Complete Plays, The (146 page)

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Authors: William Shakespeare

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A cry of women within

What is that noise?

Seyton

It is the cry of women, my good lord.

Exit

Macbeth

I have almost forgot the taste of fears;
The time has been, my senses would have cool’d
To hear a night-shriek; and my fell of hair
Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir
As life were in’t: I have supp’d full with horrors;
Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts
Cannot once start me.

Re-enter Seyton

Wherefore was that cry?

Seyton

The queen, my lord, is dead.

Macbeth

She should have died hereafter;
There would have been a time for such a word.
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

Enter a Messenger

Thou comest to use thy tongue; thy story quickly.

Messenger

Gracious my lord,
I should report that which I say I saw,
But know not how to do it.

Macbeth

Well, say, sir.

Messenger

As I did stand my watch upon the hill,
I look’d toward Birnam, and anon, methought,
The wood began to move.

Macbeth

Liar and slave!

Messenger

Let me endure your wrath, if’t be not so:
Within this three mile may you see it coming;
I say, a moving grove.

Macbeth

If thou speak’st false,
Upon the next tree shalt 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 the 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 the estate o’ the world were now undone.
Ring the alarum-bell! Blow, wind! come, wrack!
At least we’ll die with harness on our back.

Exeunt

S
CENE
VI. D
UNSINANE
. B
EFORE
THE
CASTLE
.

Drum and colours. Enter Malcolm, Siward, Macduff, and their Army, with boughs

Malcolm

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.

Siward

Fare you well.
Do we but find the tyrant’s power to-night,
Let us be beaten, if we cannot fight.

Macduff

Make all our trumpets speak; give them all breath,
Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death.

Exeunt

S
CENE
VII. A
NOTHER
PART
OF
THE
FIELD
.

Alarums. Enter Macbeth

Macbeth

They have tied me to a stake; I cannot fly,
But, bear-like, I must fight the course. What’s he
That was not born of woman? Such a one
Am I to fear, or none.

Enter Young Siward

Young Siward

What is thy name?

Macbeth

Thou’lt be afraid to hear it.

Young Siward

No; though thou call’st thyself a hotter name
Than any is in hell.

Macbeth

My name’s Macbeth.

Young Siward

The devil himself could not pronounce a title
More hateful to mine ear.

Macbeth

No, nor more fearful.

Young Siward

Thou liest, abhorred tyrant; with my sword
I’ll prove the lie thou speak’st.

They fight and Young Siward is slain

Macbeth

Thou wast born of woman
But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn,
Brandish’d by man that’s of a woman born.

Exit

Alarums. Enter Macduff

Macduff

That way the noise is. Tyrant, show thy face!
If thou be’st 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 unbatter’d edge
I sheathe again undeeded. There thou shouldst be;
By this great clatter, one of greatest note
Seems bruited. Let me find him, fortune!
And more I beg not.

Exit. Alarums

Enter Malcolm and Siward

Siward

This way, my lord; the castle’s gently render’d:
The tyrant’s people on both sides do fight;
The noble thanes do bravely in the war;
The day almost itself professes yours,
And little is to do.

Malcolm

We have met with foes
That strike beside us.

Siward

Enter, sir, the castle.

Exeunt. Alarums

S
CENE
VIII. A
NOTHER
PART
OF
THE
FIELD
.

Enter Macbeth

Macbeth

Why should I play the Roman fool, and die
On mine own sword? whiles I see lives, the gashes
Do better upon them.

Enter Macduff

Macduff

Turn, hell-hound, turn!

Macbeth

Of all men else I have avoided thee:
But get thee back; my soul is too much charged
With blood of thine already.

Macduff

I have no words:
My voice is in my sword: thou bloodier villain
Than terms can give thee out!

They fight

Macbeth

Thou losest labour:
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 charmed life, which must not yield,
To one of woman born.

Macduff

Despair thy charm;
And let the angel whom thou still hast served
Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother’s womb
Untimely ripp’d.

Macbeth

Accursed be that tongue that tells me so,
For it hath cow’d 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.

Macduff

Then yield thee, coward,
And live to be the show and gaze o’ the time:
We’ll have thee, as our rarer monsters are,
Painted on a pole, and underwrit,
‘Here may you see the tyrant.’

Macbeth

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 damn’d be him that first cries, ‘Hold, enough!’

Exeunt, fighting. Alarums

Retreat. Flourish. Enter, with drum and colours, Malcolm, Siward, Ross, the other Thanes, and Soldiers

Malcolm

I would the friends we miss were safe arrived.

Siward

Some must go off: and yet, by these I see,
So great a day as this is cheaply bought.

Malcolm

Macduff is missing, and your noble son.

Ross

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 confirm’d
In the unshrinking station where he fought,
But like a man he died.

Siward

Then he is dead?

Ross

Ay, and brought off the field: your cause of sorrow
Must not be measured by his worth, for then
It hath no end.

Siward

Had he his hurts before?

Ross

Ay, on the front.

Siward

Why then, God’s soldier be he!
Had I as many sons as I have hairs,
I would not wish them to a fairer death:
And so, his knell is knoll’d.

Malcolm

He’s worth more sorrow,
And that I’ll spend for him.

Siward

He’s worth no more
They say he parted well, and paid his score:
And so, God be with him! Here comes newer comfort.

Re-enter Macduff, with Macbeth’s head

Macduff

Hail, king! for so thou art: behold, where stands
The usurper’s cursed head: the time is free:
I see thee compass’d with thy kingdom’s pearl,
That speak my salutation in their minds;
Whose voices I desire aloud with mine:
Hail, King of Scotland!

All

Hail, King of Scotland!

Flourish

Malcolm

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 honour 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 fiend-like 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 crown’d at Scone.

Flourish. Exeunt

The Life of Timon of Athens

T
ABLE
OF
C
ONTENTS

C
HARACTERS
OF
THE
P
LAY

A
CT
I

S
CENE
I. A
THENS
. A
HALL
IN
T
IMON
’
S
HOUSE
.