2. We haue lostBest halfe of our Affaire
1. Well, let's away, and say how much is done.
Exeunt.
Scaena Quarta.
Banquet prepar'd. Enter Macbeth, Lady, Rosse, Lenox, Lords, andAttendants.
Macb. You know your owne degrees, sit downe:At first and last, the hearty welcome
Lords. Thankes to your Maiesty
Macb. Our selfe will mingle with Society,And play the humble Host:Our Hostesse keepes her State, but in best timeWe will require her welcome
La. Pronounce it for me Sir, to all our Friends,For my heart speakes, they are welcome.Enter first Murtherer.
Macb. See they encounter thee with their harts thanksBoth sides are euen: heere Ile sit i'th' mid'st,Be large in mirth, anon wee'l drinke a MeasureThe Table round. There's blood vpon thy face
Mur. 'Tis Banquo's then
Macb. 'Tis better thee without, then he within.Is he dispatch'd?Mur. My Lord his throat is cut, that I did for him
Mac. Thou art the best o'th' Cut-throats,Yet hee's good that did the like for Fleans:If thou did'st it, thou art the Non-pareill
Mur. Most Royall SirFleans is scap'd
Macb. Then comes my Fit againe:I had else beene perfect;Whole as the Marble, founded as the Rocke,As broad, and generall, as the casing Ayre:But now I am cabin'd, crib'd, confin'd, bound inTo sawcy doubts, and feares. But Banquo's safe?Mur. I, my good Lord: safe in a ditch he bides,With twenty trenched gashes on his head;The least a Death to Nature
Macb. Thankes for that:There the growne Serpent lyes, the worme that's fledHath Nature that in time will Venom breed,No teeth for th' present. Get thee gone, to morrowWee'l heare our selues againe.
Exit Murderer.
Lady. My Royall Lord,You do not giue the Cheere, the Feast is soldThat is not often vouch'd, while 'tis a making:'Tis giuen, with welcome: to feede were best at home:From thence, the sawce to meate is Ceremony,Meeting were bare without it.Enter the Ghost of Banquo, and sits in Macbeths place.
Macb. Sweet Remembrancer:Now good digestion waite on Appetite,And health on both
Lenox. May't please your Highnesse sit
Macb. Here had we now our Countries Honor, roof'd,Were the grac'd person of our Banquo present:Who, may I rather challenge for vnkindnesse,Then pitty for Mischance
Rosse. His absence (Sir)Layes blame vpon his promise. Pleas't your HighnesseTo grace vs with your Royall Company?Macb. The Table's full
Lenox. Heere is a place reseru'd Sir
Macb. Where?Lenox. Heere my good Lord.What is't that moues your Highnesse?Macb. Which of you haue done this?Lords. What, my good Lord?Macb. Thou canst not say I did it: neuer shakeThy goary lockes at me
Rosse. Gentlemen rise, his Highnesse is not well
Lady. Sit worthy Friends: my Lord is often thus,And hath beene from his youth. Pray you keepe Seat,The fit is momentary, vpon a thoughtHe will againe be well. If much you note himYou shall offend him, and extend his Passion,Feed, and regard him not. Are you a man?Macb. I, and a bold one, that dare looke on thatWhich might appall the Diuell
La. O proper stuffe:This is the very painting of your feare:This is the Ayre-drawne-Dagger which you saidLed you to Duncan. O, these flawes and starts(Impostors to true feare) would well becomeA womans story, at a Winters fireAuthoriz'd by her Grandam: shame it selfe,Why do you make such faces? When all's doneYou looke but on a stoole
Macb. Prythee see there:Behold, looke, loe, how say you:Why what care I, if thou canst nod, speake too.If Charnell houses, and our Graues must sendThose that we bury, backe; our MonumentsShall be the Mawes of Kytes
La. What? quite vnmann'd in folly
Macb. If I stand heere, I saw him
La. Fie for shame
Macb. Blood hath bene shed ere now, i'th' olden timeEre humane Statute purg'd the gentle Weale:I, and since too, Murthers haue bene perform'dToo terrible for the eare. The times has bene,That when the Braines were out, the man would dye,And there an end: But now they rise againeWith twenty mortall murthers on their crownes,And push vs from our stooles. This is more strangeThen such a murther is
La. My worthy LordYour Noble Friends do lacke you
Macb. I do forget:Do not muse at me my most worthy Friends,I haue a strange infirmity, which is nothingTo those that know me. Come, loue and health to all,Then Ile sit downe: Giue me some Wine, fill full:Enter Ghost.
I drinke to th' generall ioy o'th' whole Table,And to our deere Friend Banquo, whom we misse:Would he were heere: to all, and him we thirst,And all to all
Lords. Our duties, and the pledge
Mac. Auant, & quit my sight, let the earth hide thee:Thy bones are marrowlesse, thy blood is cold:Thou hast no speculation in those eyesWhich thou dost glare with
La. Thinke of this good PeeresBut as a thing of Custome: 'Tis no other,Onely it spoyles the pleasure of the time
Macb. What man dare, I dare:Approach thou like the rugged Russian Beare,The arm'd Rhinoceros, or th' Hircan Tiger,Take any shape but that, and my firme NeruesShall neuer tremble. Or be aliue againe,And dare me to the Desart with thy Sword:If trembling I inhabit then, protest meeThe Baby of a Girle. Hence horrible shadow,Vnreall mock'ry hence. Why so, being goneI am a man againe: pray you sit still
La. You haue displac'd the mirth,Broke the good meeting, with most admir'd disorder
Macb. Can such things be,And ouercome vs like a Summers Clowd,Without our speciall wonder? You make me strangeEuen to the disposition that I owe,When now I thinke you can behold such sights,And keepe the naturall Rubie of your Cheekes,When mine is blanch'd with feare
Rosse. What sights, my Lord?La. I pray you speake not: he growes worse & worseQuestion enrages him: at once, goodnight.Stand not vpon the order of your going,But go at once
Len. Good night, and better healthAttend his Maiesty
La. A kinde goodnight to all.
Exit Lords.
