Macbeth E-Book

William Shakespeare

• Herausgeber: Librofilio
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Seitenzahl: 92

Beschreibung

"Macbeth" by William Shakespeare is a gripping tragedy that delves into the dark realms of ambition, power, and guilt. Set in medieval Scotland, it tells the tale of Macbeth, a brave warrior whose encounter with three witches propels him and his wife, Lady Macbeth, into a murderous quest for the throne.

This play is a haunting exploration of the corrupting nature of unchecked ambition. As Macbeth's lust for power grows, he descends into madness, haunted by visions and guilt. The famous soliloquies, like "Out, out, brief candle", reveal the depths of his torment.

Shakespeare's masterful use of language and psychological insight make "Macbeth" a timeless classic. It's a thrilling journey through betrayal, murder, and the consequences of one's choices. Whether you're a fan of psychological drama or simply love a good tragedy, "Macbeth" is a must-read that will keep you on the edge of your seat until the final act.




ABOUT THE AUTHOR




William Shakespeare, the immortal bard of Avon, was a masterful playwright and poet whose brilliance continues to captivate the world. Born in 1564 in Stratford-upon-Avon, England, his life remains shrouded in mystery, yet his literary legacy shines brightly. Shakespeare's unparalleled talent crafted timeless works such as "Romeo and Juliet", "Hamlet", and "Macbeth", exploring the depths of human emotion and the complexities of the human psyche. His words, like a symphony of language, have left an indelible mark on literature, theater, and culture, transcending time and space. Today, his eloquence and storytelling prowess continue to enchant audiences, making him an everlasting icon of artistic excellence.

Leseprobe

Macbeth

William Shakespeare

– 1623 –

Dramatis Personæ

DUNCAN, King of Scotland.MALCOLM, his Son.DONALBAIN, his Son.MACBETH, General in the King’s Army.BANQUO, General in the King’s Army.MACDUFF, Nobleman of Scotland.LENNOX, Nobleman of Scotland.ROSS, Nobleman of Scotland.MENTEITH, Nobleman of Scotland.ANGUS, Nobleman of Scotland.CAITHNESS, Nobleman 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.BOY, Son to Macduff.An English Doctor.A Scottish Doctor.A Soldier.A Porter.An Old Man.

LADY MACBETH.LADY MACDUFF.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, in England; through the rest of the Play, in Scotland; and chiefly at Macbeth’s Castle.

ACT I

SCENE I. An open Place.

Thunder and Lightning. Enter three Witches.

FIRST WITCH.When shall we three meet again?In thunder, lightning, or in rain?

SECOND WITCH.When the hurlyburly’s done,When the battle’s lost and won.

THIRD WITCH.That will be ere the set of sun.

FIRST WITCH.Where the place?

SECOND WITCH.Upon the heath.

THIRD WITCH.There to meet with Macbeth.

FIRST WITCH.I come, Graymalkin!

SECOND WITCH.Paddock calls.

THIRD WITCH.Anon.

ALL.Fair is foul, and foul is fair:Hover through the fog and filthy air.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE II. A Camp near Forres.

Alarum within. Enter King Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain, Lennox, with Attendants, meeting a bleeding Captain.

DUNCAN.What bloody man is that? He can report,As seemeth by his plight, of the revoltThe newest state.

MALCOLM.This is the sergeantWho, like a good and hardy soldier, fought’Gainst my captivity.—Hail, brave friend!Say to the King the knowledge of the broilAs thou didst leave it.

SOLDIER.Doubtful it stood;As two spent swimmers that do cling togetherAnd choke their art. The merciless Macdonwald(Worthy to be a rebel, for to thatThe multiplying villainies of natureDo swarm upon him) from the Western IslesOf kerns and gallowglasses is supplied;And Fortune, on his damned quarrel smiling,Show’d like a rebel’s whore. 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 Valour’s minion, carv’d out his passage,Till he fac’d the slave;Which ne’er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him,Till he unseam’d him from the nave to the chops,And fix’d his head upon our battlements.

