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  • 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    Not Peer Reviewed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)

    Scena Tertia.
    Enter a Porter.
    Knocking within.
    Porter. Here's a knocking indeede: if a man were
    745Porter of Hell Gate, hee should haue old turning the
    Key. Knock. Knock, Knock, Knock. Who's there
    i'th'name of Belzebub? Here's a Farmer, that hang'd
    himselfe on th'expectation of Plentie: Come in time, haue
    Napkins enow about you, here you'le sweat for't. Knock.
    750Knock, knock. Who's there in th'other Deuils Name?
    Faith here's an Equiuocator, that could sweare in both
    the Scales against eyther Scale, who committed Treason
    enough for Gods sake, yet could not equiuocate to Hea-
    uen: oh come in, Equiuocator. Knock. Knock,
    755Knock, Knock. Who's there? 'Faith here's an English
    Taylor come hither, for stealing out of a French Hose:
    Come in Taylor, here you may rost your Goose. Knock.
    Knock, Knock. Neuer at quiet: What are you? but this
    place is too cold for Hell. Ile Deuill-Porter it no further:
    760I had thought to haue let in some of all Professions, that
    goe the Primrose way to th'euerlasting Bonfire. Knock.
    Anon, anon, I pray you remember the Porter.
    Enter Macduff, and Lenox.
    Macd. Was it so late, friend, ere you went to Bed,
    765That you doe lye so late?
    Port. Faith Sir, we were carowsing till the second Cock:
    And Drinke, Sir, is a great prouoker of three things.
    Macd. What three things does Drinke especially
    prouoke?
    770Port. Marry, Sir, Nose-painting, Sleepe, and Vrine.
    Lecherie, Sir, it prouokes, and vnprouokes: it prouokes
    the desire, but it takes away the performance. Therefore
    much Drinke may be said to be an Equiuocator with Le-
    cherie: it makes him, and it marres him; it sets him on,
    775and it takes him off; it perswades him, and dis-heartens
    him; makes him stand too, and not stand too: in conclu-
    sion, equiuocates him in a sleepe, and giuing him the Lye,
    leaues him.
    Macd. I beleeue, Drinke gaue thee the Lye last Night.
    780Port. That it did, Sir, i'the very Throat on me: but I
    requited him for his Lye, and (I thinke) being too strong
    for him, though he tooke vp my Legges sometime, yet I
    made a Shift to cast him.
    Enter Macbeth.
    785Macd. Is thy Master stirring?
    Our knocking ha's awak'd him: here he comes.
    Lenox. Good morrow, Noble Sir.
    Macb. Good morrow both.
    Macd. Is the King stirring, worthy Thane?
    790Macb. Not yet.
    Macd. He did command me to call timely on him,
    I haue almost slipt the houre.
    Macb. Ile bring you to him.
    Macd. I know this is a ioyfull trouble to you:
    795But yet 'tis one.
    Macb. The labour we delight in, Physicks paine:
    This is the Doore.
    Macd. Ile make so bold to call, for 'tis my limitted
    seruice. Exit Macduffe.
    800Lenox. Goes the King hence to day?
    Macb. He does: he did appoint so.
    Lenox. The Night ha's been vnruly:
    Where we lay, our Chimneys were blowne downe,
    And (as they say) lamentings heard i'th'Ayre;
    805Strange Schreemes of Death,
    And Prophecying, with Accents terrible,
    Of dyre Combustion, and confus'd Euents,
    New hatch'd toth'wofull time.
    The obscure Bird clamor'd the liue-long Night.
    810Some say, the Earth was feuorous,
    And did shake.
    Macb. 'Twas a rough Night.
    Lenox. My young remembrance cannot paralell
    A fellow to it.
    815 Enter Macduff.
    Macd. O horror, horror, horror,
    Tongue nor Heart cannot conceiue, nor name thee.
    Macb. and Lenox. What's the matter?
    Macd. Confusion now hath made his Master-peece:
    820Most sacrilegious Murther hath broke ope
    The Lords anoynted Temple, and stole thence
    The Life o'th'Building.
    Macb. What is't you say, the Life?
    Lenox. Meane you his Maiestie?
    825Macd. Approch the Chamber, and destroy your sight
    With a new Gorgon. Doe not bid me speake:
    mm3 See,
    138The Tragedie of Macbeth.
