- We have an active shooter!
We have an active shooter!
- I got one down, gunshot wound to the leg.
- We have multiple casualties!
We have gunmen at the medical check.
Multiple casualties!
- Turning and turning
in the widening gyre.
The falcon cannot hear the falconer.
Things fall apart.
The center cannot hold.
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world.
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed,
and everywhere
the ceremony of innocence is drowned.
The best lack all conviction,
while the worst
are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand.
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
- Report.
- Say the knowledge.
- The merciless Macdonwald.
The multiplying villainies of nature swarm upon him.
And fortune,
on his damned quarrel smiling
showed like a devil's whore.
But all's too weak
for brave Macbeth,
with his brandished steel,
which smoked with bloody execution.
He unseamed him from the nave to the chaps
and fixed his head upon our battlement.
- Worthy.
- A fresh assault!
I bathe in reeking wounds.
My gashes cry for help.
- Get him surgeons.
- Aye.
- When shall we three meet again?
In thunder, lightning or in rain?
When the hurlyburly's done,
when the battle's lost and won,
that will be ere the set of sun, where?
Fair is foul and foul is fair,
hover through the fog and filthy air.
Where hast thou been, sister?
Killing swine.
And munched and munched and munched.
Like a rat without a tail, I'll do, I'll do, I'll do.
A wind.
- Ross!
- A haste looks through his eyes.
It seems to speak things strange.
- God save the King.
- Whence camest thou?
- A dismal conflict.
The victory fell on us.
- Mmm.
No more the thane of Cawdor shall deceive.
Go pronounce his present death,
and...
with his title, greet Macbeth.
- I'll see it done.
- What he hath lost,
noble Macbeth hath won.
Boom.
- The second coming.
Hardly are those words out
when a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Somewhere in sands of the desert
a shape with lion body and the head of a man,
a gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again,
but now I know
that 20 centuries of stony sleep
were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle.
- So foul
and fair a day I have not seen.
- And what rough beast
its hour come round at last,
slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
♪ Fair is foul, and foul is fair ♪
♪ Hover through the fog and filthy air ♪
♪ Fair is foul, and foul is fair ♪
♪ Hover through the fog and filthy air ♪
♪ Fair is foul and foul is fair ♪
♪ Fair is foul, and foul is fair ♪
- All hail, Macbeth.
Hail to thee, thane of Glamis.
All hail, Macbeth.
Hail to thee, thane of Cawdor.
All hail, Macbeth.
Thou shalt be king hereafter!
- To me you speak not.
If you can look into the seeds of time
and say which grains will grow and which will not,
speak then to me.
- Lesser than Macbeth, and greater.
Not so happy, yet much happier.
Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none.
So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo!
♪ Fair is foul and foul is fair ♪
♪ Hover through the fog and filthy air ♪
- All hail, Macbeth! - All hail, Macbeth!
♪ Fair is foul and foul is fair ♪
♪ Hover through the fog and filthy air ♪
- Who's there?
- We are sent to give thee from our royal master thanks.
- He bade me call thee thane of Cawdor.
Hail, most worthy thane.
For it is thine.
- What?
What?
Can a devil speak true?
- The thane of Cawdor lives.
Why do you dress me in borrowed robes?
- He labored in his country's wrecks.
Treason's capital,
confessed and proved, have overthrown him.
- I thank you for your pains.
- Have we eaten on the insane root
that takes the reason prisoner?
- Your children shall be kings.
- You shall be king.
Duncan comes hither tonight.
- And when goes hence?
- Tomorrow, as he purposes.
- O, never shall sun that morrow see.
Your face, my thane, is as a book
where men may read strange matters.
To beguile the time,
look like the time,
bear welcome in your eye,
your hand, your tongue,
look like the innocent flower,
but be the serpent under it.
Yet I do fear thy nature.
It is too full the milk of human kindness
to catch the nearest way.
Thou wouldst be great.
Art not without ambition,
but without the illness should attend it.
Hie thee hither,
that I may pour my spirits in thine ear
and chastise with the valor of my tongue
all that impedes thee from the golden round.