DUNCAN.O valiant cousin! worthy gentleman!

SOLDIER.As whence the sun ’gins his reflectionShipwracking storms and direful thunders break,So from that spring, whence comfort seem’d to comeDiscomfort swells. Mark, King of Scotland, mark:No sooner justice had, with valour arm’d,Compell’d these skipping kerns to trust their heels,But the Norweyan lord, surveying vantage,With furbish’d arms and new supplies of men,Began a fresh assault.

DUNCAN.Dismay’d not thisOur captains, Macbeth and Banquo?

SOLDIER.Yes;As sparrows eagles, or the hare the lion.If I say sooth, I must report they wereAs cannons overcharg’d with double cracks;So theyDoubly redoubled strokes 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 help.

DUNCAN.So well thy words become thee as thy wounds:They smack of honour both.—Go, get him surgeons.

[Exit Captain, attended.]

Enter Ross and Angus.

Who comes here?

MALCOLM.The worthy Thane of Ross.

LENNOX.What a haste looks through his eyes! So should he lookThat seems to speak things strange.

ROSS.God save the King!

DUNCAN.Whence cam’st thou, worthy thane?

ROSS.From Fife, great King,Where the Norweyan banners flout the skyAnd fan our people cold.Norway himself, with terrible numbers,Assisted by that most disloyal traitor,The Thane of Cawdor, began 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.

DUNCAN.Great happiness!

ROSS.That nowSweno, the Norways’ king, craves composition;Nor would we deign him burial of his menTill he disbursed at Saint Colme’s InchTen thousand dollars to our general use.

DUNCAN.No more that Thane of Cawdor shall deceiveOur bosom interest. Go pronounce his present death,And with his former title greet Macbeth.

ROSS.I’ll see it done.

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

[Exeunt.]

SCENE III. A heath.

Thunder. Enter the three Witches.

FIRST WITCH.Where hast thou been, sister?

SECOND WITCH.Killing swine.

THIRD WITCH.Sister, where thou?

FIRST WITCH.A sailor’s wife had chestnuts in her lap,And mounch’d, and mounch’d, and mounch’d. “Give me,” quoth I.“Aroint thee, witch!” the rump-fed ronyon cries.Her husband’s to Aleppo gone, master o’ th’ Tiger:But in a sieve I’ll thither sail,And, like a rat without a tail,I’ll do, I’ll do, and I’ll do.

SECOND WITCH.I’ll give thee a wind.

FIRST WITCH.Th’art kind.

THIRD WITCH.And I another.

FIRST WITCH.I myself have all the other,And the very ports they blow,All the quarters that they knowI’ the shipman’s card.I will drain him dry as hay:Sleep shall neither night nor dayHang upon his pent-house lid;He shall live a man forbid.Weary sev’n-nights nine times nine,Shall he dwindle, peak, and pine:Though his bark cannot be lost,Yet it shall be tempest-tost.Look what I have.

SECOND WITCH.Show me, show me.

FIRST WITCH.Here I have a pilot’s thumb,Wrack’d as homeward he did come.

[Drum within.]

THIRD WITCH.A drum, a drum!Macbeth doth come.

ALL.The Weird Sisters, hand in hand,Posters of the sea and land,Thus do go about, about:Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine,And thrice again, to make up nine.Peace!—the charm’s wound up.

Enter Macbeth and Banquo.

MACBETH.So foul and fair a day I have not seen.

BANQUO.How far is’t call’d to Forres?—What are these,So wither’d, and so wild in their attire,That look not like the inhabitants o’ th’ earth,And yet are on’t?—Live you? or are you aughtThat man may question? You seem to understand me,By each at once her choppy finger layingUpon her skinny lips. You should be women,And yet your beards forbid me to interpretThat you are so.

MACBETH.Speak, if you can;—what are you?

FIRST WITCH.All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, Thane of Glamis!

SECOND WITCH.All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, Thane of Cawdor!

THIRD WITCH.All hail, Macbeth! that shalt be king hereafter!

