Let us seek out some desolate shade and there
Weep our sad bosoms empty.
Let's find a quiet, empty place and cry our hearts out there.
Let's go find somewhere quiet and just cry for a while.
let's find somewhere quiet and cry
Let us rather
Hold fast the mortal sword, and, like good men,
Bestride our down-fall’n birthdom. Each new morn
New widows howl, new orphans cry; new sorrows
Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds
As if it felt with Scotland, and yell’d out
Like syllable of dolour.
Let's hold on to our weapons instead and fight like real men, protect our ruined country. Every morning brings new widows crying, new orphans weeping, new sorrows that strike heaven itself, as if the sky felt Scotland's pain and screamed back like a matching wail of misery.
Let's grab our swords and fight back instead. We need to defend our country. Every day brings new loss—more widows, more orphans, more suffering. It's like the whole world is crying.
grab weapons & fight back defend our country everyone's losing ppl every day
What I believe, I’ll wail;
What know, believe; and what I can redress,
As I shall find the time to friend, I will.
What you have spoke, it may be so, perchance.
This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues,
Was once thought honest: you have loved him well;
He hath not touch’d you yet. I am young; but something
You may deserve of him through me; and wisdom
To offer up a weak, poor, innocent lamb
To appease an angry god.
What I believe, I'll cry over; what I know, I'll believe; and what I can fix, whenever I get the chance, I will. What you said might be true, perhaps. This tyrant, just saying his name makes our tongues blister. He was once thought to be honest. You've liked him before. He hasn't touched you yet. I'm young, but there's a risk that you might deserve rewards from him through me—and that would be wisdom? Handing over a weak, poor, innocent lamb to calm an angry god?
I'll grieve for what I believe and work to fix what I can. You might be right about all this. Just saying Macbeth's name burns our mouths. He used to seem good, and you trusted him once. He hasn't hurt you yet, but I'm worried—you might be hoping to gain something from him through me. That would be like sacrificing an innocent person just to keep a tyrant happy.
i'll work on what i can fix macbeth used to seem good but now i'm worried u might betray me
I am not treacherous.
I'm not a traitor.
I'm not a backstabber.
i'm loyal
But Macbeth is.
A good and virtuous nature may recoil
In an imperial charge. But I shall crave your pardon.
That which you are, my thoughts cannot transpose.
Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell:
Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace,
Yet grace must still look so.
But Macbeth is a traitor. A good and virtuous person might recoil when ordered to do something by a tyrant. But I'll ask your forgiveness. Your character is solid—my thoughts can't change what you are. Good people stay good even when evil exists. Bad people might wear the mask of goodness, but real goodness must still look like what it is.
But Macbeth definitely is. Even a good person can be forced into evil by a tyrant. I'm sorry for doubting you. Your character is solid. Good people stay good no matter what, and real goodness shows through no matter how much evil tries to disguise itself.
but macbeth IS evil sorry for doubting u u're good through and through
I have lost my hopes.
I've lost all hope.
I don't have any hope left.
hopeless
Perchance even there where I did find my doubts.
Why in that rawness left you wife and child,
Those precious motives, those strong knots of love,
Without leave-taking?—I pray you,
Let not my jealousies be your dishonours,
But mine own safeties. You may be rightly just,
Whatever I shall think.
Maybe right where I found my doubts. Why did you leave your wife and child, those precious reasons for living, those powerful bonds of love, without even saying goodbye? I'm asking you—don't let my suspicions dishonor you. They're really for my own safety. You might be completely honest, no matter what I think.
Maybe exactly where my doubt comes from. Why did you leave your wife and child behind without even saying goodbye? They're your most precious reasons to live, your strongest connections. Don't take my concerns personally—I'm really just trying to protect myself. You might be completely trustworthy.
why'd u leave ur wife & kid? no goodbye? that's weird sorry, just being careful
Bleed, bleed, poor country!
Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure,
For goodness dare not check thee! wear thou thy wrongs;
The title is affeer’d.—Fare thee well, lord:
I would not be the villain that thou think’st
For the whole space that’s in the tyrant’s grasp
And the rich East to boot.
Bleed, bleed, poor country! Great tyranny, establish yourself firmly, because goodness can't stand up to you! Wear your stolen power! The crown is officially yours now. Good luck, lord. I wouldn't wish to be the villain you think I am for all the wealth in the tyrant's hands and all the riches of the East combined.
