To this dead man than you shall see me pay.
I shall find time, Cassius, I shall find time.
Come therefore, and to Thassos send his body:
His funerals shall not be in our camp,
Lest it discomfort us. Lucilius, come ;
And come, young Cato; let us to the field.
Labeo and Flavius, set our battles on:
"Tis three o'clock; and, Romans, yet ere night
We shall try fortune in a second fight. Exeunt.

SCENE IV. Another Part of the Field. Alarum. Enter fighting, Soldiers of both Armies; then BRUTUS, CATO, LUCILIUS, and Others. Bru. Yet, countrymen, O! yet hold up your heads.

Cato. What bastard doth not? Who will go with me?

I will proclaim my name about the field:
I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho!

A foe to tyrants, and my country's friend;
I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho!

Bru. And I am Brutus, Marcus Brutus, I; Brutus, my country's friend; know me for Brutus.

Exit.

Lucil. O young and noble Cato! art thou down?

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,

Why, now thon diest as bravely as Titinius,
And may'st be honour'd, being Cato's son.
First Sold. Yield, or thou diest.
Lucil.
Only I yield to die:
There is so much that thou wilt kill me straight.
Offering money.
Kill Brutus, and be honour'd in his death.
First Sold. We must not. A noble prisoner!
Second Sold. Room, ho! Tell Antony, Brutus

is ta'en.

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;

the general.

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, Ay!'
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. Cæsar, now be still:

I kill'd not thee with half so good a will.
He runs on his sword, and dies.
Alarum. Retreat. Enter OCTAVIUS, ANTONY,
MESSALA, LUCILIUS, and their Army.
Oct. What man is that?

Mes. My master's man. Strato, where is thy

master?

SCENE III.-A Heath.

Thunder. Enter the three Witches.

First Witch. Where hast thou been, sister? Second Witch. Killing swine.

Third Witch. Sister, where thou?

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

And munch'd, and munch'd, and munch'd: 'Give me,' quoth I:

'Aroint thee, witch!' the rump-fed ronyon cries. Her husband's to Aleppo gone, master o' the Tiger:

But in a sieve I'll thither sail,
And, like a rat without a tail,
I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do.

Second Witch. I'll give thee a wind.
First Witch. Thou 'rt kind.

Third Witch. And I another.

First Witch. I myself have all the other;
And the very ports they blow,
All the quarters that they know
I' the shipman's card.

I will drain him dry as hay:
Sleep shall neither night nor day
Hang upon his pent-house lid;
He shall live a man forbid.
Weary se'nnights nine times nine
Shall he dwindle, peak and pine:
Though his bark cannot be lost,
Yet it shall be tempest-tost.
Look what I have.

Second Witch. Show me, show me.
First Witch. Here I have a pilot's thumb,
Wreck'd as homeward he did come.

Third Witch. A drum! a drum!
Macbeth doth come.

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20

Drum within.

All. The weird sisters, hand in hand,
Posters of the sea and land,
Thus do go about, about:

Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine,
And thrice again, to make up nine.
Peace! the charm's wound up.

Enter MACBETH and BANQUO.
Macb. So foul and fair a day I have not seen.
Bun. How far is 't call'd to Forres? What
are these,

So wither'd and so wild in their attire,
That look not like th' inhabitants o' the earth.
And yet are on't? Live you? or are you aught
That man may question? You seem to under-

stand me,

By each at once her choppy finger laying
Upon her skinny lips: you should be women,
And yet your beards forbid me to interpret
That you are so.
Mach. Speak, if you can: what are you?
First Witch. All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee,
Thane of Glamis!

First Witch. Hail!

Second Witch. Hail!

Third Witch. Hail!

First Witch. Lesser than Macbeth, and greater. Second Witch. Not so happy, yet much happier. Third Witch. Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none :

So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo!

First Witch. Banquo and Macbeth, all hail! Macb. Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me

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more:

By Sinel's death I know I am Thane of Glamis ;
But how of Cawdor? the Thane of Cawdor lives,
A prosperous gentleman; and to be king
Stands not within the prospect of belief
No more than to be Cawdor. Say from whence
You owe this strange intelligence? or why
Upon this blasted heath you stop our way
With such prophetic greeting? Speak, I charge
Witches vanish.

you.

Ban. The earth hath bubbles, as the water has, And these are of them. Whither are they

vanish'd?

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Macb. Into the air, and what seem'd corporal melted

As breath into the wind. Would they had stay'd! Ban. Were such things here as we do speak about?

Ang.

We are sent

To give thee from our royal master thanks; 101
Only to herald thee into his sight,
Not pay thee.

Ross. And for an earnest of a greater honour, He bade me, from him, call thee Thane of Cawdor:

that,

In viewing o'er the rest o' the self-same day, He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks, Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make, Strange images of death. As thick as hail Came post with post, and every one did bear Thy praises in his kingdom's great defence, And pour'd them down before him.

In which addition, hail, most worthy thane! For it is thine.

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Ban.
What can devil speak true?
Macb. The Thane of Cawdor lives: why do
you dress me

In borrow'd robes ?

Ang.

110

Who was the thane lives yet; But under heavy judgment bears that life Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was combin'd

With those of Norway, or did line the rebel With hidden help and vantage, or that with both He labour'd in his country's wreck, I know not; But treasons capital, confess'd and prov'd, Have overthrown him.

Macb. Aside. Glamis, and Thane of Cawdor: The greatest is behind. To Ross and ANGUS. Thanks for your pains.

To BANQUO. Do you not hope your children shall be kings, When those that gave the Thane of Cawdor to

me

Promis'd no less to them?

Ban. That, trusted home, 120 Might yet enkindle you unto the crown, Besides the Thane of Cawdor. But 'tis strange : And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, The instruments of darkness tell us truths, Win us with honest trifles, to betray's In deepest consequence. Cousins, a word, I pray you.

Macb. Aside.

Two truths are told, As happy prologues to the swelling act Of the imperial theme. I thank you, gentlemen. Aside. This supernatural soliciting Cannot be ill, cannot be good; if ill, Why hath it given me earnest of success, Commencing in a truth? I am Thane of Cawdor: If good, why do I yield to that suggestion Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair And make my seated heart knock at my ribs, Against the use of nature? Present fears Are less than horrible imaginings;

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My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, Shakes so my single state of man that function Is smother'd in surmise, and nothing is

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Ban. Look, how our partner's rapt. Macb. Aside. If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me, Without my stir.

Ban. New honours come upon him, Like our strange garments, cleave not to their mould

Mach. Aside. Come what come may, Timeand the hour runs through the roughest day. Ban. Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure.

Macb. Give me your favour: my dull brain was wrought

With things forgotten. Kind gentlemen, your

pains

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