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To grace us with your royal company?

Macb. The table's full.

Macb. Where?


Here's a place reserv'd, sir.

Here my lord. What is't that moves your highness? Macb. Which of you have done this? Lords.

What, my good lord? Macb. Thou canst not say, I did it: never shake Thy gory locks at me.

Rosse. Gentlemen, rise; his highness is not well. Lady M. 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 shall offend him, and extend his passion;
Feed, and regard him not. — Are you a man?
Macb. Ay, and a bold one,
that dare look on that
Which might appal the devil.
Lady M.

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,
Authoriz'd by her grandam. Shame itself!
Why do you make such faces? When all's done,
You look but on a stool.

Macb. Pr'ythee, 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 that we bury, back, our monuments
Shall be the maws of kites. [Ghost disappears.
Lady M.
What! quite unmann'd in folly?
Macb. If I stand here, I saw him.
Lady M.

Fye, for shame! Macb. Blood hath been shed ere now, i'the olden time,

Ere human statute purg'd the gentle weal;
Ay, 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 twenty mortal murders on their crowns,
And push us from our stools: This is more strange
Than such a murder is.

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Ghost rises.

And to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss:
Would he were here! to all, and him, we thirst,
And all to all. 6
Our duties, and the pledge.

Macb. 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!

Lady M.
Think of this, good peers,
But as a thing of custom: 'tis no other;
Only it spoils the pleasure of the time.
Macb. What man dare, I dare:
Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear,
The arm'd rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger,
Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves
Shall never tremble: Or, be alive again,
And dare me to the desert with thy sword;
If trembling I inhibit 7 thee, protest me
The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow!
[Ghost disappears.
being gone,

Unreal mockery, hence!— Why so;
I am a man again. — Pray you, sit still.
Lady M. You have displac'd the mirth, broke the
good meeting,

With most admired disorder.

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At our great bidding?
Lady M.
Did you send to him, sir?
Macb. 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 to-morrow,
(Betimes I will,) unto 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
Stept 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.

5 Wonder.

6 i, e. All good wishes to all. 9 Possess.


7 Forbid. Pass over. 2 Examined nicely.

Lady M. You lack the season of all natures, sleep. | Which can interpret further: only, I say,
Things have been strangely borne: The gracious

Mach. Come, we'll to sleep: My strange and


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1 Witch. Why, how now, Hecate? you look angerly.

Hec. Have I not reason, beldams, as you are, Saucy, and overbold? How did you dare

To trade and traffick with Macbeth,

In riddles and affairs of death;

And I, the mistress of your charms,
The close contriver of all harms,
Was never call'd to bear my part,
Or show the glory of our art?
And, which is worse, all you have done
Hath been but for a wayward son,

Spiteful, and wrathful; who, as others do,
Loves for his own ends, not for you.
But make amends now: Get you gone,
And at the pit of Acheron,

Meet me i'the morning; thither he
Will come to know his destiny.

Your vessels, and your spells, provide,
Your charms, and every thing beside:
I am for the air: this night I'll spend
Unto a dismal-fatal end.

Great business must be wrought ere noon;
Upon the corner of the moon

There hangs a vaporous drop profound 3;
I'll catch it ere it come to ground:
And that distill'd by magick slights,
Shall raise such artificial sprights,
As by the strength of their illusion,
Shall draw him on to his confusion :
He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear
His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace, and fear :
And you all know, security

Is mortal's chiefest enemy.

SONG. [Within.] Come away, come away, &c. Hark, I am call'd: my little spirit see, Sits in a foggy cloud, and stays for me.


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Was pitied of Macbeth :— marry, he was dead: —
And the right-valiant Banquo walk'd too late;
Whom, you may say, if it please you, Fleance kill'd,
For Fleance fled. Men must not walk too late.
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 it.
So that, I say,

He has borne all things well: and I do think,
That, 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.
But, peace! for from broad words, and 'cause he


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; and is receiv'd
Of the most pious Edward with such grace,
That the malevolence of fortune nothing
Takes from his high respect: Thither Macduff
Is gone to pray the holy king, on his aid

To wake Northumberland, and warlike Siward:
That, by the help of these, (with Him above
To ratify the work,) we may again

Give to our tables meat, sleep to our nights;
Free from our feasts and banquets bloody knives;
Do faithful homage, and receive free honours 4,
All which we pine for now: And this report
Hath so exasperate the king, that he
Prepares for some attempt of war

Sent he to Macduff?
Lord. He did: and with an absolute, Sir, not I,
The cloudy messenger turns me his back,
And hums; as who should say, You'll rue the time
That clogs me with this answer.

Len. And that well might Advise him to a caution, to hold what distance His wisdom can provide. Some holy angel Fly to the court of England, and unfold His message ere he come : That a swift blessing May soon return to this our suffering country Under a hand accurs'd! Lord.

My prayers with him! [Exeunt.

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2 Witch. 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.

Ail. Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire, burn; and, cauldron, bubble.

3 Witch. Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf; Witches' mummy; maw, and gulf”, Of the ravin'd 6 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.

All. Double, double toil and trouble;

Fire, burn; and, cauldron, bubble.

2 Witch. Cool it with a baboon's blood, Then the charm is firm and good.

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Macb. How now, you secret, black, and midnight hags? you do?

What is't

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A deed without a name.
Macb. 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 bladed corn be lodg'd7, and trees blown

Though castles topple 8 on their warders' heads;
Though palaces, and pyramids, do slope
Their heads to their foundations; though the treasure
Of nature's germins 9 tumble all together,
Even till destruction sicken, answer me
To what I ask you.

1 Witch.

2 Witch.

3 Witch.



We'll answer.

1 Witch. Say, if thou'dst rather hear it from our


Or from our masters'?