Macb. It will haue blood they say:Blood will haue Blood:Stones haue beene knowne to moue, & Trees to speake:Augures, and vnderstood Relations, haueBy Maggot Pyes, & Choughes, & Rookes brought forthThe secret'st man of Blood. What is the night?La. Almost at oddes with morning, which is which
Macb. How say'st thou that Macduff denies his personAt our great bidding
La. Did you send to him Sir?Macb. I heare it by the way: But I will send:There's not a one of them but in his houseI keepe a Seruant Feed. I will to morrow(And betimes I will) to the weyard Sisters.More shall they speake: for now I am bent to knowBy the worst meanes, the worst, for mine owne good,All causes shall giue way. I am in bloodStept in so farre, that should I wade no more,Returning were as tedious as go ore:Strange things I haue in head, that will to hand,Which must be acted, ere they may be scand
La. You lacke the season of all Natures, sleepe
Macb. Come, wee'l to sleepe: My strange & self-abuseIs the initiate feare, that wants hard vse:We are yet but yong indeed.
Exeunt.
Scena Quinta.
Thunder. Enter the three Witches, meeting Hecat.
1. Why how now Hecat, you looke angerly?Hec. Haue I not reason (Beldams) as you are?Sawcy, and ouer-bold, how did you dareTo Trade, and Trafficke with Macbeth,In Riddles, and Affaires of death;And I the Mistris of your Charmes,The close contriuer of all harmes,Was neuer call'd to beare my part,Or shew the glory of our Art?And which is worse, all you haue doneHath bene but for a wayward Sonne,Spightfull, and wrathfull, who (as others do)Loues for his owne ends, not for you.But make amends now: Get you gon,And at the pit of AcheronMeete me i'th' Morning: thither heWill come, to know his Destinie.Your Vessels, and your Spels prouide,Your Charmes, and euery thing beside;I am for th' Ayre: This night Ile spendVnto a dismall, and a Fatall end.Great businesse must be wrought ere Noone.Vpon the Corner of the MooneThere hangs a vap'rous drop, profound,Ile catch it ere it come to ground;And that distill'd by Magicke slights,Shall raise such Artificiall Sprights,As by the strength of their illusion,Shall draw him on to his Confusion.He shall spurne Fate, scorne Death, and beareHis hopes 'boue Wisedome, Grace, and Feare:And you all know, SecurityIs Mortals cheefest Enemie.
Musicke, and a Song.
Hearke, I am call'd: my little Spirit seeSits in Foggy cloud, and stayes for me.
Sing within. Come away, come away, &c.
1 Come, let's make hast, shee'l soone be Backe againe.
Exeunt.
Scaena Sexta.
Enter Lenox, and another Lord.
Lenox. My former Speeches,Haue but hit your ThoughtsWhich can interpret farther: Onely I sayThings haue bin strangely borne. The gracious DuncanWas pittied of Macbeth: marry he was dead:And the right valiant Banquo walk'd too late,Whom you may say (if't please you) Fleans kill'd,For Fleans fled: Men must not walke too late.Who cannot want the thought, how monstrousIt was for Malcolme, and for DonalbaneTo kill their gracious Father? Damned Fact,How it did greeue Macbeth? Did he not straightIn pious rage, the two delinquents teare,That were the Slaues of drinke, and thralles of sleepe?Was not that Nobly done? I, and wisely too:For 'twould haue anger'd any heart aliueTo heare the men deny't. So that I say,He ha's borne all things well, and I do thinke,That had he Duncans Sonnes vnder his Key,(As, and't please Heauen he shall not) they should findeWhat 'twere to kill a Father: So should Fleans.But peace; for from broad words, and cause he fayl'dHis presence at the Tyrants Feast, I heareMacduffe liues in disgrace. Sir, can you tellWhere he bestowes himselfe?Lord. The Sonnes of Duncane(From whom this Tyrant holds the due of Birth)Liues in the English Court, and is receyu'dOf the most Pious Edward, with such grace,That the maleuolence of Fortune, nothingTakes from his high respect. Thither MacduffeIs gone, to pray the Holy King, vpon his aydTo wake Northumberland, and warlike Seyward,That by the helpe of these (with him aboue)To ratifie the Worke) we may againeGiue to our Tables meate, sleepe to our Nights:Free from our Feasts, and Banquets bloody kniues;Do faithfull Homage, and receiue free Honors,All which we pine for now. And this reportHath so exasperate their King, that heePrepares for some attempt of Warre
Len. Sent he to Macduffe?Lord. He did: and with an absolute Sir, not IThe clowdy Messenger turnes me his backe,And hums; as who should say, you'l rue the timeThat clogges me with this Answer
Lenox. And that well mightAduise him to a Caution, t' hold what distanceHis wisedome can prouide. Some holy AngellFlye to the Court of England, and vnfoldHis Message ere he come, that a swift blessingMay soone returne to this our suffering Country,Vnder a hand accurs'd
Lord. Ile send my Prayers with him.
Exeunt.
Actus Quartus. Scena Prima.
Thunder. Enter the three Witches.
1 Thrice the brinded Cat hath mew'd
2 Thrice, and once the Hedge-Pigge whin'd
3 Harpier cries, 'tis time, 'tis time
1 Round about the Caldron go:In the poysond Entrailes throwToad, that vnder cold stone,Dayes and Nights, ha's thirty one:Sweltred Venom sleeping got,Boyle thou first i'th' charmed pot
All. Double, double, toile and trouble;Fire burne, and Cauldron bubble
2 Fillet of a Fenny Snake,In the Cauldron boyle and bake:Eye of Newt, and Toe of Frogge,Wooll of Bat, and Tongue of Dogge:Adders Forke, and Blinde-wormes Sting,Lizards legge, and Howlets wing:For a Charme of powrefull trouble,Like a Hell-broth, boyle and bubble
All. Double, double, toyle and trouble,Fire burne, and Cauldron bubble
3 Scale of Dragon, Tooth of Wolfe,Witches Mummey, Maw, and GulfeOf the rauin'd salt Sea sharke:Roote of Hemlocke, digg'd i'th' darke:Liuer of Blaspheming Iew,Gall of Goate, and Slippes of Yew,Sliuer'd in the Moones Ecclipse:Nose of Turke, and Tartars lips:Finger of Birth-strangled Babe,Ditch-deliuer'd by a Drab,Make the Grewell thicke, and slab.Adde thereto a Tigers Chawdron,For th' Ingredience of our Cawdron
All. Double, double, toyle and trouble,Fire burne, and Cauldron bubble
2 Coole it with a Baboones blood, Then the Charme is firme and good. Enter Hecat, and the other three Witches.
Hec. O well done: I commend your paines,And euery one shall share i'th' gaines:And now about the Cauldron singLike Elues and Fairies in a Ring,Inchanting all that you put in.