BANQUO.Good sir, why do you start and seem to fearThings that do sound so fair?—I’ th’ name of truth,Are ye fantastical, or that indeedWhich outwardly ye show? My noble partnerYou greet with present grace and great predictionOf noble having and of royal hope,That he seems rapt withal. To me you speak not.If you can look into the seeds of time,And say which grain will grow, and which will not,Speak then to me, who neither beg nor fearYour favours nor your hate.

FIRST WITCH.Hail!

SECOND WITCH.Hail!

THIRD WITCH.Hail!

FIRST WITCH.Lesser than Macbeth, and greater.

SECOND WITCH.Not so happy, yet much happier.

THIRD WITCH.Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none:So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo!

FIRST WITCH.Banquo and Macbeth, all hail!

MACBETH.Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more.By Sinel’s death I know I am Thane of Glamis;But how of Cawdor? The Thane of Cawdor lives,A prosperous gentleman; and to be kingStands not within the prospect of belief,No more than to be Cawdor. Say from whenceYou owe this strange intelligence? or whyUpon this blasted heath you stop our wayWith such prophetic greeting?—Speak, I charge you.

[Witches vanish.]

BANQUO.The earth hath bubbles, as the water has,And these are of them. Whither are they vanish’d?

MACBETH.Into the air; and what seem’d corporal,Melted as breath into the wind.Would they had stay’d!

BANQUO.Were such things here as we do speak about?Or have we eaten on the insane rootThat takes the reason prisoner?

MACBETH.Your children shall be kings.

BANQUO.You shall be king.

MACBETH.And Thane of Cawdor too; went it not so?

BANQUO.To the selfsame tune and words. Who’s here?

Enter Ross and Angus.

ROSS.The King hath happily receiv’d, Macbeth,The news of thy success, and when he readsThy personal venture in the rebels’ fight,His wonders and his praises do contendWhich should be thine or his: silenc’d with that,In viewing o’er the rest o’ th’ selfsame day,He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks,Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make,Strange images of death. As thick as taleCame post with post; and everyone did bearThy praises in his kingdom’s great defence,And pour’d them down before him.

ANGUS.We are sentTo give thee from our royal master thanks;Only to herald thee into his sight,Not pay thee.

ROSS.And, for an earnest of a greater honour,He bade me, from him, call thee Thane of Cawdor:In which addition, hail, most worthy thane,For it is thine.

BANQUO.What, can the devil speak true?

MACBETH.The Thane of Cawdor lives: why do you dress meIn borrow’d robes?

ANGUS.Who was the Thane lives yet,But under heavy judgement bears that lifeWhich he deserves to lose. Whether he was combin’dWith those of Norway, or did line the rebelWith hidden help and vantage, or that with bothHe labour’d in his country’s wrack, I know not;But treasons capital, confess’d and prov’d,Have overthrown him.

MACBETH.[Aside.] Glamis, and Thane of Cawdor:The greatest is behind. [To Ross and Angus.] Thanks for your pains.[To Banquo.] Do you not hope your children shall be kings,When those that gave the Thane of Cawdor to mePromis’d no less to them?

BANQUO.That, trusted home,Might yet enkindle you unto the crown,Besides the Thane of Cawdor. But ’tis strange:And oftentimes to win us to our harm,The instruments of darkness tell us truths;Win us with honest trifles, to betray’sIn deepest consequence.—Cousins, a word, I pray you.

MACBETH.[Aside.] Two truths are told,As happy prologues to the swelling actOf the imperial theme.—I thank you, gentlemen.—[Aside.] This supernatural solicitingCannot be ill; cannot be good. If ill,Why hath it given me earnest of success,Commencing in a truth? I am Thane of Cawdor:If good, why do I yield to that suggestionWhose horrid image doth unfix my hair,And make my seated heart knock at my ribs,Against the use of nature? Present fearsAre less than horrible imaginings.My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical,Shakes so my single state of manThat function is smother’d in surmise,And nothing is but what is not.

BANQUO.