Part 1 (1/2)

The Tragedie of Macbeth.

by William Shakespeare.

Scena Secunda.

Alarum within. Enter King Malcome, Donalbaine, Lenox, with attendants, meeting a bleeding Captaine.

King. What b.l.o.o.d.y man is that? he can report, As seemeth by his plight, of the Reuolt The newest state Mal. This is the Serieant, Who like a good and hardie Souldier fought 'Gainst my Captiuitie: Haile braue friend; Say to the King, the knowledge of the Broyle, As thou didst leaue it Cap. Doubtfull it stood, As two spent Swimmers, that doe cling together, And choake their Art: The mercilesse Macdonwald (Worthie to be a Rebell, for to that The multiplying Villanies of Nature Doe swarme vpon him) from the Westerne Isles Of Kernes and Gallowgrosses is supply'd, And Fortune on his d.a.m.ned Quarry smiling, Shew'd like a Rebells Wh.o.r.e: but all's too weake: For braue Macbeth (well hee deserues that Name) Disdayning Fortune, with his brandisht Steele, Which smoak'd with b.l.o.o.d.y execution (Like Valours Minion) caru'd out his pa.s.sage, Till hee fac'd the Slaue: Which neu'r shooke hands, nor bad farwell to him, Till he vnseam'd him from the Naue toth' Chops, And fix'd his Head vpon our Battlements King. O valiant Cousin, worthy Gentleman

Cap. As whence the Sunne 'gins his reflection, s.h.i.+pwracking Stormes, and direfull Thunders: So from that Spring, whence comfort seem'd to come, Discomfort swells: Marke King of Scotland, marke, No sooner Iustice had, with Valour arm'd, Compell'd these skipping Kernes to trust their heeles, But the Norweyan Lord, surueying vantage, With furbusht Armes, and new supplyes of men, Began a fresh a.s.sault King. Dismay'd not this our Captaines, Macbeth and Banquoh?

Cap. Yes, as Sparrowes, Eagles; Or the Hare, the Lyon: If I say sooth, I must report they were As Cannons ouer-charg'd with double Cracks, So they doubly redoubled stroakes vpon the Foe: Except they meant to bathe in reeking Wounds, Or memorize another Golgotha, I cannot tell: but I am faint, My Gashes cry for helpe King. So well thy words become thee, as thy wounds, They smack of Honor both: Goe get him Surgeons.

Enter Rosse and Angus.

Who comes here?

Mal. The worthy Thane of Rosse Lenox. What a haste lookes through his eyes?

So should he looke, that seemes to speake things strange Rosse. G.o.d saue the King

King. Whence cam'st thou, worthy Thane?

Rosse. From Fiffe, great King, Where the Norweyan Banners flowt the Skie, And fanne our people cold.

Norway himselfe, with terrible numbers, a.s.sisted by that most disloyall Traytor, The Thane of Cawdor, began a dismall Conflict, Till that Bellona's Bridegroome, lapt in proofe, Confronted him with selfe-comparisons, Point against Point, rebellious Arme 'gainst Arme, Curbing his lauish spirit: and to conclude, The Victorie fell on vs King. Great happinesse

Rosse. That now Sweno, the Norwayes King, Craues composition: Nor would we deigne him buriall of his men, Till he disbursed, at Saint Colmes ynch, Ten thousand Dollars, to our generall vse King. No more that Thane of Cawdor shall deceiue Our Bosome interest: Goe p.r.o.nounce his present death, And with his former t.i.tle greet Macbeth Rosse. Ile see it done

King. What he hath lost, n.o.ble Macbeth hath wonne.

Exeunt.

Scena Tertia.

Thunder. Enter the three Witches.

1. Where hast thou beene, Sister? 2. Killing Swine

3. Sister, where thou?

1. A Saylors Wife had Chestnuts in her Lappe, And mouncht, & mouncht, and mouncht: Giue me, quoth I.

Aroynt thee, Witch, the rumpe-fed Ronyon cryes.

Her Husband's to Aleppo gone, Master o'th' Tiger: But in a Syue Ile thither sayle, And like a Rat without a tayle, Ile doe, Ile doe, and Ile doe 2. Ile giue thee a Winde

1. Th'art kinde

3. And I another

1. I my selfe haue all the other, And the very Ports they blow, All the Quarters that they know, I'th' s.h.i.+p-mans Card.

Ile dreyne him drie as Hay: Sleepe shall neyther Night nor Day Hang vpon his Pent-house Lid: He shall liue a man forbid: Wearie Seu'nights, nine times nine, Shall he dwindle, peake, and pine: Though his Barke cannot be lost, Yet it shall be Tempest-tost.

Looke what I haue 2. Shew me, shew me

1. Here I haue a Pilots Thumbe, Wrackt, as homeward he did come.

Drum within.

3. A Drumme, a Drumme: Macbeth doth come All. The weyward Sisters, hand in hand, Posters of the Sea and Land, Thus doe goe, about, about, Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine, And thrice againe, to make vp nine.

Peace, the Charme's wound vp.

Enter Macbeth and Banquo.