All language subtitles for Great.Performances.Macbeth.2010.1080p.WEBRip.x264.AAC-[YTS.MX].eng

What bloody man is that? He can
report, as seemeth by his plight,
of the revolt, the newest state.

This is the sergeant who like a good
and hardy soldier fought 'gainst
my captivity.

Hail, brave friend!

Say to the king the knowledge of
the broil as thou didst leave it.

Doubtful it stood.

as two spent swimmers, that do cling
together and choke their art.

The merciless Macdonald, from
the Western Isles, is supplied

and fortune, on his damned quarrel
smiling showed like a rebel's whore.

But all's too weak

for brave Macbeth. Disdaining
fortune, with his brandished steel,

which smoked with bloody execution
carved out his passage till he faced
the slave which ne'er shook hands,

nor bade farewell to him,
till he unseamed him from the nave
to the chaps and fixed his

head upon our battlements.

Oh, valiant cousin!

worthy gentleman!

Mark, king of Scotland, Mark,
no sooner justice had with
valour armed, but the Norweyan lord

surveying vantage with furbished
arms and new supplies of men
began a fresh assault.

Dismayed not this our
captains, Macbeth and Banquo?

Yes as sparrows, eagles, or
the hare, the lion.

If I say sooth, I must report they
were as cannons overcharged with

double cracks, whether they meant
to bathe in reeking wounds

or memorise another Golgotha,
I cannot tell.

But I

am faint, my gashes cry for help.

So well thy words
become thee as thy wounds.

They smack of honour both.

Go get him surgeons.

When shall we three meet again?

In thunder, lightning or in rain?

When the hurly-burly is done.

When the battle is lost and won.

That will be the set of sun.

Where the place? Upon the Heath.

- Macbeth.

Fair is foul.

And foul is fair.

Hover through the fog and filthy air.

- Fair is foul and foul is fair,
hover through the fog

and the filthy air.

Who comes here?
The worthy thane of Ross.

What a haste looks through his eyes!
God save the king!
Whence camest thou, worthy thane?

From Fife, great king,
where the Norweyan banners flout the
sky and fan our people cold.

Norway himself,
with terrible numbers, assisted by

that most disloyal traitor, the Thane
of Cawdor, began a dismal conflict
till that the dauntless Macbeth

confronted him with self-comparisons,
point against point, rebellious
arm against arm. And to conclude...

..the victory fell on us.

YES! YES!

Great happiness!

No more that Thane of Cawdor
shall deceive our bosom interest.

Go pronounce his present death

and with his former title greet
Macbeth. I'll see it done.

What he hath lost,
noble Macbeth hath won.

- I'd rather, I'd rather
Macbeth just come.

The weird sisters, hand in hand,
posters over sea and land.

Thus do go about, about thrice to
thine and thrice to mine

and thrice
again to make up nine.

Peace! The charm's wound up.

So foul and fair a
day I have not seen.

What are these

that look not like the inhabitants
of the earth and yet are on it?

Live you?

Or are you aught
that man may question?

You seem to understand me,

by each at once her chappy
finger laying upon her skinny lips.

You should be women

and yet your beards forbid me
to interpret that you are so.

Speak, if you can, what are you?

All hail, Macbeth!

Hail to thee, Thane of Glamis!

All hail, Macbeth,
hail to thee, Thane of Cawdor!

All hail, Macbeth,

thou shalt be king hereafter!

Good sir, why do you start

and seem to fear things
that do sound so fair?

In the name of truth,
are ye fantastical, or that
indeed which outwardly ye show?

My noble partner You greet with
present grace and great prediction

of noble having and of royal hope,
that he seems rapt with all.

To me you speak not.

If you can look into
the seeds of time

and say which grain will grow and
which will not, speak then to me.

Hail! Hail!
Hail!

Lesser than Macbeth, and greater.

Not so happy,

yet much happier.

Thou shalt get kings,
though thou be none,

so all hail, Macbeth and Banquo!

Banquo and Macbeth,

all hail.

Stay, you imperfect
speakers, tell me more.

By my father's death I know I am
Thane of Glamis, but how of Cawdor?

The Thane of Cawdor lives, a
prosperous gentleman, and to be
king...

..stands not within the prospect of
belief, no more than to be Cawdor.

Say...

..from whence you owe
this strange intelligence?

Or why you stop our way
with such prophetic greeting?

Speak, I charge you.

The earth hath bubbles, as the
water has, and these are of them.

Whither are they vanished?

Into the air

And what seemed corporal
melted as breath into the wind.

Would they had stayed!

Were such things here
as we do speak about?

Or have we eaten on the insane
root that takes the reason prisoner?

Your children shall be kings.

You shall be king. And thane
of Cawdor too, went it not so?

To the selfsame tune and words.

Who's here?

The king hath happily received,
Macbeth, the news of thy success,

We are sent to give thee from our
royal master thanks, only to herald
thee into his sight, not pay thee.

And, for an earnest
of a greater honour,

he bade me, from him,
call thee Thane of Cawdor.

In which addition,
hail, most worthy thane!

For it is thine.

What, can the devil speak true?

The Thane of Cawdor lives.

Why do you dress me
in borrowed robes?

Who was the thane lives yet,

but under heavy judgment bears
that life which he deserves to lose.

Treasons capital, confessed
and proved, have overthrown him.

Glamis, and Thane of Cawdor!

The greatest is behind.

Do you not hope your children shall
be kings, when those that gave the

Thane of Cawdor to me
promised no less to them?

That trusted home might yet
enkindle you unto the crown,
besides the Thane of Cawdor.

But 'tis strange.

And oftentimes, to
win us to our harm,

the instruments of darkness tell us
truths, win us with honest trifles,

to betray us in deepest consequence.

Cousins, a word, I pray you.

Two truths are told, as happy
prologues to the swelling act

of the imperial theme....

This supernatural
soliciting cannot be ill.

Cannot be good.

If ill, why hath it given me earnest
of success, commencing in a truth?

I am

Thane of Cawdor.

If good,

why do I yield to that suggestion
whose horrid image makes

my seated heart knock at my ribs
against the use of nature?

Present fears are less than
horrible imaginings.

My thought, whose...

..murder

yet is but fantastical,

shakes so
my single state of man that
function is smothered in surmise,

and nothing is but what is not.

If chance will have me king, why,

chance may crown me,
without my stir.

Come what come may,

time and the hour run
through the roughest day.

Worthy Macbeth, we
stay upon your leisure.

I ask your favour.

My dull brain was wrought with
things forgotten.

Let us toward the king.

Think upon what hath chanced, and,
in good time, the interim having

weighed it, let us speak our free
hearts each to other. Very gladly.

Till then, enough. Come, friends.

Is execution done on Cawdor?

Are not those in
commission yet returned?

My liege, they are not yet come back.

But I have spoke with
one that saw him die...

..who did report that, very
frankly, he confessed his treasons,

implored your highness'
pardon and set forth

a deep repentance.

Nothing in his life

became him like the leaving it.

He died

as one that had been
studied in his death.

To throw away the dearest thing he
owed, as 'twere a careless trifle.

There's no art to find the
mind's construction in the face.

He was a gentleman on whom I
built an absolute trust.

O worthiest cousin!

The sin of my ingratitude
even now was heavy on me.

Would thou hadst less deserved,
that the proportion both of thanks
and payment might have been mine!

Only I have left to say, more is
thy due than more than all can pay.

The service and the loyalty I
owe in doing it pays itself.