The raven, himself,
is hoarse
that croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan
under my battlements.
Come,
you spirits.
Attend on mortal thoughts,
unsex me here,
and fill me from the crown to the toe
top-full of direst cruelty.
Make thick my blood.
Stop up the access and passage to remorse,
that no compunctious visitings of nature
shake my fell purpose,
nor make peace between the effect and it.
Come to my woman's breasts and take my milk for gall,
you murdering ministers,
wherever in your sightless substances
you wait on nature's mischief.
Come, thick night, and pall thee
in the dunnest smoke of hell,
that my keen knife see not the wound it makes,
nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark,
to cry "Hold, hold!"
- If it were done when 'tis done,
then 'twere well it were done quickly.
If the...
assassination could trammel up the consequences,
and catch with his surcease success
that but this blow
might be the be-all
and the end-all here,
but here,
upon this bank and shoal of time,
we'll jump the life to come.
But in these cases we still have judgment here,
that we but teach bloody instruction,
which being taught,
returns to plague the inventor.
Mmm-hmm-hmm-hmm-hmm.
This even-handed justice
commends the ingredients
of our poisoned chalice to our own lips.
- Is execution done on Cawdor?
- Nothing in his life became him
like the leaving it.
- There's no art to find
the mind's construction in the face.
He was a gentleman
on whom I built an absolute trust.
My worthy Cawdor.
- He's here in double trust,
first, as I am his kinsman and his subject strong,
both against the deed, then,
as his host,
who should against his murderer shut the door,
not bear the knife myself.
Besides,
this Duncan hath borne his faculties so meek,
hath been so clear in his great office,
that his virtues will plead like angels,
trumpet-tongued,
against the deep damnation
of his taking-off.
And pity,
like a naked new-born babe,
striding the blast,
or heaven's cherubim,
horsed upon the sightless couriers of the air,
shall blow the horrid deed
in every eye,
that tears
shall drown the wind.
- This castle hath a pleasant seat.
The air...
freely and nimbly recommends itself to our gentle senses.
My fair and gentle hostess,
we are your guests tonight.
- Macbeth!
Macbeth!
Macbe...
Sleep no more.
Macbeth has murdered sleep.
Macbeth shall sleep no more!
Macbeth shall sleep no more.
Ah, ah, ah!
Oh, fuck.
- The king's a-bed.
He hath been in unusual pleasure.
This diamond he greets your wife withal
by the name of most kind hostess, and...
- False face must hide what the false heart doth know.
- I dreamt last night of the weird sisters.
To you, they have shown some truth.
- I think not of them.
How now?
What news?
- He has almost supped, why have you left the chamber?
- Hath he asked for me?
- Know you not he has?
- We will proceed
no further with this business.
- Was the hope drunk wherein you dressed yourself?
Hath it slept since?
And wakes it now, to look so green and pale
at what it did so freely?
From this time, such I account thy love.
Art thou afraid
to be the same in thine own act and valor
as thou art in desire?
Wouldst thou have that which thou esteems
to the ornament of life,
and live a coward in thine own esteem,
letting "I dare not'" wait upon "I would?"
- Prithee, peace!
I dare do all that may become a man
who dares do more is none!
- What beast was it, then,
that made you break this enterprise to me?
When you durst do it, then you were a man.
I have given suck,
and know how tender it is
to love the babe that milks me.
I would,
while it was smiling in my face,
have plucked my nipple from his boneless gums,
and dashed the brains out,
had I so sworn as you have done to this!
- If we should fail?
- We fail.
But screw your courage to the sticking-place,
and we'll not fail.
When Duncan is asleep,
his two chamberlains,
will I with wine and wassail so convince
that memory, the warder of the brain, shall be a fume,
and when in swinish sleep
their drenched natures lie as in a death.
What cannot you and I perform against the unguarded Duncan?
- Is this a dagger I see before me,
the handle towards my hand?
Come,
let me clutch thee.
I have thee not,
and yet I see thee still.
Art thou not,
fatal vision,
sensible to feeling as to sight or art thou but
a dagger of the mind,
a false creation,
proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
Oh.
