| MACBETH | |
Hang 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, | 5 |
| | We might have met them dareful, beard to beard, | |
| | And beat them backward home. | |
| | [A cry of women within] |
| | What is that noise? | |
| MACBETH | |
She should have died hereafter; | |
| | There would have been a time for such a word. | 20 |
| | 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! | 25 |
| | 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. | 30 |
| | [Enter a Messenger] |
| | Thou comest to use thy tongue; thy story quickly. | |
| MACBETH | |
If thou speak'st false, | |
| | Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive, | |
| | Till famine cling thee: if thy speech be sooth, | 45 |
| | 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 | 50 |
| | 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. | 55 |
| | Ring the alarum-bell! Blow, wind! come, wrack! | |
| | At least we'll die with harness on our back. | |
| | [Exeunt] |