Dunsinane. Within the Castle. |
|
Enter, with drum 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 fore'd with those that should be ours, |
We might have met them dareful, beard to beard, |
And beat them backward home. [A cry of women within. |
What is that noise? |
Sey. It is the cry of women, my good lord. [Exit. |
Macb. I have almost forgot the taste of fears. |
The time has been my senses would have cool'd |
To hear a night-shriek, and my fell of hair |
Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir |
As life were in 't. I have supp'd full with horrors; |
Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts, |
Cannot once start me. |
|
Re-Enter SEYTON. |
Wherefore was that cry? |
Sey. The queen, my lord, is dead. |
Macb. She should have died hereafter; |
There would have been a time for such a word. |
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, |
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, |
To the last syllable of recorded time; |
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools |
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! |
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player |
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, |
And then is heard no more; it is a tale |
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, |
Signifying nothing. |
|
Enter a Messenger. |
Thou com'st to use thy tongue; thy story quickly. |
Mess. Gracious my lord, |
I should report that which I say I saw, |
But know not how to do it. |
Macb. Well, say, sir. |
Mess. As I did stand my watch upon the hill, |
I look'd towards Birnam, and anon, methought, |
The wood began to move. |
Macb. Liar and slave! |
Mess. Let me endure your wrath if't be not so: |
Within this three mile may you 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! |
If this which he avouches does appear, |
There is nor flying hence, nor tarrying here. |
I'gin to be aweary of the sun, |
And wish the estate o' the world were now undone. |
Ring the alarum-bell! Blow, wind! come, wrack! |
At least we'll die with harness on our back. [Exeunt. |
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