I...
see thee yet,
in form
as palpable
as this
which now I draw.
And on thy blade
and dudgeon
gouts of blood,
which was not so before.
- My husband.
- I have done the deed.
Didst I hear a noise?
- I heard the owl scream and the crickets cry.
Did not you speak?
- When? - Now.
- As I descended?
- Aye.
- This is a sorry sight.
- A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight.
- There's one...
did laugh in his sleep, and one cried "murder"
that they did wake each other, I stood and heard them,
but they did say their prayers,
and addressed them again to sleep.
- There are two lodged together.
- One cried "God bless us" and the other, "Amen"
as they had seen me with these hangman's hands.
Listening their fear, I could not say "Amen,"
when they did say "God bless us!"
- Consider it not so deeply.
- But wherefore could not I pronounce "Amen?"
I had most need of blessing, and "Amen" stuck in my throat!
- Sleep no more.
It's just murder.
Sleep no more. - Before I heard a voice cry,
"Sleep no more!
"Macbeth does murder sleep."
- Macbeth does murder sleep.
- The innocent sleep.
Sleep that knits up the raveled
sleeve of care.
The death of each day's life,
sore labor's bath balm of hurt minds,
great nature's second course,
chief nourisher in life's feast.
"Sleep no more,"
steady cries, "Macbeth hath murdered sleep!
"Sleep no more, Macbeth hath murdered sleep
"and therefore, Macbeth shall sleep
"no more!" - Why did you bring the dagger
from the place?
It must lie there.
Give me the dagger.
- Bring forth men-children only.
- The king was murdered.
Those of his chamber, as it seemed, had done it.
Their hands and faces were an badged with blood,
so were their daggers,
which unwiped we found upon their pillows.
- I do repent me of my fury,
I did kill him.
- Wherefore did you so?
- Here lay Duncan,
his silver skin laced with his golden blood.
There, the murderers,
who could refrain,
that had a heart to love?
- Let us meet to question this most bloody piece of work
to know it further.
The great hand of God stand I,
against the undivulged pretense
I fight of treasonous malice.
- Malcolm and Donalbain, his two sons,
are stolen away and fled,
which puts upon them suspicion of the deed.
- It seems most like the sovereignty will
- I am already named
and...
gone to Scone to be invested.
Ride you this afternoon?
- Aye, my good lord.
- Is it far, your ride?
- As far, my lord, as will fill up the time
'twixt this and supper.
- Fail not our feast.
- My lord, I will not.
- I shall drain him dry as hay
and sleep shall neither night nor day.
Hang upon his pent-house lid,
he shall live a man forbid.
Macbeth doth come.
♪ Macbeth ♪
♪ Doth come ♪
♪ Macbeth doth come ♪
- Oooooo.
Whence is that knocking?
How is it with me, that every noise appalls me?
What hands are these?
Ah!
They pluck out mine eyes!
Will all great Neptune's oceans wash clean these hands?
No!
This, my hand, will rather the multitudinous seas
in incarnadine,
making the green one red.
Knock, knock.
- Who's there? - Who's there?
- In the name of Beelzebub.
- Here's a farmer...
that hanged himself on the expectation of plenty.
Knock, knock.
- Who's there? - Who's there?
- Here's an equivocator,
that could swear in both the scales
against either scale.
Who committed treason,
yet could not equivocate to heaven.
Knock,
knock.
- Who's there? - Who's there?
- Here's an English tailor.
- Snip, snip, snip, snip. - Snip, snip, snip, snip.
- Here, you will roast your goose.
What are you?
But this place is too cold for hell.
- To be thus...
is nothing.
But to be safely thus.
Our fears
in Banquo
stick deep.
And in his royalty of nature
reigns that which would be feared.
'Tis much he dares.
There is none but he
whose being I do fear.
And, under him,
my Genius is rebuked, as, it is said,
Mark Antony's was
by Caesar.
He chid the sisters
when first they put the name of king upon me,
and bad him
talk to them.
Then prophet-like,
they hailed him.
Father to a line of kings.
Hmm?
