Macbeth (2015) Script

When shall we three meet again?

In thunder, lightning, or in rain?

When the hurly-burly's done.

When the battle's lost and won.

Where the place?

Upon the battlefield, there to meet with Macbeth.

Fair is foul, and foul is fair.

Hover through the fog and filthy air.

Doubtful it stood, as two spent swimmers that do cling together and choke their art.

'The merciless Macdonwald from the Western Isles

'of kerns and gallowglasses is supplied.'

And fortune, on his damned quarrel smiling, showed like a rebel's whore.

But all's too weak, for brave Macbeth - well he deserves that name - disdaining fortune, with his brandished steel which smoked with bloody execution, like valour's minion carved out his passage till he faced the slave which ne'er shook hands nor bade farewell to him till he unseamed him from the nave to the chops and fixed his head upon our battlements.

And, to conclude, victory fell on us.

Valiant Macbeth.

Worthy gentleman.

Great happiness.

Whence cam'st thou, noble Prince?

From Fife, great King, where Norwegian banners flout the sky and fan our people cold, assisted by that most disloyal traitor, the Thane of Cawdor.

God save the King!

No more that Thane of Cawdor shall deceive our bosom interest.

Go pronounce his present death and with his former title greet Macbeth.

I'll see it done.

What he hath lost, noble Macbeth hath won.

So foul and fair a day I have not seen.

What are these?

Live you or are you aught that man may question?

Speak, if you can. What are you?

Macbeth. Hail to thee, Thane of Glamis.

Macbeth. Hail to thee, Thane of Cawdor.

All hail, Macbeth, that shalt be king hereafter.

Good sir, why do you start and seem to fear things that do sound so fair?

My noble partner you greet with present grace and great prediction of noble having and of royal hope that he seems rapt withal.

To me you speak not.

Hail, lesser than Macbeth and greater.

Not so happy yet much happier.

Thou shalt get kings though thou be none.

So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo.

'Banquo and Macbeth, 'all hail.'

Stay, you imperfect speakers. Tell me more.

Say from whence you owe this strange intelligence and why, upon this blasted heath, you stop our way with such prophetic greeting.

Speak, I charge you.

The earth hath bubbles as the water has, and these are of them.

Whither are they vanished?

Into the air, and what seemed corporal melted as breath into the wind.

Would they had stayed.

Were such things here as we do speak about?

Or have we eaten on the insane root that takes the reason prisoner?

Your children shall be kings.

You shall be king.

And Thane of Cawdor too. Went it not so?

To the selfsame tune and words.

The King hath happily received, Macbeth, the news of thy success.

As thick as hail came post from post and every one did bear thy praises, in his kingdom's great defence, and poured them down before him.

And we are sent to give thee from our royal master thanks.

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

The Thane of Cawdor lives.

Why do you dress me in borrowed robes?

Treasons capital, confessed and proved, have overthrown him.

Do you not hope your children shall be kings

when those that gave the Thane of Cawdor to me promised no less to them?

That trusted home 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.

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.

If chance will have me king,

why, chance may crown me without my stir.

Hail, Macbeth.

O worthiest cousin.

More is thy due than more than all can pay.

The service and the loyalty I owe in doing it pays itself.

From hence to Inverness, and bind us further to you.

I'll be myself the harbinger and make joyful the hearing of my wife with your approach, so humbly take my leave.

My worthy Cawdor.

"They met me in the day of success

"and I have learned by the perfect'st report

"they have more in them than mortal knowledge.

"When I burned in desire to question them further, "they made themselves air into which they vanished.

"Whiles I stood rapt in the wonder of it came missives from the King

"who all-hailed me

"Thane of Cawdor, "by which title before these Weird Sisters saluted me

"and referred me to the coming on of time with,

"'Hail, king that shalt be."'

Come, you spirits that tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here and fill me from the crown to the toe top-full of direst cruelty.

Come to my woman's breasts and take my milk for gall, you murthering ministers, wherever, in your sightless substances, you wait on nature's mischief.

