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! Looks it not like the King? Most like:—it harrows me with fear and wonder. It would be spoke to. Question it, Horatio. What art thou, that usurp'st this time of night, Together with that fair and warlike form In which the majesty of buried Denmark Did sometimes march? By heaven I charge thee, speak!
It is offended. See, it stalks away! I charge thee speak! Exit Ghost. How now, Horatio! You tremble and look pale: Is not this something more than fantasy? What think you on't? Before my God, I might not this believe Without the sensible and true avouch Of mine own eyes. Act 5, Scene 2. LitCharts Teacher Editions. Teach your students to analyze literature like LitCharts does. Detailed explanations, analysis, and citation info for every important quote on LitCharts. The original text plus a side-by-side modern translation of every Shakespeare play.
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Download translations of all 37 Shakespeare plays! Teachers and parents! I wish mine eyes Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts: I find They are inclined to do so. Wondrous heavy. I find not Myself disposed to sleep. What might, Worthy Sebastian?
O, what might? What is it thou didst say? This is a strange repose, to be asleep With eyes wide open; standing, speaking, moving, And yet so fast asleep. Ebbing men, indeed, Most often do so near the bottom run By their own fear or sloth.
Keep in Tunis, And let Sebastian wake. There be that can rule Naples As well as he that sleeps; lords that can prate As amply and unnecessarily As this Gonzalo; I myself could make A chough of as deep chat. O, that you bore The mind that I do! Do you understand me? Draw thy sword: one stroke Shall free thee from the tribute which thou payest; And I the king shall love thee.
If of life you keep a care, Shake off slumber, and beware: Awake, awake! Why are you drawn? Wherefore this ghastly looking? It struck mine ear most terribly. His spirits hear me And yet I needs must curse. Here comes a spirit of his, and to torment me For bringing wood in slowly. If it should thunder as it did before, I know not where to hide my head: yond same cloud cannot choose but fall by pailfuls.
What have we here? A fish: he smells like a fish; a very ancient and fish- like smell; a kind of not of the newest Poor- John. A strange fish! Were I in England now, as once I was, and had but this fish painted, not a holiday fool there but would give a piece of silver: there would this monster make a man; any strange beast there makes a man: when they will not give a doit to relieve a lame beggar, they will lazy out ten to see a dead Indian.
Legged like a man and his fins like arms! I do now let loose my opinion; hold it no longer: this is no fish, but an islander, that hath lately suffered by a thunderbolt.
Thunder Alas, the storm is come again! I will here shroud till the dregs of the storm be past. Have we devils here? Where the devil should he learn our language? I will give him some relief, if it be but for that. He shall taste of my bottle: if he have never drunk wine afore will go near to remove his fit. If I can recover him and keep him tame, I will not take too much for him; he shall pay for him that hath him, and that soundly.
His forward voice now is to speak well of his friend; his backward voice is to utter foul speeches and to detract. If all the wine in my bottle will recover him, I will help his ague. I will pour some in thy other mouth. Mercy, mercy! This is a devil, and no monster: I will leave him; I have no long spoon. If thou beest Stephano, touch me and speak to me: for I am Trinculo—be not afeard—thy good friend Trinculo.
Thou art very Trinculo indeed! How camest thou to be the siege of this moon-calf? But art thou not drowned, Stephano? I hope now thou art not drowned. Is the storm overblown? And art thou living, Stephano? I will kneel to him.
How camest thou hither? Though thou canst swim like a duck, thou art made like a goose. How now, moon-calf! I afeard of him! A very weak monster! A most poor credulous monster!
Well drawn, monster, in good sooth! A most scurvy monster! A plague upon the tyrant that I serve! Wilt thou go with me? Freedom, hey-day! Lead the way. I must remove Some thousands of these logs and pile them up, Upon a sore injunction: my sweet mistress Weeps when she sees me work, and says, such baseness Had never like executor.
I forget: But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labours, Most busy lest, when I do it. Pray, set it down and rest you: when this burns, Twill weep for having wearied you.
This visitation shows it. I do beseech you— Chiefly that I might set it in my prayers— What is your name? Indeed the top of admiration! Hear my soul speak: The very instant that I saw you, did My heart fly to your service; there resides, To make me slave to it; and for your sake Am I this patient log—man.
But this is trifling; And all the more it seeks to hide itself, The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning! And prompt me, plain and holy innocence! Servant-monster, drink to me. By this light, thou shalt be my lieutenant, monster, or my standard.
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