There's blood upon thy face.
- 'Tis Banquo's then. - Is he despatched?
My lord, his throat is cut. That I did for him.
Thou art the best of the cutthroats. Yet he's good that did the like for Fleance.
If thou didst that, thou art the nonpareil.
Most royal sir, Fleance is escaped.
Then comes my fit again.
I had else been perfect, whole as the marble, founded as the rock.
But now I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confin'd, 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.
There the grown serpent lies.
The worm that's fled hath nature that in time will venom breed.
No teeth for the present.
Get thee gone. Tomorrow we'll hear ourselves again.
You know your own degrees. Sit down. At first and last, a hearty welcome.
Thanks to Your Majesty.
Our hostess keeps her state.
Ourself will mingle with society and play the humble host.
- My lord, you do not give the cheer. - Sweet remembrancer.
I drink to the general joy of the whole table...
...and to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss. Would he were here.
Banquo!
Now good digestion wait on appetite, and health on both!
May it please Your Highness, sit.
Please it Your Highness to grace us with your royal company?
- The table's full. - Here is a place reserved, sir.
- Where? - Here, my good lord.
- Which of you have done this? - What, my good lord? - 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.
Are you a man?
Aye, and a bold one that dare look on that which 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. Shame itself!
Why do you make such faces? When all's done, you look but on a stool.
Prithee, see there! Behold! Look! How say you?
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.
What man dare, I dare.
Take any shape but that, and my nerves shall never tremble.
Hence, horrible shadow! Unreal mockery, hence!
What?
Quite unmanned in folly.
- If I stand here, I saw him. - Fie, for shame!
Blood hath been shed ere now, in the olden time.
Aye, and since too, murders have been performed too terrible for the ear.
The time has been that when the brains were out, the man would die...
...and there an end.
But now they rise again, with 20 mortal gashes on their crowns, and push us from our stools.
You have displaced the mirth, broke the good meeting with most admired disorder.
Can such things be and overwhelm us like a summer's cloud...
...without our special wonder?
You make me strange, even to the disposition that I owe.
When now I think you can behold such sights...
...and keep the natural ruby of your cheeks...
...when 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.
A kind good night to all.
It will have blood; they say, blood will have blood.
Stones have been known to move and trees to speak.
What is the night?
Almost at odds with morning, which is which.
How sayst thou, that Macduff denies his person at our great bidding?
How know you this, my lord?
I hear it by the way.
There's not a one of them, but in his house I keep a servant paid.
You lack the season of all natures, sleep.
Come, we'll to sleep.
I must again 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'm in blood, stepped 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 scanned.
We are yet but young in deed.
By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.
How now, you secret, black and midnight hags? What is't you do?
A deed without a name.
Double, double, toil and trouble. Fire burn, cauldron bubble.
Toad that under cold stone, days and nights has thirty-one.
Sweltered venom sleeping got, boil thou first in the charmed pot.
Eye of newt and toe of frog, wool of bat and tongue of dog.
Adder's fork and blindworm's sting, lizard's leg and howlet's wing.
Nose of Turk and Tartar's lips, sliver'd in the moon's eclipse.
Fillet of a fenny snake, in the cauldron boil and bake.
Liver of blaspheming Jew, gall of goat and slips of yew.
I conjure you, by that which you profess, howe'er you come to know it.
- Answer me to what I ask you. - Speak!
- Demand. - We'll answer.
Say if thou'dst hear it from our mouths, or from our masters.
Call them, let me see them.
Cool it with a baboon's blood, then the charm is firm and good.
- Tell me, unknown power... - He knows thy thought. - Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth.
Beware Macduff. Beware the Thane of Fife.
Thou hast harped my fear aright.
- But one word more... - He will not be commanded.
Be bloody, bold and resolute. Laugh to scorn the power of man.
For none of woman born shall harm Macbeth.
None of woman born shall harm Macbeth.
Then live Macduff. What need I fear of thee?
But I'll make assurance double sure and take a bond of fate.
Thou shalt not live!
- Macbeth shall never vanquished be. - Never, never.
Until Great Birnam Wood...
...to high Dunsinane Hill shall come against him.
That will never be! Who can recruit the forest?
Bid the tree unfix his earth-bound root?
Sweet bodements, good!
Yet my heart throbs to know one thing:
- Shall Banquo's issue ever reign? - Seek to know no more.
I will be satisfied! Deny me this and an eternal curse fall on you!
Thou art too like the spirit of Banquo. Thy crown does sear mine eyeballs.
What, will the line stretch out to the crack of doom?
Now I see 'tis true.
For the blood-boltered Banquo smiles upon me...
...and points at them for his!
Where are they?
Gone!
Infected be the air whereon they ride!
And damned all those that trust them!
Macduff is fled.
- Can you tell where he bestows himself? - In the English court.
Where lives the son of Duncan.
