Puslapio vaizdai
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Mal. This is the Serjeant,
Who like a good and hardy Soldier fought
Gainst my Captivity ; Hail, hail, brave Friend!
Say to the King, the Knowledge of the broil,
As thou did it leave it.

Cap. Doubtful it stood;
As two spent Swimmers, that do cling together,
And choak their Art : The merciless Mačdonnel
(Worthy to be a Rebel, for to that
The multiplying Villanies of Nature
Do swarm upon him) from the Western Ifles
Of Kernes and Gallow-glasses is supply'd,
And Fortune on his damned Quarry smiling,
Shew'd like a Rebels Whore. But all's too weak;
For brave Macbeth, well he deserves that Name,
Disdaining Fortune, with his brandisht Steel,
Which smoakd with bloody Execution,
Like Valours Minion, carv'd out his Passage,
'Till he fac'd the Slave;
Which never shook Hands, nor bid farewel to him,
Till he unseam'd him from the Nave to th' Chops,
And fix'd his Head upon our Battlements.

King. O valiant Cousin! worthy Gentleman !

Cap. As whence the Sun gins his Refte&ion,
Shipwracking Storms and direful Thunders breaking;
So from that Spring, whence Comfort seem'd to come,
Discomfort swells : Mark, King of Scotland, mark;
No sooner Justice had, with Valour armid,
Compellid these skipping Kernes to trust their Heels,
But the Norweyan Lord surveying Vantage,
With furbisht Arms and new Supplies of Men,
Began a fresh affault.

King. Dismaid not this our Captains, Macbeth and Banquo
Cap. Yes, as Sparrows Eagles;
Or the Hare the Lion.
If I say footh, I must report they were
As Cannons overcharg'd with double Cracks,
So they doubly redoubled Stroaks on the Foe:
Except they meant to bathe in reeking Wounds,
Or memorize another Golgotha,

for help

I cannot tell
But I am faint, my Gashes cry

; King. So well thy Words become thee, as thy Wounds, They smack of Honour both : Go, get him Surgeons.

Enter Rosse and Angus. Who comes here?

Mal. The worthy Thane of Rose.

Len. What haste looks through his Eyes?
So Mould he look, that seems to speak things strange.

Rolle. God save the King.
King. Whence cam's thou, worthy Thane?

Roje. From Fife, great King,
Where the Norweyan Banners Hout the sky,
And fan our People Cold,
Norway himself, with terrible Numbers,
Allisted by that most disloyal Traitor,
The Thane of Cawdor, began a dismal Conflia,
Till that Bellona's Bridegroom, lapt in proof,
Confronted him with Self-comparisons,
Point against Point, rebellious Arm'gainst Arm,
Curbing his lavish Spirit: And to conclude,
The Vi&tory fell on us.

King. Great Happiness.

Roje. That now Sweno, the Norway's King,
Craves Composition :
Nor would we deign him burial of his Men,
'Tis be disbursed, at St. Colmes-hill,
Ten thousand Dollars, to our general use.

King. No more that Thane of Çawdor shall deceive
Our bosom Interest. Go, pronounce his present Death,
And with his former Title; greet Macbeth.

Rolle. I'll see it done.
King. What hie hath lost
, noble Macbeth hath won.

[Exerint. SCENE III. The Heath.

Thunder. Enter the three Witches. i Witch. Where halt thou been, Sister? 2 Witch. Killing Swine.

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3 Witc. 3 Witch. Sister, where thou ?

í Witch. A Sailor's Wife had Chestnuts in her Lap,
And mounchr, and mouncht, and mouncht ;
Give me, quoth I.
Aroint thee, Witch, the Rump-fed Ronyon cries.
Her Husband's to Aleppo gone, Master o'th' Tiger :
But in a Sieve I'll thither fail,
And like a Rat without a Tail,
I'll do
I'll do

and I'll do.
2 Witch. I'll give thee a Wind,
1 Witch. Th'art kind.
3 Witch. And I another.

i Witch. I my self have all the other,
And the very Ports they blow,
All the Quarters that they know,
I'th' Shipman's Card.
I'll drain him dry as Hay ;
Sleep shall neither Night nor Day,
Hang upon his Pent-house Lid;
He shall live a Man forbid;
Weary Sev'nights, nine times nine,
Shall he dwindle, peak and pine :
Though his Bark cannot be loft,
Yet it shall be tempest-toft.
Look what I have.