Your highness' part is to receive
our duties, and our duties are to
your throne and state, children

and servants, which do but what they
should, by doing everything safe
toward your love and honour.

Welcome hither.

I have begun to plant thee, and will
labour to make thee full of growing.

Noble Banquo, that hast no less
deserved, nor must be known
no less to have done so.

Let me enfold thee
and hold thee to my heart.

There if I grow,
the harvest is your own.

My plenteous joys,
wanton in fulness, seek to hide
themselves in drops of sorrow.

Sons, kinsmen,

thanes, and you whose
places are the nearest, know

we will establish our estate upon

our eldest, Malcolm, whom we name
hereafter the Prince of Cumberland,

which honour must not
unaccompanied invest him only,

but signs of nobleness, like
stars, shall shine on all deservers.

From hence to Glamis, and bind
us further to you.

I'll be myself the harbinger
and make joyful the hearing of
my wife with your approach.

Humbly take my leave.
My worthy Cawdor!

The Prince of Cumberland!

That is a step on
which I must fall down,

or else o'erleap, for in

my way it lies.

Stars, hide your fires

Let not light see my
black and deep desires

"They met me in the day of success,

"and I have learned by
the perfectest report, they have more
in them than mortal knowledge.

"When I burned in desire
to question them further,

"they made themselves air,
into which they vanished.

"Whilst I stood rapt in the wonder
of it, came missives from the king,
who all-hailed me Thane of Cawdor,

"by which title, before, these weird
sisters saluted me, and referred me

"to the coming on of time,
with, 'Hail, king that shalt be!'

"This have I thought good
to deliver thee, my dearest partner
of greatness,

"that thou mightst not lose the dues
of rejoicing by being ignorant of
what greatness is promised thee.

"Lay it to thy heart, and farewell."

Glamis thou art,

and Cawdor.

And shalt be what thou art promised.

Yet do I fear thy nature.

It is too full of the milk of human
kindness to catch the nearest way.

Thou wouldst be great,

art not without ambition, but without
the illness should attend it.

Hie thee hither...

..that I may
pour my spirits in thine ear

and chastise
with the valour of my tongue

all that impedes thee
from the golden round,

which fate and metaphysical aid doth
seem to have thee crowned withal.

What is your tidings?

The king comes here tonight.

Thou art mad to say it.

Is not thy master with him?
Who, were't so, would have
informed for preparation.

So please you, it is true.
Our thane is coming.

Give him tending.

He brings great news.

The raven himself is hoarse,

but croaks the fatal entrance
of Duncan under my battlements.

Come...

..you spirits... that tend on mortal
thoughts.

Unsex me here...

..and fill me

from the crown to the toe top-full of

direst cruelty!

Make thick my blood.

Stop up the access
and passage to remorse,

that no compunctious visitings of
nature shake my fell purpose...

..nor keep peace between the effect
and it!

Come to my woman's breasts,

and take my milk for gall,
you murdering ministers.

Wherever in your sightless substances
you wait on nature's mischief!

Come, thick night,

and pall thee in the
dunnest smoke of hell,

that my keen knife see not the wound
it makes, nor heaven peep through the
blanket of the dark, to cry,

"Hold! Hold!"

Great Glamis!

Worthy Cawdor!

Greater than both, by
the all-hail hereafter!

Thy letters have transported me
beyond this ignorant present, and I
feel now the future in the instant.

My dearest love...

..Duncan comes here tonight.

And when goes hence?

Tomorrow, as he purposes.

O, never shall sun that morrow see!

Your face, my thane, is as a book

where men may read strange matters.

To beguile the time, look like
the time, bear welcome in your eye,
your hand, your tongue.

Look like the innocent flower,
but be the serpent under't.

He that's coming must be provided
for, and you shall put this night's
great business into my dispatch,

which shall to all our nights
and days to come give solely
sovereign sway and masterdom.

We will speak further.

Only look up clear,

to alter favour ever is to fear.

Leave all the rest to me.

This castle hath a pleasant seat,
the air

nimbly and sweetly recommends
itself unto our gentle senses.

See, see, our honoured hostess!

The love that follows us sometime
is our trouble, which still
we thank as love.

Herein I teach you how you shall bid
God yield us for your pains,
and thank us for your trouble.

All our service in every point
twice done and then done double were
poor and single business to contend

against those honours deep
and broad wherewith your
majesty loads our house.

Where's the Thane of Cawdor?

We coursed him at the heels,
but he rides well, and his

great love, sharp as his spur,
hath holp him to his home before us.

Conduct me to mine host,
we love him highly,

and shall continue
our graces towards him.

By your leave, hostess.

If it were done when 'tis done, then
'twere well it were done quickly.

If the assassination could

trammel up the consequence,

and catch with her surcease

success,

that but this blow might be
the be-all and the end-all here,

but here, upon this
bank and shoal of time,

we'd jump the life to come.

But in these cases,

we still have judgment here.

That we but teach bloody
instruction, which, being taught,
returns to plague the inventor.

This even-handed justice
commends the ingredients of our
poisoned chalice to our own lips.

He's here in double trust. First,
as I am his kinsman and his subject,

strong both against the deed.

Then, as his host,

who should against his
murderer shut the door, not...

..bear the knife myself.

Besides, this Duncan has
borne his faculties so meek,

has been so clear
in his great office,

that his virtues will
plead like angels,

trumpet-tongued, against the...

deep damnation of his taking-off.

And pity,

like a naked new-born babe,
striding the blast,

or heaven's cherubim,
horsed upon the sightless

couriers of the air, shall blow
the horrid deed in every eye,

that tears shall drown the wind.

I have no spur to prick
the sides of my intent,

but only vaulting ambition,

which o'erleaps itself
and falls on the other.

How now! What news?
He has almost supp'd.

Why have you left the chamber?

Hath he ask'd for me?

Know you not he has?

We will proceed no further
in this business.

He hath honour'd me of late, and
I have bought golden opinions from

all sorts of people, which would be
worn now in their newest gloss,

not cast aside so soon.

Was the hope drunk
wherein you dress'd yourself?

Hath it slept since?

And wakes it now, to look so green
and pale at what it did so freely?

From this time
such I account thy love.

Art thou afeard to be the same
in thine own act and valour

as thou art in desire?

Wouldst thou have that which thou
esteem'st the ornament of life,

and live a coward in thine own
esteem, letting "I dare not"

wait upon "I would", like the poor
cat in the adage? Prithee, peace!

I dare do all that may become a man.
Who dares do more is none.

What beast was't, then, that made
you break this enterprise to me?

When you durst do it,
then you were a man.

And, to be more than what you were,
you would be so much more the man.

Nor time nor place did then adhere,
and yet you would make both.

They have made themselves, and that
their fitness now does unmake you.

I have given suck,

and know how tender 'tis to
love the babe that milks me.

I would,
while it was smiling in my face,

have pluck'd my nipple
from his boneless gums,

and dash'd the brains out, had I
so sworn as you have done to his.

If we should fail? We fail!

But screw your courage
to the sticking-place,

and we'll not fail.

When Duncan is asleep, his two
chamberlains will I with wine

and wassail so convince that memory,
the warder of the brain,

shall be a fume, and the receipt
of reason a limbeck only.

When in swinish sleep

their drenched natures
lie as in a death...

what cannot you and I perform
upon the unguarded Duncan?

What not put upon
his spongy officers,

who shall bear the guilt
of our great quell?

Bring forth men-children only,

for thy undaunted mettle
should compose nothing but males.