Come, thick night, and pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell, that my keen knife see not the wound it makes, nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark to cry, "Hold, hold!"

Hie thee hither that I may pour my spirits in thine ear and chastise with the valour of my tongue all that impedes thee from the golden round.

Thy letters have transported me beyond this ignorant present and I feel now the future in the instant.

My dearest love,

Duncan comes here tonight.

And when goes hence?

Tomorrow, as he purposes.

O never shall sun that morrow see!

Glamis thou art, and Cawdor, and shalt be what thou art promised.

Yet I do fear thy nature.

It is too full o' the milk of human kindness to catch the nearest way.

Thou wouldst be great.

Art not without ambition but without the illness should attend it.

To beguile the time, look like the time.

Bear welcome in your eye, your hand, your tongue.

Look like the innocent flower but be the serpent under't.

He that's coming must be provided for and you shall put this night's great business into my dispatch

which shall, to all our nights and days to come, give solely sovereign sway and masterdom.

We will speak further.

All our service, in every point twice done and then done double.

Give me your hand. Conduct me to mine host.

We love him highly and shall continue our graces towards him.

By your leave, hostess.

My plenteous...



My plenteous joys, wanton in fulness, seek to hide themselves in drops of sorrow.

Sons, kinsmen, thanes, and you whose places are the nearest, know that we will establish our estate upon our eldest, Malcolm,

whom we name hereafter the Prince of Cumberland.

'The Prince of Cumberland.

'That is a step on which I must fall down, or else o'erleap, 'for in my way it lies.'

If it were done when 'tis done,

then 'twere well it were done quickly.

If the assassination could trammel up the consequence and catch with his surcease success, that but this blow might be the be-all and end-all here.

But here upon this bank and shoal of time we'd jump the life to come.

Does anybody know what this is?

But in these cases we still have judgement here.

That we but teach bloody instructions which return to plague the inventor.

This even-handed justice commends the ingredience of our poisoned chalice to our own lips.

He's here in double trust.

First, as I am his kinsman and his subject, strong both against the deed.

Then, as his host, who should against his murderer shut the door, not bear the knife myself.

Besides, this Duncan hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been so clear in his great office, that his virtues would plead like angels, trumpet-tongued against the deep damnation of his taking-off.

I have no spur to prick the sides of my intent but only vaulting ambition which o'erleaps itself and falls on the other.

We will proceed no further in this business.

Was the hope drunk wherein you dressed yourself?

Hath it slept since?

And wakes it now to look so green and pale at what it did so freely?

From this time such I account thy love.

Art thou afeard to be the same in thine own act and valour as thou art in desire?

Wouldst thou have that which thou esteem'st the ornament of life and live a coward in thy own esteem, letting "I dare not" wait upon "I would"?

Prithee, peace.

I dare do all that may become a man.

Who dares do more is none.

What beast was't, then, that made you break this enterprise to me?

When you durst do it, then you were a man.

And to be more than what you were, you would be so much more the man.

I have given suck and know how tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me.

I would, while it was smiling in my face, have plucked my nipple from his boneless gums and dashed the brains out had I so sworn, as you have done, to this.

If we should fail?

We fail.

But screw your courage to the sticking place and we'll not fail.

When Duncan is asleep his two chamberlains will I with wine and wassail so convince that memory, the warder of the brain, shall be a-fume and the receipt of reason a limbeck only.

When in swinish sleep their drenched natures lie as in a death what cannot you and I perform upon the unguarded Duncan?

What not put upon his spongy officers who shall bear the guilt of our great quell?

I am settled

and bend up each corporal agent to this terrible feat.

Take my sword.

Take thee that too.

A heavy summons lies like lead upon me and yet I would not sleep.

Merciful powers, restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature gives way to in repose.

Is this a dagger which I see before me?

The handle toward my hand.


let me clutch thee.

Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible to feeling as to sight?

Or art thou but a dagger of the mind?

A false creation, proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain.

Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going and such an instrument I was to use.

Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses.

Or else worth all the rest. I see thee still.

There's no such thing.

