Tragedies

Bru. Sit thee down, Clitus: slaying is the word; It is a deed in fashion. Hark thee, Clitus.

[ Whispers.

Cli. What, I, my lord? No, not for all the world.
Bru. Peace then! no words.
Cli.

Bru. Hark thee, Dardanius.
Dar.

Cli. O Dardanius!

Dar. O Clitus!

I'll rather kill myself.

Shall I do such a deed?

[Whispers.

Cli. What ill request did Brutus make to thee?
Dar. To kill him, Clitus. Look, he meditates.
Cli. Now is that noble vessel full of grief,
That it runs over even at his eyes.

Bru. Come hither, good Volumnius; list a word.
Vol. What says my lord?

Bru.

Why, this, Volumnius:
The ghost of Cæsar hath appear'd to me
Two several times by night; at Sardis once,
And, this last night, here in Philippi fields:
I know my hour is come.

Vol.
Not so, my lord.
Bru. Nay, I am sure it is, Volumnius.

Thou seest the world, Volumnius, how it goes;
Our enemies have beat us to the pit:

[Low alarums.

It is more worthy to leap in ourselves,
Than tarry till they push us.

Good Volumnius,

Thou know'st that we two went to school together:
Even for that our love of old, I prithee,
Hold thou my sword-hilts, whilst I run on it.
Vol. That's not an office for a friend, my lord.

[Alarum still.

Cli. Fly, fly, my lord; there is no tarrying here.
Bru. Farewell to you; and you; and you, Volumnius.

Strato, thou hast been all this while asleep;
Farewell to thee too, Strato. Countrymen,

My heart doth joy that yet in all my life

I found no man but he was true to me.

I shall have glory by this losing day
More than Octavius and Mark Antony

By this vile conquest shall attain unto,

So fare you well at once; for Brutus' tongue
Hath almost ended his life's history:

Night hangs upon mine eyes; my bones would rest,
That have but labour'd to attain this hour.

[Alarum. Cry within, "Fly, fly, fly!"

Cli. Fly, my lord, fly.

Bru.

Hence! I will follow.

[Exeunt Clitus, Dardanius, and Volumnius.

I prithee, Strato, stay thou by thy lord:

Thou art a fellow of a good respect;

Thy life hath had some smatch of honour in it:
Hold then my sword, and turn away thy face,
While I do run upon it. Wilt thou, Strato?

Stra. Give me your hand first. Fare you well, my lord.
Bru. Farewell, good Strato. [Runs on his sword.] Cœ-

sar, now be still:

I kill'd not thee with half so good a will.

[Diex.

Alarum. Retreat. Enter OCTAVIUS, ANTONY, MESSALA, LUCILIUS, and the army.

Oct. What man is that?

Mes. My master's 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 only overcame himself,

Lucil. So Brutus should be found. I thank thee, Brutus,

And no man else hath honour by his death.

That thou hast proved Lucilius' saying true.

Oct. All that served Brutus, I will entertain them.

Fellow, wilt thou bestow thy time with me?
Stra. Ay, if Messala will prefer me to you.
Oct. Do so, good Messala.

Mes. How died my master, Strato?

Stra. I held the sword, and he did run on it.

Mes. Octavius, then take him to follow thee,

That did the latest service to my master.

Ant. This was the noblest Roman of them all:

All the conspirators save only he

Did that they did in envy of great Cæsar;
He only, in a general honest thought

And common good to all, made one of them.
His life was gentle, and the elements
So mix'd in him that Nature might stand up
And say to all the world "This was a man!"

Oct. According to his virtues let us use him,
With all respect and rites of burial.
Within my tent his bones to-night shall lie,
Most like a soldier, order'd honourably.
So call the field to rest; and let's away,
To part the glories of this happy day.

[Exeunt.

First Witch. When shall we three meet again

In thunder, lightning, or in rain?

Sec. Witch. When the hurlyburly's done,

When the battle's lost and won.

Third Witch. That will be ere the set of sun.
First Witch. Where the place?

Sec. Witch.

Upon the heath.

Third Witch. There to meet with Macbeth.

First Witch. I come, Graymalkin!

Sec. Witch. Paddock calls.

Third Witch. Anon.

All. Fair is foul, and foul is fair:

Hover through the fog and filthy air.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II. A camp near Forres.

Alarum within. Enter DUNCAN, MALCOLM, DONALBAIN, LENNOX, with Attendants, meeting a bleeding Sergeant.

Dun. What bloody man is that? He can report, As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt

The newest state.

Who like a good and hardy soldier fought
'Gainst my captivity. Hail, brave friend!
Say to the king the knowledge of the broil
As thou didst leave it.

As two spent swimmers, that do cling together
And choke their art. The merciless Macdonwald-
Worthy to be a rebel, for to that

The multiplying villanies of nature

Do swarm upon him-from the western isles

Of kerns and gallowglasses is supplied;

And fortune, on his damned quarrel smiling,

Show'd like a rebel's whore: but all's too weak:

For brave Macbeth-well he deserves that name

Disdaining fortune, with his brandish'd steel,
Which smoked with bloody execution,

Like valour's minion carved out his passage
Till he faced the slave;

And ne'er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him,
Till he unseam'd him from the nave to the chaps,
And fix'd his head upon our battlements.

Dun. O valiant cousin! worthy gentleman!
Ser. As whence the sun 'gins his reflection
Shipwrecking storms and direful thunders break,
So from that spring whence comfort seem'd to come
Discomfort swells. Mark, king of Scotland, mark:
No sooner justice had with valour arm'd
Compell'd these skipping kerns to trust their heels,
But the Norweyan lord surveying vantage,
With furbish'd arms and new supplies of men
Began a fresh assault.

Dun.

Dismay'd not this Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo?

Ser.

Yes;

As sparrows eagles, or the hare the lion.
If I say sooth, I must report they were

As cannons overcharged with double cracks, so they
Doubly redoubled strokes upon 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 help.

Dun. So well thy words become thee as thy wounds; They smack of honour both. Go get him surgeons.

[Exit Sergeant, attended.

The worthy thane of Ross.

Len. What a haste looks through his eyes! So should he

look

That seems to speak things strange.
Ross.

God save the king!

Dun. Whence camest thou, worthy thane?
Ross.

From Fife, great king;

Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky
And fan our people cold. Norway himself,
With terrible numbers,

Assisted by that most disloyal traitor

The thane of Cawdor, began a dismal conflict;
Till that Bellona's bridegroom, lapp'd in proof,
Confronted him with self-comparisons,

Point against point rebellious, arm 'gainst arm,
Curbing his lavish spirit and, to conclude,
The victory fell on us.

Dun.

Ross.

Great happiness!

That now

Sweno, the Norways' king, craves composition;
Nor would we deign him burial of his men

Till he disbursed at Saint Colme's inch

Ten thousand dollars to our general use.

Dun. No more that thane of Cawdor shall deceive Our bosom interest: go pronounce his present death, And with his former title greet Macbeth.

Ross. I'll see it done.

Dun. What he hath lost noble Macbeth hath won.

SCENE III. A heath near Forres.

Thunder. Enter the three Witches.

First Witch. Where hast thou been, sister?

Sec. Witch. Killing swine.

Third Witch. Sister, where thou?

[Exeunt.

First Witch. A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her lap,

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