MACBETH

by William Shakespeare

1606

Act IV

SCENE I - A cavern. In the middle, a boiling cauldron

    Thunder. Enter the three Witches

First Witch

    Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd.

Second Witch

    Thrice and once the hedge-pig whined.

Third Witch

    Harpier cries 'Tis time, 'tis time.

First Witch

    Round about the cauldron go;
    In the poison'd entrails throw.
    Toad, that under cold stone
    Days and nights has thirty-one
    Swelter'd venom sleeping got,
    Boil thou first i' the charmed pot.

ALL

    Double, double toil and trouble;
    Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.

Second Witch

    Fillet of a fenny snake,
    In the cauldron boil and bake;
    Eye of newt and toe of frog,
    Wool of bat and tongue of dog,
    Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting,
    Lizard's leg and owlet's wing,
    For a charm of powerful trouble,
    Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.

ALL

    Double, double toil and trouble;
    Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

Third Witch

    Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf,
    Witches' mummy, maw and gulf
    Of the ravin'd salt-sea shark,
    Root of hemlock digg'd i' the dark,
    Liver of blaspheming Jew,
    Gall of goat, and slips of yew
    Silver'd in the moon's eclipse,
    Nose of Turk and Tartar's lips,
    Finger of birth-strangled babe
    Ditch-deliver'd by a drab,
    Make the gruel thick and slab:
    Add thereto a tiger's chaudron,
    For the ingredients of our cauldron.

ALL

    Double, double toil and trouble;
    Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

Second Witch

    Cool it with a baboon's blood,
    Then the charm is firm and good.

    Enter HECATE to the other three Witches

HECATE

    O well done! I commend your pains;
    And every one shall share i' the gains;
    And now about the cauldron sing,
    Live elves and fairies in a ring,
    Enchanting all that you put in.

    Music and a song: 'Black spirits,' & c

    HECATE retires

Second Witch

    By the pricking of my thumbs,
    Something wicked this way comes.
    Open, locks,
    Whoever knocks!

    Enter MACBETH

MACBETH

    How now, you secret, black, and midnight hags!
    What is't you do?

ALL

    A deed without a name.

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 yesty 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.

First Witch

    Speak.

Second Witch

    Demand.

Third Witch

    We'll answer.

First Witch

    Say, if thou'dst rather hear it from our mouths,
    Or from our masters?

MACBETH

    Call 'em; let me see 'em.

First Witch

    Pour in sow's blood, that hath eaten
    Her nine farrow; grease that's sweaten
    From the murderer's gibbet throw
    Into the flame.

ALL

    Come, high or low;
    Thyself and office deftly show!

    Thunder. First Apparition: an armed Head

MACBETH

    Tell me, thou unknown power,--

First Witch

    He knows thy thought:
    Hear his speech, but say thou nought.

First Apparition

    Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! beware Macduff;
    Beware the thane of Fife. Dismiss me. Enough.

    Descends

MACBETH

    Whate'er thou art, for thy good caution, thanks;
    Thou hast harp'd my fear aright: but one
    word more,--

First Witch

    He will not be commanded: here's another,
    More potent than the first.

    Thunder. Second Apparition: A bloody Child

Second Apparition

    Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth!

MACBETH

    Had I three ears, I'ld hear thee.

Second Apparition

    Be bloody, bold, and resolute; laugh to scorn
    The power of man, for none of woman born
    Shall harm Macbeth.

    Descends

MACBETH

    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.

    Thunder. Third Apparition: a Child crowned, with a tree in his hand
    What is this
    That rises like the issue of a king,
    And wears upon his baby-brow the round
    And top of sovereignty?

ALL

    Listen, but speak not to't.

Third Apparition

    Be lion-mettled, proud; and take no care
    Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are:
    Macbeth shall never vanquish'd be until
    Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill
    Shall come against him.

    Descends

MACBETH

    That will never be
    Who can impress the forest, bid the tree
    Unfix his earth-bound root? Sweet bodements! good!
    Rebellion's head, 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?

ALL

    Seek to know no more.

