Macbeth Part 3

Lenox. Goes the King hence to day?

Macb. He does: he did appoint so Lenox. The Night ha's been vnruly: Where we lay, our Chimneys were blowne downe, And (as they say) lamentings heard i'th' Ayre; Strange Schreemes of Death, And Prophecying, with Accents terrible, Of dyre Combustion, and confus'd Euents, New hatch'd toth' wofull time.

The obscure Bird clamor'd the liue-long Night.

Some say, the Earth was Feuorous, And did shake Macb. 'Twas a rough Night

Lenox. My young remembrance cannot paralell A fellow to it.

Enter Macduff.

Macd. O horror, horror, horror, Tongue nor Heart cannot conceiue, nor name thee Macb. and Lenox. What's the matter?

Macd. Confusion now hath made his Master-peece: Most sacrilegious Murther hath broke ope The Lords anoynted Temple, and stole thence The Life o'th' Building Macb. What is't you say, the Life?

Lenox. Meane you his Maiestie?

Macd. Approch the Chamber, and destroy your sight With a new Gorgon. Doe not bid me speake: See, and then speake your selues: awake, awake, Exeunt. Macbeth and Lenox.

Ring the Alarum Bell: Murther, and Treason, Banquo, and Donalbaine: Malcolme awake, Shake off this Downey sleepe, Deaths counterfeit, And looke on Death it selfe: vp, vp, and see The great Doomes Image: Malcolme, Banquo, As from your Graues rise vp, and walke like Sprights, To countenance this horror. Ring the Bell.

Bell rings. Enter Lady.

Lady. What's the Businesse?

That such a hideous Trumpet calls to parley The sleepers of the House? speake, speake Macd. O gentle Lady, 'Tis not for you to heare what I can speake: The repet.i.tion in a Womans eare, Would murther as it fell.

Enter Banquo.

O Banquo, Banquo, Our Royall Master's murther'd

Lady. Woe, alas: What, in our House?

Ban. Too cruell, any where.

Deare Duff, I prythee contradict thy selfe, And say, it is not so.

Enter Macbeth, Lenox, and Rosse.

Macb. Had I but dy'd an houre before this chance, I had liu'd a blessed time: for from this instant, There's nothing serious in Mortalitie: All is but Toyes: Renowne and Grace is dead, The Wine of Life is drawne, and the meere Lees Is left this Vault, to brag of.

Enter Malcolme and Donalbaine.

Donal. What is amisse?

Macb. You are, and doe not know't: The Spring, the Head, the Fountaine of your Blood Is stopt, the very Source of it is stopt Macd. Your Royall Father's murther'd

Mal. Oh, by whom?

Lenox. Those of his Chamber, as it seem'd, had don't: Their Hands and Faces were all badg'd with blood, So were their Daggers, which vnwip'd, we found Vpon their Pillowes: they star'd, and were distracted, No mans Life was to be trusted with them Macb. O, yet I doe repent me of my furie, That I did kill them Macd. Wherefore did you so?

Macb. Who can be wise, amaz'd, temp'rate, & furious, Loyall, and Neutrall, in a moment? No man: Th' expedition of my violent Loue Out-run the pawser, Reason. Here lay Duncan, His Siluer skinne, lac'd with His Golden Blood, And his gash'd Stabs, look'd like a Breach in Nature, For Ruines wastfull entrance: there the Murtherers, Steep'd in the Colours of their Trade; their Daggers Vnmannerly breech'd with gore: who could refraine, That had a heart to loue; and in that heart, Courage, to make's loue knowne?

Lady. Helpe me hence, hoa Macd. Looke to the Lady

Mal. Why doe we hold our tongues, That most may clayme this argument for ours?

Donal. What should be spoken here, Where our Fate hid in an augure hole, May rush, and seize vs? Let's away, Our Teares are not yet brew'd Mal. Nor our strong Sorrow Vpon the foot of Motion Banq. Looke to the Lady: And when we haue our naked Frailties hid, That suffer in exposure; let vs meet, And question this most b.l.o.o.d.y piece of worke, To know it further. Feares and scruples shake vs: In the great Hand of G.o.d I stand, and thence, Against the vndivulg'd pretence, I fight Of Treasonous Mallice Macd. And so doe I

All. So all

Macb. Let's briefely put on manly readinesse, And meet i'th' Hall together All. Well contented.

Exeunt.

Malc. What will you doe?

Let's not consort with them: To shew an vnfelt Sorrow, is an Office Which the false man do's easie.

Ile to England Don. To Ireland, I: Our seperated fortune shall keepe vs both the safer: Where we are, there's Daggers in mens smiles; The neere in blood, the neerer b.l.o.o.d.y Malc. This murtherous Shaft that's shot, Hath not yet lighted: and our safest way, Is to auoid the ayme. Therefore to Horse, And let vs not be daintie of leaue-taking, But s.h.i.+ft away: there's warrant in that Theft, Which steales it selfe, when there's no mercie left.