Bleed, bleed, poor Scotland! Tyranny, dig in and stay because goodness can't fight back against you. Keep your stolen power. The crown is yours. Goodbye, lord. I wouldn't become the traitor you suspect me of being—not for all the money and power in the world.
scotland's dying tyrant u've won i won't be the villain u think i am
Be not offended:
I speak not as in absolute fear of you.
I think our country sinks beneath the yoke;
It weeps, it bleeds; and each new day a gash
Is added to her wounds. I think, withal,
There would be hands uplifted in my right;
And here, from gracious England, have I offer
Of goodly thousands: but, for all this,
When I shall tread upon the tyrant’s head,
Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country
Shall have more vices than it had before,
More suffer, and more sundry ways than ever,
By him that shall succeed.
Don't be upset. I'm not speaking from pure fear of you. I think our country is suffering under a tyrant's rule. It's crying, it's bleeding. Every single day a new wound is added. I think there are people who would support me if I tried to take back the throne. I have an offer of thousands of good soldiers from generous England. But even after I defeat the tyrant and wear his crown, my country will have more evil than before, will suffer more, and in more ways than it ever did, from whoever takes my place.
Don't be offended. I'm not afraid of you. Our country is dying under this tyrant's rule—it's in agony every single day, getting worse. I know there are people in Scotland who'd fight for me, and England's offered me thousands of soldiers. But here's the thing—even if I defeat Macbeth and take the throne, whoever rules after me will be worse, and Scotland will suffer even more than it does now.
our country's dying under macbeth england's helping us fight but our next ruler will be even worse
What should he be?
Who would that ruler be?
Who would that even be?
who'd that be?
It is myself I mean; in whom I know
All the particulars of vice so grafted
That, when they shall be open’d, black Macbeth
Will seem as pure as snow; and the poor state
Esteem him as a lamb, being compar’d
With my confineless harms.
I mean myself. I know I have every kind of vice so deeply rooted in me that when they come out, Macbeth will look as pure as snow compared to me. And the poor country will think of him as innocent when they compare him to my endless evil.
I mean me. I know I'm full of every kind of vice you can imagine, so twisted in every way that when people see who I really am, Macbeth will look like a saint next to me. Scotland will actually prefer him to me.
i mean myself i'm evil in every way macbeth'd look good compared to me
Not in the legions
Of horrid hell can come a devil more damn’d
In evils to top Macbeth.
Even from all the demons in hell, you couldn't find a devil more deeply damned in evil to surpass Macbeth.
You couldn't find a more evil devil in all of hell than Macbeth.
no devil's worse than macbeth
I grant him bloody,
Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful,
Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin
That has a name: but there’s no bottom, none,
In my voluptuousness: your wives, your daughters,
Your matrons, and your maids, could not fill up
The cistern of my lust; and my desire
All continent impediments would o’erbear,
That did oppose my will: better Macbeth
Than such an one to reign.
I admit he's brutal, lecherous, greedy, false, deceitful, rash, malicious, tainted with every named sin. But my lust has no limits—your wives, daughters, mothers, and maids couldn't satisfy me. I would break through any barrier that opposed my desire. Macbeth would be better to rule than someone like me.
I'll give it to you—he's violent, lustful, greedy, dishonest, tricky, rash, and mean. But me? My sexual desire has no bottom to it. Your wives, daughters, all the women you know couldn't satisfy me. I'd use any power I had to get what I want. Macbeth would be the better ruler.
macbeth's evil but i'm worse my lust has no limits i'd destroy everything for it
Boundless intemperance
In nature is a tyranny; it hath been
Th’ untimely emptying of the happy throne,
And fall of many kings. But fear not yet
To take upon you what is yours: you may
Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty,
And yet seem cold—the time you may so hoodwink.
We have willing dames enough; there cannot be
That vulture in you, to devour so many
As will to greatness dedicate themselves,
Finding it so inclin’d.
Endless desire in someone's nature is itself a tyranny. It's brought down thrones and killed many kings. But don't worry—you can satisfy your desires in plenty and still seem controlled. You can fool people about your real nature and time. There are enough willing women. You can't be so greedy that you'd use up all the women who'd willingly throw themselves at power anyway. As long as you seem to want it, there will be women ready to serve you.
