cock. And drink, sir, is a great provoker of three things.
Porter
Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and urine. Lechery, sir, it provokes and unprovokes.
Porter
The night has been unruly. Where we lay, Our chimneys were blown down and, as they say, Lamentings heard i' th' air, strange screams of death, And prophesying with accents terrible Of dire combustion and confused events New hatched to the woeful time. The obscure bird Clamored the livelong night. Some say the Earth Was feverous and did shake.
Lennox
Confusion now hath made his masterpiece. Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope The Lord's anointed temple, and stole thence The life o' th' building!
Macduff
Approach the chamber, and destroy your sight With a new Gorgon. Do not bid me speak. See, and then speak yourselves.
Macduff
Awake, awake! Ring the alarum bell. Murder and treason! Banquo and Donalbain! Malcolm! Awake!
Macduff
Too cruel any where. Dear Duff, I prithee, contradict thyself, And say it is not so.
Banquo
Had I but died an hour before this chance, I had lived a blessèd time, for from this instant There's nothing serious in mortality. All is but toys. Renown and grace is dead.
Macbeth
The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood Is stopped; the very source of it is stopped.
Macbeth
Who can be wise, amazed, temp'rate, and furious, Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man. Th' expedition of my violent love Outrun the pauser, reason.
Macbeth
They were suborned. Malcolm and Donalbain, the king's two sons, Are stol'n away and fled, which puts upon them Suspicion of the deed.
Macduff
And Duncan's horses—a thing most strange and certain— Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race, Turned wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out, Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would Make war with mankind.
Ross
'Gainst nature still! Thriftless ambition, that will raven up Thine own lives' means! Then 'tis most like The sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth.
Ross
Well, may you see things well done there. Adieu, Lest our old robes sit easier than our new!
Macduff
'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 constrainèd things Whose hearts are absent too.
Malcolm
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.
Malcolm
Cure her of that. Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased, Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, Raze out the written troubles of the brain And with some sweet oblivious antidote Cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff Which weighs upon the heart?
Macbeth
Bring me no more reports. Let them fly all. Till Birnam Wood remove to Dunsinane I cannot taint with fear.
Macbeth
Now does he feel His secret murders sticking on his hands. Now minutely revolts upbraid his faith-breach. Those he commands move only in command, Nothing in love.
Angus
Wash your hands. Put on your nightgown. Look not so pale.—I tell you yet again, Banquo's buried; he cannot come out on 's grave.
Lady Macbeth
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 afeard? 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.
Lady Macbeth