Internet Shakespeare Editions

About this text

  • Title: Macbeth (Folio 1, 1623)
  • Editor: Anthony Dawson
  • ISBN: 978-1-55058-528-5

    Copyright Anthony Dawson. This text may be freely used for educational, non-profit purposes; for all other uses contact the Editor.
    Author: William Shakespeare
    Editor: Anthony Dawson
    Not Peer Reviewed

    Macbeth (Folio 1, 1623)

    The Tragedie of Macbeth. 147

    These Euils thou repeat'st vpon thy selfe,
    1940Hath banish'd me from Scotland. O my Brest,
    Thy hope ends heere.
    Mal. Macduff, this Noble passion
    Childe of integrity, hath from my soule
    Wip'd the blacke Scruples, reconcil'd my thoughts
    1945To thy good Truth, and Honor. Diuellish Macbeth,
    By many of these traines, hath sought to win me
    Into his power: and modest Wisedome pluckes me
    From ouer-credulous hast: but God aboue
    Deale betweene thee and me; For euen now
    1950I put my selfe to thy Direction, and
    Vnspeake mine owne detraction. Heere abiure
    The taints, and blames I laide vpon my selfe,
    For strangers to my Nature. I am yet
    Vnknowne to Woman, neuer was forsworne,
    1955Scarsely haue coueted what was mine owne.
    At no time broke my Faith, would not betray
    The Deuill to his Fellow, and delight
    No lesse in truth then life. My first false speaking
    Was this vpon my selfe. What I am truly
    1960Is thine, and my poore Countries to command:
    Whither indeed, before they heere approach
    Old Seyward with ten thousand warlike men
    Already at a point, was setting foorth:
    Now wee'l together, and the chance of goodnesse
    1965Be like our warranted Quarrell. Why are you silent?
    Macd. Such welcome, and vnwelcom things at once
    'Tis hard to reconcile.
    Enter a Doctor.
    Mal. Well, more anon. Comes the King forth
    1970I pray you?
    Doct. I Sir: there are a crew of wretched Soules
    That stay his Cure: their malady conuinces
    The great assay of Art. But at his touch,
    Such sanctity hath Heauen giuen his hand,
    1975They presently amend. Exit.
    Mal. I thanke you Doctor.
    Macd. What's the Disease he meanes?
    Mal. Tis call'd the Euill.
    A most myraculous worke in this good King,
    1980Which often since my heere remaine in England,
    I haue seene him do: How he solicites heauen
    Himselfe best knowes: but strangely visited people
    All swolne and Vlcerous, pittifull to the eye,
    The meere dispaire of Surgery, he cures,
    1985Hanging a golden stampe about their neckes,
    Put on with holy Prayers, and 'tis spoken
    To the succeeding Royalty he leaues
    The healing Benediction. With this strange vertue,
    He hath a heauenly guift of Prophesie,
    1990And sundry Blessings hang about his Throne,
    That speake him full of Grace.
    Enter Rosse.
    Macd. See who comes heere.
    Malc. My Countryman: but yet I know him not.
    1995Macd. My euer gentle Cozen, welcome hither.
    Malc. I know him now. Good God betimes remoue
    The meanes that makes vs Strangers.
    Rosse. Sir, Amen.
    Macd. Stands Scotland where it did?
    2000Rosse. Alas poore Countrey,
    Almost affraid to know it selfe. It cannot
    Be call'd our Mother, but our Graue; where nothing
    But who knowes nothing, is once seene to smile:
    Where sighes, and groanes, and shrieks that rent the ayre

    2005Are made, not mark'd: Where violent sorrow seemes
    A Moderne extasie: The Deadmans knell,
    Is there scarse ask'd for who, and good mens liues
    Expire before the Flowers in their Caps,
    Dying, or ere they sicken.
    2010Macd. Oh Relation; too nice, and yet too true.
    Malc. What's the newest griefe?
    Rosse. That of an houres age, doth hisse the speaker,
    Each minute teemes a new one.
    Macd. How do's my Wife?
    2015Rosse. Why well.
    Macd. And all my Children?
    Rosse. Well too.
    Macd. The Tyrant ha's not batter'd at their peace?
    Rosse. No, they were wel at peace, when I did leaue 'em
    2020Macd. Be not a niggard of your speech: How gos't?
    Rosse. When I came hither to transport the Tydings
    Which I haue heauily borne, there ran a Rumour
    Of many worthy Fellowes, that were out,
    Which was to my beleefe witnest the rather,
    2025For that I saw the Tyrants Power a-foot.
    Now is the time of helpe: your eye in Scotland
    Would create Soldiours, make our women fight,
    To doffe their dire distresses.
    Malc. Bee't their comfort
    2030We are comming thither: Gracious England hath
    Lent vs good Seyward, and ten thousand men,
    An older, and a better Souldier, none
    That Christendome giues out.
    Rosse. Would I could answer
    2035This comfort with the like. But I haue words
    That would be howl'd out in the desert ayre,
    Where hearing should not latch them.
    Macd. What concerne they,
    The generall cause, or is it a Fee-griefe
    2040Due to some single brest?
    Rosse. No minde that's honest
    But in it shares some woe, though the maine part
    Pertaines to you alone.
    Macd. If it be mine
    2045Keepe it not from me, quickly let me haue it.
    Rosse. Let not your eares dispise my tongue for euer,
    Which shall possesse them with the heauiest sound
    That euer yet they heard.
    Macd. Humh: I guesse at it.
    2050Rosse, Your Castle is surpriz'd: your Wife, and Babes
    Sauagely slaughter'd: To relate the manner
    Were on the Quarry of these murther'd Deere
    To adde the death of you.
    Malc. Mercifull Heauen:
    2055What man, ne're pull your hat vpon your browes:
    Giue sorrow words; the griefe that do's not speake,
    Whispers the o're-fraught heart, and bids it breake.
    Macd. My Children too?
    Ro. Wife, Children, Seruants, all that could be found.
    2060Macd. And I must be from thence? My wife kil'd too?
    Rosse. I haue said.
    Malc. Be comforted.
    Let's make vs Med'cines of our great Reuenge,
    To cure this deadly greefe.
    2065Macd. He ha's no Children. All my pretty ones?
    Did you say All? Oh Hell-Kite! All?
    What, All my pretty Chickens, and their Damme
    At one fell swoope?
    Malc. Dispute it like a man.
    2070Macd. I shall do so:
    Nn2 But