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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