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A Camp near Forres. | |
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Alarum within. Enter KING 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. | 5 |
| Mal. This is the sergeant | |
| 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. | 10 |
| Serg. Doubtful it stood; | |
| 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 | 15 |
| 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,— | 20 |
| Disdaining fortune, with his brandish’d steel, | |
| Which smok’d with bloody execution, | |
| Like valour’s minion carv’d out his passage | |
| Till he fac’d the slave; | |
| Which ne’er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him, | 25 |
| 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! | |
| Serg. As whence the sun ’gins his reflection | |
| Shipwracking storms and direful thunders break, | 30 |
| 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, | 35 |
| With furbish’d arms and new supplies of men | |
| Began a fresh assault. | |
| Dun. Dismay’d not this | |
| Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo? | |
| Serg. Yes; | 40 |
| As sparrows eagles, or the hare the lion. | |
| If I say sooth, I must report they were | |
| As cannons overcharg’d with double cracks; | |
| So they | |
| Doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe: | 45 |
| 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; | 50 |
| They smack of honour both. Go, get him surgeons. [Exit Sergeant, attended. | |
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Enter ROSS. | |
| Who comes here? | |
| Mal. The worthy Thane of Ross. | |
| Len. What a haste looks through his eyes! So should he look | 55 |
| That seems to speak things strange. | |
| Ross. God save the king! | |
| Dun. Whence cam’st thou, worthy thane? | |
| Ross. From Fife, great king; | |
| Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky | 60 |
| 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, | 65 |
| 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. Great happiness! | 70 |
| Ross. 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. | 75 |
| 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. [Exeunt. | 80 |
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