Macbeth

right-valiant Banquo walk’d too late;
Whom, you may say, if’t 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’t. 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 fail’d
His presence at the tyrant’s feast, I hear
Macduff lives in disgrace: sir, can you tell
Where he bestows himself? Lord

The son of Duncan,
From whom this tyrant holds the due of birth,
Lives in the English court, and is received
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, upon 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:
All which we pine for now: and this report
Hath so exasperate the king that he
Prepares for some attempt of war.

Lennox 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.”

Lennox

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 accursed!

Lord I’ll send my prayers with him. Exeunt.

Act IV

Scene I

A cavern. In the middle, a boiling cauldron.

	Thunder. Enter the three Witches.
First Witch	Thrice the brinded cat hath mew’d.
Second Witch	Thrice and once the hedge-pig whined.
Third Witch	Harpier cries ’Tis time, ’tis time.
First Witch	Round about the cauldron go; In the poison’d entrails throw. Toad, that under cold stone Days and nights has thirty-one Swelter’d venom sleeping got, Boil thou first i’ the charmed pot.
All	Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.
Second 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 howlet’s wing, For a charm of powerful trouble, Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
All	Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
Third Witch	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.
All	Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
Second Witch	Cool it with a baboon’s blood, Then the charm is firm and good.
	Enter Hecate to the other three Witches.
Hecate	O well done! I commend your pains; And every one shall share i’ the gains: And now about the cauldron sing, Live elves and fairies in a ring, Enchanting all that you put in. Music and a song: “Black spirits,” etc. Hecate retires.
Second Witch	By the pricking of my thumbs, Something wicked this way comes. Open, locks, Whoever knocks!
	Enter Macbeth.
Macbeth	How now, you secret, black, and midnight hags! What is’t you do?
All	A deed without a name.
Macbeth	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 lodged and trees blown down; Though castles topple on their warders’ heads; Though palaces and pyramids do slope Their heads to their foundations; though the treasure Of nature’s germens tumble all together, Even till destruction sicken; answer me To what I ask you.
First Witch	Speak.
Second Witch	Demand.
Third Witch	We’ll answer.
First Witch	Say, if thou’dst rather hear it from our mouths, Or from our masters?
Macbeth	Call ’em; let me see ’em.
First Witch	Pour in sow’s blood, that hath eaten Her nine farrow; grease that’s sweaten From the murderer’s gibbet throw Into the flame.
All	Come, high or low; Thyself and office deftly show!
	Thunder. First Apparition: an armed Head.
Macbeth	Tell me, thou unknown power⁠—
First Witch	He knows thy thought: Hear his speech, but say thou nought.
First Apparition	Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! beware Macduff; Beware the thane of Fife. Dismiss me. Enough. Descends.
Macbeth	Whate’er thou art, for thy good caution, thanks; Thou hast harp’d my fear aright: but one word more⁠—
First Witch	He will not be commanded: here’s another, More potent than the first.
	Thunder. Second Apparition: A bloody Child.
Second Apparition	Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth!
Macbeth	Had I three ears, I’ld hear thee.
Second Apparition	Be bloody, bold, and resolute; laugh to scorn The power of man, for none of woman born Shall harm Macbeth. Descends.
Macbeth	Then live, Macduff: what need I fear of thee? But yet I’ll make assurance double sure, And take a bond of fate: thou shalt not live; That I may tell pale-hearted fear it lies, And sleep in spite of thunder.
	Thunder. Third Apparition: a Child crowned, with a tree in his hand.
	What is this That rises like the issue of a king, And wears upon his baby-brow the round And top of sovereignty?
All	Listen, but speak not to’t.
Third Apparition	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. Descends.
Macbeth	That will never be: Who can impress the forest, bid the tree Unfix his