Will it not be received,

when we have mark'd with blood
those sleepy two of his own chamber

and used their very daggers,
that they have done't?

Who dares receive it other,

as we shall make our griefs
and clamour roar upon his death?

I am settled,

and bend up

each corporal agent
to this terrible feat.

Away, and mock the time
with fairest show.

False face must hide what
the false heart doth know.

How goes the night, boy?

The moon is down.
I have not heard the clock.

And she goes down at 12.

I take't, 'tis later, sir.

Hold...

..take my sword.

There's husbandry in heaven.
Their candles are all out.

Take thee that too.

A heavy summons lies like lead upon
me, and yet I would not sleep.

Merciful powers, restrain in me
the cursed thoughts that nature

gives way to in repose!

Give me my sword. Who's there?

A friend.

What, sir, not yet at rest?

The king's a-bed. He hath
been in unusual pleasure,

and this diamond he greets
your wife withal, by the name of

most kind hostess,
and shut up in measureless content.

Being unprepared, our will
became the servant to defect,

which else should free have wrought.
All's well.

I dreamt last night
of the three weird sisters.

To you they have show'd some truth.

I think not of them.

Yet, when we can entreat
an hour to serve,

I would spend it in some words
upon that business.

At your kind'st leisure.

If you shall cleave to
my intent, when 'tis,

it shall make honour for you.

So I lose none in seeking to augment
it, but still keep my bosom

franchised and allegiance clear,
I shall be counsell'd.

Good. Repose the while!

Thanks, sir. The like to you!

Go bid thy mistress,
when my drink is ready,

she strike upon the bell.
Then get thee to bed.

Is this a dagger
which I see before me,

the handle toward my hand?

Come, let me clutch thee.

I have thee not,
and yet I see thee still.

Art thou not, fatal vision,
sensible to feeling as to sight?

Or art thou but
a dagger of the mind,

a false creation, proceeding
from the heat-oppressed brain?

I see thee yet.

Thou marshall'st me
the way that I was going,

and such an... instrument
I was to use.

Mine eyes are made
the fools o' the other senses,

or worth all the rest.

I see thee still,

and on thy blade and dudgeon
gouts of blood,

which was not so before.

There's no such thing.

It is the bloody business
which informs thus to mine eyes.

Now o'er the one halfworld

nature seems dead,

and wicked dreams
abuse the curtain'd sleep.

Now witchcraft celebrates
pale Hecate's offerings,

and wither'd murder,
alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf,

whose howl's his watch,
thus with his stealthy pace.

With Tarquin's ravishing strides,
towards his design

moves like a ghost.

Thou sure and firm-set earth,

hear not my steps,
which way they walk,

for fear thy very stones
prate of my whereabouts,

and take the present... horror
from the time,

which now suits with it.

Whiles I threat, he lives.

Words to the heat of deeds
too cold breath gives.

I go, and it is done.

The bell invites me.

Hear it not, Duncan,

for it is a knell
that summons thee to heaven...

..or to hell.

That which hath made them drunk
hath made me bold.

What hath quench'd
them hath given me fire.

Hark!

Peace!

It was the owl that shriek'd.

He is about it.

The doors are open,
and the surfeited grooms do mock

their charge with snores.

I have drugg'd their possets,

that death and nature
do contend about them,

whether they live or die.

Who's there? What, ho!

Alack, I am afraid they have awaked,
and 'tis not done.

The attempt and not
the deed confounds us.

I laid their daggers ready.
He could not miss 'em.

Had he not resembled
my father as he slept...

..I had done't.

My husband?

I have done the deed.

Didst thou not hear a noise?

I heard the owl scream and
the crickets cry. Did not you speak?

When? Now.

As I descended?

Who lies i' the second chamber?

Donalbain.

This is a sorry sight.

A foolish thought,
to say a sorry sight.

There's one did laugh in his sleep,
and one cried, "Murder!"

that they did wake each other.
I stood and heard them,

but they did say their prayers,
and address'd them again to sleep.

There are two lodged together.
One cried, "God bless us!"

and, "Amen," the other, as they had
seen me with these hangman's hands.

Listening their fear,
I could not say "amen"

when they did say, "God bless us!"

Consider it not so deeply.

But wherefore could
not I pronounce "amen"?

I had most need of blessing,
and "amen" stuck in my throat.

These deeds must not be thought after
these ways so, it will make us mad.

Methought I heard a voice cry,
"Sleep no more!

"Macbeth does murder sleep,"

the innocent sleep,
sleep that knits up

the ravell'd sleeve of care,
the death of each day's life,

sore labour's bath, balm of hurt
minds, great nature's second course.

What do you mean?

Still it cries "Sleep no more!"
to all the house.

"Glamis hath murder'd sleep,
and therefore Cawdor

"Shall sleep no more.
Macbeth shall sleep no more."

Who was it that thus cried?

Why, worthy thane,
you do unbend your noble strength,

to think so brainsickly of things.
Go get some water,

and wash this filthy
witness from your hand.

Why did you bring
these daggers from the place?

They must lie there!

Go!

Carry them.

And smear the sleepy grooms
with blood.

I'll go no more.

I am afraid to think
what I have done.

Look on't again I dare not.

Infirm of purpose!

Give me the daggers.

The sleeping and the dead
are but as pictures.

'Tis the eye of childhood
that fears a painted devil.

If he do bleed, I'll gild
the faces of the grooms withal,

for it must seem their guilt.

Whence is that knocking?

How is't with me,
when every noise appals me?

What hands are here?

Oh...

They pluck out mine eyes.

Will all great Neptune's ocean
wash this blood clean from my hand?

No, this my hand will rather

the multitudinous seas incarnadine,

making the green one red.

My hands are of your colour...

..but I shame
to wear a heart so white.

I hear knocking at the south entry.

Retire we to our chamber.

A little water
clears us of this deed.

How easy is it, then!

Your constancy hath
left you unattended.

Hark! More knocking.

Get on your nightgown, lest occasion
call us and show us to be watchers.

Be not lost so poorly
in your thoughts.

To know my deed,

'twere best not know myself.

Wake Duncan with thy knocking!

I would thou couldst!

Oh, here's a knocking indeed!

If a man were porter of hell-gate,

he should get old

turning the key.

Knock, knock, knock!
Who's there, in the name of Jesus?

Beelzebub.

Here, a farmer, ooh-arr,

that hanged himself on
the expectation of plenty.

Oh, come in time,

have napkins enough about you,
here you'll sweat for it.

Knock, knock! Who's there,
in the other devil's name?

Faith, here's an equivocator,

who committed treason enough
for God's sake, yet could not

equivocate to heaven.

Oh, come in, equivocator.

Knock, knock, never at quiet!

What are you?

But this place is too cold for hell.

I'll devil-porter it no further.

I had thought to let in
some of all professions

that go the primrose way
to the everlasting bonfire.

Anon, anon!

I pray you,

remember the porter.

Was it so late, friend, ere you went
to bed, that you do lie so late?

Faith, sir...

..we were carousing
till the second cock

and drink, sir, is a great
provoker of three things.

What three things does drink
especially provoke?

Marry, sir, nose-painting,

sleep...

..and urine.

Lechery, it provokes and unprovokes.

It provokes the desire,
but takes away the performance.

Therefore, much drink may be said
to be an equivocator with lechery.

It makes him and it mars him.

It sets him on, but it takes him off.

It persuades him and disheartens him,

makes him stand to and not stand to.

Equivocates him in a sleep,
and, giving him the lie, leaves him.

Is thy master stirring?