Musicke and a Song. Blacke Spirits, &c.
2 By the pricking of my Thumbes,Something wicked this way comes:Open Lockes, who euer knockes.Enter Macbeth.
Macb. How now you secret, black, & midnight Hags?What is't you do?All. A deed without a name
Macb. I coniure you, by that which you Professe,(How ere you come to know it) answer me:Though you vntye the Windes, and let them fightAgainst the Churches: Though the yesty WauesConfound and swallow Nauigation vp:Though bladed Corne be lodg'd, & Trees blown downe,Though Castles topple on their Warders heads:Though Pallaces, and Pyramids do slopeTheir heads to their Foundations: Though the treasureOf Natures Germaine, tumble altogether,Euen till destruction sicken: Answer meTo what I aske you
1 Speake
2 Demand
3 Wee'l answer
1 Say, if th'hadst rather heare it from our mouthes, Or from our Masters
Macb. Call 'em: let me see 'em
1 Powre in Sowes blood, that hath eatenHer nine Farrow: Greaze that's sweatenFrom the Murderers Gibbet, throwInto the Flame
All. Come high or low:Thy Selfe and Office deaftly show.Thunder. 1. Apparation, an Armed Head.
Macb. Tell me, thou vnknowne power
1 He knowes thy thought: Heare his speech, but say thou nought
1 Appar. Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth: Beware Macduffe, Beware the Thane of Fife: dismisse me. Enough.
He Descends.
Macb. What ere thou art, for thy good caution, thanksThou hast harp'd my feare aright. But one word more
1 He will not be commanded: heere's anotherMore potent then the first.
Thunder. 2 Apparition, a Bloody Childe.
2 Appar. Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth
Macb. Had I three eares, Il'd heare thee
Appar. Be bloody, bold, & resolute:Laugh to scorneThe powre of man: For none of woman borneShall harme Macbeth.
Descends.
Mac. Then liue Macduffe: what need I feare of thee?But yet Ile make assurance: double sure,And take a Bond of Fate: thou shalt not liue,That I may tell pale-hearted Feare, it lies;And sleepe in spight of Thunder.
Thunder 3 Apparation, a Childe Crowned, with a Tree in his hand.
What is this, that rises like the issue of a King,And weares vpon his Baby-brow, the roundAnd top of Soueraignty?All. Listen, but speake not too't
3 Appar. Be Lyon metled, proud, and take no care:Who chafes, who frets, or where Conspirers are:Macbeth shall neuer vanquish'd be, vntillGreat Byrnam Wood, to high Dunsmane HillShall come against him.
Descend.
Macb. That will neuer bee:Who can impresse the Forrest, bid the TreeVnfixe his earth-bound Root? Sweet boadments, good:Rebellious dead, rise neuer till the WoodOf Byrnan rise, and our high plac'd MacbethShall liue the Lease of Nature, pay his breathTo time, and mortall Custome. Yet my HartThrobs to know one thing: Tell me, if your ArtCan tell so much: Shall Banquo's issue euerReigne in this Kingdome?All. Seeke to know no more
Macb. I will be satisfied. Deny me this,And an eternall Curse fall on you: Let me know.Why sinkes that Caldron? & what noise is this?
Hoboyes
1 Shew
2 Shew
3 Shew
All. Shew his Eyes, and greeue his Hart,Come like shadowes, so depart.
A shew of eight Kings, and Banquo last, with a glasse in his hand.
Macb. Thou art too like the Spirit of Banquo: Down:Thy Crowne do's seare mine Eye-bals. And thy haireThou other Gold-bound-brow, is like the first:A third, is like the former. Filthy Hagges,Why do you shew me this? - A fourth? Start eyes!What will the Line stretch out to'th' cracke of Doome?Another yet? A seauenth? Ile see no more:And yet the eighth appeares, who beares a glasse,Which shewes me many more: and some I see,That two-fold Balles, and trebble Scepters carry.Horrible sight: Now I see 'tis true,For the Blood-bolter'd Banquo smiles vpon me,And points at them for his. What? is this so?1 I Sir, all this is so. But whyStands Macbeth thus amazedly?Come Sisters, cheere we vp his sprights,And shew the best of our delights.Ile Charme the Ayre to giue a sound,While you performe your Antique round:That this great King may kindly say,Our duties, did his welcome pay.
Musicke. The Witches Dance, and vanish.
Macb. Where are they? Gone?Let this pernitious houre,Stand aye accursed in the Kalender.Come in, without there.Enter Lenox.
Lenox. What's your Graces will
Macb. Saw you the Weyard Sisters?Lenox. No my Lord
Macb. Came they not by you?Lenox. No indeed my Lord
Macb. Infected be the Ayre whereon they ride,And damn'd all those that trust them. I did heareThe gallopping of Horse. Who was't came by?Len. 'Tis two or three my Lord, that bring you word:Macduff is fled to England
Macb. Fled to England?Len. I, my good Lord
Macb. Time, thou anticipat'st my dread exploits:The flighty purpose neuer is o're-tookeVnlesse the deed go with it. From this moment,The very firstlings of my heart shall beThe firstlings of my hand. And euen nowTo Crown my thoughts with Acts: be it thoght & done:The Castle of Macduff, I will surprize.Seize vpon Fife; giue to th' edge o'th' SwordHis Wife, his Babes, and all vnfortunate SoulesThat trace him in his Line. No boasting like a Foole,This deed Ile do, before this purpose coole,But no more sights. Where are these Gentlemen?Come bring me where they are.
Exeunt.
Scena Secunda.
Enter Macduffes Wife, her Son, and Rosse.
