Chapter 152

Tit. Hye you Messala, And I will seeke for Pindarus the while: Why did'st thou send me forth braue Cassius? Did I not meet thy Friends, and did not they Put on my Browes this wreath of Victorie, And bid me giue it thee? Did'st thou not heare their showts? Alas, thou hast misconstrued euery thing. But hold thee, take this Garland on thy Brow, Thy Brutus bid me giue it thee, and I Will do his bidding. Brutus, come apace, And see how I regarded Caius Cassius: By your leaue Gods: This is a Romans part, Come Cassius Sword, and finde Titinius hart.

Dies

Alarum. Enter Brutus, Messala, yong Cato, Strato, Volumnius, and Lucillius.

Bru. Where, where Messala, doth his body lye? Messa. Loe yonder, and Titinius mourning it

Bru. Titinius face is vpward

Cato. He is slaine

Bru. O Iulius Caesar, thou art mighty yet, Thy Spirit walkes abroad, and turnes our Swords In our owne proper Entrailes. Low Alarums

Cato. Braue Titinius, Looke where he haue not crown'd dead Cassius

Bru. Are yet two Romans liuing such as these? The last of all the Romans, far thee well: It is impossible, that euer Rome Should breed thy fellow. Friends I owe mo teares To this dead man, then you shall see me pay. I shall finde time, Cassius: I shall finde time. Come therefore, and to Tharsus send his body, His Funerals shall not be in our Campe, Least it discomfort vs. Lucillius come, And come yong Cato, let vs to the Field, Labio and Flauio set our Battailes on: 'Tis three a clocke, and Romans yet ere night, We shall try Fortune in a second fight.

Exeunt.

Alarum. Enter Brutus, Messala, Cato, Lucillius, and Flauius.

Bru. Yet Country-men: O yet, hold vp your heads

Cato. What Bastard doth not? Who will go with me? I will proclaime my name about the Field. I am the Sonne of Marcus Cato, hoe. A Foe to Tyrants, and my Countries Friend. I am the Sonne of Marcus Cato, hoe. Enter Souldiers, and fight.

And I am Brutus, Marcus Brutus, I, Brutus my Countries Friend: Know me for Brutus

Luc. O yong and Noble Cato, art thou downe? Why now thou dyest, as brauely as Titinius, And may'st be honour'd, being Cato's Sonne

Sold. Yeeld, or thou dyest

Luc. Onely I yeeld to dye: There is so much, that thou wilt kill me straight: Kill Brutus, and be honour'd in his death

Sold. We must not: a Noble Prisoner. Enter Antony.

2.Sold. Roome hoe: tell Antony, Brutus is tane

1.Sold. Ile tell thee newes. Heere comes the Generall, Brutus is tane, Brutus is tane my Lord

Ant. Where is hee? Luc. Safe Antony, Brutus is safe enough: I dare assure thee, that no Enemy Shall euer take aliue the Noble Brutus: The Gods defend him from so great a shame, When you do finde him, or aliue, or dead, He will be found like Brutus, like himselfe

Ant. This is not Brutus friend, but I assure you, A prize no lesse in worth; keepe this man safe, Giue him all kindnesse. I had rather haue Such men my Friends, then Enemies. Go on, And see where Brutus be aliue or dead, And bring vs word, vnto Octauius Tent: How euery thing is chanc'd.

Exeunt.

Enter Brutus, Dardanius, Clitus, Strato, and Volumnius.

Brut. Come poore remaines of friends, rest on this Rocke

Clit. Statillius shew'd the Torch-light, but my Lord He came not backe: he is or tane, or slaine

Brut. Sit thee downe, Clitus: slaying is the word, It is a deed in fashion. Hearke thee, Clitus

Clit. What I, my Lord? No, not for all the World

Brut. Peace then, no words

Clit. Ile rather kill my selfe

Brut. Hearke thee, Dardanius

Dard. Shall I doe such a deed? Clit. O Dardanius

Dard. O Clitus

Clit. What ill request did Brutus make to thee? Dard. To kill him, Clitus: looke he meditates

Clit. Now is that Noble Vessell full of griefe, That it runnes ouer euen at his eyes

Brut. Come hither, good Volumnius, list a word

Volum. What sayes my Lord? Brut. Why this, Volumnius: The Ghost of Caesar hath appear'd to me Two seuerall times by Night: at Sardis, once; And this last Night, here in Philippi fields: I know my houre is come

Volum. Not so, my Lord

Brut. Nay, I am sure it is, Volumnius. Thou seest the World, Volumnius, how it goes, Our Enemies haue beat vs to the Pit:

Low Alarums.