Sure, endless lust destroys kingdoms—it's killed plenty of kings. But here's the thing: you can have as much as you want and still hide it. You can use your power and still seem controlled. Plenty of women will throw themselves at anyone with power and influence. There's no way you could use them all up, no matter how much you want.
endless lust destroys kingdoms yeah but u can hide it plenty women will serve u anyway
With this there grows
In my most ill-compos’d affection such
A staunchless avarice, that, were I king,
I should cut off the nobles for their lands;
Desire his jewels, and this other’s house:
And my more-having would be as a sauce
To make me hunger more; that I should forge
Quarrels unjust against the good and loyal,
Destroying them for wealth.
Along with this, I have such a bottomless greed that if I were king, I'd kill nobles just to take their lands. I'd steal someone's jewels, take someone else's house. And the more I had, the more I'd want. I'd make up false reasons to punish honest, loyal people, just to rob them and get richer.
And on top of that, I'm so greedy I'd kill noblemen just to steal their land and property. I'd frame good, loyal people to take what they own. The more I'd have, the hungrier I'd get for more. It would never end.
i'm greedy enough to kill for wealth i'd destroy good ppl for their stuff it'd never be enough
This avarice
Sticks deeper; grows with more pernicious root
Than summer-seeming lust; and it hath been
The sword of our slain kings: yet do not fear;
Scotland hath foisons to fill up your will,
Of your mere own. All these are portable,
With other graces weigh’d.
Greed goes deeper and grows with more destructive roots than lust. It's been the downfall of our kings. But don't worry—Scotland has enough wealth for your desires from what's rightfully yours. All of this can be managed alongside other virtues.
Greed is way worse than lust—it's destroyed more kings than anything else. But Scotland's rich enough. You don't need to steal or kill. You can have plenty and be reasonable about everything else.
greed's worse than lust tbh killed more kings but scotland's rich enough
But I have none: the king-becoming graces,
As justice, verity, temp’rance, stableness,
Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness,
Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude,
I have no relish of them; but abound
In the division of each several crime,
Acting it many ways. Nay, had I power, I should
Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell,
Uproar the universal peace, confound
All unity on earth.
But I don't have any of those: justice, honesty, self-control, loyalty, generosity, persistence, mercy, humility, faith, patience, bravery, strength—I have no trace of any of them. Instead I'm full of every kind of crime, doing each one many different ways. Actually, if I had power, I'd pour goodness itself into hell, destroy universal peace, and break apart all unity on earth.
But I don't have any of those good qualities—no justice, no honesty, no self-control, no loyalty, nothing. All I have is evil, and I'd do it in every possible way. If I had power, I'd destroy goodness completely, shatter world peace, and tear apart everything that holds people together.
i have none of those virtues only evil in every way i'd destroy everything good
O Scotland, Scotland!
O Scotland, Scotland!
o scotland, scotland!
o scotland, scotland!
If such a one be fit to govern, speak:
I am as I have spoken.
If someone like that is fit to rule, say so. This is who I am.
If that's who you want as a ruler, fine. That's me.
that's what i am
Fit to govern?
No, not to live.—O nation miserable,
With an untitled tyrant bloody-scepter’d,
When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again,
Since that the truest issue of thy throne
By his own interdiction stands accus’d,
And does blaspheme his breed? Thy royal father
Was a most sainted king. The queen that bore thee,
Oft’ner upon her knees than on her feet,
Died every day she lived. Fare thee well!
These evils thou repeat’st upon thyself
Have banish’d me from Scotland.—O my breast,
Thy hope ends here!
Fit to rule? No, not even fit to live. Poor, miserable Scotland! You have an untitled tyrant holding the crown, drowning in blood. When will you see good days again? Your best heir, your rightful king, has been cut off by his own rejection and stands accused, and he curses his own family line? Your father was a most holy king. Your mother spent more time on her knees in prayer than standing up. She died a little bit every day she lived. Goodbye, lord. These evils you've described about yourself have made me leave Scotland. My heart's hope ends here.