Our knocking has awaked him,
here he comes.

Good morrow, noble sir.

Good morrow, all.

Is the king stirring, worthy thane?

Not yet.

He did command me to call timely on
him. I have almost slipped the hour.

I'll bring you to him.

I know this is a joyful trouble
to you, but yet 'tis one.

The labour we delight
in physics pain.

This is the door.

I'll make so bold to call,
for 'tis my limited service.

Goes the king hence today? Hmm?

He does.

He did appoint so.

The night has been unruly.

Where we lay, our
chimneys were blown down

and, as they say,
lamentings heard i' the air,

strange screams of death.

Some say the earth was feverous
and did shake. 'Twas a rough night.

My young remembrance cannot
parallel a fellow to it.

Oh.

Oh, horror, horror, horror!

Tongue nor heart cannot conceive
nor name thee! What's the matter?

Confusion now hath
made his masterpiece!

Most sacrilegious murder
hath broke ope the Lord's

anointed temple, and stole
thence the life of the building!

What is it you say, the life?
Mean you His Majesty?

Approach the chamber, and destroy
your sight with a new Gorgon.

Do not bid me speak.
See, and then speak yourself.

Awake, awake!

Ring the alarum-bell.

Murder and treason!

Banquo and Donalbain!

'Malcolm! Awake!'

Shake off this downy sleep,
death's counterfeit,

'and look on death itself! Awake!'

Ring the bell!

What is the business, that such
a hideous trumpet calls to parley

the sleepers of the house?

Speak, speak!

Oh, gentle lady, 'tis not
for you to hear what I could speak.

The repetition in a woman's
ear would murder as it fell.

Oh, Banquo, Banquo,
our royal master's murdered!

Woe, alas. What, in our house?

Too cruel anywhere.

Dear Duff, I prithee, contradict
thyself and say it is not so.

Had I but died an hour before this
chance, I had lived a blessed time

for, from this instant,
there's nothing serious in
mortality.

All is but toys.

Renown and grace is dead,

the wine of life is drawn.

What is amiss? You are,

and do not know it.

The spring, the head, the fountain
of your blood is stopped,

the very source of it is stopped.

Your royal father's murdered.

Oh... by whom?

Those of his chamber,
as it seemed, had done it.

Their hands and faces
were all badged with blood.

So were their daggers,

which unwiped
we found upon their pillows.

They stared, and were distracted.

No man's life was
to be trusted with them.

Oh, yet I do repent me of my fury
that I did kill them.

Wherefore did you so?

Who can be wise, amazed,

temperate AND furious,
loyal AND neutral,

in a moment? No man.

The expedition my violent love
outran the pauser, reason.

Here lay Duncan,

his silver skin laced with his
golden blood, and his gashed

stabs looked like a breach in
nature for ruin's wasteful entrance.

There, the murderers,
steeped in the colours

of their trade, their daggers
unmannerly breech'd with gore.

Who could refrain,
that had a heart to love,

and in that heart,
courage to make his love known?

Ah! Help me, hence! Look to the lady.

Why do we hold our tongues,
that most may claim this argument

for ours? What should be spoken here?

Let away, our tears
are not yet brewed.

Nor our strong sorrow upon
the foot of motion. Look to the lady.

And when we have our naked frailties
hid, that suffer in exposure, let us

meet and question this most bloody
piece of work to know it further.

Fears and scruples shake us.

In the great hand of God
I stand and thence,

against the undivulged pretence,
I fight of treasonous malice.

And so do I.
So all.

Let's briefly put on
manly readiness,

and meet in the hall together.

Well contented.

What will you do?

Let's not consort with them.

To show an unfelt sorrow is an office
which the false man does easy.

I'll to England. To Ireland, I.

Our separated fortune shall
keep us both the safer.

Where we are,
there's daggers in men's smiles.

The near in blood,
the nearer bloody.

This murderous shaft that's shot
hath not yet lighted, and our
safest way is to avoid the aim.

Therefore to horse.

And let us not be dainty of
leave-taking, but shift.

Away!

I have seen hours dreadful and things
strange, but this sore night hath
trifled former knowing.

Thou seest the heavens,

as troubled with man's act,
threaten his bloody stage.

By the clock, 'tis day, and yet dark
night strangles the travelling lamp.

Is it night's predominance
or the day's shame that darkness

does the face of earth entomb,
when living light should kiss it?
'Tis unnatural,

even like the deed that's done.

Ah, Macduff.

How goes the world, sir, now?

Why, see you not? Is it known
who did this more than bloody deed?

Those that Macbeth hath slain.

Alas, the day!
What good could they pretend?

They were suborn'd. Malcolm and
Donalbain, the king's two sons,

are stolen away and fled which puts
upon them suspicion of the deed.

'Gainst nature still!

Thriftless ambition, that will
ravin up thine own life's means!

Then 'tis most like the
sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth.

He's already named, and gone
to Scone to be invested.

Where is Duncan's body? Carried to
Colmekill. Will you to Scone?

No, Cousin, I'll home to Fife.

Well... I will thither.

Well, may you see things
well done there.

Adieu. Lest our old robes
sit easier than our new!

Thou hast it now.

King, Cawdor, Glamis, all,
as the weird women promised,

and I fear thou play'dst
most foully for it.

Yet it was said it should
not stand in thy posterity,

but that myself should be
the root and father of many kings.

If there come truth from them,

as upon thee, Macbeth,
their speeches shine.

Why, by the verities
on thee made good,

may they not be my oracles as well
and set me up in hope?

But hush!

No more!

Here's our chief guest.

If he had been forgotten, it
had been as a gap in our great
feast, and all-thing unbecoming.

Tonight we hold a solemn supper,
sir, and I'll request your presence.

Let your highness command upon me.

Ride you, this afternoon?

Ay, my good lord.

We should have else desired your
good advice at this day's council...

..but we'll take tomorrow.
Is't far you ride?

As far, my lord, as will fill up
the time 'twixt this and supper.

Go not my horse the better,
I must become a borrower of the
night for a dark hour or twain.

Fail not our feast.

My lord, I will not.

We hear our bloody cousins are
bestowed in England and in Ireland,

not confessing
their cruel parricide,

filling their hearers
with strange invention.

But of that... tomorrow.

Hie you to horse. Adieu...

..till you return at night.

Goes Fleance with you?
Ay, my good lord.

Our time does call upon us.

I wish your horses
swift and sure of foot, and so
I do commend you to their backs.

Farewell.

Let every man be master of
his time till seven at night.

To make society the sweeter welcome,

we will keep ourself
till suppertime... alone.

While then, God be with you!

Attend those men our pleasure?

They are, my lord,
without the palace gate.

Bring them before us.

To be thus is nothing.

But to be... safely thus...

Our fears in Banquo stick deep.

And in his royalty of nature
reigns that which would be feared.

'Tis much he dares.

And to that dauntless
temper of his mind,

he hath a wisdom that doth guide his
valour to act with safety.

There is none but he whose
being I do fear.

And under him,

my genius is rebuked.

That he chid the sisters when first
they put the name of king on me,

and bade them speak to him.

Then, prophet-like, they hailed
him father to a line of kings.

Upon my head
they put a fruitless crown.

No... son of mine succeeding.

If it be so,

for Banquo's issue have I...

filed my mind.

For them, the gracious Duncan
have I murdered,

put rancours in
the vessel of my peace only for
them,

and given mine eternal jewel
to the common enemy of man

to make them kings,
the seed of Banquo kings!

Rather than so...

..come fate into the list

and champion me to the utterance!

