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 lov'd 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.

Macd. I am not treacherous.
Mal.

But Macbeth is.
A good and virtuous nature may recoil,
In an imperial charge. But '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
Yet grace must still look so.
[grace,
Macd.
I have lost my hopes.
Mal. 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 he your dishonours,
But mine own safeties:-You may be rightly just,
Whatever I shall think.
Macd.
Bleed, bleed, poor country.
Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure,
For goodness dares not check thee! wear thou thy
wrongs,

Thy 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.

Mal.

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.

Macd.

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 daughters,
Your matrons, 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
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 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;

Mucd.

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.
This avarice
Sticks deeper; grows with more pernicious 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 mere own: All these are portable,
With other graces weigh'd

Mal. 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.

Macd.

O Scotland! Scotland!
Mal. If such a one be fit to govern, speak :
I am as I have spoken.
Macd.

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 accurs'd,
And does blaspheme his breed ?-Thy royal father
Was a more sainted king: the queen, that bore thee,
Oft'ner 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!

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 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,
All ready at a point, was setting forth :
Now we'll together; And the chance, of goodness,
Be like our warranted quarrel! Why are you silent?
Macd. Such welcome and unwelcome things at
'Tis hard to reconcile.
[once,

Macd. The tyrant has not batter'd at their peace?

Rosse. No; they were well at peace, when I did

Macd. Be not a niggard of your speech; How goes it?

Rosse. 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.

Be it 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.

'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.
Macd.
What concern they?

The general cause? or is it a fee-grief,
Due to some single breast?
Rosse.

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

Macd. If it be mine, Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it. Rosse. Let not your ears despise my tongue for

Gent. Why, it stood by her: she has light by her And many unrough youths, that even now
continually; 'tis her command.
Protest their first of manhood.
Ment.

Serv. The English force, so please you.

Macb. Take thy face hence.-Seyton !-I am sick
at heart,

When I behold-Seyton, I say! This push
Will cheer me ever, or disseat me now.
I have liv'd long enough: my way of life
Is fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf:
And that which should accompany old age,
As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends,
I must not look to have; but, in their stead,
Curses not loud, but deep, mouth-honour, breath,
Which the poor heart would fain deny, but dare
Seyton!

view.

Enter, with drum and colours, Malcolm, old Siward,|
and his Son, Macduff, Menteth, Cathness, An-
gus, Lenox, Rosse, and Soldiers, marching.
Mal. Cousins, I hope, the days are near at hand,
That chambers will be safe.
Ment.
We doubt it nothing.
Siw. What wood is this before us?
Ment.
The wood of Birnam.

We might have met them dareful, beard to beard,
And beat them backward home. What is that
noise ?
[A cry within, of women.

Sey. It is the cry of women, my good lord.
Mach. 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 slaught'rous thoughts,
Cannot once start me.-Wherefore was that cry?
Sey. The queen, my lord, is dead.

Much. 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..

[Striking him.
Mess. Let me endure your wrath, if't be not so;
Within this three mile you may see it coming;
I say, a moving grove.

Macb.

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!-

Mal. Let every soldier hew him down a bough,If this, which he avouches, does appear,
And bear't before him; thereby shall we shadow
The numbers of our host, and make discovery

Err in report of us.

Sold.

It shall be done.

There is nor flying hence, nor tarrying here.
1 'gin to be a-weary of the sun,

And wish the estate o'the world were now un-
done.-

Sin. We learn no other, but the confident tyrant Ring the alarum bell :-Blow, wind! come, wrack
Keeps still in Dunsinane, and will endure
At least we'll die with harness on our back.
Our setting down before't.

Mal.

'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 constrained things,
Whose hearts are absent too.

Macd.
Let our just censures
Attend the true event, and put we on
Industrious soldiership.

Sim.

The time approaches,
That will with due decision make us know
What we shall say we have, and what we owe.
Thoughts speculative their unsure hopes relate;
But certain issue strokes must arbitrate:
Towards which, advance the war.

[Exeunt, marching. Within the Castle.

SCENE V.-Dunsinane. 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,
Till famine, and the ague, eat them up:

Were they not forc'd with those that should be

ours,

[Exeunt. SCENE VI.-The same. A Plain before the

Castle.

Enter, with drums and colours, Malcolm, old Siward, Macduff, &c. and their Army, with boughs.

Mal. Now near enough; your leavy 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 us what else remains to do,
According to our order.

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

Macd. Make all our trumpets speak; give them
all breath,

Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death.
[Exeunt. Alarums continued.
SCENE VII.-The same. Another part of the
Plain.
Enter Macbeth.

Macb. They have tied me to a stake; I cannot

fly,

But, bear-like, I must fight the course.-What's he, That keep the word of promise to our ear,
That was not born of woman? Such a one

Am I to fear, or none.

Enter young Siward.

Yo. Sin. What is thy name?
Mach.
Thou'lt be afraid to hear it.
Yo. Sim. No; though thou call'st thyself a hot-
Than any is in hell.
[ter name
Macb.
My name's Macbeth.
Yo. Sin. The devil himself could not pronounce
a title

More hateful to mine ear.
Macb.
No, nor more fearful.
Yo. Sin. Thou liest, abhorred tyrant; with my
I'll prove the lie thou speak'st.
[sword
[They fight, and young Siward is slain.
Macb.
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.

Macd. 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 kernes, whose arms
Are hir'd to bear their staves; either thou, Macbeth,
Or else my sword, with an unbatter'd edge,
I sheathe again undeeded. There thou should'st be;
By this great clatter, one of greatest note
Seems bruited. Let me find him, fortune!
And more I beg not.
[Exit. Alarum.
Enter Malcolm and old Siward.

Sim. 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.

And break it to our hope.-I'll not fight with thee.
Macd. 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 upon a pole; and underwrit,
Here may you see the tyrant.
Macb.

I'll 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 oppos'd, 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.
Retreat. Flourish. Re-enter, with drum and colours,
Malcolm, old Siward, Rosse, Lenox, Angus,
Cathness, Menteth, and Soldiers.

Mal. I would, the friends we miss were safe ar-
riv'd.

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

Mal. Macduff is missing, and your noble son.
Rosse. Your son, my lord, has paid a soldier's
He only liv'd but till he was a man ; [debt:

The which no sooner had his prowess confirm'd
In the unshrinking station where he fought,
But like a man he died.

Siw. Then he is dead?
[of sorrow
Rosse. Ay, and brought off the field: your cause
Must not be measur'd by his worth, for then
It hath no end.
Sim.

Had he his hurts before ?

Rosse. Ay, on the front.

Siw.

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.
Mal.

He's worth more sorrow,

And that I'll spend for him.
Siw.

He's worth no more ;
They say, he parted well, and paid his score:
So, God be with him!-Here comes newer comfort.
Re-enter Macduff, with Macbeth's head on a pole.
Macd. 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.

King of Scotland, hail !
[Flourish.
Mal. We shall not spend a large expence of time,
Before we reckon with our several loves,
And make us even with you. My thanes and
kinsmen,

Henceforth be earls, the first that ever Scotland
In such an honour nam'd. What's more to do,
Which would be planted newly with the time,-
As calling home our exil'd 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.