Exeunt.

Scena Quarta.

Enter Rosse, with an Old man.

Old man. Threescore and ten I can remember well, Within the Volume of which Time, I haue seene Houres dreadfull, and things strange: but this sore Night Hath trifled former knowings Rosse. Ha, good Father, Thou seest the Heauens, as troubled with mans Act, Threatens his b.l.o.o.d.y Stage: byth' Clock 'tis Day, And yet darke Night strangles the trauailing Lampe: Is't Nights predominance, or the Dayes shame, That Darknesse does the face of Earth intombe, When liuing Light should kisse it?

Old man. 'Tis vnnaturall, Euen like the deed that's done: On Tuesday last, A Faulcon towring in her pride of place, Was by a Mowsing Owle hawkt at, and kill'd Rosse. And Duncans Horses, (A thing most strange, and certaine) Beauteous, and swift, the Minions of their Race, Turn'd wilde in nature, broke their stalls, flong out, Contending 'gainst Obedience, as they would Make Warre with Mankinde Old man. 'Tis said, they eate each other

Rosse. They did so: To th' amazement of mine eyes that look'd vpon't.

Enter Macduffe.

Heere comes the good Macduffe.

How goes the world Sir, now?

Macd. Why see you not?

Ross. Is't known who did this more then b.l.o.o.d.y deed?

Macd. Those that Macbeth hath slaine Ross. Alas the day, What good could they pretend?

Macd. They were subborned, Malcolme, and Donalbaine the Kings two Sonnes Are stolne away and fled, which puts vpon them Suspition of the deed Rosse. 'Gainst Nature still, Thriftlesse Ambition, that will rauen vp Thine owne liues meanes: Then 'tis most like, The Soueraignty will fall vpon Macbeth Macd. He is already nam'd, and gone to Scone To be inuested Rosse. Where is Duncans body?

Macd. Carried to Colmekill, The Sacred Store-house of his Predecessors, And Guardian of their Bones Rosse. Will you to Scone?

Macd. No Cosin, Ile to Fife Rosse. Well, I will thither

Macd. Well may you see things wel done there: Adieu Least our old Robes sit easier then our new Rosse. Farewell, Father

Old M. G.o.ds benyson go with you, and with those That would make good of bad, and Friends of Foes.

Exeunt. omnes

Actus Tertius. Scena Prima.

Enter Banquo.

Banq. Thou hast it now, King, Cawdor, Glamis, all, As the weyard Women promis'd, and I feare Thou playd'st most fowly for't: yet it was saide It should not stand in thy Posterity, But that my selfe should be the Roote, and Father Of many Kings. If there come truth from them, As vpon thee Macbeth, their Speeches s.h.i.+ne, Why by the verities on thee made good, May they not be my Oracles as well, And set me vp in hope. But hush, no more.

Senit sounded. Enter Macbeth as King, Lady Lenox, Rosse, Lords, and Attendants.

Macb. Heere's our chiefe Guest

La. If he had beene forgotten, It had bene as a gap in our great Feast, And all-thing vnbecomming Macb. To night we hold a solemne Supper sir, And Ile request your presence Banq. Let your Highnesse Command vpon me, to the which my duties Are with a most indissoluble tye For euer knit Macb. Ride you this afternoone?

Ban. I, my good Lord Macb. We should haue else desir'd your good aduice (Which still hath been both graue, and prosperous) In this dayes Councell: but wee'le take to morrow.

Is't farre you ride?

Ban. As farre, my Lord, as will fill vp the time 'Twixt this, and Supper. Goe not my Horse the better, I must become a borrower of the Night, For a darke houre, or twaine Macb. Faile not our Feast

Ban. My Lord, I will not

Macb. We heare our b.l.o.o.d.y Cozens are bestow'd In England, and in Ireland, not confessing Their cruell Parricide, filling their hearers With strange inuention. But of that to morrow, When therewithall, we shall haue cause of State, Crauing vs ioyntly. Hye you to Horse: Adieu, till you returne at Night.

Goes Fleance with you?

Ban. I, my good Lord: our time does call vpon's Macb. I wish your Horses swift, and sure of foot: And so I doe commend you to their backs.

Farwell.

Exit Banquo.

Let euery man be master of his time, Till seuen at Night, to make societie The sweeter welcome: We will keepe our selfe till Supper time alone: While then, G.o.d be with you.

Exeunt. Lords.

Sirrha, a word with you: Attend those men Our pleasure?

Seruant. They are, my Lord, without the Pallace Gate Macb. Bring them before vs.

Exit Seruant.