It is more worthy, to leape in our selues, Then tarry till they push vs. Good Volumnius, Thou know'st, that we two went to Schoole together: Euen for that our loue of old, I prethee Hold thou my Sword Hilts, whilest I runne on it

Vol. That's not an Office for a friend, my Lord.

Alarum still.

Cly. Fly, flye my Lord, there is no tarrying heere

Bru. Farewell to you, and you, and Volumnius. Strato, thou hast bin all this while asleepe: Farewell to thee, to Strato, Countrymen: My heart doth ioy, that yet in all my life, I found no man, but he was true to me. I shall haue glory by this loosing day More then Octauius, and Marke Antony, By this vile Conquest shall attaine vnto. So fare you well at once, for Brutus tongue Hath almost ended his liues History: Night hangs vpon mine eyes, my Bones would rest, That haue but labour'd, to attaine this houre.

Alarum. Cry within, Flye, flye, flye.

Cly. Fly my Lord, flye

Bru. Hence: I will follow: I prythee Strato, stay thou by thy Lord, Thou art a Fellow of a good respect: Thy life hath had some smatch of Honor in it, Hold then my Sword, and turne away thy face, While I do run vpon it. Wilt thou Strato? Stra. Giue me your hand first. Fare you wel my Lord

Bru. Farewell good Strato. - Caesar, now be still, I kill'd not thee with halfe so good a will. Dyes.

Alarum. Retreat. Enter Antony, Octauius, Messala, Lucillius, and the Army.

Octa. What man is that? Messa. My Masters man. Strato, where is thy Master? Stra. Free from the Bondage you are in Messala, The Conquerors can but make a fire of him: For Brutus onely ouercame himselfe, And no man else hath Honor by his death

Lucil. So Brutus should be found. I thank thee Brutus That thou hast prou'd Lucillius saying true, Octa. All that seru'd Brutus, I will entertaine them. Fellow, wilt thou bestow thy time with me? Stra. I, if Messala will preferre me to you

Octa. Do so, good Messala

Messa. How dyed my Master Strato? Stra. I held the Sword, and he did run on it

Messa. Octauius, then take him to follow thee, That did the latest seruice to my Master

Ant. This was the Noblest Roman of them all: All the Conspirators saue onely hee, Did that they did, in enuy of great Caesar: He, onely in a generall honest thought, And common good to all, made one of them. His life was gentle, and the Elements So mixt in him, that Nature might stand vp, And say to all the world; This was a man

Octa. According to his Vertue, let vs vse him Withall Respect, and Rites of Buriall. Within my Tent his bones to night shall ly, Most like a Souldier ordered Honourably: So call the Field to rest, and let's away, To part the glories of this happy day.

Exeunt. omnes.

FINIS. THE TRAGEDIE OF IVLIVS CaeSAR.

The Tragedie of Macbeth

Actus Primus. Scoena Prima.

Thunder and Lightning. Enter three Witches.

1. When shall we three meet againe? In Thunder, Lightning, or in Raine? 2. When the Hurley-burley's done, When the Battaile's lost, and wonne

3. That will be ere the set of Sunne

1. Where the place? 2. Vpon the Heath

3. There to meet with Macbeth

1. I come, Gray-Malkin

All. Padock calls anon: faire is foule, and foule is faire, Houer through the fogge and filthie ayre.

Exeunt.

Scena Secunda.

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

King. What bloody 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 damned Quarry smiling, Shew'd like a Rebells Whore: but all's too weake: For braue Macbeth (well hee deserues that Name) Disdayning Fortune, with his brandisht Steele, Which smoak'd with bloody execution (Like Valours Minion) caru'd out his passage, 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, Shipwracking 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 assault

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. God 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, Assisted 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 pronounce his present death, And with his former Title greet Macbeth

Rosse. Ile see it done

King. What he hath lost, Noble 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' Ship-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.

