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Bene. Your answer, sir, is enigmatical:
But, for my will, my will is, your good will
May stand with ours, this day to be conjoin'd
In the estate of honorable marriage ;-
In which, good friar, I shall desire your help.
Leon. My heart is with your liking.


Here comes the prince, and Claudio.

And my help.


Enter Don PEDRO and CLAUDIO, with Attendants.
D. Pedro. Good morrow to this fair assembly.
Leon. Good morrow, prince; good morrow,
We here attend you; Are you yet determin'd
To-day to marry with my brother's daughter?

Claud. I'll hold my mind, were she an Ethiop.
Leon. Call her forth, brother, here's the friar ready.


D. Pedro. Good morrow, Benedick: Why, what's the matter, That you have such a February face,

So full of frost, of storm, and cloudiness?

Claud. I think, he thinks upon the savage bull:

Tush, fear not, man, we'll tip thy horns with gold.

Re-enter ANTONIO, with the Ladies masked.

Claud. Here come other reckonings.

Which is the lady I must seize upon?

Ant. This same is she, and I do give you her.

Claud. Why, then she's mine: Sweet, let me see your face.
Leon. No, that you shall not, till you take her hand,

Before this friar, and swear to marry her.

Claud. Give me your hand before this holy friar;

I am your husband, if you like of me.

Hero. And when I lived, I was your other wife: And when you lov'd, you were my other husband. Claud. Another Hero ?

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One Hero died defam'd; but I do live.

D. Pedro. The former Hero! Hero that is dead!

Leon. She died my lord, but whiles her slander lived.
Friar. All this amazement can I qualify;

When, after that the holy rites are ended,

I'll tell you largely of fair Hero's death;
Meantime, let wonder seem familiar,

And to the chapel let us presently.

Bene. Soft and fair, friar.-Which is Beatrice ?

Beat. I answer to that name;

What is your will?

Bene. Do not you love me?

Beat. No, no more than reason.



Bene. Why, then your uncle, and the prince, and Claudio, Have been deceived; for they swore you did.

Beat. Do not you love me?

Bene. No, no more than reason.

Beat. Why, then my cousin, Margaret, and Ursula,
Are much deceiv'd; for they swear, you did.

Bene. They swore that you were almost sick for me.
Beat. They swore that you were well-nigh dead for me.
Bene. 'Tis no such matter:-Then you do not love me?
Beat. No, truly, but in friendly recompense.

Leon. Come, cousin, I am sure you love the gentleman.
Claud. And I'll be sworn upon't, that he loves her:
For here's a paper, written in his hand,

A halting sonnet of his own pure brain,

Fashion'd to Beatrice.


And here's another,

Writ in my cousin's hand, stolen from her pocket,
Containing her affection unto Benedick.

Bene. A miracle! here's our own hands against our hearts!-Come, I will have thee; but, by this light, I take thee for pity.

Beat. I would not deny you ;-but, by this good day, I yield upon great persuasion; and, partly, to save your life, for I was told you were in a consumption.

Bene. Peace, I will stop your mouth.

[Kissing her. D. Pedro. How dost thou, Benedick the married man? Bene. I'll tell thee what, prince; a college of wit-crackers cannot dout me out of my humor: Dost thou think, I care for a satire, or an epigram? No: if a man will be beaten with brains, he shall wear nothing handsome about him: In brief, since I do propose to marry, I will think nothing to any purpose that the world can say against it; and therefore never flout at me for what I have said against it; for man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclusion.--For thy part, Claudio, I did think to have beaten thee; but in that thou art like to be my kinsman, live unbruised, and love my cousin.

Claud. I had well hoped, thou wouldst have denied Beatrice, that I might have cudgelled thee out of thy single life, to make thee a double dealer; which, out of question, thou wilt be, if my cousin do not look exceeding narrowly to thee.

Bene. Come, come, we are friends :-let's have a dance ere we are married, that we may lighten our own hearts, and our wives' heels.

Leon. We'll have dancing afterwards.

Bene. First, o' my word; therefore, play music.-Prince, thou art sad; get thee a wife, get thee a wife.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. My lord, your brother John is ta'en in flight,

And brought with armed men back to Messina.

Bene. Think not on him till to-morrow; I'll devise thee brave punishments for him.-Strike up, pipers.

