The Tragedie of Macbeth

The Folio of 1623

James Rigney

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2017
• Print ISBN: 9781138179219
• eBook ISBN: 9781317903703
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Shakespeare Drama
• Index: Literature

The Shakespearean Originals Series takes as its point of departure the question: "What is it that we read Shakespeare?" The answer may seem self-evident: we read the words that Shakespeare wrote. But do we? In the case of all the major editions of Shakespeare available in the market, the fact of the matter is that many of the words that we read in an edition of, say, Hamlet, never appeared in the text as it was printed during or shortly after Shakespeare's own lifetime. They are the interpetations and interpolations of a series of editors who have been systematically changing Shakespeare's text from the eighteenth century onwards.

This volume offers the text of Macbeth, as printed in the 1623 First Folio.

The Tragedie of Macbeth

Actus Primus. Scena 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. Upon the Heath.
• 3. There to meet with Macbeth.
• 1. I come, Gray-Malkin.

All. Padock calls anon: faire is foule, and foule is faire,
Hover through the fogge and filthie ay re.
Exeunt.

Scena Secunda.

Alarum within. Enter King Malcome, Donal-baine, 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 Villaines 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 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 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?

Mai. 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,
The Victorie fell on us.

King. Great happinesse.

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.

Rosse. Ile see it done.

King. What he has lost, Noble 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:
  Give me, quoth I.
  Aroynt thee, Witch, the rumpe-fed Ronyon cryes.
  Her Husband’s to Aleppo gone, Master o’th’Tiger:
  But in a Syve Ile thither sayle,
  And like a Rat without a tayle,
  Ile doe, Ile doe, and Ile doe.
• 2. He give thee a Winde.
• 1. Th’art kinde.
• 3. And I another.
• 1. I my selfe have all the other,
  
  And the very Ports they blow,
  All the Quarters that they know,
  I’th’Ship-mans Card.
  Ile dreyne him drie as Hay:
  Sleepe shall neyther Night nor Day
  Hang upon his Pent-house Lid:
  He shall live a man forbid:
  Wearie sev’nights, nine times nine,
  Shall he dwindle, peake and pine:
  Though his Barke cannot be lost,
  Yet it shall be Tempest-tost.
  Looke what I have.
• 2. Shew me, shew me.
• 1. Here I have a Pilots Thumbe,
  
  Wrackt, as homeward he did come. Drum within.
• 3. A Drumme, a Drumme:
  
  Macbeth doth come.

All. The weyward Sisters, hand in hand,
Posters of the Sea and Land,
Thus doe goe, about, about,
Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine,
And thrice againe, to make up nine.
Peace, the Charme’s wound up.

Enter Macbeth and Banquo.

Macb. So foule and faire a day I have not seene.

Banquo. How farre is’t call’d to Soris? What are these,
So wither’d, and so wilde in their attyre,
That looke not like th’Inhabitants o’th’Earth,
And yet are on’t? Live you, or are you aught
That man may question? you seeme to understand me,
By each at once her choppie finger Laying
Upon her skinnie Lips: you should be Women,
And yet your Beards forbid me to interprete
That you are so.

• Mac. Speake if you can: what are you?
• 1. All haile Macbeth, haile to...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Half Title
• Title
• Copyright
• Contents
• General Introduction
• Introduction
• Select Bibliography
• Textual History
• TEXT: THE TRAGEDIE OF MACBETH
• Endnotes
• Appendix: Photographic facsimiles