Fit to rule? Not even fit to live. Poor Scotland! You're stuck with a bloody tyrant, and your rightful heir won't take the throne. When will you be free? Your mother was the holiest woman—always praying, always suffering. Goodbye. Everything you've told me about yourself has destroyed me. Scotland's my last hope, and I'm leaving.
unfit to live scotland's dying my hope's gone
Macduff, this noble passion,
Child of integrity, hath from my soul
Wiped the black scruples, reconcil’d my thoughts
To thy good truth and honour. Devilish Macbeth
By many of these trains hath sought to win me
Into his power, and modest wisdom plucks me
From over-credulous haste: but God above
Deal between thee and me! for even now
I put myself to thy direction, and
Unspeak mine own detraction; here abjure
The taints and blames I laid upon myself,
For strangers to my nature. I am yet
Unknown to woman; never was forsworn;
Scarcely have coveted what was mine own;
At no time broke my faith; would not betray
The devil to his fellow; and delight
No less in truth than life: my first false speaking
Was this upon myself. What I am truly,
Is thine and my poor country’s to command:
Whither, indeed, before thy here-approach,
Old Siward, with ten thousand warlike men,
Already at a point, was setting forth.
Now we’ll together, and the chance of goodness
Be like our warranted quarrel. Why are you silent?
Macduff, your real passion shows your integrity. It's washed away my doubts and convinced me of your goodness and honor. Macbeth has tried to trap me using these tricks to make me believe he's right, but my careful judgment has saved me from rushing to trust the wrong person. But now, I trust you completely. You can direct me. I take back everything bad I said about myself—those weren't my real failings but lies I made up. I've never known a woman, I've never broken my word, I've barely wanted what was already mine, I've never broken my promise, I wouldn't betray even the devil to his enemy, and I love truth as much as I love my own life. My first false speaking was just now about myself. My real self is yours and Scotland's to command. Before I even came here, the old warrior Siward was already preparing to march with ten thousand soldiers. Now we'll go together, and we'll win because we're fighting for what's right. Why are you silent?
Macduff, your real passion proves you're honest. You've cleared my doubts. Everything you said is true. Macbeth's been trying to trick me into joining him, but I was careful. Now I trust you completely. I take back everything I said about myself—none of it was true. I've never done any of those evil things. I'm loyal, honest, honorable. Before I even came here, an English commander named Siward was already gathering ten thousand soldiers for us. Now we'll fight together, and we'll win because we're right. So what do you say?
u cleared my doubts macduff i take back all that evil stuff i said we've got soldiers, let's fight why r u quiet
Such welcome and unwelcome things at once
’Tis hard to reconcile.
It's hard to accept joy and terrible news at the same time.
It's hard to feel happy and devastated at the same time.
good news & tragedy together too much
Malcolm's extended pretense of corruption has been criticized as tedious or implausible — why would the rightful king spend half a scene listing fictional vices? But the scene makes deep dramatic sense. Malcolm is in exile, his father murdered, his country under a murderous tyrant. He has every reason to expect agents provocateurs among those who seek him out. Macduff's sudden arrival in England must be suspicious: why did he leave? Why now? Malcolm's test is designed to find the limits of Macduff's flexibility — if Macduff would work with a lecherous, greedy, and fundamentally corrupt Malcolm, he might work with anyone, which means he might be Macbeth's man. When Macduff reaches his limit and despairs of Scotland entirely rather than accept this Malcolm, the test is passed. The scene also gives us Malcolm's political philosophy by inversion: the kingly virtues he claims to lack are exactly the virtues Macbeth has destroyed. The list is both a character sketch of the coming good king and an indictment of the current bad one.
Well; more anon.—Comes the King forth, I pray you?
Good. We'll talk more later. Will the King come out now?
Okay, we'll talk more later. Is the King coming?
is the king coming out?
Ay, sir. There are a crew of wretched souls
That stay his cure: their malady convinces
The great assay of art; but at his touch,
Such sanctity hath heaven given his hand,
They presently amend.
Yes, sir. There are a group of wretched, sick people waiting for his treatment. Their sickness defeats even the greatest medical skills, but the King has such holy power in his hands from heaven that they get better immediately when he touches them.
Yes, sir. There are a bunch of really sick people waiting for him to heal them. Their diseases are so bad that doctors can't help, but when the King touches them, they get better right away.
yeah there's sick ppl waiting he touches them & they heal instantly
I thank you, doctor.
Thank you, doctor.
Thanks, doc.
thanks
What’s the disease he means?
What illness are they talking about?
What disease is he treating?
what disease?
’Tis call’d the evil:
A most miraculous work in this good king;
Which often, since my here-remain in England,
I have seen him do. How he solicits heaven,
Himself best knows, but strangely-visited people,
All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye,
The mere despair of surgery, he cures;
Hanging a golden stamp about their necks,
Put on with holy prayers: and ’tis spoken,
To the succeeding royalty he leaves
The healing benediction. With this strange virtue,
He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy;
And sundry blessings hang about his throne,
That speak him full of grace.
