1    Hang out our banners on the outward walls;
2    The cry is still 'They come:' our castle's strength
3    Will laugh a siege to scorn: here let them lie
4    Till famine and the ague eat them up:
5    Were they not forced with those that should be ours,
6    We might have met them dareful, beard to beard,
7    And beat them backward home.
A cry of women within
8    What is that noise?

9    It is the cry of women, my good lord.

10   I have almost forgot the taste of fears;
11   The time has been, my senses would have cool'd
12   To hear a night-shriek; and my fell of hair
13   Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir
14   As life were in't: I have supp'd full with horrors;
15   Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts
16   Cannot once start me.
Re-enter SEYTON
17   Wherefore was that cry?

18   The queen, my lord, is dead.

19   She should have died hereafter;
20   There would have been a time for such a word.
21   To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
22   Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
23   To the last syllable of recorded time,
24   And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
25   The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
26   Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
27   That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
28   And then is heard no more: it is a tale
29   Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
30   Signifying nothing.
Enter a Messenger
31   Thou comest to use thy tongue; thy story quickly.

32   Gracious my lord,
33   I should report that which I say I saw,
34   But know not how to do it.

35   Well, say, sir.

36   As I did stand my watch upon the hill,
37   I look'd toward Birnam, and anon, methought,
38   The wood began to move.

39   Liar and slave!

40   Let me endure your wrath, if't be not so:
41   Within this three mile may you see it coming;
42   I say, a moving grove.

43   If thou speak'st false,
44   Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive,
45   Till famine cling thee: if thy speech be sooth,
46   I care not if thou dost for me as much.
47   I pull in resolution, and begin
48   To doubt the equivocation of the fiend
49   That lies like truth: 'Fear not, till Birnam wood
50   Do come to Dunsinane:' and now a wood
51   Comes toward Dunsinane. Arm, arm, and out!
52   If this which he avouches does appear,
53   There is nor flying hence nor tarrying here.
54   I gin to be aweary of the sun,
55   And wish the estate o' the world were now undone.
56   Ring the alarum-bell! Blow, wind! come, wrack!
57   At least we'll die with harness on our back.