Wife. What had he done, to make him fly the Land?Rosse. You must haue patience Madam
Wife. He had none:His flight was madnesse: when our Actions do not,Our feares do make vs Traitors
Rosse. You know notWhether it was his wisedome, or his feare
Wife. Wisedom? to leaue his wife, to leaue his Babes,His Mansion, and his Titles, in a placeFrom whence himselfe do's flye? He loues vs not,He wants the naturall touch. For the poore Wren(The most diminitiue of Birds) will fight,Her yong ones in her Nest, against the Owle:All is the Feare, and nothing is the Loue;As little is the Wisedome, where the flightSo runnes against all reason
Rosse. My deerest Cooz,I pray you schoole your selfe. But for your Husband,He is Noble, Wise, Iudicious, and best knowesThe fits o'th' Season. I dare not speake much further,But cruell are the times, when we are TraitorsAnd do not know our selues: when we hold RumorFrom what we feare, yet know not what we feare,But floate vpon a wilde and violent SeaEach way, and moue. I take my leaue of you:Shall not be long but Ile be heere againe:Things at the worst will cease, or else climbe vpward,To what they were before. My pretty Cosine,Blessing vpon you
Wife. Father'd he is,And yet hee's Father-lesse
Rosse. I am so much a Foole, should I stay longerIt would be my disgrace, and your discomfort.I take my leaue at once.
Exit Rosse.
Wife. Sirra, your Fathers dead,And what will you do now? How will you liue?Son. As Birds do Mother
Wife. What with Wormes, and Flyes?Son. With what I get I meane, and so do they
Wife. Poore Bird,Thou'dst neuer Feare the Net, nor Lime,The Pitfall, nor the Gin
Son. Why should I Mother?Poore Birds they are not set for:My Father is not dead for all your saying
Wife. Yes, he is dead:How wilt thou do for a Father?Son. Nay how will you do for a Husband?Wife. Why I can buy me twenty at any Market
Son. Then you'l by 'em to sell againe
Wife. Thou speak'st withall thy wit,And yet I'faith with wit enough for thee
Son. Was my Father a Traitor, Mother?Wife. I, that he was
Son. What is a Traitor?Wife. Why one that sweares, and lyes
Son. And be all Traitors, that do so
Wife. Euery one that do's so, is a Traitor,And must be hang'd
Son. And must they all be hang'd, that swear and lye?Wife. Euery one
Son. Who must hang them?Wife. Why, the honest men
Son. Then the Liars and Swearers are Fools: for there are Lyars and Swearers enow, to beate the honest men, and hang vp them
Wife. Now God helpe thee, poore Monkie: But how wilt thou do for a Father? Son. If he were dead, youl'd weepe for him: if you would not, it were a good signe, that I should quickely haue a new Father
Wife. Poore pratler, how thou talk'st?Enter a Messenger.
Mes. Blesse you faire Dame: I am not to you known,Though in your state of Honor I am perfect;I doubt some danger do's approach you neerely.If you will take a homely mans aduice,Be not found heere: Hence with your little onesTo fright you thus. Me thinkes I am too sauage:To do worse to you, were fell Cruelty,Which is too nie your person. Heauen preserue you,I dare abide no longer.
Exit Messenger
Wife. Whether should I flye?I haue done no harme. But I remember nowI am in this earthly world: where to do harmeIs often laudable, to do good sometimeAccounted dangerous folly. Why then (alas)Do I put vp that womanly defence,To say I haue done no harme?What are these faces?Enter Murtherers.
Mur. Where is your Husband?Wife. I hope in no place so vnsanctified,Where such as thou may'st finde him
Mur. He's a Traitor
Son. Thou ly'st thou shagge-ear'd Villaine
Mur. What you Egge?Yong fry of Treachery?Son. He ha's kill'd me Mother,Run away I pray you.
Exit crying Murther.
Scaena Tertia.
Enter Malcolme and Macduffe.
Mal. Let vs seeke out some desolate shade, & thereWeepe our sad bosomes empty
Macd. Let vs ratherHold fast the mortall Sword: and like good men,Bestride our downfall Birthdome: each new Morne,New Widdowes howle, new Orphans cry, new sorowesStrike heauen on the face, that it resoundsAs if it felt with Scotland, and yell'd outLike Syllable of Dolour
Mal. What I beleeue, Ile waile;What know, beleeue; and what I can redresse,As I shall finde the time to friend: I wil.What you haue spoke, it may be so perchance.This Tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues,Was once thought honest: you haue lou'd him well,He hath not touch'd you yet. I am yong, but somethingYou may discerne of him through me, and wisedomeTo offer vp a weake, poore innocent LambeT' appease an angry God
Macd. I am not treacherous
Malc. But Macbeth is.A good and vertuous Nature may recoyleIn an Imperiall charge. But I shall craue your pardon:That which you are, my thoughts cannot transpose;Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell.Though all things foule, would wear the brows of graceYet Grace must still looke so
Macd. I haue lost my Hopes
Malc. Perchance euen thereWhere I did finde my doubts.Why in that rawnesse left you Wife, and Childe?Those precious Motiues, those strong knots of Loue,Without leaue-taking. I pray you,Let not my Iealousies, be your Dishonors,But mine owne Safeties: you may be rightly iust,What euer I shall thinke
Macd. Bleed, bleed poore Country,Great Tyrrany, lay thou thy basis sure,For goodnesse dare not check thee: wear y thy wrongs,The Title, is affear'd. Far thee well Lord,I would not be the Villaine that thou think'st,For the whole Space that's in the Tyrants Graspe,And the rich East to boot
Mal. Be not offended:I speake not as in absolute feare of you:I thinke our Country sinkes beneath the yoake,It weepes, it bleeds, and each new day a gashIs added to her wounds. I thinke withall,There would be hands vplifted in my right:And heere from gracious England haue I offerOf goodly thousands. But for all this,When I shall treade vpon the Tyrants head,Or weare it on my Sword; yet my poore CountryShall haue more vices then it had before,More suffer, and more sundry wayes then euer,By him that shall succeede
Macd. What should he be?Mal. It is my selfe I meane: in whom I knowAll the particulars of Vice so grafted,That when they shall be open'd, blacke MacbethWill seeme as pure as Snow, and the poore StateEsteeme him as a Lambe, being compar'dWith my confinelesse harmes
Macd. Not in the LegionsOf horrid Hell, can come a Diuell more damn'dIn euils, to top Macbeth
