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The Tragedie of Macbeth.
Industrious Souldiership.
Sey.
The time approaches,
That will with due decision make vs know
What we shall say we haue, and what we owe:
Thoughts speculatiue, their vnsure hopes relate,
But certaine issue, stroakes must arbitrate,
Towards which, aduance the warre.
Exeunt marching.
The time approaches,
That will with due decision make vs know
What we shall say we haue, and what we owe:
Thoughts speculatiue, their vnsure hopes relate,
But certaine issue, stroakes must arbitrate,
Towards which, aduance the warre.
Exeunt marching.
Scena Quinta.
Enter Macbeth, Seyton, & Souldiers, with
Drum and Colours.
Drum and Colours.
Macb.
Hang out our Banners on the outward walls,
The Cry is still, they come: our Castles strength
Will laugh a Siedge to scorne: Heere let them lye,
Till Famine and the Ague eate them vp:
Were they not forc'd with those that should be ours,
We might haue met them darefull, beard to beard,
And beate them backward home. What is that noyse?
A Cry within of Women.
Sey.
It is the cry of women, my good Lord.
Hang out our Banners on the outward walls,
The Cry is still, they come: our Castles strength
Will laugh a Siedge to scorne: Heere let them lye,
Till Famine and the Ague eate them vp:
Were they not forc'd with those that should be ours,
We might haue met them darefull, beard to beard,
And beate them backward home. What is that noyse?
A Cry within of Women.
Sey.
It is the cry of women, my good Lord.
Macb.
I haue almost forgot the taste of Feares:
The time ha's beene, my sences would haue cool'd
To heare a Night-shrieke, and my Fell of haire
Would at a dismall Treatise rowze, and stirre
As life were in't. I haue supt full with horrors,
Direnesse familiar to my slaughterous thoughts
Cannot once start me. Wherefore was that cry?
I haue almost forgot the taste of Feares:
The time ha's beene, my sences would haue cool'd
To heare a Night-shrieke, and my Fell of haire
Would at a dismall Treatise rowze, and stirre
As life were in't. I haue supt full with horrors,
Direnesse familiar to my slaughterous thoughts
Cannot once start me. Wherefore was that cry?
Sey.
The Queene (my Lord) is dead.
The Queene (my Lord) is dead.
Macb.
She should haue dy'de heereafter;
There would haue beene a time for such a word:
To morrow, and to morrow, and to morrow,
Creepes in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last Syllable of Recorded time:
And all our yesterdayes, haue lighted Fooles
The way to dusty death. Out, out, breefe Candle,
Life's but a walking Shadow, a poore Player,
That struts and frets his houre vpon the Stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a Tale
Told by an Ideot, full of sound and fury
Signifying nothing.
Enter a Messenger.
Thou com'st to vse thy Tongue: thy Story quickly.
She should haue dy'de heereafter;
There would haue beene a time for such a word:
To morrow, and to morrow, and to morrow,
Creepes in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last Syllable of Recorded time:
And all our yesterdayes, haue lighted Fooles
The way to dusty death. Out, out, breefe Candle,
Life's but a walking Shadow, a poore Player,
That struts and frets his houre vpon the Stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a Tale
Told by an Ideot, full of sound and fury
Signifying nothing.
Enter a Messenger.
Thou com'st to vse thy Tongue: thy Story quickly.
Mes.
Gracious my Lord,
I should report that which I say I saw,
But know not how to doo't.
Gracious my Lord,
I should report that which I say I saw,
But know not how to doo't.
Macb.
Well, say sir.
Well, say sir.
Mes.
As I did stand my watch vpon the Hill
I look'd toward Byrnane, and anon me thought
The Wood began to moue.
As I did stand my watch vpon the Hill
I look'd toward Byrnane, and anon me thought
The Wood began to moue.
Macb.
Lyar, and Slaue.
Lyar, and Slaue.
Mes.
Let me endure your wrath, if't be not so:
Within this three Mile may you see it comming.
I say, a mouing Groue.
Let me endure your wrath, if't be not so:
Within this three Mile may you see it comming.
I say, a mouing Groue.
Macb.
If thou speak'st fhlse,
Vpon the next Tree shall thou hang aliue
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'Equiuocation of the Fiend,
That lies like truth. Feare not, till Byrnane Wood
Do come to Dunsinane, and now a Wood
Comes toward Dunsinane. Arme, Arme, and out,
If this which he auouches, do's appeare,
There is nor flying hence, nor tarrying here.