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?

    Hautboys

First Witch

    Show!

Second Witch

    Show!

Third Witch

    Show!

ALL

    Show his eyes, and grieve his heart;
    Come like shadows, so depart!

    A show of Eight Kings, the last with a glass in his hand; GHOST OF BANQUO following

MACBETH

    Thou art too like the spirit of Banquo: down!
    Thy crown does sear mine eye-balls. 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 the 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 two-fold balls and treble scepters carry:
    Horrible sight! Now, I see, 'tis true;
    For the blood-bolter'd Banquo smiles upon me,
    And points at them for his.

    Apparitions vanish
    What, is this so?

First Witch

    Ay, sir, all this is so: but why
    Stands Macbeth thus amazedly?
    Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprites,
    And show the best of our delights:
    I'll charm the air to give a sound,
    While you perform your antic round:
    That this great king may kindly say,
    Our duties did his welcome pay.

    Music. The witches dance and then vanish, with HECATE

MACBETH

    Where are they? Gone? Let this pernicious hour
    Stand aye accursed in the calendar!
    Come in, without there!

    Enter LENNOX

LENNOX

    What's your grace's will?

MACBETH

    Saw you the weird sisters?

LENNOX

    No, my lord.

MACBETH

    Came they not by you?

LENNOX

    No, indeed, my lord.

MACBETH

    Infected be the air whereon they ride;
    And damn'd all those that trust them! I did hear
    The galloping of horse: who was't came by?

LENNOX

    'Tis two or three, my lord, that bring you word
    Macduff is fled to England.

MACBETH

    Fled to England!

LENNOX

    Ay, my good lord.

MACBETH

    Time, thou anticipatest 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 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.

    Exeunt


SCENE II - Fife. Macduff's castle

    Enter LADY MACDUFF, her Son, and ROSS

LADY MACDUFF

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

ROSS

    You must have patience, madam.

LADY MACDUFF

    He had none:
    His flight was madness: when our actions do not,
    Our fears do make us traitors.

ROSS

    You know not
    Whether it was his wisdom or his fear.

LADY MACDUFF

    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.

ROSS

    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
    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. 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!

LADY MACDUFF

    Father'd he is, and yet he's fatherless.

ROSS

    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

LADY MACDUFF

    Sirrah, your father's dead;
    And what will you do now? How will you live?

Son

    As birds do, mother.

LADY MACDUFF

    What, with worms and flies?

Son

    With what I get, I mean; and so do they.

LADY MACDUFF

    Poor bird! thou'ldst never fear the net nor lime,
    The pitfall nor the gin.

Son

    Why should I, mother? Poor birds they are not set for.
    My father is not dead, for all your saying.

LADY MACDUFF

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

Son

    Nay, how will you do for a husband?

LADY MACDUFF

    Why, I can buy me twenty at any market.

Son

    Then you'll buy 'em to sell again.

LADY MACDUFF

    Thou speak'st with all thy wit: and yet, i' faith,
    With wit enough for thee.

Son

    Was my father a traitor, mother?

LADY MACDUFF

    Ay, that he was.

Son

    What is a traitor?

LADY MACDUFF

    Why, one that swears and lies.

Son

    And be all traitors that do so?

LADY MACDUFF

    Every one that does so is a traitor, and must be hanged.

Son

    And must they all be hanged that swear and lie?

LADY MACDUFF

    Every one.

Son

    Who must hang them?

LADY MACDUFF

    Why, the honest men.

Son

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

LADY MACDUFF

    Now, God help thee, poor monkey!
    But how wilt thou do for a father?

Son

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

LADY MACDUFF

    Poor prattler, how thou talk'st!

    Enter a Messenger

Messenger

    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,
    Which is too nigh your person. Heaven preserve you!
    I dare abide no longer.

    Exit

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 defence,
    To say I have done no harm?

    Enter Murderers
    What are these faces?

First Murderer

    Where is your husband?

LADY MACDUFF

    I hope, in no place so unsanctified
    Where such as thou mayst find him.