Now go to the door
and stay there till I call.

Was it not yesterday
that we spoke together?

It was, so please your highness.

Well then...

..now... have you considered
of my speeches?

Know that it was he
in the times past

that held you so under fortune,

which you thought had been
our innocent self.

This I made plain to you
in our last conference,

passed in probation with you,

how you were borne in hand,
how crossed the instruments,

who wrought with them,
and all things else

which might, to half a soul

or to a notion crazed,
say, "Thus did... Banquo."

You made it known to us.

I did so, and went further, which
is now our point of second meeting.

Do you find your patience

so predominant in your nature
that you can let this go?

Are you so gospelled
as to pray for this good man

and for his issue,

whose heavy hand has weighed you
to the grave
and beggared yours forever?

We are men, my liege.

Ay, in the catalogue
ye go for men,

as hounds and greyhounds...

..mongrels, spaniels, curs,
shoughs,

water-rugs,

demi-wolves are called all
by the name of dogs.

The valued file
distinguishes the swift, the slow...

..the subtle,

the housekeeper...

..the hunter.

So with men.

Now, if you have a station
in the file,

not in the worst rank
of manhood, say it.

And I will put that business in
your bosoms, whose execution
takes your enemy off,

grapples you to the heart and
love of us, who wear our health
but sickly in his life,

which in his death...

..were perfect.

I am one, my liege, whom the vile
blows and buffets of the world

have so incensed that I am reckless
what I do to spite the world.

And I another,

so weary with disasters,
tugged with fortune,

that I would set my life on
any chance to mend it or be rid on.

Both of you know that
Banquo was your enemy.

True, my lord.

So is he mine.

And though I could,
with barefaced power,

sweep him from my sight

and bid my will avouch it,
yet I must not.

For certain friends
that are both his and mine,

whose loves I must not drop,

but wail his fall...

..who I myself struck down,

and thus it is, that I to your
assistance do make love,

masking the business
from the common eye

for sundry, weighty reasons.

We shall, my lord, perform what you
command us. Though our lives...

Your spirits shine through you!

Within the hour at most,
I will advise you where
to place yourselves.

The moment on't,
for't must be done tonight.

And something from the palace.

Always think...

that I require...

a clearness.

And with him, to leave no
rubs or botches in the work,

Fleance, his son
that keeps him company,

whose absence is no less material
to us than his father's,

must embrace the fate
of that dark hour.

So, resolve yourselves apart.

I'll come to you anon.

We are resolved. We are...
I'll be with you straight!

Banquo, thy soul's flight,

if it find heaven,

must find it out tonight.

Is Banquo gone from court?

Ay, madam,

but returns again tonight.

Say to the king, I would
attend his leisure, for a few words.

Madam, I will.

Nought's had...

..all's spent...

..where our desire is got
without content.

'Tis safer to be that
which we destroy

than by destruction dwell
in doubtful joy.

How now, my lord!

Why do you keep alone...

..of sorriest fancies
your companions making,

using those thoughts
which should indeed have died
with them they think on?

Things without all remedy should be
without regard. What's done is done.

We have scotch'd the snake,
not kill'd it.

She'll close and be herself,

whilst our poor malice remains
in danger of her former tooth.

But let
the frame of things disjoint,

both the worlds suffer, ere we will
eat our meal in fear

and sleep in the affliction of these
terrible dreams

that shake us nightly.

Better be with the dead, whom we, to
gain our peace, have sent to peace,

than on the torture of
the mind to lie in restless ecstasy.

Duncan is in his grave.

After life's fitful fever, he sleeps
well. Treason has done his worst.

Nor steel, nor poison,

malice domestic,

foreign levy,
nothing can stir him further.

Come on!

Gentle, my lord,

sleek o'er your rugged looks.
Be bright and jovial among
your guests tonight.

So shall I, love.

And so...

# I pray

# Be you. #

Let your remembrance
apply to Banquo.

Present him eminence,
both with eye and tongue.

Unsafe the while,
that we must bathe our honours
in these flattering streams,

and make our faces vizards to our
hearts, disguising what they are.

You must leave this!

O, full of scorpions is my mind,

dear wife!

Thou know'st that Banquo,
and his Fleance, lives.

But in them
nature's copy's not eterne.

There's comfort yet.
They are assailable.

Then be thou jocund.

Ere the bat hath flown
his cloister'd flight,

ere to black Hecate's summons
the shard-borne beetle

with his drowsy hums
hath rung night's yawning peal,

there will be done a deed
of dreadful note.

What's to be done? Be innocent
of the knowledge, dearest chuck,

till thou applaud the deed.

Come, seeling night, scarf up
the tender eye of pitiful day,

and with
thy bloody and invisible hand

cancel and tear to pieces that
great bond which keeps me pale!

Light thickens,

and the crow makes wing
to the rooky wood.

Good things of day
begin to droop and drowse,

while night's black agents
to their prey do rouse!

Thou marvell'st at my words,
but hold thee still.

Things bad begun

make strong themselves by ill.

So, prithee, go with me.

But who did bid thee join with us?

Macbeth.
He needs not our mistrust.

Then... stand with us.

The west yet glimmers with
some streaks of day, and near...

approaches the subject of our watch.

'Tis he.

Give us a light there.

A light, a light!

It will be rain tonight.

Let it come down.

O, treachery!

Fly, good Fleance, fly, fly, fly!

Thou mayst revenge.

Who did strike out the light?
Wast not the way? There's but
one down. The son is fled.

We've lost best half
of our affair.

Well, let's away,
and say how much is done.

You know your own degrees.

Ah!

Sit down.

At first and last,
the hearty welcome.

Thanks to your majesty.

Ourself will mingle with society,
and play the humble host.

Our hostess keeps her state,
but in best time we will
require her welcome.

Pronounce it for me, sir,
to all our friends,
for my heart speaks they are welcome.

See, they encounter thee
with their hearts' thanks.

Both sides are even.
Here, I'll sit in the midst.

Be large in mirth.

There's blood on thy face.

'Tis Banquo's, then.

'Tis better thee without
than he within.

Is he dispatched?

My lord, his throat is cut.
That I did for him.

Thou art
the best of the cut-throats.

But he were good
that did the like for Fleance.

Most royal sir...

Fleance is 'scaped.

Then comes my fit again.

I had else been perfect,

whole as the marble,
founded as the rock,

as broad and general
as the casing air.

But now I'm cabin'd,

cribb'd, confined,
bound in to saucy doubts and fears.

But Banquo's safe?

Ay, my good lord.

Safe in a ditch he bides, with
20 trenched gashes on his head.

Thanks for that.

There the grown serpent lies,
the worm that's fled has nature

that in time will venom breed,
no teeth for the present.
Get thee gone.

We'll hear ourselves again tomorrow.

My royal lord,

you do not give the cheer.

Sweet remembrancer!

Now, good digestion wait on
appetite, and health on both!
May it please your highness, sit.

Here had we now our country's
honour roof'd, were the graced
person of our Banquo present.

His absence, sir,
lays blame upon his promise.

Would it please your highness to
grace us with your royal company?

The table's full.

Here's a place reserved, sir.

Where? My good lord, here.

Which of you have done this?
Thou canst not say I did it.

Never shake thy gory locks at me!

Gentlemen, rise. His highness is
not well. Sit, worthy friends.

My lord is often thus,
and hath been from his youth.

Pray you, keep
seat. The fit is momentary. Upon a
thought he will again be well.

If much you note him, you will
offend him and extend his passion.
Feed, and regard him not.

