Macbeth, Act 1


eghhughhhdkkdk When shall we three meet again? In thunder, lightning, or in rain? When the hurlyburly’s done, When the battle’s lost and won. that will be ere the set of sun. Where the place? Upon the heath. There to meet with Macbeth I come Grimalkin! Paddock calls. Anon. Fair is foul, Foul is fair. Hover through the fog and filthy air. What bloody man is that? This is the sergeant. Who like a good and hardy soldier fought ‘Gainst my captivity. Hail, brave friend! Say to the King the knowledge of the broil As thou didst leave it. Doubtful it stood, As two spent swimmers that do cling together And choke their art. The merciless Macdonwald-Worthy to be a rebel, of nature And fortune, on his damned quarrel smiling, Showed like a rebel’s whore. But all’s too weak for brave Macbeth well he deserves that name. Disdaining Fortune, with his brandished steel, carved out his passage Till he faced the slave, Which ne’er shook hands nor bade farewell to him. Till he unseated him from the nave to th’ chops, And fixed his head upon our battlements. O valiant cousin, worthy gentleman! No sooner justice had, with valor armed, Compelled these skipping kerns to trust their heels But the Norweyan lord, With furbished arms and new supplies of men, Began a fresh assault. Dismayed not this our captains, Macbeth and Banquo? Yes, as sparrows eagles, or the hare the lion. hahahaha Ugh! But I am faint. My gashes cry for help. So well thy words become thee as thy wounds. They smack of honor both. Go get him surgeons. Who comes here? The worthy Thane of Ross. God save the King! Whence cam’s thou, worthy thane? From Fife, great King, Where Norway himself, with terrible numbers, Assisted by that most disloyal traitor, The Thane of Cawdor, began a dismal conflict, Point against point, rebellious arm ‘gainst arm, Curbing his lavish spirit and to conclude, The victory fell on us. Great Happiness! No more that Thane of Cawdor shall deceive Our bosom interest. Go Pronounce his present death, And with his former title greet Macbeth. I’ll see it done. What he hath lost noble Macbeth hath won Where hast thou been, sister? Killing swine. Sister, where thou? A sailor’s wife had chestnuts in her lap, And munched, and munched, and munched. “Give me,” quoth I. “Aroint thee, witch!” the rump-fed run-on cries. Her husband’s to Aleppo gone, master o’ the Tiger But in a sieve I’ll thither sail, And like a rat without a tail I’ll do, I’ll do, and I’ll do. I’ll give thee a wind. thou’rt kind. And I another. I myself have all the other, I’ll drain him dry as hay. Sleep shall neither night nor day. Hand upon his penthouse lid. He shall live a man forbid. Look what I have Show me, show me. Here I have a pilot’s thumb, Wrecked as homeward he did come. A drum, a drum! Macbeth doth come. The Weird Sisters, hand in hand, Posters of the sea and land, Thus do go about, about, Thrice to Thine, and thrice to mine, And thrice again, to make up nine. Peace! The charm’s wound up. So foul and fair a day I have not seen. How far is’t called to Forres? what are these, So withered and so wild in their attire, That look not like th’ inhabitants o’ th’ earth Live you? Or are you aught That man may question? You seem to understand me By each at once her Chappy finger laying Upon her skinny lips You should be women, And yet your beards forbid me to interpret That you are so. Speak, if you can. What are you? All hail, Macbeth! Hail to thee, Thane of Throne All hail, Macbeth! Hail to thee, Thane of Cawdor! All hail, Macbeth, that shalt be king hereafter! hahaha. Good sir, why do you start seem to fear Things that do sound so fair? I’ the name of truth, Are ye fantastical or that indeed Which outwardly ye show? My noble partner You greet with present grace and great prediction Of noble having and of royal hope, That he seems rapt withal. To me you speak not. If you can look into the seeds of time And say which grain will grow and which will not, Speak then to me, who neither beg nor fear Your favors nor your hate. Hail! Lesser than Macbeth, and greater. Not so happy, yet much happier. Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo! Banquo and Macbeth, hail! Stay you imperfect speakers, tell me more! I know I am Thane of Glamis, But how of Cawdor? The Thane of Cawdor lives Say from Whence You owe this strange intelligence or why Upon this blasted heath you stop our way With such prophetic greeting? Speak, I charge you. Whither are they vanished? Into the air As breath into the wind. Would they had stayed! Were such things here as we do speak about? Or have we eaten on the insane root that takes the reason prisoner. Your children shall be kings. You shall be king. And Thane of Cawdor too. Went it not so? To th’ selfsame tune and words. Who’s here? The King hath happily received, Macbeth, The news of thy success; As thick as tale Came post with post and everyone did bear Thy praises in his kingdom’s great defense, And poured them down before him. We are sent to give thee from our royal master thanks, And, for an earnest of a greater honor, He bade me, from him, call thee Thane of Cawdor. In which addition, hail, most worthy thane, For it is thine. What! Can the devil speak true? The Thane of Cawdor lives. Why do you dress me In borrowed robes? Who was the thane lives yet, But under heavy judgment bears that life Which he deserves to lose. But treasons capital, confessed and proved, Have overthrown him. Gloms, and Thane of Cawdor! The greatest is behind. Thanks for your pains. Do you not hope your children shall be kings When those that gave the Thane of Cawdor to me Promised no less to them? That, trusted home, Might yet enkindle you unto the crown, Besides the Thane of Cawdor. But ’tis strange. And oftentimes to win us to our harm The instruments of darkness tell us truths, Win us with honest trifles, to betray’s In deepest consequence. Counsins, a word, I pray you. This supernatural soliciting Cannot be ill, cannot be good. If ill, Why hath it given me earnest of success Commencing in a truth? I am Thane of Cawdor. If good, why do I yield to that suggestion Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair And make my seated heart knock at my ribs, Against the use of nature? Look how our partner’s rapt. If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me Without my stir. Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure. Give me your favor. “My dull brain was wrought” With things forgotten. Let us toward the Kings. Think upon what hath chanced and the more time, The interim having weighed it, let us speak Our free hearts each to other. Very gladly. Till then, enough. Come, friends. Is execution done on Cawdor? Those in commission yet returned? My liege, They are not yet come back. But I have spoke With one that saw him die, who did report That very frankly he confessed his treasons, Implored Your Highness’ pardon, and set forth A deep repentance. Nothing in his life Became him like the leaving it. There’s no art To find the mind’s construction in the face He was a gentleman on whom I built An absolute trust. O worthiest cousin! The sin of my ingratitude even now Was heavy on me. Only I have left to say, More is thy due than more than all can pay. The service and the loyalty I owe, In doing it, pays itself. Welcome hither! I have begun to plant thee, and will labor To make thee full of growing. hooo hooo hooooo hooo~ hooo~hooo~hoo~ luu~~lu~~lu~~ Son! Kinsmen thanes, And you whose places are the nearest, know We will establish our estate upon our eldest Malcolm, whom we name hereafter The prince of Cumberland which honor must not unaccompanied invest him only But signs of nobleness, like stars, shall shine On all deservers. Yeah! From hence to Inverness, And bind us further to you. I’ll be myself the harbinger and make joyful The hearing of my wife with your approach; So humbly take my leave My worthy Cawdor! The Prince of Cumberland! That is a step On which I must fall down or else o’ erleap, For in my way it lies Stars, hide your fires. Let not light see my black and deep desires. Let’s after him, whose care is gone before to bid us welcome. Hail, king that shalt be! Hail, king that shalt be! Hail, king that shalt be! 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 When I burnt in desire to question them further, they made themselves air, into which they vanished. Whiles 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 the time with ‘Hail, king that shalt be!’ This have I thought good to deliver thee, my dearest partner of greatness, that thou mightiest not lose the dues of rejoicing by being ignorant of what greatness is promised thee. Lay it to thy heart, and farewell. Gloms thou art, and Cawdor, and shalt be What thou art promised. Yet do I fear thy nature. It is too full o’ the milk of human kindness To catch the nearest way. Thou wouldst be great, Art not without ambition, but without The illness should attend it. Hie thee hither, That I may pour my spirits in thine ear And chastise with the valor of my tongue All that impedes thee from the golden round Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem To have thee crowned withal. What is your tidings? The King comes here tonight. Thou’rt mad to say it! So please you, it is true. Our thane is coming. One of my fellows had the speed of him. Give him tending. He brings great news. The raven himself is hoarse That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan Under my battlements. Come, you spirits That tend on total thoughts, unsex me here And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full Of direst cruelty! Make thick my blood, you murdering ministers, Whatever in your sightless substances You wait on nature’s mischief! Come, thick night, And pall thee in the funnest smoke of hell, That my keen knife see not the wound it makes, Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark To cry “hold” hold! Great Glamis! Worthy Cawdor! Greater than both by the all-hail hereafter! Thy letters have transported me beyond This ignorant present, and I feel now The future in the instant. My dearest love, Duncan comes here tonight. And when goes hence? Tomorrow, as he purposes. O,never Shall sun that morrow see! Your face, my thane, is as a book where men May read strange matters. To beguile the time, Look like the time, bear welcome in your eye, Your hand, your tongue. Look like th’ innocent flower But be the serpent under ‘t. He that’s coming Must be provided for and you shall put This night’s great business into my dispatch, Which shall to all our nights and days to come Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom. We will speak further. Only look up clear. To alter favor ever is to fear. Leave all the rest to me This castle hath a pleasant seat. The air Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself Unto our gentle sense. This guest of summer, The temple-haunting martlet, Hath made his indent bed and procreant cradle. Where they most breed and haunt, I have observed The air is delicate. see see our honored hostess! The love that follows us sometimes is our trouble, Which still we thank as love. Fair and a Nobel hostess We are your guest tonight. Your servants ever Give me your hand. Conduct me to mine host. By your leave, hostess. If it were done when ’tis done, then ’twere well It were done quickly. He’s here in double trust. First, as I am his kinsman and his subject, Strong both against the deed. then, as his host, Who should against his murderer shut the door, Nor bear the knife myself. I have no spur To prick the sides of my intent, but only Vaulting ambition, which o’erleaps itself And falls on th’ other How now, what news? He has almost supped. Why have you left the chamber? Hath he asked for me? Know you not he has? We will proceed no further in this business. He hath honored me of late, and I have bought Golden opinions from all sorts of people, Which would be worn now in their newest gloss, Not cast aside so soon. Was the hope drunk Werein you dressed yourself? Hath it slept since? And wakes it now, to look so green and pale At what it did so freely? From this time Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard To be the same in thine own act and valor As thou art in desire? Prithee, peace! Idare do all that may become a man, Who dares do more is none. What beast was ‘t, then, That made you break this enterprise to me? When you durst do it, then you were a man, And, to be more than what you were, you should Be so much more than the man. I have given suck, and know How tender ’tis to love the bebe that milks me, I would, while it was smiling in my face, Have plucked my nipple from his boneless gums And dashed the brains out, had I so sworn as you Have done to this. If we should fail? we fail? But screw your courage to the sticking place. And we’ll not fail! Wehn Duncan is asleep Whereto the rather shall his day’s hard journey Soundly invite him. his two chamberlains Will I with wine and wassail so convince That memory, the warder of the brain, Shall be a fume and the receipt of reason A limbic only When in swinish sleep Their drenched natures lies as in a death, What cannot you and I perform upon Th’ unguarded Duncan? Will it not be received. When we have marked with blood those sleepy two Of his own chamber and used their very daggers, That they have done it? Who dares receive it other, As we shall make our griefs, and clamor roar Upon his death. I am settled. Away, and mock the time with fairest show. False face must hide what the false heart doth know.

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