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    Not Peer Reviewed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)

    150 The Tragedie of Macbeth.

    Industrious Souldiership.
    Sey. The time approaches,
    That will with due decision make vs know
    What we shall say we haue, and what we owe:
    2315Thoughts speculatiue, their vnsure hopes relate,
    But certaine issue, stroakes must arbitrate,
    Towards which, aduance the warre. Exeunt marching

    Scena Quinta.

    Enter Macbeth, Seyton, & Souldiers, with
    2320Drum and Colours.

    Macb. Hang out our Banners on the outward walls,
    The Cry is still, they come: our Castles strength
    Will laugh a Siedge to scorne: Heere let them lye,
    Till Famine and the Ague eate them vp:
    2325Were they not forc'd with those that should be ours,
    We might haue met them darefull, beard to beard,
    And beate them backward home. What is that noyse?
    A Cry within of Women.
    Sey. It is the cry of women, my good Lord.
    2330Macb. I haue almost forgot the taste of Feares:
    The time ha's beene, my sences would haue cool'd
    To heare a Night-shrieke, and my Fell of haire
    Would at a dismall Treatise rowze, and stirre
    As life were in't. I haue supt full with horrors,
    2335Direnesse familiar to my slaughterous thoughts
    Cannot once start me. Wherefore was that cry?
    Sey. The Queene (my Lord) is dead.
    Macb. She should haue dy'de heereafter;
    There would haue beene a time for such a word:
    2340To morrow, and to morrow, and to morrow,
    Creepes in this petty pace from day to day,
    To the last Syllable of Recorded time:
    And all our yesterdayes, haue lighted Fooles
    The way to dusty death. Out, out, breefe Candle,
    2345Life's but a walking Shadow, a poore Player,
    That struts and frets his houre vpon the Stage,
    And then is heard no more. It is a Tale
    Told by an Ideot, full of sound and fury
    Signifying nothing. Enter a Messenger.
    2350Thou com'st to vse thy Tongue: thy Story quickly.
    Mes. Gracious my Lord,
    I should report that which I say I saw,
    But know not how to doo't.
    Macb. Well, say sir.
    2355Mes. As I did stand my watch vpon the Hill
    I look'd toward Byrnane, and anon me thought
    The Wood began to moue.
    Macb. Lyar, and Slaue.
    Mes. Let me endure your wrath, if't be not so:
    2360Within this three Mile may you see it comming.
    I say, a mouing Groue.
    Macb. If thou speak'st fhlse,
    Vpon the next Tree shall thou hang aliue
    Till Famine cling thee: If thy speech be sooth,
    2365I care not if thou dost for me as much.
    I pull in Resolution, and begin
    To doubt th'Equiuocation of the Fiend,
    That lies like truth. Feare not, till Byrnane Wood
    Do come to Dunsinane, and now a Wood

    2370Comes toward Dunsinane. Arme, Arme, and out,
    If this which he auouches, do's appeare,
    There is nor flying hence, nor tarrying here.
    I 'ginne to be a-weary of the Sun,
    And wish th'estate o'th'world were now vndon.
    2375Ring the Alarum Bell, blow Winde, come wracke,
    At least wee'l dye with Harnesse on our backe. Exeunt

    Scena Sexta.

    Drumme and Colours.
    Enter Malcolme, Seyward, Macduffe, and their Army,
    2380with Boughes.

    Mal. Now neere enough:
    Your leauy Skreenes throw downe,
    And shew like those you are: You (worthy Vnkle)
    Shall with my Cosin your right Noble Sonne
    2385Leade our first Battell. Worthy Macduffe, and wee
    Shall take vpon's what else remaines to do,
    According to our order.
    Sey. Fare you well:
    Do we but finde the Tyrants power to night,
    2390Let vs be beaten, if we cannot fight.
    Macd. Make all our Trumpets speak, giue thẽ all breath
    Those clamorous Harbingers of Blood, & Death. Exeunt
    Alarums continued.

    Scena Septima.

    2395 Enter Macbeth.
    Macb. They haue tied me to a stake, I cannot flye,
    But Beare-like I must fight the course. What's he
    That was not borne of Woman? Such a one
    Am I to feare, or none.
    2400 Enter young Seyward.
    Y. Sey. What is thy name?
    Macb. Thou'lt be affraid to heare it.
    Y. Sey. No: though thou call'st thy selfe a hoter name
    Then any is in hell.
    2405Macb. My name's Macbeth.
    Y. Sey. The diuell himselfe could not pronounce a Title
    More hatefull to mine eare.
    Macb. No: nor more fearefull.
    Y. Sey. Thou lyest abhorred Tyrant, with my Sword
    2410Ile proue the lye thou speak st.
    Fight, and young Seyward slaine.
    Macb. Thou was't borne of woman;
    But Swords I smile at, Weapons laugh to scorne,
    Brandish'd by man that's of a Woman borne. Exit.
    2415 Alarums. Enter Macduffe.
    Macd. That way the noise is: Tyrant shew thy face,
    If thou beest slaine, and with no stroake of mine,
    My Wife and Childrens Ghosts will haunt me still:
    I cannot strike at wretched Kernes, whose armes
    2420Are hyr'd to beare their Staues; either thou Macbeth,
    Or else my Sword with an vnbattered edge
    I sheath againe vndeeded. There thou should'st be,
    By this great clatter, one of greatest note