5 The throat.

7 Laid flat by wind or rain.

9 Seeds which have begun to sprout.

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6 Ravenous.

1 Adroitly

8 Tumble.

2 Touched on a passion as a harper touches a string


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Thy crown does sear mine eye-balls:

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? eyes! What! will the line stretch out to the crack of doom? Another yet? A seventh? I'll see no more : — And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass, Which shows me many more; and some I see, That two-fold balls and treble scepters carry : Horrible sight! Ay, now, I see, 'tis true; For the blood-bolter'd 3 Banquo smiles upon me, And points at them for his. - What, is this so?

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1 Witch. Ay, sir, all this is so : But why Stands Macbeth thus amazedly?

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Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprights,
And show the best of our delights;
I'll charm the air to give a sound,
While you perform your antique round:
That this great king may kindly say,
Our duties did his welcome pay.

[Musick. The Witches dance, and vanish. Macb. Where are they? gone? Let this pernicious hour

Stand aye accursed in the calendar!
Come in, without there!

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He had none :

L. Macd. His flight was madness: When our actions do not, Our fears do make us traitors. Rosse. You know not,

Whether it was his wisdom or his fear,

L. Macd. 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: for 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,

Rosse. pray you, school yourself: But, for your husband, He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows The fits o'the season. 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 :

Each way, and move. —

Shall not be long but I'll be here again:


Things at the worst will cease, or else climb upward To what they were before. My pretty cousin, Blessing upon you!

L. Macd. Father'd he is, and yet he's fatherless. Rosse. I am so much a fool, should I stay longer, It would be my disgrace, and your discomfort: I take my leave at once.

L. Macd.

[Erit Rosse. Sirrah, your father's dead; And what will you do now? How will you live? Son. As birds do, mother.

L. Macd. What, with worms and flies? Son. With what I get, I mean; and so do they. L. Macd. Poor bird! thou'dst never fear the net, nor lime, The pit-fall, nor the gin.

Son. Why should I, mother? Poor birds they are not set for.

My father is not dead, for all your saying.

L. Macd. Yes, he is dead; how wilt thou do for

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Son. Then you'll buy 'em to sell again.

L. Macd. Thou speak'st with all thy wit; and yet i'faith,

With wit enough for thee.

Son. Was my father a traitor, mother?
L. Macd. Ay, that he was.

Son. What is a traitor?

L. Macd. Why, one that swears and lies.
Son. And be all traitors, that do so?

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

Son. And must they all be hanged, that swear and lie? L. Macd. Every one.

Son. Who must hang them?

L. Macd. Why, the honest men.

Son. Then the liars and swearers are fools: for there are liars and swearers enough to beat the honest men, and hang up them.

L. Macd. Now, God help thee, poor monkey! But how wilt thou do for a father?

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

would not, it were a good sign that I should quickly | Though all things foul would bear the brows of grace, have a new father.

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[Erit Messenger.
Whither should I fly?
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!


Enter Murderers.

Mur. Where is your husband?

Yet grace must still look so.
I have lost my hopes.
Mal. Perchance, even there, where I did find
my doubts.

Why in that rawness left you wife, and child,
(Those precious motives, those strong notes of love,)
Without leave-taking? I pray you,

Let not my jealousies be your dishonours,
But mine own safeties: - You may be rightly just,
Whatever I shall think.

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I speak not as in an absolute fear of you.

What are these I think our country sinks beneath the yoke;

L. Macd. I hope, in no place so unsanctified, Where such as thou mayst find him.

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, Mur. He's a traitor. When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head, Son. Thou ly'st, thou shag-ear'd villain. Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country Mur. What, you egg? [Stabbing him. Shall have more vices than it had before; More suffer, and more sundry ways than ever, By him that shall succeed. Macd.

Young fry of treachery?


He has killed me, mother; Run away, I pray you. [Dies. [Exit Lady MACDUFF, crying Murder, and pursued by the Murderers.

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Enter MALCOLM and MACDuff.

What should he be ?
Mal. It is myself I mean: in whom I know
All the particulars of vice so grafted,
That, when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth
Will seem as pure as snow; and the poor state
Esteem him as a lamb, being compar'd
With my confineless harms. — I grant him bloody,

Mal. Let us seek out some desolate shade, and Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful,


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Hold fast the mortal sword; and, like good men,
Bestride our downfall'n birthdom: Each new morn,
New widows howl; new orphans cry; new sorrows
Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds
As if it felt with Scotland, and yell'd out
Like syllable of dolour.

What I believe, I'll wail;
What know, believe; and, what I can redress,
As I shall find the time to friend, I will.
you have spoke, it may be so, perchance.
This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues,
Was once thought honest: you have lov'd him well;
He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young; but
You may deserve of him through me; and wisdom
To offer up a weak, poor, innocent lamb,
To appease an angry god.

Macd. I am not treacherous.

Sudden 9, malicious, smacking of every sin
That has a name: But there's no bottom, none,
In my voluptuousness; and my desire
All continent impediments would o'er-bear,
That did oppose my will: Better Macbeth
Than such a one to reign.


Boundless intemperance
In nature is a tyranny; it hath been
The untimely emptying of the happy throne,
But fear not yet
And fall of many kings.

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 hood-wink.
With this, there grows,
In my most ill-compos'd affection, such
A stanchless avarice, that, were I king,
I should cut off the nobles for their lands;
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,

But Macbeth is. Destroying them for wealth.

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This avarice
Grows with pernicious root; and it hath been
The sword of our slain kings: Yet do not fear;
Scotland hath foysons to fill up your will,
Of your mere own: All these are portable?,
With other graces weigh'd.

8 Legally settled by those who had the final adjudication.
9 Passionate.
i Plenty.
2 May be endured,

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