And put a barren scepter in my grip,
thence to be wrenched with an unlineal hand,
Hmm?
- Mmm. - Hmm.
No son of mine succeeding...
If it be so,
for Banquo's son
have I
filed my mind.
For them,
the gracious Duncan
have I murdered
only for them
and mine eternal jewel
given
to the common enemy of man!
To make them kings!
The seed
of Banquo
kings!
Was it not yesterday we spoke together?
- It was, so please your highness.
- Well then,
now,
Have you considered of my speeches?
Know that it was he
in the times past which held you so under fortune,
which you thought had been our innocent self,
this I made good to you in our last conference,
"Thus did Banquo."
- You made it known to us.
- I did so, and went further,
which is now our point of second meeting.
Do you find your patience
so predominant in your nature that you can let this go?
- We are men, my liege.
- Aye.
In the catalog ye go for men,
as hounds and greyhounds,
mongrels, spaniels,
curs, shoughs,
water-rugs, demi-wolves, are clept...
By the name of dogs,
I will put that business in your bosoms,
whose execution takes your enemy off,
grapples you to the heart and love...
of me.
- I am one, my liege.
Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world
have so incensed
that I am reckless what I do to spite the world.
- You know Banquo was your enemy.
So is he mine.
- We are resolved, my lord.
- Your spirits shine through you.
Must be done tonight.
Fleance, his son,
must embrace the fate
of that dark hour.
- Weary se'nnights,
nine times nine shall he dwindle, peak and pine!
Though his bark shall not be lost,
yet it shall be tempest-tost.
Macbeth doth come.
- How now, my lord?
Why do you sit alone?
Of sorriest fancies your companions making,
letting those thoughts which should indeed
have died with them they think on?
What's done is done.
- Duncan is in his grave!
He sleeps well!
- Macbeth doth come! ♪ The newborn king ♪
♪ Peace ♪
- Treason has done his worst!
Nor steel, nor poison,
malice domestic, foreign levy!
Nothing
can touch him further!
- Gentle my lord,
sleek o'er your rugged looks.
Be bright and jovial among your guests tonight.
- Thou knows that Banquo, and his Fleance, lives.
What's to be done?
- Macbeth doth come.
Macbeth doth come.
♪ Glory to the newborn king ♪
- Macbeth doth come!
♪ Sleep no more ♪
♪ Macbeth does murder sleep ♪
♪ Sleep no more ♪
♪ Macbeth does murder sleep ♪
♪ Sleep no more ♪
♪ Macbeth does murder sleep ♪
♪ Sleep no more ♪ - Look what I have!
♪ Macbeth does murder sleep ♪
- Macbeth doth come!
- There's blood on your face.
- 'Tis Banquo's then.
- Is he dispatched?
- His throat is cut.
- That I did for him.
- Fleance?
- Fleance...
escaped.
Bleed.
Bleed, poor country.
Great tyranny.
I think our country sinks beneath the yoke.
- Sneakth on me?
- Tis time, tis time.
- Each new day, a gash
opens up her wounds.
A deed without a name.
- Macbeth.
Macbeth.
- When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head,
or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country.
- O Scotland.
O Scotland.
Macbeth.
Be bloody, bold, and resolute.
Laugh to scorn the power of man,
for none of woman born shall harm Macbeth.
- Yet my heart throbs to know one thing.
Tell me,
shall Banquo's issue ever reign in this kingdom?
Tell me!
- Seek to know no more.
- I shall be satisfied!
- Tomorrow
and tomorrow
and tomorrow.
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
to the last syllable of recorded time.
- Sit, worthy friends.
My lord is often thus and hath been from his youth.
The fit is momentary.
Upon a thought, he will again be well.
Feed, and regard him not.
- And all our yesterdays
have lighted fools the way to dusty death.
Out,
out, brief candle.
Life is but a walking shadow,
a poor player
that struts and frets his hour upon the stage
and then is heard no more.
It is a tale
told by an idiot,
full of sound and fury,
signifying
nothing.
- See?
There.
Behold!
- What, my good lord?
- Look!
Look!
I saw him!