2 Witch. Shew me, shew me.

1 Witch. Here, I have a Pilot's Thumb, Wrackt as homeward he did come. [Drum within.

3 Witch. A Drum, a Drum. Macbeth doth come.

All. The weyward 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. Enter Macbeth and Banquo, with Soldiers and other Attendants.

Macb. So foul and fair a Day I have not seen.

Ban. How far is't call'd to Soris ? What are these? So wither'd, and so wild in their attire, That look not like th' Inhabitants o'th' Earth,

And

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And yet are on’t ? Live you, or are you ought
That Man may question You seem to understand me,
By each at once her choppy Finger laying
Upon her skinny Lips.

You should be Women,
And yet your Beards forbid me to interpret
That you are so.
Macb. Speak if you can ; what are you?

Witch. All bail, Macbeth! hail to thee, Thane of Glamis!
2 Witch. All hail, Macbeth! hailto thee, Thane of Cawdor !
3 Witch All hail, Macbeth! that shalt be King hereafter,
Ban. Good Sir, why do you start, and seem to fear
Things that do sourd so fair? i'th' name of Truth,
Are ye fantastical, or that indeed [To the Witches.
Which outwardly ye shew? my noble Partner,
You greet with present Grace, and great

Predi&ion
Of noble having, and of Royal hope,
That he seems wrapt 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 Favours, nor your Hate.

I Witch. Hail !
2 Witch. Hail!
3 Witch. Hail !
í Witch. Leffer than Macbeth, and greater.
2 Witch. Not so happy, yet much happier.

3 Wuch. Thou shalt get Kings, though thou be none 3 So all hail! Macbeth and Banguo.

i Witch. Banquo and Macbeth, all hail !

Macb. Stay, you imperfe& Speakers, tell me more ;
By Sinel's Death' I know I am Thane of Glamis ;
But how of Cawdor? The Thane of Cawdor lives,
A prosperous Gentleman; and to be King,
Stands not within the prospect of belief,
No more than to be Cawdor. Say from whence
You owe this strange Intelligence? or why,
Upon this blasted Heath you stop our way,
With such Prophetick Greeting?
Speak, I charge you.

[Witches vanishi Ban. The Earth hath bubbles, as the Water has ; And these are of them : Whither are they vanish'd ?

Macb.

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Macb. Into the Air : and what seem'd corporal,
Melted, as breach, into the Wind.
Would they had staid.

Ban. Were such things here, as we do speak about
Or have we eaten of the insane Root,
That takes the Reason Prisoner ?

Macb. Your Children shall be Kings.
Ban. You shall be King

.. Macb. And Thane of Cawdor too ; went it not so ? Ban, To th' felf-lame tune, and words ; who's here

Enter Rofle and Angus.
Rosse. The King hath happily receiv’d, Macbeth,
The News of thy Success; and when he reads
Thy personal Venture in the Rebels Fight,
His Wonders and his Praises do contend,
Which should be thine or his; Silenc'd with that,
In viewing o'er the rest o'th' self-fame day,
He finds thee in the stout Norweyan Ranks,
Nothing afraid, of what thy self didst make,
Strange Images of Death; as thick as Hail
Came Post with Poft, and every one did bear
Thy Praises in his Kingdom's great Defence,
And pour’d them down before him.

Ang. We are sent,
To give thee, from our Royal Master, thanks,
Only to Herald thee into his light,
Not pay thee.

Rosse. And for an earnest of a greater Honour,
He bad me, from him, call thee Thane of Cawdor;
In which Addition, hail, most worthy Thane !
For it is thine.

Ban. What, can the Devil speak true ?

Macb. The Thane of Cawdor lives ;
Why do you dress me in his borrowed Robes?

Ang. Who was the Thane, lives yet,
Bur under heavy Judgment bears that Life,
Which he deserves to lose.
Whether he was combind with those of Norway,
Or else did line the Rebel with hidden help,
And vantage; or that with both he labour'd
In his country's wrack, I know not :

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