It is the bloody business which informs thus to mine eyes.

Now, o'er the one half-world, nature seems dead and wicked dreams abuse the curtained sleep.

Witchcraft celebrates and withered murder moves like a ghost.

I see thee yet, in form as palpable as this which now I draw.

Whiles I threat, he lives.

Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives.

The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood is stopped.

The very source of it is stopped.

Here lies Duncan, his silver skin laced with his golden blood.

There the murderers, steeped in the colours of their trade.

Had I but died an hour before this chance, I had lived a blessed time.

But from this instant there's nothing serious in mortality.

All is but toys.

Renown and grace is dead.

The wine of life is drawn and the mere lees is left this vault to brag of.

Live you?

Or are you aught that man may question?

I have done the deed.

Why did you bring these daggers from the place?

They must lie there.

What hands are here?

'They pluck out mine eyes.'

Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood clean from my hand?

No, this my hand will rather the multitudinous seas incarnadine,

making the green one red.

My hands are of your colour, but I shame to wear a heart so white.

A little water clears us of this deed.

How easy is it then.

To know my deed

'twere best not know myself.

Good Macduff.

Good morrow, noble sir.

Good morrow, both.

Is the King stirring, worthy Thane?

The King, is he stirring? Not yet.

He did command me to call timely on him.

I have almost slipped the hour.

I'll bring you to him.

I'll make so bold to call.

Goes the King hence today? He does; he did appoint so.

The night has been unruly.

Where we lay, our temples were blown down and, as they say, lamentings heard in the air, strange screams of death.

'Twas a rough night.

Confusion now hath made his masterpiece.

Most sacrilegious murder hath broke open the Lord's anointed temple and stole thence the life of the building.

The life?

Mean you His Majesty?

Bid me not speak. You see.

Speak yourselves.



Ring the alarum bells!




Ring the alarum bells.


Shake off your downy sleep, man.

Death's counterfeit. You come and look on death itself.




What's the business?

Our royal master, he's murdered.

Murdered? Murdered!

Those of his chamber, their hands were all badged with blood.

Wherefore did you so?


Who could refrain that had a heart to love and in that heart courage to make love known?

How it does grieve Macbeth.

Did he not straight, in pious rage, the two delinquents tear that were the slaves of drink?

Was this not nobly done?


'Twould have angered any heart alive to hear the men deny it.

I say he has borne all things well.

Is't known who did this more than bloody deed?

Those that Macbeth hath slain.

Alas, the day. What good could they pretend?

Malcolm, the King's son, is stolen away and fled, which puts upon him suspicion of the deed.

'Tis most like the sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth.

He is already named.

'Thou hast it now.

'King, Cawdor, 'Glamis, 'all as the weird women promised.

'And I fear thou playedst most foully for't.

'Yet it was said it should not stand in thy posterity.'

But that myself should be the root and father of many kings.

If there come truth from them, why, by the verities on thee made good, may they not be my oracles as well and set me up in hope?

But hush.

No more.

Hail, Macbeth.

Hail, Macbeth. Hail, Macbeth.

Hail, Macbeth.

Hail, Macbeth.

'To be thus... is nothing, 'but to be safely thus!

'Our fears in Banquo stick deep.'

And in his royalty of nature reigns that which would be feared.

'Tis much he dares and to that dauntless temper of his mind...

...he hath a wisdom that doth guide his valour.

How now, my Lord? Why do you keep alone?

We have scorched the snake, not killed it.

She'll close and be herself whilst our poor malice remains in danger of her former tooth.

Things without all remedy should be without regard.

What's done is done.

Come, gentle my Lord.

Sleek o'er your rugged looks.

Be bright and jovial among your guests tonight.

Thou know'st that Banquo, and his Fleance, lives?

You must leave this.

He chid the sisters when first they put the name of king upon me and bade them speak to him.

Then, prophet-like, they hailed him father to a line of kings.

Upon my head they placed a fruitless crown and put a barren sceptre in my grip, thence to be wrenched with an unlineal hand,

no son of mine succeeding.