Are you a man?
Aye, and a bold one, that dare look
on that that might appal the devil.

O proper stuff! This is the
very painting of your fear.

This is the air-drawn dagger
which, you said, led you to Duncan.

O, these flaws and starts, impostors
to true fear, would well become a
woman's story

at a winter's fire.
Authorised by her grandam.

Shame itself!
Why do you make such faces?

When all's done, you look but on the
air.

Prithee, see there!

Behold! Look! Lo!

How say you? Why, what care I?
If thou canst nod, speak too.

If charnel-houses and our graves
must send those we bury back,

why then our monuments will be the
maws of kites?

Are you quite unmann'd in folly?

If I stand here, I saw him.

Fie, for shame! Blood hath been shed
in the olden times,

aye, and since too,

murders have been
perform'd too terrible for the ear.

The times have been,
that, when the brains were out,
the man would die, and there an end.

But now they rise again, with
20 mortal murders on their crowns.

And push us from our stools.

This is more strange
than such a murder is.

My royal lord,
your noble friends do lack you.

I do forget.

Do not muse at me,
my most worthy friends,

I have a strange infirmity,
which is nothing

to those that know me!

Now, love and health to all. Then
I'll sit down. Give me some wine.

Fill full.

I drink

to the general joy
of the whole table,

and to our dear friend

Banquo, whom we miss,

would he were here!

To all, and him, we thirst.

# And all to all.

# Our duties, and our pledge.

Avaunt! And quit my sight!

Let the earth hide thee!

Thy bones are marrowless,
thy blood is cold.

Thou hast no speculation in those
eyes which thou dost glare with!

Think of this, good peers, but as
a thing of custom. It is no other.

Only it spoils the pleasure of
the time.

What man dare, I dare.

Approach thou like the rugged
Russian bear, the arm'd rhinoceros.

The Hyrcan tiger.

Take any shape but that, and my
firm nerves will never tremble

Or be alive again.

And dare me to the desert
with thy sword.

If trembling I inhabit
then, protest me the baby of a girl.

Hence, horrible shadow!

Unreal mockery, hence!

Being gone, I'm a man again.

Pray you, sit still.

You have displaced the mirth,

broke the good meeting,
with most admired disorder.

Can such things be,

and overcome us like a
summer's cloud,

without our special wonder?

You make me strange

even to the disposition that I owe,
when I do think YOU can
behold such sights,

and keep the natural ruby of your
cheeks, while mine is blanched
with fear.

What sights, my lord?

I pray you, speak not. He grows worse
and worse. Question enrages him.

At once, good night.

Stand not upon the order of your
going, but go at once.

Good night. And better health
attend his majesty!

Yes.

It will have blood.

They say, blood will have blood.

Stones have been known to move

and trees to speak.

Augurs and understood relations have
by magot-pies and choughs

and rooks

brought forth the
secretest man of blood.

What's the night?

Almost at odds with morning,

which is which?

How say you,

Macduff denies his person at our
great bidding?

Did you send to him, sir?

I hear it by the way
but I will send.

There's not a one of them but in
his house I keep a servant fee'd.

I will tomorrow,

and betimes I will,
to the weird sisters.

More shall they speak. For now I am
bent to know, by the worst means,
the worst.

For mine own good,
all causes shall give way.

I am in blood stepp'd in so far
that,

should I wade no more,

returning were as
tedious as go o'er.

Strange things I have in
head, that will to hand.

Which must be
acted ere they may be scann'd.

You lack the season of
all natures.

SLEEP!

Come, we'll to sleep.

My strange and self-abuse is
the initiate fear

that wants hard use.

We are yet but young in deed.

My former speeches have but
hit your thoughts, which
can interpret further.

Only, I say, things have
been strangely borne.

Who cannot want the thought
how monstrous it was for Malcolm and
for Donalbain

to kill their gracious father?
Damned fact!

How it did grieve Macbeth!

Did he not straight
in pious rage the two delinquents

tear, that were the slaves
of drink and thralls of sleep?

Was not that nobly done?

Ay, and wisely too.
For 'twould have anger'd any heart
alive to hear the men deny't.

And so I say, he has
borne all things well.

And I do think, had he Duncan's
sons under his key. As, an't
please heaven, he shall not...

They should find what 'twere to
kill a father, so should Fleance.

For from broad words
and cos he fail'd his

presence at the tyrant's feast,
I hear Macduff lives in disgrace.

Sir, can you tell
where he bestows himself?

The son of Duncan,

from whom this tyrant holds the due
of birth...

Lives in the English court.

Thither Macduff is gone!

Round about the cauldron go.

In the poison'd entrails throw.

Toad, that under cold stone.

Days and nights has 31.

Swelter'd venom sleeping got.

Boil thou first i' the charmed pot!

Double, double, toil and trouble.

Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.

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.

Double, double. Toil and trouble.

Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.

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.

Sliver'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.

Double, double, double, double,
double, toil and trouble.

Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.

Cool it with a baboon's blood.

Then the charm is firm and good.

By the pricking of my thumbs.

Something wicked this way comes.

Open locks. Whoever knocks!

How now,

you secret, black,
and midnight hags!

What is't you do?

A deed without a name.

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 palaces and pyramids stoop
their heads to their foundations,
answer me to what I ask.

Speak.

Demand. We'll answer.

Say, if thou'dst rather hear it
from our mouths, or from our MASTERS?

Call 'em,

let me see 'em.

Pour in sow's blood, that hath eaten
her nine farrow.

Grease that's sweaten from
the murderer's gibbet,
throw into the brain.

Come, high or low.

Thyself and office deftly show!

Tell me, thou unknown power...

He knows thy thought.

Hear his speech, but say thou nought.

Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth!

Beware Macduff. Beware the thane
of Fife. Dismiss me. Enough!

Whate'er thou art, for this good
counsel, thanks. Thou hast harp'd
my fear aright but one word more...

He will not be commanded.

Here's another,
more potent than the first.

Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth!

Had I three ears, I'd hear thee.

Be bloody, bold, and resolute,
laugh to scorn the power of man,

for none of woman born shall
harm Macbeth!

Then live, Macduff.

What need I fear of thee?

And yet to make assurance double
sure, I'll take a bond of fate.

Thou shalt not live.

What's this?

Listen, but speak not to't.

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.

That can 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.

And yet my heart throbs to know one
thing more.

Shall Banquo's issue
ever reign in this kingdom?

Seek to know no more.

I will be satisfied.

Deny me, and an eternal curse
light on you! Let me know!

Show! Show!

Show!

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

Thou art too like
the spirit of Banquo. Down!

Thy crown does sear my eyeballs.

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 an eighth appears,

who bears a glass
which shows me many more.

And now I see 'tis true.

For the blood-bolter'd Banquo smiles
upon me. And points at them for his.

What, is this so?

- Ay, sir, all this is so.

Where are they?

Gone?

Come in, without there!
What's your grace's will?

Saw you the weird sisters?

No, my lord. Came they not by you?

No, indeed, my lord.

Infected be the air
whereon they ride.

I did hear the galloping of horse.

Who was't came by? Tis two or
three, my lord, that bring you
word Macduff is fled to England.

Fled to England!

Ay, my good lord.

Time, thou anticipatest
my dread exploits.

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 blade 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!

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

You must have patience, madam.

He had none.

His flight was madness.

When our actions do not,
our fears do make us traitors.

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

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.

My dearest coz, I
pray you, school yourself.

But for your husband, he is wise,

noble, judicious.

