Macbeth E-Book

William Shakespare

• Herausgeber: JH
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

Macbeth (full title The Tragedy of Macbeth) is a tragedy written by William Shakespeare, and is considered one of his darkest and most powerful works. Set in Scotland, the play dramatizes the corrosive psychological and political effects produced when evil is chosen as a way to fulfil the ambition for power. The play is believed to have been written between 1599 and 1606, and is most commonly dated 1606.

Leseprobe

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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 bloody 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 damned Quarry smiling,

Shew'd like a Rebells Whore: but all's too weake:

For braue Macbeth (well hee deserues that Name)

Disdayning Fortune, with his brandisht Steele,

Which smoak'd with bloody execution

(Like Valours Minion) caru'd out his passage,

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 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 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. God 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,

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 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 pronounce his present death,

And with his former Title greet Macbeth

Rosse. Ile see it done

King. What he hath 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:

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

2. Ile giue thee a Winde

1. Th'art kinde

3. And I another

1. I my selfe haue 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 vpon his Pent-house Lid:

He shall liue a man forbid:

Wearie Seu'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 haue

2. Shew me, shew me

1. Here I haue 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 vp nine.

Peace, the Charme's wound vp.

Enter Macbeth and Banquo.

Macb. So foule and faire a day I haue 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? Liue you, or are you aught

That man may question? you seeme to vnderstand me,

By each at once her choppie finger laying

Vpon 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 thee Thane of Glamis

2. All haile Macbeth, haile to thee Thane of Cawdor

3. All haile Macbeth, that shalt be King hereafter

Banq. Good Sir, why doe you start, and seeme to feare

Things that doe sound so faire? i'th' name of truth

Are ye fantasticall, or that indeed

Which outwardly ye shew? My Noble Partner

You greet with present Grace, and great prediction

Of Noble hauing, and of Royall hope,

That he seemes wrapt withall: to me you speake not.

If you can looke into the Seedes of Time,

And say, which Graine will grow, and which will not,

Speake then to me, who neyther begge, nor feare

Your fauors, nor your hate

1. Hayle

2. Hayle

3. Hayle

1. Lesser than Macbeth, and greater

2. Not so happy, yet much happyer

3. Thou shalt get Kings, though thou be none: So all haile Macbeth, and Banquo

1. Banquo, and Macbeth, all haile

Macb. Stay you imperfect Speakers, tell me more:

By Sinells death, I know I am Thane of Glamis,

But how, of Cawdor? the Thane of Cawdor liues

A prosperous Gentleman: And to be King,

Stands not within the prospect of beleefe,

No more then to be Cawdor. Say from whence

You owe this strange Intelligence, or why

Vpon this blasted Heath you stop our way

With such Prophetique greeting?

Speake, I charge you.

Witches vanish.

Banq. The Earth hath bubbles, as the Water ha's,

And these are of them: whither are they vanish'd?

Macb. Into the Ayre: and what seem'd corporall,

Melted, as breath into the Winde.

Would they had stay'd

Banq. Were such things here, as we doe speake about?

Or haue we eaten on the insane Root,

That takes the Reason Prisoner?

Macb. Your Children shall be Kings

Banq. You shall be King

Macb. And Thane of Cawdor too: went it not so?

Banq. Toth' selfe-same tune and words: who's here?

Enter Rosse and Angus.

Rosse. The King hath happily receiu'd, Macbeth,

The newes of thy successe: and when he reades

Thy personall Venture in the Rebels sight,

His Wonders and his Prayses doe contend,

Which should be thine, or his: silenc'd with that,

In viewing o're the rest o'th' selfe-same day,

He findes thee in the stout Norweyan Rankes,

Nothing afeard of what thy selfe didst make

Strange Images of death, as thick as Tale

Can post with post, and euery one did beare

Thy prayses in his Kingdomes great defence,

And powr'd them downe before him

Ang. Wee are sent,

To giue thee from our Royall Master thanks,

Onely to harrold thee into his sight,

Not pay thee

Rosse. And for an earnest of a greater Honor,

He bad me, from him, call thee Thane of Cawdor:

In which addition, haile most worthy Thane,

For it is thine

Banq. What, can the Deuill speake true?

Macb. The Thane of Cawdor liues:

Why doe you dresse me in borrowed Robes?

Ang. Who was the Thane, liues yet,