Mal. I grant him Bloody,Luxurious, Auaricious, False, Deceitfull,Sodaine, Malicious, smacking of euery sinneThat ha's a name. But there's no bottome, noneIn my Voluptuousnesse: Your Wiues, your Daughters,Your Matrons, and your Maides, could not fill vpThe Cesterne of my Lust, and my DesireAll continent Impediments would ore-beareThat did oppose my will. Better Macbeth,Then such an one to reigne
Macd. Boundlesse intemperanceIn Nature is a Tyranny: It hath beeneTh' vntimely emptying of the happy Throne,And fall of many Kings. But feare not yetTo take vpon you what is yours: you mayConuey your pleasures in a spacious plenty,And yet seeme cold. The time you may so hoodwinke:We haue willing Dames enough: there cannot beThat Vulture in you, to deuoure so manyAs will to Greatnesse dedicate themselues,Finding it so inclinde
Mal. With this, there growesIn my most ill-composd Affection, suchA stanchlesse Auarice, that were I King,I should cut off the Nobles for their Lands,Desire his Iewels, and this others House,And my more-hauing, would be as a SawceTo make me hunger more, that I should forgeQuarrels vniust against the Good and Loyall,Destroying them for wealth
Macd. This Auaricestickes deeper: growes with more pernicious rooteThen Summer-seeming Lust: and it hath binThe Sword of our slaine Kings: yet do not feare,Scotland hath Foysons, to fill vp your willOf your meere Owne. All these are portable,With other Graces weigh'd
Mal. But I haue none. The King-becoming Graces,As Iustice, Verity, Temp'rance, Stablenesse,Bounty, Perseuerance, Mercy, Lowlinesse,Deuotion, Patience, Courage, Fortitude,I haue no rellish of them, but aboundIn the diuision of each seuerall Crime,Acting it many wayes. Nay, had I powre, I shouldPoure the sweet Milke of Concord, into Hell,Vprore the vniuersall peace, confoundAll vnity on earth
Macd. O Scotland, Scotland
Mal. If such a one be fit to gouerne, speake:I am as I haue spoken
Mac. Fit to gouern? No not to liue. O Natio[n] miserable!With an vntitled Tyrant, bloody Sceptred,When shalt thou see thy wholsome dayes againe?Since that the truest Issue of thy ThroneBy his owne Interdiction stands accust,And do's blaspheme his breed? Thy Royall FatherWas a most Sainted-King: the Queene that bore thee,Oftner vpon her knees, then on her feet,Dy'de euery day she liu'd. Fare thee well,These Euils thou repeat'st vpon thy selfe,Hath banish'd me from Scotland. O my Brest,Thy hope ends heere
Mal. Macduff, this Noble passionChilde of integrity, hath from my souleWip'd the blacke Scruples, reconcil'd my thoughtsTo thy good Truth, and Honor. Diuellish Macbeth,By many of these traines, hath sought to win meInto his power: and modest Wisedome pluckes meFrom ouer-credulous hast: but God aboueDeale betweene thee and me; For euen nowI put my selfe to thy Direction, andVnspeake mine owne detraction. Heere abiureThe taints, and blames I laide vpon my selfe,For strangers to my Nature. I am yetVnknowne to Woman, neuer was forsworne,Scarsely haue coueted what was mine owne.At no time broke my Faith, would not betrayThe Deuill to his Fellow, and delightNo lesse in truth then life. My first false speakingWas this vpon my selfe. What I am trulyIs thine, and my poore Countries to command:Whither indeed, before they heere approachOld Seyward with ten thousand warlike menAlready at a point, was setting foorth:Now wee'l together, and the chance of goodnesseBe like our warranted Quarrell. Why are you silent?Macd. Such welcome, and vnwelcom things at once'Tis hard to reconcile.Enter a Doctor.
Mal. Well, more anon. Comes the King forthI pray you?Doct. I Sir: there are a crew of wretched SoulesThat stay his Cure: their malady conuincesThe great assay of Art. But at his touch,Such sanctity hath Heauen giuen his hand,They presently amend.Enter.
Mal. I thanke you Doctor
Macd. What's the Disease he meanes?Mal. Tis call'd the Euill.A most myraculous worke in this good King,Which often since my heere remaine in England,I haue seene him do: How he solicites heauenHimselfe best knowes: but strangely visited peopleAll swolne and Vlcerous, pittifull to the eye,The meere dispaire of Surgery, he cures,Hanging a golden stampe about their neckes,Put on with holy Prayers, and 'tis spokenTo the succeeding Royalty he leauesThe healing Benediction. With this strange vertue,He hath a heauenly guift of Prophesie,And sundry Blessings hang about his Throne,That speake him full of Grace.Enter Rosse.
Macd. See who comes heere
Malc. My Countryman: but yet I know him not
Macd. My euer gentle Cozen, welcome hither
Malc. I know him now. Good God betimes remoueThe meanes that makes vs Strangers
Rosse. Sir, Amen
Macd. Stands Scotland where it did?Rosse. Alas poore Countrey,Almost affraid to know it selfe. It cannotBe call'd our Mother, but our Graue; where nothingBut who knowes nothing, is once seene to smile:Where sighes, and groanes, and shrieks that rent the ayreAre made, not mark'd: Where violent sorrow seemesA Moderne extasie: The Deadmans knell,Is there scarse ask'd for who, and good mens liuesExpire before the Flowers in their Caps,Dying, or ere they sicken
Macd. Oh Relation; too nice, and yet too true
Malc. What's the newest griefe?Rosse. That of an houres age, doth hisse the speaker,Each minute teemes a new one
Macd. How do's my Wife?Rosse. Why well
Macd. And all my Children?Rosse. Well too
Macd. The Tyrant ha's not batter'd at their peace?Rosse. No, they were wel at peace, when I did leaue 'emMacd. Be not a niggard of your speech: How gos't?Rosse. When I came hither to transport the TydingsWhich I haue heauily borne, there ran a RumourOf many worthy Fellowes, that were out,Which was to my beleefe witnest the rather,For that I saw the Tyrants Power a-foot.Now is the time of helpe: your eye in ScotlandWould create Soldiours, make our women fight,To doffe their dire distresses
Malc. Bee't their comfortWe are comming thither: Gracious England hathLent vs good Seyward, and ten thousand men,An older, and a better Souldier, noneThat Christendome giues out
Rosse. Would I could answerThis comfort with the like. But I haue wordsThat would be howl'd out in the desert ayre,Where hearing should not latch them
Macd. What concerne they,The generall cause, or is it a Fee-griefeDue to some single brest?Rosse. No minde that's honestBut in it shares some woe, though the maine partPertaines to you alone
Macd. If it be mineKeepe it not from me, quickly let me haue it
Rosse. Let not your eares dispise my tongue for euer, Which shall possesse them with the heauiest sound that euer yet they heard
Macd. Humh: I guesse at it