If it be so,

for Banquo's issue have I filed my mind.

For them the gracious Duncan have I murdered, put rancours in the vessel of my peace only for them.

To make them kings,

the seed of Banquo kings!

What's to be done?

Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck, till thou applaud the deed.

Full, full of scorpions, is my mind.

Thou marvell'st at my words.

Hold thee still.

Things bad begun make themselves strong by ill.

Come, seeling night.

Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day and, with thy bloody and invisible hand, cancel... and tear to pieces that great bond which keeps me pale.

Get up!

Tonight we hold a solemn supper, sir, and I'll request your presence.

Let Your Highness command upon me to the which my duties are, with a most indissoluble tie, forever knit.

Ride you this afternoon?

Ay, my good Lord.

We should have else desired your good advice in this day's council, but we'll take tomorrow.

Is't far you ride?

As far, my Lord, as will fill up the time 'twixt this and supper, go not my horse the better.

Fail not our feast.

My Lord, I will not.

We hear our bloody cousin is bestowed in England, not confessing his cruel parricide, filling his hearers with strange invention.

But of that tomorrow.

Hie you to horse.

Adieu, till you return at night.

Goes Fleance with you?

Ay, my good Lord. Our time does call upon's.


Within this hour, at most, I will advise you where to plant yourselves, acquaint you with the perfect spy o' the time the moment on't, for it must be done tonight, and something from the palace.

Always thought that I require a clearness.

And with him,

to leave no rubs nor botches in the work, Fleance, his son that keeps him company, whose absence is no less material to me than is his father's, must embrace the fate of that dark hour.


Fly, Fleance! Fly!

Hail, Macbeth! Hail, Macbeth!

Hail, Macbeth!

You know your own degrees.

Sit down. At first and last, the hearty welcome.

Our hostess keeps her state

but in best time we will require her welcome.

Pronounce it for me, sir, to all our friends, for my heart speaks they are welcome.

Your Majesty.

Be large in mirth, anon, we'll drink a measure the table round.

There's blood upon thy face.

'Tis Banquo's then.

Is he dispatched?

My Lord, his throat is cut.

He's good that did the like for Fleance.

If thou didst it, thou art the nonpareil.

Most royal sir, Fleance is scaped.

Then comes my fit again.

I had else been perfect, whole as the marble, founded as the rock, as broad and general as the casing air.

But now I am cabined, cribbed, confined, bound in to saucy doubts and fears.

My royal Lord, you do not give the cheer.

Thanks for that.

Sweet remembrancer!

Now, good digestion wait on appetite and health on both.

Here had we now our country's honour roofed, were the graced person of our Banquo present,

who may I rather challenge for unkindness than pity for mischance.

His absence, sir, lays blame upon his promise.

What is't that moves Your Highness?

Which of you have done this? What, my good Lord?

Thou canst not say that I did it.

His Highness is not well.

Sit, worthy friends.

Pray you, keep seat.

The fit is momentary.

Upon a thought he will again be well.

If much you note him, you shall offend him and extend his passion.

Feed and regard him not.

Are you a man?

Ay, and a bold one that dare look on that which might appal the devil.

O proper stuff!

Prithee, see there.


Look, lo! How say you?

This is the very painting of your fear.

This is the air-drawn dagger which you said led you to Duncan.

Why do you make such faces?

If I stand here, I saw him.

My worthy Lord, your noble friends do lack you.

Blood hath been shed ere now, in the olden time.

The time has been that, when the brains were out, the man would die and there an end.

But now they rise again and push us from our stools.

This is more strange than such a murder is.

I do forget.


Love and health to all.

Our duties and the pledge.

Avaunt and quit my sight.

Let the earth hide thee.

Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold.

Thou hast no speculation in those eyes, which thou dost glare with.

Think of this, good peers...

...but as a thing of custom.

'Tis no other.

I pray you, sit still.

You make me strange,

even to the disposition that I owe

when now I think you can behold such sights and keep the natural ruby of your cheeks when mine is blanched with fear.

What sights, my Lord? I pray you, speak not.