It's called the King's Evil, a miraculous healing power in this good king. Since I've been in England, I've seen him do it many times. I don't know exactly how he does it, but he heals people who are desperately sick—their bodies swollen and covered with sores, so sick that surgery can't help them. He hangs a gold coin on a chain around their necks, blessed with holy prayers. And word is he's passed this healing gift on to future kings. Along with this strange power, he has the gift of seeing the future, and many blessings surround his throne that show he's full of heaven's favor.
It's called the King's Evil. The King can actually heal people with just a touch. I've seen him do it since I got to England. He heals people who are really sick—their bodies covered with sores and ulcers, beyond what doctors can fix. He puts a blessed gold coin around their neck, says prayers, and they get better. The story is that he's passed this power down to all future kings too. He also knows the future and has this whole aura of holy power around him.
it's the king's evil he touches sick ppl & they heal blessed gold coins & prayers he has powers
See, who comes here?
Look, who's coming?
Look who's here.
someone's here
My countryman; but yet I know him not.
He's from my country, but I don't recognize him.
He's Scottish, but I don't know who he is.
he's scottish but idk him
My ever-gentle cousin, welcome hither.
My dear, kind relative, welcome.
Welcome, my gentle cousin.
welcome cousin
I know him now. Good God, betimes remove
The means that makes us strangers!
I recognize him now. God, quickly end whatever is separating us as strangers!
I know who he is. God, end whatever's keeping us apart!
i know him now end this separation
Sir, amen.
Sir, amen.
sir, amen.
sir, amen.
Stands Scotland where it did?
How is Scotland—is it still the same?
How's Scotland doing?
how's scotland?
Alas, poor country,
Almost afraid to know itself! It cannot
Be call’d our mother, but our grave, where nothing,
But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile;
Where sighs, and groans, and shrieks, that rent the air,
Are made, not mark’d; where violent sorrow seems
A modern ecstasy. The dead man’s knell
Is there scarce ask’d for who; and good men’s lives
Expire before the flowers in their caps,
Dying or ere they sicken.
Oh, poor country! It's almost afraid to even recognize itself. It can't be called our mother anymore—it's our grave. Nothing good happens there except to those who know nothing. Sighs, screams, and shrieks tear through the air constantly, but no one even notices them anymore. Violent suffering has become normal. When someone dies, no one even bothers to ring the church bell to ask whose funeral it is. Good people die before their time comes, dying or getting sick and dying even as the flowers in their hats are still fresh.
Poor Scotland! It doesn't even recognize itself anymore. It's a graveyard, not our home. Nothing good ever happens except for people who know nothing. People are crying and screaming all the time, but no one even notices anymore. Death and suffering are just normal. When someone dies, no one asks who it was. Good people are dying young, dying before they even get sick.
scotland's a graveyard now people crying & dying constantly no one even cares anymore
O, relation
Too nice, and yet too true!
Your description is exact and yet painfully accurate!
That's painfully accurate.
that's painfully true
What’s the newest grief?
What's the latest tragedy?
What's the newest horror?
what's the latest news?
That of an hour’s age doth hiss the speaker;
Each minute teems a new one.
News an hour old makes people hiss at whoever speaks it—they want newer horrors. Each minute brings a new tragedy.
Disasters from an hour ago are already old news. New terrible things happen every minute.
old news gets hissed new horrors every minute
How does my wife?
How is my wife?
Is my wife okay?
is my wife ok?
Why, well.
Why, well.
why, well.
why, well.
And all my children?
And all my children are they safe?
And all my children are well?
the kids too?
Well too.
Well too.
well too.
well too.
The tyrant has not batter’d at their peace?
The tyrant hasn't destroyed their peace, has he?
Macbeth hasn't hurt them, right?
macbeth didn't hurt them right?
The scene's second half poses a question that the play takes seriously: what is grief for? Malcolm's answer — 'Dispute it like a man,' convert grief to anger, use it as a whetstone — is pragmatic and politically necessary. Macduff's answer is more complex: 'I must also feel it as a man.' He is not refusing to act; he is insisting that action without feeling is not enough. The distinction matters: Macbeth has been acting without feeling since Act 3, and the result is the world we see. Macduff's synthesis — feeling it fully, then acting from that fullness — is the alternative. His final vow is not cold calculation but enraged grief channeled toward its target. The play suggests this is the only morally legitimate kind of violence: violence that comes from love and loss, not from the calculus of power.