Rosse. Your Castle is surpriz'd: your Wife, and BabesSauagely slaughter'd: To relate the mannerWere on the Quarry of these murther'd DeereTo adde the death of you
Malc. Mercifull Heauen:What man, ne're pull your hat vpon your browes:Giue sorrow words; the griefe that do's not speake,Whispers the o're-fraught heart, and bids it breake
Macd. My Children too?Ro. Wife, Children, Seruants, all that could be found
Macd. And I must be from thence? My wife kil'd too?Rosse. I haue said
Malc. Be comforted.Let's make vs Med'cines of our great Reuenge,To cure this deadly greefe
Macd. He ha's no Children. All my pretty ones?Did you say All? Oh Hell-Kite! All?What, All my pretty Chickens, and their DammeAt one fell swoope?Malc. Dispute it like a man
Macd. I shall do so:But I must also feele it as a man;I cannot but remember such things wereThat were most precious to me: Did heauen looke on,And would not take their part? Sinfull Macduff,They were all strooke for thee: Naught that I am,Not for their owne demerits, but for mineFell slaughter on their soules: Heauen rest them now
Mal. Be this the Whetstone of your sword, let griefeConuert to anger: blunt not the heart, enrage it
Macd. O I could play the woman with mine eyes,And Braggart with my tongue. But gentle Heauens,Cut short all intermission: Front to Front,Bring thou this Fiend of Scotland, and my selfeWithin my Swords length set him, if he scapeHeauen forgiue him too
Mal. This time goes manly:Come go we to the King, our Power is ready,Our lacke is nothing but our leaue. MacbethIs ripe for shaking, and the Powres abouePut on their Instruments: Receiue what cheere you may,The Night is long, that neuer findes the Day.
Exeunt.
Actus Quintus. Scena Prima.
Enter a Doctor of Physicke, and a Wayting Gentlewoman.
Doct. I haue too Nights watch'd with you, but can perceiue no truth in your report. When was it shee last walk'd? Gent. Since his Maiesty went into the Field, I haue seene her rise from her bed, throw her Night-Gown vppon her, vnlocke her Closset, take foorth paper, folde it, write vpon't, read it, afterwards Seale it, and againe returne to bed; yet all this while in a most fast sleepe
Doct. A great perturbation in Nature, to receyue at once the benefit of sleep, and do the effects of watching. In this slumbry agitation, besides her walking, and other actuall performances, what (at any time) haue you heard her say? Gent. That Sir, which I will not report after her
Doct. You may to me, and 'tis most meet you should
Gent. Neither to you, nor any one, hauing no witnesse to confirme my speech. Enter Lady, with a Taper.
Lo you, heere she comes: This is her very guise, and vpon my life fast asleepe: obserue her, stand close
Doct. How came she by that light?Gent. Why it stood by her: she ha's light by her continually,'tis her command
Doct. You see her eyes are open
Gent. I, but their sense are shut
Doct. What is it she do's now?Looke how she rubbes her hands
Gent. It is an accustom'd action with her, to seeme thus washing her hands: I haue knowne her continue in this a quarter of an houre
Lad. Yet heere's a spot
Doct. Heark, she speaks, I will set downe what comes from her, to satisfie my remembrance the more strongly
La. Out damned spot: out I say. One: Two: Why then 'tis time to doo't: Hell is murky. Fye, my Lord, fie, a Souldier, and affear'd? what need we feare? who knowes it, when none can call our powre to accompt: yet who would haue thought the olde man to haue had so much blood in him
Doct. Do you marke that?Lad. The Thane of Fife, had a wife: where is she now?What will these hands ne're be cleane? No more o'thatmy Lord, no more o'that: you marre all with this starting
Doct. Go too, go too:You haue knowne what you should not
Gent. She ha's spoke what shee should not, I am sureof that: Heauen knowes what she ha's knowne
La. Heere's the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh, oh, oh
Doct. What a sigh is there? The hart is sorely charg'd
Gent. I would not haue such a heart in my bosome, for the dignity of the whole body
Doct. Well, well, well
Gent. Pray God it be sir
Doct. This disease is beyond my practise: yet I haue knowne those which haue walkt in their sleep, who haue dyed holily in their beds
Lad. Wash your hands, put on your Night-Gowne, looke not so pale: I tell you yet againe Banquo's buried; he cannot come out on's graue
Doct. Euen so?Lady. To bed, to bed: there's knocking at the gate:Come, come, come, come, giue me your hand: What'sdone, cannot be vndone. To bed, to bed, to bed.
Exit Lady.
Doct. Will she go now to bed?Gent. Directly
Doct. Foule whisp'rings are abroad: vnnaturall deedsDo breed vnnaturall troubles: infected mindesTo their deafe pillowes will discharge their Secrets:More needs she the Diuine, then the Physitian:God, God forgiue vs all. Looke after her,Remoue from her the meanes of all annoyance,And still keepe eyes vpon her: So goodnight,My minde she ha's mated, and amaz'd my sight.I thinke, but dare not speake
Gent. Good night good Doctor.
Exeunt.
Scena Secunda.
Drum and Colours. Enter Menteth, Cathnes, Angus, Lenox,Soldiers.
Ment. The English powre is neere, led on by Malcolm,His Vnkle Seyward, and the good Macduff.Reuenges burne in them: for their deere causesWould to the bleeding, and the grim AlarmeExcite the mortified man
Ang. Neere Byrnan woodShall we well meet them, that way are they comming
Cath. Who knowes if Donalbane be with his brother?Len. For certaine Sir, he is not: I haue a FileOf all the Gentry; there is Seywards Sonne,And many vnruffe youths, that euen nowProtest their first of Manhood
Ment. What do's the Tyrant
Cath. Great Dunsinane he strongly Fortifies:Some say hee's mad: Others, that lesser hate him,Do call it valiant Fury, but for certaineHe cannot buckle his distemper'd causeWithin the belt of Rule
Ang. Now do's he feeleHis secret Murthers sticking on his hands,Now minutely Reuolts vpbraid his Faith-breach:Those he commands, moue onely in command,Nothing in loue: Now do's he feele his TitleHang loose about him, like a Giants RobeVpon a dwarfish Theefe
Ment. Who then shall blameHis pester'd Senses to recoyle, and start,When all that is within him, do's condemneIt selfe, for being there
Cath. Well, march we on,To giue Obedience, where 'tis truly ow'd:Meet we the Med'cine of the sickly Weale,And with him poure we in our Countries purge,Each drop of vs
Lenox. Or so much as it needes,To dew the Soueraigne Flower, and drowne the Weeds:Make we our March towards Birnan.