He grows worse and worse. Question enrages him.

Stand not upon the order of your going but go at once.

Good night, and better health attend His Majesty.

A kind good-night to all.

It will have blood.

They say blood will have blood.

What is the night?

Almost at odds with morning, which is which.

How say'st thou that Macduff denies his person at our great bidding?

You lack the season of all natures.


'I will to the Weird Sisters.

'More shall they speak.

'For now I am bent to know by the worst means the worst.

'For mine own good, all causes shall give way.

'I am in blood stepped in so far that, should I wade no more, 'returning were as tedious as go o'er.

'Strange things I have in head that will to hand, 'which must be acted ere they may be scanned.'

I conjure you, by that which you profess, howe'er you come to know it,

answer me.

Speak, I charge you.

Be lion-mettled, proud, and take no care who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are.

Macbeth shall never vanquished be.

Until Great Birnam Wood to high Dunsinane Hill shall come against him.

Beware Macduff.

Beware the Thane of Fife.

Dismiss me, enough.

Beware Macduff. Beware Macduff.

Beware the Thane of Fife. Beware Macduff.

Beware the Thane of Fife.

Beware the Thane of Fife. Beware Macduff.

Beware the Thane of Fife.

Be bloody, bold, and resolute.

Laugh to scorn the power of man, for none of woman born shall harm Macbeth.

Then live, Macduff. What need I fear of thee?

But yet I'll make assurance double sure and take a bond of fate: thou shalt not live.

Saw you the Weird Sisters?

No, my Lord.

Came they not by you?

No, indeed, my Lord.

Infected be the air whereon they ride and damned all those that trust them!

'Who was't came by?'

'Tis two or three, my Lord, that bring you word.

Macduff has fled to England.

Fled to England? Ay, my good Lord.

The flighty purpose never is overtook unless the deed go with it.

The very firstlings of my heart shall be the firstlings of my hand.

Be it thought and done.

Hell is murky.

What's done cannot be undone.

Skirr the country round.

Hang those that talk of fear.

The castle of Macduff I will surprise, seize upon Fife, give to the edge of the sword his wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls that trace him in his line.

No boasting like a fool.

This deed I'll do before this purpose cool.




I have done no harm!

I have done no harm!




No, please, my babies!


Bring me no more reports.

Let them fly all.

Till Birnam Wood remove to Dunsinane I cannot taint with fear.

What's the boy Malcolm?

Was he not born of woman?

The spirits that know all mortal consequence have pronounced me thus:

"Fear not, Macbeth.

"No man that's born of woman shall e'er have power upon thee."

Then fly, false thanes, and mingle with the English epicures.

Why are you silent?

This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues, was once thought honest.

Now is the time of help.

Your eye in Scotland would create soldiers, make our women fight to doff their dire distresses.

Be it their comfort we are coming thither.

I have words that would be howled in the desert air where hearing should not latch them.

My ever gentle cousin.

Stands Scotland where it did?

Alas, poor country, it's almost afraid to know itself.

It cannot be called our mother but our graves.

What's our newest grief?

Let not your ears despise my tongue which shall possess them with the heaviest sound that ever yet they heard.

How does my wife?

Your castle is surprised,

your wife and babes savagely slaughtered.

What man, hm?

What man?

My children too?

Wife, children, servants, all that could be found.

He has no children!

All my pretty chickens and their dam,

in one fell swoop?

Dispute it like a man.


Oh, I will do so.

But I will also feel it as a man.

Sinful Macduff!

They were all struck for thee.

Be this the whetstone of your sword.

Let grief convert to anger.

Blunt not the heart, enrage it.

Gracious England hath lent us ten thousand men.

Our power is ready.

Our lack is nothing but our leave.

Front to front you bring thou this fiend of Scotland and myself, and within my sword's length you set him.

If he scape, heaven forgive him too.

'Great Dunsinane he strongly fortifies.

'Some say he's mad.

'Others, lesser, that hate him

'do call it valiant fury.'

But, for certain, he cannot buckle his distempered cause within the belt of rule.