Macb. So foule and faire a day I haue not seene

Banquo. How farre is't call'd to Soris? What are these, So wither'd, and so wilde in their attyre, That looke not like th' Inhabitants o'th' Earth, And yet are on't? Liue you, or are you aught That man may question? you seeme to vnderstand me, By each at once her choppie finger laying Vpon her skinnie Lips: you should be Women, And yet your Beards forbid me to interprete That you are so

Mac. Speake if you can: what are you? 1. All haile Macbeth, haile to thee Thane of Glamis

2. All haile Macbeth, haile to thee Thane of Cawdor

3. All haile Macbeth, that shalt be King hereafter

Banq. Good Sir, why doe you start, and seeme to feare Things that doe sound so faire? i'th' name of truth Are ye fantasticall, or that indeed Which outwardly ye shew? My Noble Partner You greet with present Grace, and great prediction Of Noble hauing, and of Royall hope, That he seemes wrapt withall: to me you speake not. If you can looke into the Seedes of Time, And say, which Graine will grow, and which will not, Speake then to me, who neyther begge, nor feare Your fauors, nor your hate

1. Hayle

2. Hayle

3. Hayle

1. Lesser than Macbeth, and greater

2. Not so happy, yet much happyer

3. Thou shalt get Kings, though thou be none: So all haile Macbeth, and Banquo

1. Banquo, and Macbeth, all haile

Macb. Stay you imperfect Speakers, tell me more: By Sinells death, I know I am Thane of Glamis, But how, of Cawdor? the Thane of Cawdor liues A prosperous Gentleman: And to be King, Stands not within the prospect of beleefe, No more then to be Cawdor. Say from whence You owe this strange Intelligence, or why Vpon this blasted Heath you stop our way With such Prophetique greeting? Speake, I charge you.

Witches vanish.

Banq. The Earth hath bubbles, as the Water ha's, And these are of them: whither are they vanish'd? Macb. Into the Ayre: and what seem'd corporall, Melted, as breath into the Winde. Would they had stay'd

Banq. Were such things here, as we doe speake about? Or haue we eaten on the insane Root, That takes the Reason Prisoner? Macb. Your Children shall be Kings

Banq. You shall be King

Macb. And Thane of Cawdor too: went it not so? Banq. Toth' selfe-same tune and words: who's here? Enter Rosse and Angus.

Rosse. The King hath happily receiu'd, Macbeth, The newes of thy successe: and when he reades Thy personall Venture in the Rebels sight, His Wonders and his Prayses doe contend, Which should be thine, or his: silenc'd with that, In viewing o're the rest o'th' selfe-same day, He findes thee in the stout Norweyan Rankes, Nothing afeard of what thy selfe didst make Strange Images of death, as thick as Tale Can post with post, and euery one did beare Thy prayses in his Kingdomes great defence, And powr'd them downe before him

Ang. Wee are sent, To giue thee from our Royall Master thanks, Onely to harrold thee into his sight, Not pay thee

Rosse. And for an earnest of a greater Honor, He bad me, from him, call thee Thane of Cawdor: In which addition, haile most worthy Thane, For it is thine

Banq. What, can the Deuill speake true? Macb. The Thane of Cawdor liues: Why doe you dresse me in borrowed Robes? Ang. Who was the Thane, liues yet, But vnder heauie Iudgement beares that Life, Which he deserues to loose. Whether he was combin'd with those of Norway, Or did lyne the Rebell with hidden helpe, And vantage; or that with both he labour'd In his Countreyes wracke, I know not: But Treasons Capitall, confess'd, and prou'd, Haue ouerthrowne him

Macb. Glamys, and Thane of Cawdor: The greatest is behinde. Thankes for your paines. Doe you not hope your Children shall be Kings, When those that gaue the Thane of Cawdor to me, Promis'd no lesse to them