Thither Macduff is gone to pray the holy king upon his aid...
...to wake Northumberland and warlike Seyward.
But by the help of these, we may again give to our tables meat...
...sleep to our nights, our feasts free from bloody knives.
Some holy angel fly to the court of England...
...that a swift blessing may soon return to this, our suffering country.
Gentle lady.
Gracious Duncan's dead.
The gracious Duncan was pitied of Macbeth: marry, he was dead.
The right-valiant Banquo walked too late.
Whom, you may say, if't pleas you, Fleance killed, for Fleance fled.
Man must not walk too late.
How monstrous it was for Malcolm and for Donalbain to kill their gracious father.
Damned, indeed. How it did grieve Macbeth.
- I do think that had he Duncan's sons under his key... - As, an't please heaven, he shall not.
They should find what it were to kill a father.
So should Fleance.
Peace.
What news?
Macduff is fled to England.
- Fled to England? - Ay, my good lord.
Time, thou anticipat'st my dread exploits.
The castle of Macduff I will surprise. Seize upon Fife.
Give to the edge of the sword 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 the purpose cool.
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 if it was his wisdom or his fear.
Wisdom! To leave his babes, his mansion and his titles in a place from whence himself does fly?
He loves us not. He wants a natural touch.
For the poor wren, the most diminutive of birds, will fight...
...her young ones in the nest, against the owl.
- All is the fear, and nothing is the love. - My dearest coz, I pray you, school yourself.
And but for your husband, he is noble, wise, judicious...
...and best knows the fits of the seasons.
I take my leave of you. Shall not be long but I'll be here again.
Things at their worst will cease...
...or else climb upward to what they were before.
My pretty cousin, blessing upon you.
Fathered he is, and yet he's fatherless.
I take my leave at once.
- How wilt thou do for a father? - How will you do for a husband?
Why, I can buy me 20 at any market.
- Was my father a traitor? - Ay, that he was.
- What is a traitor? - Why, one that swears and lies.
Are they all traitors that do so?
Everyone that does so is a traitor and must be hanged.
- Who must hang them? - Why, the honest men.
Then the liars and swearers are fools, for there are enough of them to beat the honest men and hang them up
- Now, God help thee, poor monkey. - If he were dead, you would weep for him.
Where's your husband?
I hope in no place so unsanctified, where such as thou mayst find him.
He's a traitor.
- Thou liest, thou shag-hair'd villain! - What, you egg?
Young fry of treachery!
He has killed me, Mother.
Besides her walking and other actual performances, what at any time have you heard her say?
- That, sir, which I will not report after her. - You may to a doctor. 'Tis most meet you should.
Neither to you, nor anyone, having no witness to confirm my speech.
- Her eyes are open. - Ay, but their sense is shut.
- What is it she does now? - It is an accustomed action.
To seem thus washing her hands.
Yet here's a spot.
Out, damned spot.
Out, I say!
One.
Two.
Why then 'tis time to do it.
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'd have thought the old man to have so much blood in him?
Well, well!
The Thane of Fife had a wife.
Where is she now?
What, will these hands ne'er be clean?
No more of that, my lord, no more of 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.
But here's the smell of blood still.
All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand.
What a sigh is there! The heart is sorely charged.
Wash your hands, put on your nightgown.
Look not so pale.
I tell you, Banquo's buried. He cannot come out of his grave.
Even so?
To bed, to bed.
Come. Come.
Come, give me your hand.
What's done cannot be undone.
To bed, to bed.
More needs she the divine than the physician.
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. - Good night, good doctor.
How does your patient, doctor?
Not so sick, my lord, as she is troubled with thick-coming fancies that keep her from her sleep.
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 charged 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.
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 have pronounced 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!
Our country sinks beneath the yoke. It weeps, it bleeds.
And each new day a gash is added to her wounds.
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.
Who comes here?
A countryman who seems a stranger to us.
My ever gentle cousin.
Welcome hither.
- Stands Scotland where it did? - Alas, poor country.
Afraid to know itself. It cannot be called our mother, but our grave.
- What's the newest grief? - Each minute teems a new one.
- How does my wife? - Why, well.
- And my children? - Well too.
- The tyrant has not batter'd at their peace? - No. They were well at peace when I did leave them.
Be not a niggard of your speech. How goes it?
Your eye in Scotland will create soldiers, make our women fight, to doff their dire distresses.
We are coming thither.
Gracious England hath lent us good Seyward 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 thatwill be howled out in the desert air, where hearing should not catch them.
- What concern they? - The main part pertains to you alone.
If it be mine, keep it not from me. Quickly, let me have it.
Your castle is surprised, your wife and babes slaughtered.
Merciful heaven.
What, man!
Ne'er put your hat upon your brows.
Give sorrow words.
My children too?
Wife, children, servants. All that could be found.