Those he commands move only in command.

'Nothing in love.

'Now does he feel

'his secret murders sticking on his hands.'

Yet here's a spot.

Out, damned spot!

Out, I say!

Hell is murky.

Fie, my Lord!


A soldier and afeard?

What need we fear who knows it when none can call our power to account?

Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?

The Thane of Fife had a wife.

Where is she now?


Will these hands ne'er be clean?

No more o' that, my Lord.

No more o' that.

You mar all with this starting.

Here's the smell of the blood still.

All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand.

Wash your hands.

Put on your nightgown.

Look not so pale.

To bed.

To bed.

There's knocking at the gate.



Come, come, give me your hand.

What's done cannot be undone.

To bed.

To bed.

To bed.

To bed.

To bed.

To bed.

The devil damn thee black, thou cream-faced loon.

Where got'st thou that goose look?

There's ten thousand.

Geese, villain?

Soldiers, sir.

Go, prick thy face and over-red thy fear, thou lily-livered boy.

What soldiers, patch?

The English force, so please you.

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.


The thanes fly from me.

What rhubarb, cyme or what purgative drug would scour these English hence?

Hear'st thou of them?

Ay, my good Lord.

Your royal preparation makes us hear something.

If thou couldst, Doctor, cast the water of my land, find her disease and purge it to a sound and pristine health.

I would applaud thee to the very echo that should applaud again.

The Queen, my Lord, is dead.

She should have died hereafter.

There would have been a time for such a word.


and tomorrow,

and tomorrow

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, 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.

What is that noise?

It is the cry of women, my good Lord.

I have almost forgot the taste of fears.

The time has been my senses would have cooled 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 supped full with horrors.

Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts, cannot once start me.

Thy story, quickly.

Gracious my Lord,

I should report that which I say I saw,

but know not how to do it.


I am sick at heart when I behold.

Seyton, I say!

This push will chair me ever or dis-seat me now.

I have lived long enough.

My way of life is fallen into the sere,

the yellow leaf.

And that which should accompany old age as...

...honour, love, obedience, troops of friends,

I must not look to have,

but, in their stead,


not loud, but deep, mouth-honour, breath,

which the poor heart would fain deny and dare not.


All is confirmed, my Lord, which was reported.

I'll fight till from my bones my flesh be hacked.

Give me my armour. 'Tis not needed yet.

I'll put it on!

And now a wood comes toward Dunsinane.

Ring the alarum bell.

Arm, arm, and out!

Tyrant, show thy face!

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.

Blow, wind.

Come, wrack.

At least we'll die with harness on our back.

'They have tied me to a stake.

'I cannot fly.

'But, bear-like, I must fight the course.

'What's he that was not born of woman?

'Such a one am I to fear, or none.

'Why should I play the Roman fool and die on mine own sword?'

Whiles I see lives, the gashes do better upon them.

Turn, hellhound.


Of all men else I have avoided thee.

But get thee back.

My soul is too much charged with blood of thine already.

I have no words.

My voice is in my sword.

Thou losest labour.

As easy mayst thou the intrenchant air with thy keen sword impress as make me bleed.

Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests.

I bear a charmed life which must not yield to one of woman born.

Despair thy charm and let the angel whom thou still hast served tell thee Macduff was from his mother's womb untimely ripped.

Accursed be the tongue that tells me so,

for it hath cowed my better part of man.

I'll not fight with thee.

Then yield thee, coward, and live to be the show and gaze of the time.

I will have thee, as our rarer monsters are,

painted upon a pole,

and underwrit:

"Here may you see the tyrant,


I will not yield to kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet

and to be baited with the rabble's curse.

Though Birnam Wood be come to Dunsinane and thou opposed, being of no woman born,

yet I will try the last.

Before my body I throw my warlike shield.

Lay on, Macduff.

And damned be him that first cries, "Hold, enough!"

He's worth more sorrow, and that I'll spend for him.

He's worth no more.


King of Scotland!

Hail, King of Scotland!

Hail, King of Scotland!