Bring me no more reports; let them fly all:
Till Birnam wood remove to Dunsinane
I cannot taint with fear. What’s the boy Malcolm?
Was he not born of woman? The spirits that know
All mortal consequences have pronounc’d me thus:
“Fear not, Macbeth; no man that’s born of woman
Shall e’er have power upon thee.”—Then fly, false thanes,
And mingle with the English epicures:
The mind I sway by, and the heart I bear,
Shall never sag with doubt nor shake with fear.
Don't bring me any more reports; let them all run away. As long as Birnam wood doesn't move to Dunsinane I can't be touched by fear. What about Malcolm? Wasn't he born of a woman? The spirits who know all human destiny told me: "Fear not, Macbeth; no man born of a woman will ever have power over you." So run away, false thanes, and go join the English luxury lovers: the mind I control and the heart I carry will never weaken with doubt or shake with fear.
Stop bringing me reports—let them all scatter. I can't be scared until a forest actually walks to Dunsinane. What's Malcolm? He was born of a woman, wasn't he? The spirits who know destiny made me a promise: "Don't fear, Macbeth; no man born of a woman will ever beat you." So go ahead, you traitors, go hang out with the English. My mind and my heart won't break. I won't doubt or be afraid.
stop with reports i can't fear til birnam wood moves malcolm's just a man spirits promised me no man born of woman can touch me let the traitors run i'm not scared
The devil damn thee black, thou cream-fac’d loon!
Where gott’st thou that goose look?
May the devil curse you with darkness, you pale-faced fool! Where did you get that terrified expression?
The devil curse you, you coward with your pale face! Where did you pick up that frightened look?
devil curse you pale face where'd you get that scared look
There is ten thousand—
There are ten thousand—
They've got ten thousand soldiers—
ten thousand of 'em—
Geese, villain?
Geese, villain?
geese, villain?
geese, villain?
Soldiers, sir.
Soldiers, sir.
soldiers, sir.
soldiers, sir.
Go prick thy face and over-red thy fear,
Thou lily-liver’d boy. What soldiers, patch?
Death of thy soul! those linen cheeks of thine
Are counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whey-face?
Go scratch your face and make it red to hide your fear, you cowardly boy. What soldiers, you worthless scrap? May your soul die! Those pale cheeks of yours are telling everyone to be afraid. What soldiers, you pale-faced one?
Scratch your face, make yourself bleed to hide how scared you are, you spineless kid. What soldiers? You're pathetic. May you rot! Your white face is basically screaming for everyone to run scared. What soldiers, you milk-faced coward?
scratch ur face hide ur fear u coward what soldiers u talking about u're pathetic those pale cheeks are inviting fear
The English force, so please you.
The English army, if it pleases you.
The English forces, sir.
the english army
Take thy face hence.
Get your face out of my sight.
Get out of my face.
get outta here
Seyton!—I am sick at heart,
When I behold—Seyton, I say!—This push
Will cheer me ever or disseat me now.
I have liv’d long enough: my way of life
Is fall’n into the sere, the yellow leaf;
And that which should accompany old age,
As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends,
I must not look to have; but, in their stead,
Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honour, breath,
Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not.
Seyton!—
Seyton! I am sick at heart when I think about this. Seyton! This coming battle will either uplift my spirits forever or destroy me now. I have lived long enough: my way of life has withered into dead leaves; and the things that should accompany old age—honor, love, obedience, loyal friends—I cannot have; instead I have only curses, silent but deep, false flattery and empty praise which my poor heart wants to reject but cannot. Seyton!
Seyton! I feel sick inside thinking about this. Seyton! This final battle will either save me or kill me. I've lived long enough anyway. My life has just dried up like dead leaves. The things I'm supposed to have now—honor, love, loyalty, real friends—I'll never get them. All I get instead is hate, people pretending to respect me, and I can't even tell them to stop. Seyton!
seyton im sick at heart this battle ends me or saves me ine lived long enough my life dried up no honor love loyalty just curses & fake respect
What’s your gracious pleasure?
What is your wish, my lord?
What do you need, my lord?
what do u want
The 'sear, the yellow leaf' speech is often identified as the moment the audience's sympathy for Macbeth is at its most complex. He has ordered the murder of children, he is holding a country in terror, he has killed his best friend. And yet this speech is genuinely moving, because it is genuinely honest. Macbeth is not lying here, not performing for an audience, not trying to manipulate anyone. He is stating the truth about his life as he understands it: the good things are gone, the curses are quiet but deep, the loyalty he receives is compelled not given. He knows this. He has always known this — it is the knowledge he had from the beginning, the 'this is nothing unless I am safely this' logic of 3-1. He chose the crown over the life that would have given him what the speech names as lost. The tragedy is not that he didn't know; it is that he knew and chose anyway.
What news more?
What news more?
what news more?
what news more?
All is confirm’d, my lord, which was reported.
Everything that was reported has been confirmed, my lord.
Everything we heard is true, my lord.
it's all confirmed
I’ll fight till from my bones my flesh be hack’d.
Give me my armour.
