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Second Murderer We have lost Best half of our affair. A banquet prepared. Lords Thanks to your majesty. Our hostess keeps her state, but in best time We will require her welcome. First Murderer My lord, his throat is cut; that I did for him. First Murderer Ay, my good lord: safe in a ditch he bides, With twenty trenched gashes on his head; The least a death to nature.

Now, good digestion wait on appetite, And health on both! Lords What, my good lord? ROSS Gentlemen, rise: his highness is not well. Are you a man? 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? Why, what care I? If thou canst nod, speak too. If charnel-houses and our graves must send Those that we bury back, our monuments Shall be the maws of kites.

Do not muse at me, my most worthy friends, I have a strange infirmity, which is nothing To those that know me. Give me some wine; fill full. Lords Our duties, and the pledge.

Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold; Thou hast no speculation in those eyes Which thou dost glare with! Hence, horrible shadow! Unreal mockery, hence! Pray you, sit still. 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. ROSS What sights, my lord? At once, good night: Stand not upon the order of your going, But go at once.

What is the night? I will to-morrow, And betimes I will, to the weird sisters: More shall they speak; for now I am bent to know, By the worst means, the worst. My strange and self-abuse Is the initiate fear that wants hard use: We are yet but young in deed. And, which is worse, all you have done Hath been but for a wayward son, Spiteful and wrathful, who, as others do, Loves for his own ends, not for you.

Who cannot want the thought how monstrous It was for Malcolm and for Donalbain To kill their gracious father? How it did grieve Macbeth! Was not that nobly done? But, peace! 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.

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!

Second Witch Thrice and once the hedge-pig whined. ALL Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn, and cauldron bubble. ALL Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

Open, locks, Whoever knocks! ALL A deed without a name. First Witch Speak. Second Witch Demand. ALL Come, high or low; Thyself and office deftly show! First Apparition Macbeth! Dismiss me. Second Apparition Be bloody, bold, and resolute; laugh to scorn The power of man, for none of woman born Shall harm Macbeth. 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?

Sweet bodements! ALL Seek to know no more. Let me know. Why sinks that cauldron? Hautboys First Witch Show! Second Witch Show! Third Witch Show! ALL Show his eyes, and grieve his heart; Come like shadows, so depart!

Thy crown does sear mine eye-balls. And thy hair, Thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first. A third is like the former. Filthy hags! Why do you show me this? A fourth! Start, eyes! What, will the line stretch out to the crack of doom? Another yet! A seventh! Apparitions vanish What, is this so? First Witch Ay, sir, all this is so: but why Stands Macbeth thus amazedly?

Let this pernicious hour Stand aye accursed in the calendar! Come in, without there! But no more sights! Come, bring me where they are. ROSS You must have patience, madam. He loves us not; He wants the natural touch: for the poor wren, The most diminutive of birds, will fight, Her young ones in her nest, against the owl. All is the fear and nothing is the love; As little is the wisdom, where the flight So runs against all reason.

I dare not speak much further; But cruel are the times, when we are traitors And do not know ourselves, when we hold rumour From what we fear, yet know not what we fear, But float upon a wild and violent sea Each way and move. My pretty cousin, Blessing upon you! How will you live?

Son As birds do, mother. Son With what I get, I mean; and so do they. Son Why should I, mother? Poor birds they are not set for. My father is not dead, for all your saying. Son Nay, how will you do for a husband? Son Was my father a traitor, mother? Son What is a traitor? Son And be all traitors that do so? Son And must they all be hanged that swear and lie? Son Who must hang them? Son Then the liars and swearers are fools, for there are liars and swearers enow to beat the honest men and hang up them.

But how wilt thou do for a father? Enter a Messenger Messenger Bless you, fair dame! I am not to you known, Though in your state of honour I am perfect. To fright you thus, methinks, I am too savage; To do worse to you were fell cruelty, Which is too nigh your person.

Heaven preserve you! I dare abide no longer. I have done no harm. But I remember now I am in this earthly world; where to do harm Is often laudable, to do good sometime Accounted dangerous folly: why then, alas, Do I put up that womanly defence, To say I have done no harm? Enter Murderers What are these faces? First Murderer Where is your husband? First Murderer What, you egg!

Stabbing him Young fry of treachery! What you have spoke, it may be so perchance. This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues, Was once thought honest: you have loved him well. I am young; but something You may deserve of him through me, and wisdom To offer up a weak poor innocent lamb To appease an angry god. A good and virtuous nature may recoil In an imperial charge. But I shall crave your pardon; That which you are my thoughts cannot transpose: Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell; Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace, Yet grace must still look so.

Why in that rawness left you wife and child, Those precious motives, those strong knots of love, Without leave-taking? I pray you, Let not my jealousies be your dishonours, But mine own safeties. You may be rightly just, Whatever I shall think. Great tyranny! But fear not yet To take upon you what is yours: you may Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty, And yet seem cold, the time you may so hoodwink. We have willing dames enough: there cannot be That vulture in you, to devour so many As will to greatness dedicate themselves, Finding it so inclined.