I 'ginne to be a-weary of the Sun,
And wish th'estate o'th'world were now vndon.
Ring the Alarum Bell, blow Winde, come wracke,
ExeuntAt least wee'l dye with Harnesse on our backe.
If thou speak'st fhlse,
Vpon the next Tree shall thou hang aliue
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'Equiuocation of the Fiend,
That lies like truth. Feare not, till Byrnane Wood
Do come to Dunsinane, and now a Wood
Comes toward Dunsinane. Arme, Arme, and out,
If this which he auouches, do's appeare,
There is nor flying hence, nor tarrying here.
I 'ginne to be a-weary of the Sun,
And wish th'estate o'th'world were now vndon.
Ring the Alarum Bell, blow Winde, come wracke,
ExeuntAt least wee'l dye with Harnesse on our backe.
Scena Sexta.
Drumme and Colours.
Enter Malcolme, Seyward, Macduffe, and their Army,
with Boughes.
Enter Malcolme, Seyward, Macduffe, and their Army,
with Boughes.
Mal.
Now neere enough:
Your leauy Skreenes throw downe,
And shew like those you are: You (worthy Vnkle)
Shall with my Cosin your right Noble Sonne
Leade our first Battell. Worthy Macduffe, and wee
Shall take vpon's what else remaines to do,
According to our order.
Now neere enough:
Your leauy Skreenes throw downe,
And shew like those you are: You (worthy Vnkle)
Shall with my Cosin your right Noble Sonne
Leade our first Battell. Worthy Macduffe, and wee
Shall take vpon's what else remaines to do,
According to our order.
Sey.
Fare you well:
Do we but finde the Tyrants power to night,
Let vs be beaten, if we cannot fight.
Fare you well:
Do we but finde the Tyrants power to night,
Let vs be beaten, if we cannot fight.
Macd.
Make all our Trumpets speak, giue thē all breath
ExeuntThose clamorous Harbingers of Blood, & Death.
Alarums continued.
Make all our Trumpets speak, giue thē all breath
ExeuntThose clamorous Harbingers of Blood, & Death.
Alarums continued.
Scena Septima.
Enter Macbeth.
Macb.
They haue tied me to a stake, I cannot flye,
But Beare-like I must fight the course. What's he
That was not borne of Woman? Such a one
Am I to feare, or none.
They haue tied me to a stake, I cannot flye,
But Beare-like I must fight the course. What's he
That was not borne of Woman? Such a one
Am I to feare, or none.
Enter young Seyward.
Y. Sey.
What is thy name?
What is thy name?
Macb.
Thou'lt be affraid to heare it.
Thou'lt be affraid to heare it.
Y. Sey.
No: though thou call'st thy selfe a hoter name
Then any is in hell.
No: though thou call'st thy selfe a hoter name
Then any is in hell.
Macb.
My name's Macbeth.
My name's Macbeth.
Y. Sey.
The diuell himselfe could not pronounce a Title
More hatefull to mine eare.
The diuell himselfe could not pronounce a Title
More hatefull to mine eare.
Macb.
No: nor more fearefull.
No: nor more fearefull.
Y. Sey.
Thou lyest abhorred Tyrant, with my Sword
Ile proue the lye thou speak'st.
Fight, and young Seyward slaine.
Macb.
Thou was't borne of woman;
But Swords I smile at, Weapons laugh to scorne,
Exit.Brandish'd by man that's of a Woman borne.
Thou lyest abhorred Tyrant, with my Sword
Ile proue the lye thou speak'st.
Fight, and young Seyward slaine.
Macb.
Thou was't borne of woman;
But Swords I smile at, Weapons laugh to scorne,
Exit.Brandish'd by man that's of a Woman borne.
Alarums.Enter Macduffe.
Macd.
That way the noise is: Tyrant shew thy face,
If thou beest slaine, and with no stroake of mine,
My Wife and Childrens Ghosts will haunt me still:
I cannot strike at wretched Kernes, whose armes
Are hyr'd to beare their Staues; either thou Macbeth,
Or else my Sword with an vnbattered edge
I sheath againe vndeeded. There thou should'st be,
By this great clatter, one of greatest note
That way the noise is: Tyrant shew thy face,
If thou beest slaine, and with no stroake of mine,
My Wife and Childrens Ghosts will haunt me still:
I cannot strike at wretched Kernes, whose armes
Are hyr'd to beare their Staues; either thou Macbeth,
Or else my Sword with an vnbattered edge
I sheath againe vndeeded. There thou should'st be,
By this great clatter, one of greatest note
Seemes
