Shakespeare's First Folio Part 553

Octa. Do so, good Messala

Messa. How dyed my Master Strato?

Stra. I held the Sword, and he did run on it

Messa. Octauius, then take him to follow thee, That did the latest seruice to my Master

Ant. This was the n.o.blest Roman of them all: All the Conspirators saue onely hee, Did that they did, in enuy of great Caesar: He, onely in a generall honest thought, And common good to all, made one of them.

His life was gentle, and the Elements So mixt in him, that Nature might stand vp, And say to all the world; This was a man

Octa. According to his Vertue, let vs vse him Withall Respect, and Rites of Buriall.

Within my Tent his bones to night shall ly, Most like a Souldier ordered Honourably: So call the Field to rest, and let's away, To part the glories of this happy day.

Exeunt. omnes.

FINIS. THE TRAGEDIE OF IVLIVS CaeSAR.

The Tragedie of Macbeth

Actus Primus. Scoena Prima.

Thunder and Lightning. Enter three Witches.

1. When shall we three meet againe?

In Thunder, Lightning, or in Raine?

2. When the Hurley-burley's done, When the Battaile's lost, and wonne

3. That will be ere the set of Sunne

1. Where the place?

2. Vpon the Heath

3. There to meet with Macbeth

1. I come, Gray-Malkin

All. Padock calls anon: faire is foule, and foule is faire, Houer through the fogge and filthie ayre.

Exeunt.

Scena Secunda.

Alarum within. Enter King Malcome, Donalbaine, Lenox, with attendants, meeting a bleeding Captaine.

King. What b.l.o.o.d.y man is that? he can report, As seemeth by his plight, of the Reuolt The newest state

Mal. This is the Serieant, Who like a good and hardie Souldier fought 'Gainst my Captiuitie: Haile braue friend; Say to the King, the knowledge of the Broyle, As thou didst leaue it

Cap. Doubtfull it stood, As two spent Swimmers, that doe cling together, And choake their Art: The mercilesse Macdonwald (Worthie to be a Rebell, for to that The multiplying Villanies of Nature Doe swarme vpon him) from the Westerne Isles Of Kernes and Gallowgrosses is supply'd, And Fortune on his d.a.m.ned Quarry smiling, Shew'd like a Rebells Wh.o.r.e: but all's too weake: For braue Macbeth (well hee deserues that Name) Disdayning Fortune, with his brandisht Steele, Which smoak'd with b.l.o.o.d.y execution (Like Valours Minion) caru'd out his pa.s.sage, Till hee fac'd the Slaue: Which neu'r shooke hands, nor bad farwell to him, Till he vnseam'd him from the Naue toth' Chops, And fix'd his Head vpon our Battlements

King. O valiant Cousin, worthy Gentleman

Cap. As whence the Sunne 'gins his reflection, Shipwracking Stormes, and direfull Thunders: So from that Spring, whence comfort seem'd to come, Discomfort swells: Marke King of Scotland, marke, No sooner Iustice had, with Valour arm'd, Compell'd these skipping Kernes to trust their heeles, But the Norweyan Lord, surueying vantage, With furbusht Armes, and new supplyes of men, Began a fresh a.s.sault

King. Dismay'd not this our Captaines, Macbeth and Banquoh?

Cap. Yes, as Sparrowes, Eagles; Or the Hare, the Lyon: If I say sooth, I must report they were As Cannons ouer-charg'd with double Cracks, So they doubly redoubled stroakes vpon the Foe: Except they meant to bathe in reeking Wounds, Or memorize another Golgotha, I cannot tell: but I am faint, My Gashes cry for helpe

King. So well thy words become thee, as thy wounds, They smack of Honor both: Goe get him Surgeons.

Enter Rosse and Angus.

Who comes here?

Mal. The worthy Thane of Rosse

Lenox. What a haste lookes through his eyes?

So should he looke, that seemes to speake things strange

Rosse. G.o.d saue the King

King. Whence cam'st thou, worthy Thane?

Rosse. From Fiffe, great King, Where the Norweyan Banners flowt the Skie, And fanne our people cold.

Norway himselfe, with terrible numbers, a.s.sisted by that most disloyall Traytor, The Thane of Cawdor, began a dismall Conflict, Till that Bellona's Bridegroome, lapt in proofe, Confronted him with selfe-comparisons, Point against Point, rebellious Arme 'gainst Arme, Curbing his lauish spirit: and to conclude, The Victorie fell on vs

King. Great happinesse

Rosse. That now Sweno, the Norwayes King, Craues composition: Nor would we deigne him buriall of his men, Till he disbursed, at Saint Colmes ynch, Ten thousand Dollars, to our generall vse

King. No more that Thane of Cawdor shall deceiue Our Bosome interest: Goe p.r.o.nounce his present death, And with his former t.i.tle greet Macbeth

Rosse. Ile see it done

King. What he hath lost, n.o.ble Macbeth hath wonne.

Exeunt.

Scena Tertia.

Thunder. Enter the three Witches.

1. Where hast thou beene, Sister?

2. Killing Swine

3. Sister, where thou?

1. A Saylors Wife had Chestnuts in her Lappe, And mouncht, & mouncht, and mouncht: Giue me, quoth I.

Aroynt thee, Witch, the rumpe-fed Ronyon cryes.

Her Husband's to Aleppo gone, Master o'th' Tiger: But in a Syue Ile thither sayle, And like a Rat without a tayle, Ile doe, Ile doe, and Ile doe