MACDUFF This avarice Sticks deeper, grows with more pernicious root Than summer-seeming lust, and it hath been The sword of our slain kings: yet do not fear; Scotland hath foisons to fill up your will. MALCOLM But I have none: the king-becoming graces, As justice, verity, temperance, stableness, Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness, Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude, I have no relish of them, but abound In the division of each several crime, Acting it many ways.

Nay, had I power, I should Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell, Uproar the universal peace, confound All unity on earth. No, not to live. Thy royal father Was a most sainted king: the queen that bore thee, Oftener upon her knees than on her feet, Died every day she lived. Fare thee well! O my breast, Thy hope ends here! Devilish Macbeth By many of these trains hath sought to win me Into his power, and modest wisdom plucks me From over-credulous haste: but God above Deal between thee and me!

Why are you silent? Doctor Ay, sir; there are a crew of wretched souls That stay his cure: their malady convinces The great assay of art; but at his touch— Such sanctity hath heaven given his hand— They presently amend. With this strange virtue, He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy, And sundry blessings hang about his throne, That speak him full of grace.

Good God, betimes remove The means that makes us strangers! ROSS Sir, amen. ROSS Alas, poor country! Almost afraid to know itself. ROSS Why, well. ROSS Well too. The general cause? ROSS Let not your ears despise my tongue for ever, Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound That ever yet they heard.

I guess at it. What, man! ROSS I have said. All my pretty ones? Did you say all? O hell-kite! What, all my pretty chickens and their dam At one fell swoop?

Did heaven look on, And would not take their part? Sinful Macduff, They were all struck for thee! Heaven rest them now! Come, go we to the king; our power is ready; Our lack is nothing but our leave; Macbeth Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer you may: The night is long that never finds the day. Enter a Doctor of Physic and a Waiting-Gentlewoman Doctor I have two nights watched with you, but can perceive no truth in your report.

When was it she last walked? Doctor A great perturbation in nature, to receive at once the benefit of sleep, and do the effects of watching! In this slumbery agitation, besides her walking and other actual performances, what, at any time, have you heard her say? Gentlewoman That, sir, which I will not report after her. Gentlewoman Neither to you nor any one; having no witness to confirm my speech.

This is her very guise; and, upon my life, fast asleep. Observe her; stand close. Doctor How came she by that light? Doctor You see, her eyes are open. Gentlewoman Ay, but their sense is shut. Doctor What is it she does now?

Look, how she rubs her hands. Gentlewoman It is an accustomed action with her, to seem thus washing her hands: I have known her continue in this a quarter of an hour. Doctor Hark! What need we fear who knows it, when none can call our power to account? Doctor Do you mark that? Doctor Go to, go to; you have known what you should not. Gentlewoman She has spoke what she should not, I am sure of that: heaven knows what she has known.

Oh, oh, oh! Doctor What a sigh is there! The heart is sorely charged. Gentlewoman I would not have such a heart in my bosom for the dignity of the whole body. Doctor Well, well, well,— Gentlewoman Pray God it be, sir. Doctor This disease is beyond my practise: yet I have known those which have walked in their sleep who have died holily in their beds. Doctor Even so? Exit Doctor Will she go now to bed? Gentlewoman Directly. Doctor Foul whisperings are abroad: unnatural deeds Do breed unnatural troubles: infected minds To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets: 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: My mind she has mated, and amazed my sight. I think, but dare not speak. Gentlewoman Good night, good doctor. Drum and colours. Make we our march towards Birnam. Exeunt, marching.

Was he not born of woman? Enter a Servant The devil damn thee black, thou cream-faced loon! Servant Soldiers, sir. What soldiers, patch? Death of thy soul! What soldiers, whey-face? Servant The English force, so please you. Exit Servant Seyton! Give me my armour. Send out more horses; skirr the country round; Hang those that talk of fear. Give me mine armour. How does your patient, doctor?

Doctor Not so sick, my lord, As she is troubled with thick coming fancies, That keep her from her rest. Doctor Therein the patient Must minister to himself. Come, put mine armour on; give me my staff. Seyton, send out. Doctor, the thanes fly from me. Come, sir, dispatch. 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.

Doctor Ay, my good lord; your royal preparation Makes us hear something. I will not be afraid of death and bane, Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane. Soldiers It shall be done. Thoughts speculative their unsure hopes relate, But certain issue strokes must arbitrate: Towards which advance the war. A cry of women within What is that noise? To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, 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! Enter a Messenger Thou comest to use thy tongue; thy story quickly. Arm, arm, and out! If this which he avouches does appear, There is nor flying hence nor tarrying here. Ring the alarum-bell! Blow, wind! And show like those you are. Such a one Am I to fear, or none.

Exit Alarums. Tyrant, show thy face! There thou shouldst be; By this great clatter, one of greatest note Seems bruited. Let me find him, fortune! And more I beg not. 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. Enclose a photocopy or printed pdf of your Student Report describing the error and the change you are requesting.

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