No; they were well at peace when I did leave ’em.
No, they were safe when I left them.
No, they were fine when I last saw them.
they were fine when i left
Be not a niggard of your speech: how goes’t?
Don't hold back—tell me what's happening.
Just tell me—what's really going on?
tell me what's happening
When I came hither to transport the tidings,
Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumour
Of many worthy fellows that were out;
Which was to my belief witness’d the rather,
For that I saw the tyrant’s power afoot.
Now is the time of help. Your eye in Scotland
Would create soldiers, make our women fight,
To doff their dire distresses.
When I came to tell you this news, which I've carried heavily, there was a rumor about many good soldiers who had joined the rebellion. This seemed credible because I actually saw Macbeth's forces on the move. Now is the moment to help. If you were seen in Scotland, you'd inspire people to fight. You'd make women take up arms themselves, eager to escape their horrible suffering.
I came to bring you this terrible news, and when I was there, I heard reports that many good soldiers had joined the rebellion against Macbeth. And I actually saw his army moving. Now's the time to strike. If Scotland saw you, people would fight. Even women would grab weapons just to escape this nightmare.
soldiers are joining the rebellion macbeth's army's moving now's the time to strike
Be’t their comfort
We are coming thither. Gracious England hath
Lent us good Siward and ten thousand men;
An older and a better soldier none
That Christendom gives out.
Tell them we're coming to help them. England has lent us a good soldier named Siward and ten thousand men. No Christendom produces a better or older soldier than he is.
Tell Scotland we're coming. England's giving us Siward and ten thousand soldiers. He's one of the best warriors alive.
we're coming to help england's sending soldiers best warriors we've got
Would I could answer
This comfort with the like! But I have words
That would be howl’d out in the desert air,
Where hearing should not latch them.
I wish I could answer your good news with good news! But I have words that should only be shouted into empty desert air where no one could hear them.
I wish I had good news to match yours. But I have words that are too horrible to even say out loud.
i wish i had good news but my news is unspeakable
What concern they?
The general cause? or is it a fee-grief
Due to some single breast?
Does it affect everyone, or is it just your personal grief?
Is this about the whole country or just something personal?
is this about everyone or just u?
No mind that’s honest
But in it shares some woe, though the main part
Pertains to you alone.
Anyone with a good conscience feels some of this grief, but the worst of it hits you specially.
Everyone shares in this tragedy, but the worst is yours alone.
everyone's grieving but ur loss is biggest
If it be mine,
Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it.
If it's my tragedy, don't wait—tell me now.
If it's my loss, just tell me straight.
just tell me now
Let not your ears despise my tongue for ever,
Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound
That ever yet they heard.
Don't hate me for what I'm about to say. My words are going to carry the worst news you've ever heard.
I'm about to tell you the worst thing you've ever heard.
worst news ever coming
Humh! I guess at it.
I think I know what you're going to say.
I can guess.
i know what's coming
Your castle is surpris’d; your wife and babes
Savagely slaughter’d. To relate the manner
Were, on the quarry of these murder’d deer,
To add the death of you.
Your castle was attacked. Your wife and children have been savagely murdered. Telling you how it happened would be like adding your death on top of all those deaths.
Your castle was attacked and your wife and children were brutally killed. If I describe it, it would be like killing you too.
ur castle's gone wife & kids murdered i can't describe it
Merciful heaven!—
What, man! ne’er pull your hat upon your brows.
Give sorrow words. The grief that does not speak
Whispers the o’er-fraught heart, and bids it break.
Merciful heaven! Man, don't cover your face like that. Express your grief in words. The grief that stays silent breaks the heart that's already overflowing with pain.
God! Don't hide your face. Say something. Keeping it inside will destroy you.
don't hide ur grief say something silence kills
My children too?
My children too?
my children too?
my children too?
Wife, children, servants, all
That could be found.
Everyone—wife, children, servants, everyone they could find.
All of them. Everyone they found.
everyone they found
And I must be from thence!
My wife kill’d too?
And I had to be away from there! My wife was killed?
I wasn't even there! They killed my wife?
not there for them why did they die?
I have said.
I have said.
i have said.
i have said.
Be comforted:
Let’s make us med’cines of our great revenge,
To cure this deadly grief.