[Dance. Exeunt


"The traditionary story of Macbeth, on which this Drama is founded, is related by Hollinshed, in his Chronicles, and also by George Buchanan in bis Latin "History of Scotland."

Shakspeare is supposed to have availed himself of Hollinshed's narrative in the construction of this Play, as the incidents introduced by the Poet, are precisely those narrated by the chronicler. The supernatural agency exercised by the Witches, may appear in this enlightened age, to be beyond the bounds of credibility, but it should be remembered that in Shakspeare's time, the belief in witchcraft was universal.


DUNCAN, King of Scotland.


MACBETH, BANQUO, generals of the King's army.


of Scotland.

FLEANCE, Son to Banquo.

SIWARD, Earl of Northumberland, general of the English forces.
Young SIWARD, his son.

SEYTON, an officer attending on Macbeth.

Son to Macduff.

An English Doctor. A Scotch Doctor.

A Soldier. A Porter. An old Man.


Lady MACDUFff.

Gentlewoman attending on Lady Macbeth.

HECATE, and three Witches.

Lords, Gentlemen, Officers, Soldiers, Murderers, Attendants, and Messengers.

The Ghost of Banquo, and several other apparitions.

SCENE,-in the end of the Fourth Act, lies in ENGLAND; through the rest of the Play, in SCOTLAND; and, chiefly, at MACBETH'S Castle.

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1st Witch. When shall we three meet again,

In thunder, lightning, or in rain?

2nd Witch. When the hurlyburly's done, When the battle's lost and won:

3rd Witch. That will be ere set of sun.

1st Witch. Where the place?

2nd Witch.

Upon the heath:

3rd Witch. There to meet with Macbeth.

1st Witch. I come, Graymalkin!

All. Paddock calls :-Anon.

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Fair is foul, and foul is fair:

Hover through the fog and filthy air.

[Witches vanish

SCENE II.—A Camp near Fores. Alarum within.

Enter King DUNCAN, MALCOLM, DONALBAIN, LENOX, with Attendants, meeting a bleeding Soldier.

Dun. What bloody man is that? He can report,

As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt

The newest state.

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Doubtfully 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

Do swarm upon him,) from the western isles

Of Kernes and Gallowglasses is supplied;

But all's too weak:

For brave Macbeth, (well he deserves that name,)
Disdaining fortune, with his brandish'd steel,
Which smok'd with bloody execution,

Like valor's minion,

Carv'd out his passage, till he fac'd the slave;
And ne'er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him,
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!

Sol. As whence the sun 'gins his reflection
Shipwrecking storms and direful thunders break;
So from that spring, whence comfort seem'd to come,
Discomfort swells. Mark, king of Scotland, mark,
No sooner justice had, with valor arm'd,

Compell'd these skipping kernes to trust their heels:
But the Norweyan lord, surveying vantage,

With furbish'd arms, and new supplies of men,
Began a fresh assault.


Dismay'd not this

Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo ?


As sparrows, eagles; or the hare, the lion.
But I am faint, my gashes cry for help.

Dun. So well thy words become thee, as thy wounds;
They smack of honor both :-Go, get him surgeons.

[Exit Soldier, attended.

Who comes here?

Enter ROSSE.

The worthy thane of Rosse.

Len. What a haste looks through his eyes! So should he look, That seems to speak things strange.


God save the king!

Dun. Whence cam'st thou, worthy thane?

Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky,
And fan our people cold.

Norway himself, with terrible numbers,
Assisted by that most disloyal traitor

The thane of Cawdor, 'gan a dismal conflict:
Till that Bellona's bridegroom, lapp'd in proof,
Confronted him with self-comparisons,
Point against point rebellious, arm 'gainst arm,
Curbing his lavish spirit: And, to conclude,
The victory fell on us ;-


Rosse. That now

From Fife, great king,

Great happiness!

Sweno, the Norways' king, craves composition;

Nor would we deign him burial of his men,

Till he disbursed, at Saint Colmes' inch,

Ten thousand dollars to our general use.

Dun. No more that thane of Cawdor shall deceive

Our bosom interest. Go, pronounce his present death,
And with his former title greet Macbeth.

Rosse. Il see it done.

Dun. What he hath lost, noble Macbeth hath won.



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