I'll fight until the flesh is cut from my bones. Give me my armor.
I'll keep fighting until I'm torn to pieces. Get me my armor.
i'll fight til i'm shredded give me my armor
’Tis not needed yet.
It is not needed yet.
You don't need it yet.
not yet
I’ll put it on.
Send out more horses, skirr the country round;
Hang those that talk of fear. Give me mine armour.—
How does your patient, doctor?
I'll put it on. Send out more horses, search the country around; hang anyone who talks of fear. Give me my armor. How is your patient, doctor?
I'm putting it on anyway. Send out more scouts, search everywhere around here; execute anyone who even mentions being scared. Get my armor on me. How's your patient doing, doctor?
putting it on now send more horses out hang anyone who talks about fear give me armor how's ur patient doc
Not so sick, my lord,
As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies,
That keep her from her rest.
She's not so much sick, my lord, but troubled with constant distressing thoughts that keep her from her rest.
She's not physically ill, my lord, but her mind won't stop racing with terrible thoughts, and she can't sleep.
she's not sick but her mind won't stop too many dark thoughts can't sleep
Cure her of that:
Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas’d,
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow,
Raze out the written troubles of the brain,
And with some sweet oblivious antidote
Cleanse the stuff’d bosom of that perilous stuff
Which weighs upon the heart?
Cure her of that. Can you not treat a diseased mind, pull deep sorrow from memory, erase the written troubles of the brain, and with some sweet medicine of forgetfulness cleanse the full heart of that dangerous stuff which weighs upon it?
Fix that. Can't you heal a broken mind? Can't you pull out the deep pain from her memory, wipe away all the bad thoughts from her brain, and use some medicine to make her forget the dark stuff that's crushing her heart?
fix it can u heal a sick mind wipe away the deep pain erase the bad thoughts make her forget what's crushing her
Therein the patient
Must minister to himself.
In that case, the patient must treat themselves.
Then the patient has to heal themselves.
the patient has to fix themselves
Throw physic to the dogs, I’ll none of it.
Come, put mine armour on; give me my staff:
Seyton, send out.—Doctor, the Thanes fly from me.—
Come, sir, despatch.—If thou couldst, doctor, cast
The water of my land, find her disease,
And purge it to a sound and pristine health,
I would applaud thee to the very echo,
That should applaud again.—Pull’t off, I say.—
What rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drug,
Would scour these English hence? Hear’st thou of them?
Throw medicine to the dogs, I won't use it. Come, put my armor on; give me my staff. Seyton, send out scouts. Doctor, the nobles are fleeing from me. Come, hurry. If you could, doctor, examine the health of my country, find its disease, and heal it to perfect health, I would applaud you so much the echoes would applaud again. Pull it off, I say. What rhubarb, senna, or what strong laxative would drive out these English? Have you heard of them?
Forget medicine. Come on, get my armor on; give me my staff. Seyton, send out scouts. Doctor, my nobles are running away from me. Hurry up. If you could, doctor, look at my country like it's a patient, find what's wrong with it, and cure it to perfect health, I'd cheer you so loud the whole world would hear it. Pull it off. What laxative, what medicine would get rid of the English the way it gets rid of sickness? Do you know of any?
screw medicine get my armor on my nobles are leaving me hurry up if u could cure my country i'd cheer forever what medicine could kill the english
Ay, my good lord. Your royal preparation
Makes us hear something.
Yes, my good lord. Your royal readiness makes us have some hope.
Yes, my lord. Your determination gives us something to believe in.
yes sir u're ready that means something
Bring it after me.—
I will not be afraid of death and bane,
Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane.
Bring it along. I will not be afraid of death and destruction until Birnam forest comes to Dunsinane.
Bring it with you. I won't be scared of death or disaster until a forest walks up to my castle.
bring it i'm not scared of death til birnam forest comes here
Were I from Dunsinane away and clear,
Profit again should hardly draw me here.
If I could get away from Dunsinane and be safe, nothing would bring me back here again.
If I could escape from here and get to safety, no amount of money would make me come back.
if i could leave this place money couldn't bring me back
The Reckoning
This is Macbeth at his most contradictory: the man who declared he would feel nothing is clearly feeling everything. He dismisses the approaching army ('till Birnam Wood remove to Dunsinane / I cannot taint with fear'), then immediately calls for his armor before the battle begins. He speaks his most beautiful and resigned speech: 'I have lived long enough: my way of life / Is fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf.' He knows, somewhere, that the life he was living has been over for some time. He asks for comfort from the doctor — who is treating Lady Macbeth — and receives none. He demands medicine for a mind diseased and then dismisses the question ('throw physic to the dogs'). He cannot heal her, cannot heal himself, cannot stop what is coming. But he puts on his armor anyway.
If this happened today…
A CEO in a locked boardroom, being told by every department head that the company is done. He fires the one who tells him the stock is tanking, refuses to read the reports, shouts for his briefcase. Then, quiet for a moment, he says to the CFO: 'I've lived long enough to know this was the wrong life.' The CFO asks about his wife. 'She'll be fine. Throw that report out the window. Where's my briefcase.'