Banq. That trusted home, Might yet enkindle you vnto the Crowne, Besides the Thane of Cawdor. But 'tis strange: And oftentimes, to winne vs to our harme, The Instruments of Darknesse tell vs Truths, Winne vs with honest Trifles, to betray's In deepest consequence. Cousins, a word, I pray you

Macb. Two Truths are told, As happy Prologues to the swelling Act Of the Imperiall Theame. I thanke you Gentlemen: This supernaturall solliciting Cannot be ill; cannot be good. If ill? why hath it giuen me earnest of successe, Commencing in a Truth? I am Thane of Cawdor. If good? why doe I yeeld to that suggestion, Whose horrid Image doth vnfixe my Heire, And make my seated Heart knock at my Ribbes, Against the vse of Nature? Present Feares Are lesse then horrible Imaginings: My Thought, whose Murther yet is but fantasticall, Shakes so my single state of Man, That Function is smother'd in surmise, And nothing is, but what is not

Banq. Looke how our Partner's rapt

Macb. If Chance will haue me King, Why Chance may Crowne me, Without my stirre

Banq. New Honors come vpon him Like our strange Garments, cleaue not to their mould, But with the aid of vse

Macb. Come what come may, Time, and the Houre, runs through the roughest Day

Banq. Worthy Macbeth, wee stay vpon your leysure

Macb. Giue me your fauour: My dull Braine was wrought with things forgotten. Kinde Gentlemen, your paines are registred, Where euery day I turne the Leafe, To reade them. Let vs toward the King: thinke vpon What hath chanc'd: and at more time, The Interim hauing weigh'd it, let vs speake Our free Hearts each to other

Banq. Very gladly

Macb. Till then enough: Come friends.

Exeunt.

Scena Quarta.

Flourish. Enter King, Lenox, Malcolme, Donalbaine, and Attendants.

King. Is execution done on Cawdor? Or not those in Commission yet return'd? Mal. My Liege, they are not yet come back. But I haue spoke with one that saw him die: Who did report, that very frankly hee Confess'd his Treasons, implor'd your Highnesse Pardon, And set forth a deepe Repentance: Nothing in his Life became him, Like the leauing it. Hee dy'de, As one that had beene studied in his death, To throw away the dearest thing he ow'd, As 'twere a carelesse Trifle

King. There's no Art, To finde the Mindes construction in the Face. He was a Gentleman, on whom I built An absolute Trust. Enter Macbeth, Banquo, Rosse, and Angus.

O worthyest Cousin, The sinne of my Ingratitude euen now Was heauie on me. Thou art so farre before, That swiftest Wing of Recompence is slow, To ouertake thee. Would thou hadst lesse deseru'd, That the proportion both of thanks, and payment, Might haue beene mine: onely I haue left to say, More is thy due, then more then all can pay

Macb. The seruice, and the loyaltie I owe, In doing it, payes it selfe. Your Highnesse part, is to receiue our Duties: And our Duties are to your Throne, and State, Children, and Seruants; which doe but what they should, By doing euery thing safe toward your Loue And Honor

King. Welcome hither: I haue begun to plant thee, and will labour To make thee full of growing. Noble Banquo, That hast no lesse deseru'd, nor must be knowne No lesse to haue done so: Let me enfold thee, And hold thee to my Heart

Banq. There if I grow, The Haruest is your owne

King. My plenteous Ioyes, Wanton in fulnesse, seeke to hide themselues In drops of sorrow. Sonnes, Kinsmen, Thanes, And you whose places are the nearest, know, We will establish our Estate vpon Our eldest, Malcolme, whom we name hereafter, The Prince of Cumberland: which Honor must Not vnaccompanied, inuest him onely, But signes of Noblenesse, like Starres, shall shine On all deseruers. From hence to Envernes, And binde vs further to you

Macb. The Rest is Labor, which is not vs'd for you: Ile be my selfe the Herbenger, and make ioyfull The hearing of my Wife, with your approach: So humbly take my leaue

King. My worthy Cawdor

Macb. The Prince of Cumberland: that is a step, On which I must fall downe, or else o're-leape, For in my way it lyes. Starres hide your fires, Let not Light see my black and deepe desires: The Eye winke at the Hand: yet let that bee, Which the Eye feares, when it is done to see. Enter.

