ARKCODEX
Act V, Scene 5
1Dunsinane. Within the castle.
2Enter Macbeth, Seyton, and Soldiers, with drum and colours.
3MacbethHang out our banners on the outward walls;
The cry is still “They come:” our castle’s strength
Will laugh a siege to scorn: here let them lie
Till famine and the ague eat them up:
Were they not forced with those that should be ours,
We might have met them dareful, beard to beard,
And beat them backward home. A cry of women within. What is that noise?
4SeytonIt is the cry of women, my good lord. Exit.
5MacbethI have almost forgot the taste of fears:
The time has been, my senses would have cool’d
To hear a night-shriek; and my fell of hair
Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir
As life were in’t: I have supp’d full with horrors;
Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts,
Cannot once start me.
6Reenter Seyton.
7Wherefore was that cry?
8SeytonThe queen, my lord, is dead.
9MacbethShe should have died hereafter;
There would have been a time for such a word.
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
10Enter a Messenger.
11Thou comest to use thy tongue; thy story quickly.
12MessengerGracious my lord,
I should report that which I say I saw,
But know not how to do it.
13MacbethWell, say, sir.
14MessengerAs I did stand my watch upon the hill,
I look’d toward Birnam, and anon, methought,
The wood began to move.
15MacbethLiar and slave!
16MessengerLet me endure your wrath, if’t be not so:
Within this three mile may you see it coming;
I say, a moving grove.
17MacbethIf thou speak’st false,
Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive,
Till famine cling thee: if thy speech be sooth,
I care not if thou dost for me as much.
I pull in resolution, and begin
To doubt the equivocation of the fiend
That lies like truth: “Fear not, till Birnam wood
Do come to Dunsinane:” and now a wood
Comes toward Dunsinane. Arm, arm, and out!
If this which he avouches does appear,
There is nor flying hence nor tarrying here.
I gin to be aweary of the sun,
And wish the estate o’ the world were now undone.
Ring the alarum-bell! Blow, wind! come, wrack!
At least we’ll die with harness on our back. Exeunt.