First Murderer

    He's a traitor.

Son

    Thou liest, thou shag-hair'd villain!

First Murderer

    What, you egg!

    Stabbing him
    Young fry of treachery!

Son

    He has kill'd me, mother:
    Run away, I pray you!

    Dies

    Exit LADY MACDUFF, crying 'Murder!' Exeunt Murderers, following her


SCENE III. England. Before the King's palace.

    Enter MALCOLM and MACDUFF

MALCOLM

    Let us seek out some desolate shade, and there
    Weep our sad bosoms empty.

MACDUFF

    Let us rather
    Hold fast the mortal sword, and like good men
    Bestride our down-fall'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.

MALCOLM

    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 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.

MACDUFF

    I am not treacherous.

MALCOLM

    But Macbeth is.
    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.

MACDUFF

    I have lost my hopes.

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 dishonours,
    But mine own safeties. You may be rightly just,
    Whatever I shall think.

MACDUFF

    Bleed, bleed, poor country!
    Great tyranny! lay thou thy basis sure,
    For goodness dare not cheque thee: wear thou
    thy wrongs;
    The 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.

MALCOLM

    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.

MACDUFF

    What should he be?

MALCOLM

    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 compared
    With my confineless harms.

MACDUFF

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

MALCOLM

    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.

MACDUFF

    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.

MALCOLM

    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.

MACDUFF

    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 weigh'd.

MALCOLM

    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.

MACDUFF

    O Scotland, Scotland!

MALCOLM

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

MACDUFF

    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 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 banish'd me from Scotland. O my breast,
    Thy hope ends here!

MALCOLM

    Macduff, this noble passion,
    Child of integrity, hath from my soul
    Wiped the black scruples, reconciled 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
    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 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,
    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?

MACDUFF

    Such welcome and unwelcome things at once
    'Tis hard to reconcile.

    Enter a Doctor

MALCOLM

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

Doctor

    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.

MALCOLM

    I thank you, doctor.

    Exit Doctor

MACDUFF

    What's the disease he means?

MALCOLM

    '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 stamp 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.

    Enter ROSS

MACDUFF

    See, who comes here?

MALCOLM

    My countryman; but yet I know him not.

MACDUFF

    My ever-gentle cousin, welcome hither.

MALCOLM

    I know him now. Good God, betimes remove
    The means that makes us strangers!

ROSS

    Sir, amen.

MACDUFF

    Stands Scotland where it did?

ROSS

    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 rend 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.

MACDUFF

    O, relation
    Too nice, and yet too true!

MALCOLM

    What's the newest grief?

ROSS

    That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker:
    Each minute teems a new one.

MACDUFF

    How does my wife?

ROSS

    Why, well.

MACDUFF

    And all my children?

ROSS

    Well too.

MACDUFF

    The tyrant has not batter'd at their peace?

ROSS

    No; they were well at peace when I did leave 'em.

MACDUFF

    But not a niggard of your speech: how goes't?

ROSS

    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,
    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.

MALCOLM

    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.

ROSS

    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.

MACDUFF

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

ROSS

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

MACDUFF

    If it be mine,
    Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it.

ROSS

    Let not your ears despise my tongue for ever,
    Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound
    That ever yet they heard.

MACDUFF

    Hum! I guess at it.

ROSS

    Your castle is surprised; your wife and babes
    Savagely slaughter'd: to relate the manner,
    Were, on the quarry of these murder'd deer,
    To add the death of you.

MALCOLM

    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.

MACDUFF

    My children too?

ROSS

    Wife, children, servants, all
    That could be found.

MACDUFF

    And I must be from thence!
    My wife kill'd too?

ROSS

    I have said.

MALCOLM

    Be comforted:
    Let's make us medicines of our great revenge,
    To cure this deadly grief.

MACDUFF

    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?

MALCOLM

    Dispute it like a man.

MACDUFF

    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!

MALCOLM

    Be this the whetstone of your sword: let grief
    Convert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage it.

MACDUFF

    O, 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!

MALCOLM

    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.

    Exeunt

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