Exeunt. marching.
Scaena Tertia.
Enter Macbeth, Doctor, and Attendants.
Macb. Bring me no more Reports, let them flye all:Till Byrnane wood remoue to Dunsinane,I cannot taint with Feare. What's the Boy Malcolme?Was he not borne of woman? The Spirits that knowAll mortall Consequences, haue pronounc'd me thus:Feare not Macbeth, no man that's borne of womanShall ere haue power vpon thee. Then fly false Thanes,And mingle with the English Epicures,The minde I sway by, and the heart I beare,Shall neuer sagge with doubt, nor shake with feare.Enter Seruant.
The diuell damne thee blacke, thou cream-fac'd Loone:Where got'st thou that Goose-looke
Ser. There is ten thousand
Macb. Geese Villaine?Ser. Souldiers Sir
Macb. Go pricke thy face, and ouer-red thy feareThou Lilly-liuer'd Boy. What Soldiers, Patch?Death of thy Soule, those Linnen cheekes of thineAre Counsailers to feare. What Soldiers Whay-face?Ser. The English Force, so please you
Macb. Take thy face hence. Seyton, I am sick at hart,When I behold: Seyton, I say, this pushWill cheere me euer, or dis-eate me now.I haue liu'd long enough: my way of lifeIs falne into the Seare, the yellow Leafe,And that which should accompany Old-Age,As Honor, Loue, Obedience, Troopes of Friends,I must not looke to haue: but in their steed,Curses, not lowd but deepe, Mouth-honor, breathWhich the poore heart would faine deny, and dare not.Seyton?Enter Seyton.
Sey. What's your gracious pleasure?Macb. What Newes more?Sey. All is confirm'd my Lord, which was reported
Macb. Ile fight, till from my bones, my flesh be hackt.Giue me my Armor
Seyt. 'Tis not needed yet
Macb. Ile put it on:Send out moe Horses, skirre the Country round,Hang those that talke of Feare. Giue me mine Armor:How do's your Patient, Doctor?Doct. Not so sicke my Lord,As she is troubled with thicke-comming FanciesThat keepe her from her rest
Macb. Cure of that:Can'st thou not Minister to a minde diseas'd,Plucke from the Memory a rooted Sorrow,Raze out the written troubles of the Braine,And with some sweet Obliuious AntidoteCleanse the stufft bosome, of that perillous stuffeWhich weighes vpon the heart?Doct. Therein the PatientMust minister to himselfe
Macb. Throw Physicke to the Dogs, Ile none of it.Come, put mine Armour on: giue me my Staffe:Seyton, send out: Doctor, the Thanes flye from me:Come sir, dispatch. If thou could'st Doctor, castThe Water of my Land, finde her Disease,And purge it to a sound and pristine Health,I would applaud thee to the very Eccho,That should applaud againe. Pull't off I say,What Rubarb, Cyme, or what Purgatiue druggeWould scowre these English hence: hear'st y of them?Doct. I my good Lord: your Royall PreparationMakes vs heare something
Macb. Bring it after me:I will not be affraid of Death and Bane,Till Birnane Forrest come to Dunsinane
Doct. Were I from Dunsinane away, and cleere,Profit againe should hardly draw me heere.
Exeunt.
Scena Quarta.
Drum and Colours. Enter Malcolme, Seyward, Macduffe,Seywards Sonne,Menteth, Cathnes, Angus, and Soldiers Marching.
Malc. Cosins, I hope the dayes are neere at handThat Chambers will be safe
Ment. We doubt it nothing
Seyw. What wood is this before vs?Ment. The wood of Birnane
Malc. Let euery Souldier hew him downe a Bough,And bear't before him, thereby shall we shadowThe numbers of our Hoast, and make discoueryErre in report of vs
Sold. It shall be done
Syw. We learne no other, but the confident TyrantKeepes still in Dunsinane, and will indureOur setting downe befor't
Malc. 'Tis his maine hope:For where there is aduantage to be giuen,Both more and lesse haue giuen him the Reuolt,And none serue with him, but constrained things,Whose hearts are absent too
Macd. Let our iust CensuresAttend the true euent, and put we onIndustrious Souldiership
Sey. The time approaches,That will with due decision make vs knowWhat 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.
Macb. Hang out our Banners on the outward walls,The Cry is still, they come: our Castles strengthWill 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'dTo heare a Night-shrieke, and my Fell of haireWould at a dismall Treatise rowze, and stirreAs life were in't. I haue supt full with horrors,Direnesse familiar to my slaughterous thoughtsCannot once start me. Wherefore was that cry?Sey. 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 FoolesThe 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 TaleTold by an Ideot, full of sound and furySignifying 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
Macb. Well, say sir
Mes. As I did stand my watch vpon the HillI look'd toward Byrnane, and anon me thoughtThe Wood began to moue
Macb. 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
Macb. If thou speak'st false,Vpon the next Tree shall thou hang aliueTill Famine cling thee: If thy speech be sooth,I care not if thou dost for me as much.I pull in Resolution, and beginTo doubt th' Equiuocation of the Fiend,That lies like truth. Feare not, till Byrnane WoodDo come to Dunsinane, and now a WoodComes 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,At least wee'l dye with Harnesse on our backe.
Exeunt.
Scena Sexta.
Drumme and Colours. 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 SonneLeade our first Battell. Worthy Macduffe, and weeShall 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
Macd. Make all our Trumpets speak, giue the[m] all breathThose clamorous Harbingers of Blood, & Death.
Exeunt.
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 heThat was not borne of Woman? Such a oneAm I to feare, or none.Enter young Seyward.