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.

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 where they were before.

My pretty cousins,
my blessings on you.

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

I am so much a fool,

should I stay longer, it would be
my disgrace and your discomfort.

I take my leave at once.

Sirrah, your father's dead.

And what will you do now?

How will you live?
As birds do, mother.

What, with worms and flies?

With what I get, I mean.

My father is not dead,
for all your saying.

Yes, he is dead,

how wilt thou do for a father?

Nay, what will you do for a husband?

Why, I can buy me 20 at any market.

Then you'll buy 'em to sell again.

Thou speak'st with all thy wit.

And yet, i' faith,
with wit enough for thee.

Was my father a traitor, mother?

Ay, that he was. What is a traitor?

Why, one that swears and lies.

And may all be traitors that do so?

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

And must they all be
hanged who swear and lie?

Every one.

Who must hang them?

Why, the honest men.

Now, God help thee, poor monkey!

But how wilt thou do for a father?

If he were dead, you'd weep for him.

Poor prattler, how thou talk'st!

Bless you, fair dame!
I am not to you known.

I do fear 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 thee!

I dare abide no longer.

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?

What are these faces?

Let us seek out some desolate shade,

and there weep our sad bosoms empty.

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...

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.

I am not treacherous.
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.

I have lost my hopes.

Perchance even there where I did
find my doubts. Why in this
rawness left you wife and child,

those precious motives, those strong
knots of love, without leave-taking?

Bleed, bleed, poor country!

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.

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,

then my poor country shall
have more vices than it had before,

more suffer and more sundry ways
than ever, by him that shall succeed.

What should he be?

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 shall seem as pure as snow.

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

I grant him bloody,

luxurious,

avaricious, false, deceitful, sudden,
malicious, smacking of
every sin that has a name.

But there's no bottom,
none, to my voluptuousness.

Your wives,

your daughters, your matrons
and your maids,

could not
fill up the cistern of my lust.

Better Macbeth than
such a one to reign.

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.

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.

This avarice sticks deeper.

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.

But I have none:
the king-becoming graces,

as justice, verity,
temperance, stableness,

bounty, perseverance, mercy...

..mercy...

..lowliness...

..devotion...

patience...

..courage...

..fortitude...

I have no relish of them.

Nay, had I power, I should

pour the sweet milk of
concord into hell,

uproar the universal peace,
confound all unity on earth.

O Scotland, Scotland!

If such a one be fit to govern,
speak.

I am as I have spoken.

Fit to govern!

No, not to live. O nation miserable,

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.

Fare thee well!

O my breast,

thy hope ends here!

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 me and thee!
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?

Such welcome and
unwelcome things at once

'tis hard to reconcile.

See, who comes here?

My countryman, but
yet I know him not.

My ever-gentle cousin,
welcome hither.

I know him now.

Good God, betimes remove

the means that makes us strangers!

Sir, amen.

Stands Scotland where it did?

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.

O, relation
Too nice, and yet too true!

What's the newest grief?

That of an hour's age
doth hiss the speaker.

Each minute teems a new one.
How does my wife?

Why... well.

And all my children? Well, too.

The tyrant has not
batter'd at their peace?

No, they were well at peace
when I did leave them.

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

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...
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.

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.

What concern they?
The general cause?

Or is it a fee-grief
due to some single breast?

No mind that's honest
but in it shares some woe,

though the main part
pertains to you alone.

If it be mine,
keep it not from me,

quickly let me have it.

Let not your ears
despise my tongue for ever,

which shall possess them
with the heaviest sound

That ever yet they heard. Hum!

I guess at it.

Your castle is surprised,
your wife and babes

savagely slaughter'd.
To relate the manner

were to add the death of you.

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.

My children too?

Wife, children, servants, all

That could be found.
And I must be from thence!

My wife kill'd too?

I have said. Be comforted.

Let's make us medicines
of our great revenge,

To cure this deadly grief.

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?

Dispute it like a man. 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!

Be this the whetstone
of your sword. Let grief

Convert to anger.
Blunt not the heart, enrage it.

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 blade's length set him.

If he 'scape,

heaven forgive him too!

This tune goes manly.

Come, 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.

I have two nights watched with you,

but can perceive no truth
in your report.

When was it she last walked?

Since his majesty
went into the field,

I have seen her rise frae her bed,

throw her night-gown upon her,
unlock her closet, take forth paper,

fold it, write upon't, read it,

afterwards seal it,
and again return to bed,

yet all this while
in a most fast sleep.

A great perturbation in nature,
to receive at once the benefit

of sleep,
and do the effects of watching!

In this slumbery agitation,
besides her walking and other actual

performances, what, at any time,
have you heard her say?

That, Doctor, which I will not
report after her. But you may to me,

and 'tis most meet you should.

Neither to you nor any one, having
no witness to confirm my speech.

Lo, Doctor, here she comes!

Observe her, stand close.

How came she by that light?

Why, it stood by her.
She has light by her continually.

'Tis her command.
You see, her eyes are open.

Ay, but their sense is shut.

What is it she does now?
Look, how she rubs her hands.

It's an accustomed action wi' her,
to seem thus washing her hands.

I have known her continue
in this a quarter of an hour.

Yet here's a spot. Hark! She speaks.

I will set down
what comes from her,

to satisfy my remembrance
the more strongly.

Out, damned spot! Out, I say!

One. Two.
Why, then, 'tis time to do't.

Hell is murky!

Fie, my lord, fie!
A soldier, and afeard?

What need we fear who knows it, when
none can call our power to account?

Yet who would have thought
the old man

to have had so much blood in him.
Do you mark that?

The thane of Fife had a wife.

Where is she now?

What, will these hands
ne'er be clean?

No more o' that,
my lord, no more o' that.

You mar all with this starting.

Go to, go to.
You have known what you should not.

She has spoke what she
should not, I am sure of that.

Heaven knows what she has known.

Here's the smell of the blood still.

All the perfumes of Arabia will
not sweeten this little hand.

Oh!

Oh!

Oh, what a sigh is there!

The heart is sorely charged.

I would not have such
a heart in my bosom

for the dignity
of the whole body.

Well, well, well...

Pray God it be, sir.

This disease is beyond my practise,

yet I have known those which have
walked in their sleep

who have died
holily in their beds.

Wash your hands, put on your
nightgown. Look not so pale....

I tell you yet again,
Banquo's buried,

he cannot come out on's grave.

Even so?

To bed, to bed!
There's knocking at the gate.

Come, come.

Come.

Come...

..give me your hand.

No!

No!

What's done cannot be undone....

To bed.

To bed.

To bed.

To bed.

To bed. To bed.

- To bed!

Will she go now to bed? Directly.

Foul whisperings are abroad.

Unnatural deeds

do breed unnatural troubles.
Infected minds

to their deaf pillows
will discharge their secrets.

God, God forgive us all!

Look after her. Remove from her
the means of all annoyance,

And still keep eyes upon her.
So, good night.

My mind she has mated,
and amazed my sight.

I think, but dare not speak.

Good night, good doctor.

The English power is near,

let on by Malcolm,

his uncle Siward
and the good Macduff.

Revenges burn in them,
for their dear causes

would to the bleeding
and the grim alarm

excite the mortified man.

Near Birnam wood
shall we well meet them.

That way are they headed.

Know you if Donalbain
be with his brother?

For certain, sir, he is not.

I have a file

of all the gentry.

There is Siward's son,

and many unrough youths
that even now

protest their first of manhood.

What does the tyrant? Great
Dunsinane he strongly fortifies.