    See, and then speake your selues: awake, awake,
    Exeunt Macbeth and Lenox.
    Ring the Alarum Bell: Murther, and Treason,
    830Banquo, and Donalbaine: Malcolme awake,
    Shake off this Downey sleepe, Deaths counterfeit,
    And looke on Death it selfe: vp, vp, and see
    The great Doomes Image: Malcolme, Banquo,
    As from your Graues rise vp, and walke like Sprights,
    835To countenance this horror. Ring the Bell.
    Bell rings. Enter Lady.
    Lady. What's the Businesse?
    That such a hideous Trumpet calls to parley
    The sleepers of the House? speake, speake.
    840Macd. O gentle Lady,
    'Tis not for you to heare what I can speake:
    The repetition in a Womans eare,
    Would murther as it fell.
    Enter Banquo.
    845O Banquo, Banquo, Our Royall Master's murther'd.
    Lady. Woe, alas:
    What, in our House?
    Ban. Too cruell, any where.
    Deare Duff, I prythee contradict thy selfe,
    850And say, it is not so.
    Enter Macbeth, Lenox, and Rosse.
    Macb. Had I but dy'd an houre before this chance,
    I had liu'd a blessed time: for from this instant,
    There's nothing serious in Mortalitie:
    855All is but Toyes: Renowne and Grace is dead,
    The Wine of Life is drawne, and the meere Lees
    Is left this Vault, to brag of.
    Enter Malcolme and Donalbaine.
    Donal. What is amisse?
    860Macb. You are, and doe not know't:
    The Spring, the Head, the Fountaine of your Blood
    Is stopt, the very Source of it is stopt.
    Macd. Your Royall Father's murther'd.
    Mal. Oh, by whom?
    865Lenox. Those of his Chamber, as it seem'd, had don't:
    Their Hands and Faces were all badg'd with blood,
    So were their Daggers, which vnwip'd, we found
    Vpon their Pillowes: they star'd, and were distracted,
    No mans Life was to be trusted with them.
    870Macb. O, yet I doe repent me of my furie,
    That I did kill them.
    Macd. Wherefore did you so?
    Macb. Who can be wise, amaz'd, temp'rate, & furious,
    Loyall, and Neutrall, in a moment? No man:
    875Th'expedition of my violent Loue
    Out-run the pawser, Reason. Here lay Duncan,
    His Siluer skinne, lac'd with his Golden Blood,
    And his gash'd Stabs, look'd like a Breach in Nature,
    For Ruines wastfull entrance: there the Murtherers,
    880Steep'd in the Colours of their Trade; their Daggers
    Vnmannerly breech'd with gore: who could refraine,
    That had a heart to loue; and in that heart,
    Courage, to make's loue knowne?
    Lady. Helpe me hence, hoa.
    885Macd. Looke to the Lady.
    Mal. Why doe we hold our tongues,
    That most may clayme this argument for ours?
    Donal. What should be spoken here,
    Where our Fate hid in an augure hole,
    890May rush, and seize vs? Let's away,
    Our Teares are not yet brew'd.
    Mal. Nor our strong Sorrow
    Vpon the foot of Motion.
    Banq. Looke to the Lady:
    895And when we haue our naked Frailties hid,
    That suffer in exposure; let vs meet,
    And question this most bloody piece of worke,
    To know it further. Feares and scruples shake vs:
    In the great Hand of God I stand, and thence,
    900Against the vndivulg'd pretence, I fight
    Of Treasonous Mallice.
    Macd. And so doe I.
    All. So all.
    Macb. Let's briefely put on manly readinesse,
    905And meet i'th'Hall together.
    All. Well contented. Exeunt.
    Malc. What will you doe?
    Let's not consort with them:
    To shew an vnfelt Sorrow, is an Office
    910Which the false man do's easie.
    Ile to England.
    Don. To Ireland, I:
    Our seperated fortune shall keepe vs both the safer:
    Where we are, there's Daggers in mens Smiles;
    915The neere in blood, the neerer bloody.
    Malc. This murtherous Shaft that's shot,
    Hath not yet lighted: and our safest way,
    Is to auoid the ayme. Therefore to Horse,
    And let vs not be daintie of leaue-taking,
    920But shift away: there's warrant in that Theft,
    Which steales it selfe, when there's no mercie left.
    Exeunt.
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