Be comforted. Let's turn our need for revenge into healing for this deep wound of grief.
Don't break down. Let's use revenge to heal this pain.
let revenge heal ur pain
He has no children.—All my pretty ones?
Did you say all?—O hell-kite!—All?
What, all my pretty chickens and their dam
At one fell swoop?
He has no children to kill. All my beautiful children? Did you say all of them? You mean to tell me—all? My beautiful children and their mother, all killed at once?
He doesn't have kids to lose. Did you say all my children? All of them? My whole family, dead in one moment?
all my kids? wife & children all at once?
Dispute it like a man.
Fight back like a man would.
Act like a man about it.
be a man about it
I shall do so;
But I must also feel it as a man:
I cannot but remember such things were,
That were most precious to me.—Did heaven look on,
And would not take their part? Sinful Macduff,
They were all struck for thee! Naught that I am,
Not for their own demerits, but for mine,
Fell slaughter on their souls: heaven rest them now!
I will do that. But I also have to feel this like a person—I can't help remembering things that were so precious to me. Did heaven watch this and not fight for them? Sinful Macduff, they were all killed because of me! I'm worthless—not because they deserved to die, but because I did. The killing came down on their souls instead of mine. I hope heaven gives them rest now!
I'll fight like a man. But I'm also human—I have to grieve. I keep thinking about the people I loved most. Didn't heaven care? They were killed because of me, not because of anything they did. I should've been the one to die. I hope heaven's kind to them now.
i'll fight but i have to grieve they died for me not themselves
Be this the whetstone of your sword. Let grief
Convert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage it.
Let your grief sharpen your sword. Turn your sadness into rage. Don't numb your heart—set it on fire with anger.
Let your pain fuel your anger. Turn grief into rage. Don't shut down—burn with it.
let grief become rage burn with anger
O, I could play the woman with mine eyes,
And braggart with my tongue!—But, gentle heavens,
Cut short all intermission; front to front,
Bring thou this fiend of Scotland and myself;
Within my sword’s length set him; if he ’scape,
Heaven forgive him too!
I could cry like a woman and boast with big words. But no—God, end the waiting. Bring that monster and me face to face. Put him within sword's reach of me. If he gets away, I hope God forgives him.
I feel like I could just cry and yell. But no—I'm ready to face him. Get him close to me now. If he escapes, so be it.
i'm ready to face him face to face if he escapes god forgive him
This tune goes manly.
Come, go we to the King. Our power is ready;
Our lack is nothing but our leave. Macbeth
Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above
Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer you may;
The night is long that never finds the day.
That sounds like a real man. Come, let's go to the King. Our army is ready. We're just waiting to leave. Macbeth is vulnerable, ready to be defeated, and the powers above are putting their forces to work. Take whatever comfort you can; the night is long when it never finds morning, but morning will eventually come.
That's the man I want fighting with me. Let's go to the King. We've got our army ready to march. Macbeth's weak now, ripe for defeat. The gods are on our side. Stay strong—the night's long but morning always comes.
that's real let's fight macbeth's vulnerable morning will come
The Reckoning
The longest scene in Macbeth, and one of the most varied in tone. It opens with Malcolm's testing of Macduff — a calculated psychological exercise that could read as cold manipulation but functions dramatically as the necessary vetting of a resistance leader. Malcolm pretends to be lecherous, greedy, and fundamentally corrupt — and watches Macduff's face. When Macduff finally gives up and refuses to stay ('Such welcome and unwelcome things at once / 'Tis hard to reconcile'), Malcolm reveals the test. The two halves of the scene — the testing and the news of the murders — are linked by the same question: what does a good man do when confronted with evil? Malcolm answers by organizing. Macduff answers by weeping. Then by fighting. Ross's arrival and delivery of the news is one of the play's great performances of hesitation: he clearly knows something terrible, stalls with false good news, and then tells the truth. Macduff's grief — 'He has no children. All my pretty ones?' — is the play's emotional nadir. Not Macbeth's suffering, not Lady Macbeth's breakdown, but this.
If this happened today…
An opposition leader meets a defector at a safe house abroad. He needs to know if this person is genuine or a plant. He runs through his worst possible self — I'm corrupt, I'm a womanizer, I'll be worse than the dictator — and watches how the defector responds. When the defector breaks and says he can't support that, the leader drops the test. Then the defector's handler arrives and delivers the news that the defector's family was killed last night.