Y.Sey. What is thy name?Macb. Thou'lt be affraid to heare it
Y.Sey. No: though thou call'st thy selfe a hoter nameThen any is in hell
Macb. My name's Macbeth
Y.Sey. The diuell himselfe could not pronounce a TitleMore hatefull to mine eare
Macb. No: nor more fearefull
Y.Sey. Thou lyest abhorred Tyrant, with my SwordIle 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,Brandish'd by man that's of a Woman borne.Enter.
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 armesAre hyr'd to beare their Staues; either thou Macbeth,Or else my Sword with an vnbattered edgeI sheath againe vndeeded. There thou should'st be,By this great clatter, one of greatest noteSeemes bruited. Let me finde him Fortune,And more I begge not.
Exit. Alarums.
Enter Malcolme and Seyward.
Sey. This way my Lord, the Castles gently rendred:The Tyrants people, on both sides do fight,The Noble Thanes do brauely in the Warre,The day almost it selfe professes yours,And little is to do
Malc. We haue met with FoesThat strike beside vs
Sey. Enter Sir, the Castle.
Exeunt. Alarum
Enter Macbeth.
Macb. Why should I play the Roman Foole, and dyeOn mine owne sword? whiles I see liues, the gashesDo better vpon them.Enter Macduffe.
Macd. Turne Hell-hound, turne
Macb. Of all men else I haue auoyded thee:But get thee backe, my soule is too much charg'dWith blood of thine already
Macd. I haue no words,My voice is in my Sword, thou bloodier VillaineThen tearmes can giue thee out.
Fight: Alarum
Macb. Thou loosest labourAs easie may'st thou the intrenchant AyreWith thy keene Sword impresse, as make me bleed:Let fall thy blade on vulnerable Crests,I beare a charmed Life, which must not yeeldTo one of woman borne
Macd. Dispaire thy Charme,And let the Angell whom thou still hast seru'dTell thee, Macduffe was from his Mothers wombVntimely ript
Macb. Accursed be that tongue that tels mee so;For it hath Cow'd my better part of man:And be these Iugling Fiends no more beleeu'd,That palter with vs in a double sence,That keepe the word of promise to our eare,And breake it to our hope. Ile not fight with thee
Macd. Then yeeld thee Coward,And liue to be the shew, and gaze o'th' time.Wee'l haue thee, as our rarer Monsters arePainted vpon a pole, and vnder-writ,Heere may you see the Tyrant
Macb. I will not yeeldTo kisse the ground before young Malcolmes feet,And to be baited with the Rabbles curse.Though Byrnane wood be come to Dunsinane,And thou oppos'd, being of no woman borne,Yet I will try the last. Before my body,I throw my warlike Shield: Lay on Macduffe,And damn'd be him, that first cries hold, enough.
Exeunt. fighting. Alarums.
Enter Fighting, and Macbeth slaine.
Retreat, and Flourish. Enter with Drumme and Colours, Malcolm,Seyward,Rosse, Thanes, & Soldiers.
Mal. I would the Friends we misse, were safe arriu'd
Sey. Some must go off: and yet by these I see,So great a day as this is cheapely bought
Mal. Macduffe is missing, and your Noble Sonne
Rosse. Your son my Lord, ha's paid a souldiers debt,He onely liu'd but till he was a man,The which no sooner had his Prowesse confirm'dIn the vnshrinking station where he fought,But like a man he dy'de
Sey. Then he is dead?Rosse. I, and brought off the field: your cause of sorrowMust not be measur'd by his worth, for thenIt hath no end
Sey. Had he his hurts before?Rosse. I, on the Front
Sey. Why then, Gods Soldier be he:Had I as many Sonnes, as I haue haires,I would not wish them to a fairer death:And so his Knell is knoll'd
Mal. Hee's worth more sorrow,and that Ile spend for him
Sey. He's worth no more,They say he parted well, and paid his score,And so God be with him. Here comes newer comfort.Enter Macduffe, with Macbeths head.
Macd. Haile King, for so thou art.Behold where standsTh' Vsurpers cursed head: the time is free:I see thee compast with thy Kingdomes Pearle,That speake my salutation in their minds:Whose voyces I desire alowd with mine.Haile King of Scotland
All. Haile King of Scotland.
Flourish.
Mal. We shall not spend a large expence of time,Before we reckon with your seuerall loues,And make vs euen with you. My Thanes and KinsmenHenceforth be Earles, the first that euer ScotlandIn such an Honor 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 watchfull Tyranny,Producing forth the cruell MinistersOf this dead Butcher, and his Fiend-like Queene;Who (as 'tis thought) by selfe and violent hands,Tooke off her life. This, and what need full elseThat call's vpon vs, by the Grace of Grace,We will performe in measure, time, and place:So thankes to all at once, and to each one,Whom we inuite, to see vs Crown'd at Scone.
Flourish. Exeunt Omnes.
The Tragedie of Hamlet
Actus Primus. Scoena Prima.
Enter Barnardo and Francisco two Centinels.
Barnardo. Who's there?Fran. Nay answer me: Stand & vnfoldyour selfe
Bar. Long liue the King
Fran. Barnardo?Bar. He
Fran. You come most carefully vpon your houre
Bar. 'Tis now strook twelue, get thee to bed Francisco
Fran. For this releefe much thankes: 'Tis bitter cold,And I am sicke at heart
Barn. Haue you had quiet Guard?Fran. Not a Mouse stirring
Barn. Well, goodnight. If you do meet Horatio andMarcellus, the Riuals of my Watch, bid them make hast.Enter Horatio and Marcellus.
Fran. I thinke I heare them. Stand: who's there?Hor. Friends to this ground
Mar. And Leige-men to the Dane
Fran. Giue you good night
Mar. O farwel honest Soldier, who hath relieu'd you?Fra. Barnardo ha's my place: giue you goodnight.
Exit Fran.
Mar. Holla Barnardo
Bar. Say, what is Horatio there?Hor. A peece of him
Bar. Welcome Horatio, welcome good Marcellus
Mar. What, ha's this thing appear'd againe to night
Bar. I haue seene nothing
Mar. Horatio saies, 'tis but our Fantasie,And will not let beleefe take hold of himTouching this dreaded sight, twice seene of vs,Therefore I haue intreated him alongWith vs, to watch the minutes of this Night,That if againe this Apparition come,He may approue our eyes, and speake to it
Hor. Tush, tush, 'twill not appeare
Bar. Sit downe a-while,And let vs once againe assaile your eares,That are so fortified against our Story,What we two Nights haue seene