Some say he's mad.

Others that do lesser hate him

do call it valiant fury,
but, for certain,

he can no longer
buckle his distemper'd cause

within the belt of rule.

Now does he feel

his secret murders
sticking to his hands.

Now minutely
revolts upbraid his faith-breach.

Those he commands
move only in command,

nothing in love.
Now does he feel his title

hang loose upon him,
like a giant's robe

upon a dwarfish thief.

Who then shall blame

his pester'd senses
to recoil and start,

when all that is within him
does condemn

itself for being there?

Well... march we on,

to give obedience
where 'tis truly owed.

Bring me no more reports!

Let them fly all.

Till Birnam wood remove to
Dunsinane, I cannot taint with fear.

What's the boy Malcolm?

Was he not born of woman?
The spirits that know

all mortal consequences
pronounce me thus -

"Fear not, Macbeth.
No man that's born of woman

"shall e'er have power upon thee."
Then fly, false thanes,

and mingle with
the English epicures.

The mind I sway by
and the heart I bear

shall never sag with doubt
nor shake with fear.

The devil damn thee black,
thou cream-faced loon!

Where got'st thou that goose look?

There is ten thousand...

Geese, villain! No. Soldiers, sir.

Go prick thy face,
and over-red thy fear,

thou lily-liver'd boy.
What soldiers, patch?

Death of thy soul!

These linen cheeks of thine
are counsellors to fear.

What soldiers, whey-face?

The English force, so please you.

Go take thy face hence.

Seyton!

I am sick at heart,

When I behold...

Seyton, I say!

This push shall cheer me ever...

..or...

..disseat me now.

I have lived 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.

Seyton!

What is your gracious pleasure?
What news more?

All is confirm'd, my lord,
which was reported.

I'll fight till from my bones my
flesh be hack'd. Bring me my armour.

'Tis not needed yet.

I'll put it on!

Send out more horses,
skirr the country round.

Hang those that talk of fear.

Bring me my armour!

How fares your patient, Doctor?

Not so sick, my lord,

as she is troubled
with thick coming fancies

That keep her from her rest.

Cure her of that.

Canst thou not...

..minister to a mind diseased,

pluck from the memory
a rooted sorrow,

raze out the written troubles
of the brain,

and with some
sweet oblivious antidote,

cleanse the stuff'd bosom
of that perilous...

..stuff

which weighs upon the heart?

Therein the patient
must minister to himself.

Throw physic to the dogs!
I'll none of it.

Come, give me my armour.

Doctor, the thanes fly from me.

You, sir, dispatch!

If thou couldst, Doctor,
cast the water of my land,

find her disease,
and purge it to a sound

and pristine health.

I would applaud thee
to the very echo,

that would applaud again.

Pull it off, I say.

What rhubarb, cyme,
or what purgative drug,

would scour these English hence?
Hear'st thou of them?

Ay, my good lord.
Your royal preparation

makes us hear something.

I will not be afraid
of death or bane,

till Birnam forest
come to Dunsinane.

What wood is this before us?
The wood of Birnam.

Let every soldier
hew him down a bough

and bear't before him,
thereby shall we shadow

the numbers of our host
and make discovery

err in report of us.

It shall be done.

We learn no other
but the confident tyrant

keeps still in Dunsinane.

'Tis his main hope.

Advance the wall!

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 forced
with those that should be ours,

we might have dareful met them,
beard to beard,

And beat them backward home.

What is that noise?

It is the cry of women, my good lord.

I have almost forgot
the taste of fear.

The time has been,
my senses would have cool'd

to hear a night-shriek.

I have supp'd full with horrors.

Direness, familiar
to my slaughterous thoughts

cannot once start me.

Wherefore was that cry?

The queen, my lord,

is dead.

She should have died hereafter.

There would have been
a time for such a word.

Tomorrow...

..and tomorrow, and tomorrow,

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.

Thou comest to use thy tongue.

Thy story quickly.

Gracious my lord,

I should report that which
I say I saw,

but know not how to do it.

Well, say, sir.

As I did stand my
watch upon the hill,

I looked toward Birnam,
and anon, me thought,

the wood began...

Began to move?

Liar and slave!

Let me endure your wrath,
if it be not so.

Within this three mile
may you see it coming,

I say, a moving grove.

If thou speak'st false,

upon the next tree
shalt thou hang alive,

till famine cling thee.

If thou say'st sooth,

I care not
if thou dost as much for me.

I pull in resolution, and begin

to doubt the equivocation
of the fiend

who lies like truth!

"Fear not, till Birnam wood

"do come to Dunsinane,"
and now a wood

comes toward Dunsinane.

Arm.

Arm, and out!

If that which he avouches
doth 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.

Now near enough.
Your leafy 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's what
else remains to do

according to our order.

Fare you well. Do we but find
the tyrant's power tonight,

let us be beaten,
if we cannot fight.

Make all our trumpets speak,
give them all breath,

those clamorous harbingers
of blood and death!

- Blood and death!

Enter, sir, the castle!

They have tied me to a stake.
I cannot fly

but, bear-like, must I
fight the course. What's he

that was not born of woman?!
Such a one

I am to fear...

..or none.

What's thy name?

Thou'lt be afraid to hear it.

No, though thou call'st thyself
a hotter name

Than any is in hell.

My name's Macbeth.

The devil himself
could not pronounce a title

more hateful to mine ear.

No, nor more fearful.

Thou liest, abhorred tyrant.
With my blade,

I'll prove the lie thou speak'st.

Thou was born of woman.

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 kerns, whose arms

are hired to bear their staves.

Either thou, Macbeth,

Or else my blade
with an unbatter'd edge

I sheathe again undeeded.

There thou shouldst be!

By this great clatter,
one of greatest note

seems bruited.
Let me find him, fortune!

And more I beg not!

What is he that was
not born of woman?

Was he that was not born of woman...

Swords I smile at,
weapons laugh to scorn,

brandish'd by man that's
of a woman born.

Turn, hell-hound.

Turn!

Of all men else I have avoided thee.

But get thee back.

My soul is charged

with too much blood
of thine already.

I have no words.

My voice is in my blade.

Thou bloodier villain
than terms can give thee out!

Thou losest labour.

As easy mayst thou
the intrenchant air

with thy keen blade impress
as make me bleed.

I bear a charmed life,
which must not yield,

to one of woman born.

Despair thy charm

and let the angel
whom thou still hast served

tell thee, Macduff was
from his mother's womb

untimely ripped.

Accursed be the tongue
that tells me so,

and be these...

juggling fiends no more believed,

that palter with us
in a double sense,

that keep the word of
promise to our ear,

and break it to our hope.

I'll not fight with thee.

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 on a pole, and underwrit,
"Here may you see the tyrant."

I will 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 opposed,
being of no woman born,

Yet I will try the last.

Before my body
I throw my war-like shield.

Lay on, Macduff,

and damned be he that
first cries, "Hold...

"..enough."

I would the friends we miss
were safe arrived.

Some must go off,
and yet, by these I see

so great a day as this
is cheaply bought.

Macduff is missing.

Hail, King!

For so thou art.

Behold, where stands

the usurper's cursed head.

The time is free.

Hail, King of Scotland!

- Hail, King of Scotland!

We shall not spend
a large expense of time

before we reckon
with your several loves,

and make us even with you.
My thanes and kinsmen,

henceforth be earls,
the first that ever Scotland

in such an honour named.

What's more to do,

which would be planted
newly with the time,

as calling home our
exiled 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!