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| | MACBETH |
| |
If
thou speak'st false, |
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Upon the next tree shall thou hang alive |
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Till famine cling thee. If thy speech be sooth, |
| 40 |
I care not if thou dost for me as much. |
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I pull in resolution and begin |
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To doubt th' equivocation of the fiend |
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That lies like truth. “Fear not, till Birnam wood |
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Do come to Dunsinane”; and now a wood |
| 45 |
Comes toward Dunsinane.—Arm, arm, and
out!— |
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If this which he avouches does appear, |
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There is nor flying hence nor tarrying here. |
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I 'gin to be aweary of the sun, |
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And wish th' estate o' th' world were
now undone.— |
| 50 |
Ring the alarum-bell!—Blow, wind! Come, wrack! |
| |
At least we'll die with harness on our back. |
|
| MACBETH |
|
If you're lying, I'll hang you alive from the
nearest tree until you die of hunger. If what you say is true, you
can do the same to me. (to himself)
My confidence is failing. I'm starting to doubt the lies
the devil told me, which sounded like truth.
“Don't worry until Birnam Wood comes to
Dunsinane.” And now a wood is coming to Dunsinane.
Prepare for battle, and go! If what this messenger says is true,
it's no use running away or staying here. I'm
starting to grow tired of living, and I'd like to see the
world plunged into chaos. Ring the alarms! Blow, wind! Come, ruin!
At least we'll die with our armor on. |
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