When the brains were out,
the man would die,
and there an end but now...
oh, they rise again.
- Noble friends.
- I have a strange infirmity,
which is nothing to those that love me.
Come.
Love and health to all, fill full.
Fill full!
Drink!
Give me some wine!
Give me some wine?
Fill full.
I drink to the general.
Joy of the whole table,
and to our dear friend, Banquo.
Whom we miss.
Would he were here!
To all, and him, we thirst, and all to all.
Let the earth hide thee!
Thy bones are marrowless!
Thy blood is cold, thou hast no speculation
in those eyes which thou dost glare with!
What man dare, I dare...
Approach her like a rugged Russian bear,
the armed rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger, take any shape
but that, and my firm nerves
shall never tremble or be alive again!
And dare me to the desert with your sword!
- You have displaced the mirth,
broke the good meeting,
with most admired disorder.
Think of this, good friends,
as but a think of custom, 'tis no other.
Only it spoils the pleasure of the time.
- Can such things be,
and overcome us like a summer's cloud,
without our special wonder?
You make me strange
even to the disposition that I owe.
When now I think you can behold such sights
and keep the natural ruby of your cheeks.
When mine is blanched with fear.
- Speak not.
He grows worse and worse.
At once,
good night.
Go, at once!
- It will have blood, they say.
Blood will have blood.
Stones have been known to move
and trees
to speak.
- Help, help!
Was my father a traitor?
- Your father's dead.
And what will you do now?
How will you live?
- What is a traitor?
- Why?
One that swears and lies.
- And be all traitors that do so?
- Aye.
- He is dead.
- And must they all be hanged who swear and lie?
- All.
Everyone.
- Everyone.
- Who must hang them?
- Why, the honest men.
- His flight was madness
when our actions do not, our fears do make us traitors.
- Came they not by you?
- To leave his wife,
to leave his babes, his mansion and his titles
in a place from whence himself does fly?
He loves us not.
For the poor wren, the most diminutive of birds will fight!
Her young ones in her nest, against the owl!
All is the fear and nothing is the love!
- What's the boy,
MacDuff?
Was he not born of woman?
Where is your husband?
- I hope, in no place so unsanctified
where such as thou mayst find him.
God help thee, poor monkey!
Murder!
- Oh!
Oh!
- Bring me no more reports.
I cannot taint
with fear.
What's the boy, MacDuff,
was he not born of woman?
What's the boy, MacDuff,
was he not born of woman?
- Look not so pale.
I tell you yet again, Banquo's buried,
he cannot come out on his grave.
- I cannot taint with fear.
The spirits that know...
all mortal...
consequences
have pronounced me thus...
Ha!
"Fear not, Macbeth.
"No man that's born of woman
"shall e'er have power over thee."
- The thane of Fife had a wife.
Where is she now?
One,
two,
why then, 'tis time to do it.
To bed.
To bed!
Come.
Give me your hand.
- What's done cannot be undone.
Give me my armor!
- What's done cannot be undone.
What's done cannot be undone.
- Tomorrow
and tomorrow
creeps in this petty pace from day to day.
Till the last syllable of recorded time,
and all our yesterdays have lighted fools
the way to dusty death.
- How does my wife?
- Why, well.
- And all my children?
- Well too.
- The tyrant has not battered at their peace?
- No, they were well at peace the last time I saw.
- Help!
Help!
- If it be mine,
keep it not from me.
Quickly, let me have it.
My castle is surprised,
my wife and babes savagely slaughtered.
What, my children too?
Wife, children, servants, all!
All that could be found, my wife killed too!
He has no children!
All!
Did you say, "All, all, my pretty ones."
Did you say all?
- Dispute it like a man.
Get thee back.
My soul
is too much charged with blood of thine already.
I bear
a charmed life,
which must not yield,
to one of woman born.
- MacDuff was from his mother's womb untimely ripped.
- Out!
Out, brief candle!
Life is but a walking shadow,
a poor player that struts and frets
his hour upon the stage.
And then
is heard
no more.
It is
a tale
told
by an idiot,
full of sound
and fury,
signifying...
nothing.