1.

THE TRAGEDIE OF

MACBETH.

Actus Primus. Scana Prima.

Thunder and Lightning. Enter three Witches.
Hen 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?

All. Padock calls anon: faire is foule, and foule is faire,

Hover through the fogge and filthie ayre.

Scena Secunda.

Exeunt.

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

King. What bloody man is that? he can report,

As seemeth by his plight, of the Revolt

The newest state.

Mal.

This is the Serjeant,

Who like a good and hardie Souldier fought

'Gainst my Captivitie: Haile brave friend;

Say to the King, the knowledge of the Broyle,
As thou didst leave 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 upon him) from the Westerne Isles
Of Kernes and Gallowgrosses is supply'd,

And Fortune on his damned Quarry smiling,
Shew'd like a Rebells Whore: but all's too weake:
For brave Macbeth (well hee deserves that Name)
Disdayning Fortune, with his brandisht Steele,
Which smoak'd with bloody execution

(Like Valours Minion) carv'd out his passage,
Till hee fac'd the Slave:

Which nev'r shooke hands, nor bad farwell to him,
Till he unseam'd him from the Nave toth'Chops,
And fix'd his Head upon 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 Justice had, with Valour arm'd,

Compell'd these skipping Kernes to trust their heeles,
But the Norweyan Lord, surveying vantage,
With furbusht Armes, and new supplyes of men,
Began a fresh assault.

King. Dismay'd not this

Banquob?

our Captaines, Macbeth and

Cap. Yes, as Sparrowes, Eagles;

Or the Hare, the Lyon :

If I say sooth, I must report they were

As Cannons over-charg'd with double Cracks,

So they doubly redoubled stroakes upon 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. God save 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,
Assisted 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 lavish spirit: and to conclude,

Rosse. That now, Sweno, the Norwayes King,

Craves composition.

Nor would we deigne him buriall of his men,

Till he disbursed, at Saint Colmes ynch,

Ten thousand Dollars, to our generall use.

King. No more that Thane of Cawdor shall deceive Our Bosome interest: Goe pronounce his present death, And with his former Title greet Macbeth.