- And I must be from thence. My wife killed to? - 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! 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 the heaven look on and would not take their part?
Sinful Macduff, they were all struck for thee.
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!
Gentle heavens, cut short all intermission.
Front to front bring thou this fiend of Scotland and myself.
Our power is ready. Macbeth is ripe for shaking.
Within my sword's length set him.
If he escape, heaven forgive him too.
- What does the tyrant? - Great Dunsinane he strongly fortifies.
Some say he's mad. Others that lesser hate him do call it valiant fury.
Those he commands move only in command. Nothing in love.
Now does he feel his title hang loose about him...
...like a giant's robe upon a dwarfish thief.
All that is within him does condemn itself of being there.
The English power is near, led on by Malcolm, his uncle Seyward and the good Macduff.
Near Birnam Wood shall we well meet them. That way are they coming.
The devil damn thee black, thou cream-faced loon! Where gotst thou that goose look?
There is ten thousand...
- Geese? Villain? - Soldiers, sir.
Thou lily-livered boy. What soldiers, patch?
Death of thy soul! Those linen cheeks of thine are counsellors to fear.
What soldiers, whey-face?
The English force, so please you.
Seyton! Take thy face hence.
I am sick at heart, when I behold... Seyton, I say!
I have lived long enough.
My way of life is fallen 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 which the poor heart would fain deny and dare not.
- Seyton! - What's your gracious pleasure?
- What news more? - All is confirmed, my lord, which was reported.
I'll fight till from my bones my flesh be hacked! Give me my armour!
- 'Tis not needed yet. - I'll put it on.
Send out more horses, scour the country round.
Hang those that talk of fear.
Come, put mine armour on, give me my sword.
Doctor, the thanes fly from me. Come, sir, despatch.
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 should applaud again.
Pull it off, I say.
What rhubarb, senna or what purgative drug...
...would scour these English hence? Hearst 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.
Were I from Dunsinane away and clear...
...profit again should hardly draw me here.
- What wood is this before us? - The wood of Birnam.
"They met me in the day of success.
And I have learned by the perfect'st report...
...they have more in them than mortal knowledge.
While 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 shall be! '
This have I thought good to deliver thee, my dearest partner of greatness...
...that thou mightst not be...
...ignorant of what greatness is promised thee.
Lay it to thy heart, and farewell."
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 stuffed with those that should be ours...
...we might have met them dareful, beard to beard, and beat them backward home.
What is that noise?
I've almost forgot the taste of fear.
The time has been, my senses would have cooled to hear a night-shriek.
And my fell of hair...
...would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir as life were in it.
I have supped full with horrors.
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 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.
Gracious, my lord!
- Thy story, quickly! - 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, I looked toward Birnam.
And anon, methought, the wood began to move.
Liar and slave!
Within a mile may you see it coming. A moving grove.
If thou speakst false, upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive...
...till famine cling thee.
Fear not till Birnam Wood do come to Dunsinane.
And now a wood comes towards Dunsinane.
Every soldier hath hewed him down a bough and bears it before him.
Thereby do they shadow the number of their host...
...and make discovery err in report of them.
I 'gin to be aweary of the sun.
And wish the estate of the world were now undone.
Ring the alarum bell!
Blow, wind! Come, wrack! At least we'll die with harness on our back.
Make all our trumpets speak.
Worthy Macduff, you, with young Seyward, lead our first assault.
Tyrant, show thy face!
Let me find him, Fortune. And more I beg not.
If thou be slain and with no sword of mine...
...my wife and children's ghosts will haunt me still.
- What is thy name? - Thou'lt be afraid to hear it.
No, though thou callst thyself a hotter name than any in hell! My name's Macbeth!
The devil could not pronounce a title more hateful to mine ear.
- No, nor more fearful. - Thou liest, abhorred tyrant!
With my sword I'll prove the lie thou speakst.
Thou werest born of woman.
They have tied me to the stake.
I cannot fly. But bearlike I must fight the course!
Why should I play the Roman fool and die on mine own sword...
...while I see lives that gashes do better on them?
What's he that was not born of woman?
Such a one am I to fear, or none.
Turn, hell-hound! Turn!
Of all men else, I have avoided thee.
I have no words.
My voice is in my sword.
Thou bloodier villain than terms can give thee out!
My soul...
...is too much charged with blood of thine already.
Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests.
I bear a charmed life...
...which must not yield to one of woman born!
Despair thy charm and let the angel whom thou hast served tell thee...
...Macduff was from his mother's womb untimely ripped.
Accursed be that tongue that tells me so...
... for it hath cowed my better part of man.
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 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.
Lay on, Macduff.
And damned be him that first cries, "Hold, enough!"
So great a day as this is cheaply bought.
Hail, king, for so thou art.
Behold where lies the usurper's cursed head.
The time is free.
Hail, King of Scotland!