King. True worthy Banquo: he is full so valiant, And in his commendations, I am fed: It is a Banquet to me. Let's after him, Whose care is gone before, to bid vs welcome: It is a peerelesse Kinsman.

Flourish. Exeunt.

Scena Quinta.

Enter Macbeths Wife alone with a Letter.

Lady. They met me in the day of successe: and I haue learn'd by the perfect'st report, they haue more in them, then mortall knowledge. When I burnt in desire to question them further, they made themselues Ayre, into which they vanish'd. Whiles I stood rapt in the wonder of it, came Missiues from the King, who all-hail'd me Thane of Cawdor, by which Title before, these weyward Sisters saluted me, and referr'd me to the comming on of time, with haile King that shalt be. This haue I thought good to deliuer thee (my dearest Partner of Greatnesse) that thou might'st not loose the dues of reioycing by being ignorant of what Greatnesse is promis'd thee. Lay it to thy heart and farewell. Glamys thou art, and Cawdor, and shalt be What thou art promis'd: yet doe I feare thy Nature, It is too full o'th' Milke of humane kindnesse, To catch the neerest way. Thou would'st be great, Art not without Ambition, but without The illnesse should attend it. What thou would'st highly, That would'st thou holily: would'st not play false, And yet would'st wrongly winne. Thould'st haue, great Glamys, that which cryes, Thus thou must doe, if thou haue it; And that which rather thou do'st feare to doe, Then wishest should be vndone. High thee hither, That I may powre my Spirits in thine Eare, And chastise with the valour of my Tongue All that impeides thee from the Golden Round, Which Fate and Metaphysicall ayde doth seeme To haue thee crown'd withall. Enter Messenger.

What is your tidings? Mess. The King comes here to Night

Lady. Thou'rt mad to say it. Is not thy Master with him? who, wer't so, Would haue inform'd for preparation

Mess. So please you, it is true: our Thane is comming: One of my fellowes had the speed of him; Who almost dead for breath, had scarcely more Then would make vp his Message

Lady. Giue him tending, He brings great newes,

Exit Messenger.

The Rauen himselfe is hoarse, That croakes the fatall entrance of Duncan Vnder my Battlements. Come you Spirits, That tend on mortall thoughts, vnsex me here, And fill me from the Crowne to the Toe, top-full Of direst Crueltie: make thick my blood, Stop vp th' accesse, and passage to Remorse, That no compunctious visitings of Nature Shake my fell purpose, nor keepe peace betweene Th' effect, and hit. Come to my Womans Brests, And take my Milke for Gall, you murth'ring Ministers, Where-euer, in your sightlesse substances, You wait on Natures Mischiefe. Come thick Night, And pall thee in the dunnest smoake of Hell, That my keene Knife see not the Wound it makes, Nor Heauen peepe through the Blanket of the darke, To cry, hold, hold. Enter Macbeth.

Great Glamys, worthy Cawdor, Greater then both, by the all-haile hereafter, Thy Letters haue transported me beyond This ignorant present, and I feele now The future in the instant

Macb. My dearest Loue, Duncan comes here to Night

Lady. And when goes hence? Macb. To morrow, as he purposes

Lady. O neuer, Shall Sunne that Morrow see. Your Face, my Thane, is as a Booke, where men May reade strange matters, to beguile the time. Looke like the time, beare welcome in your Eye, Your Hand, your Tongue: looke like th' innocent flower, But be the Serpent vnder't. He that's comming, Must be prouided for: and you shall put This Nights great Businesse into my dispatch, Which shall to all our Nights, and Dayes to come, Giue solely soueraigne sway, and Masterdome

Macb. We will speake further, Lady. Onely looke vp cleare: To alter fauor, euer is to feare: Leaue all the rest to me.

Exeunt.

Scena Sexta.

Hoboyes, and Torches. Enter King, Malcolme, Donalbaine, Banquo, Lenox, Macduff, Rosse, Angus, and Attendants.

King. This Castle hath a pleasant seat, The ayre nimbly and sweetly recommends it selfe Vnto our gentle sences