Macbeth, Act 1, Scene 2

What bloody man is that? He can report, As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt The newest state.

Who is that blood-covered man? By the look of his condition, he can tell us the latest news of the rebellion.

This is the sergeant Who, like a good and hardy soldier, fought ’Gainst my captivity.—Hail, brave friend! Say to the King the knowledge of the broil As thou didst leave it.

This is the sergeant who fought like a brave and tough soldier to keep me from being captured.—Greetings, courageous friend! Tell the King what you know of the battle as it stood when you left it.

Doubtful it stood; As two spent swimmers that do cling together And choke their art. The merciless Macdonwald (Worthy to be a rebel, for to that The multiplying villainies of nature Do swarm upon him) from the Western Isles Of kerns and gallowglasses is supplied; And Fortune, on his damned quarrel smiling, Show’d like a rebel’s whore. But all’s too weak; For brave Macbeth (well he deserves that name), Disdaining Fortune, with his brandish’d steel, Which smok’d with bloody execution, Like Valour’s minion, carv’d out his passage, Till he fac’d the slave; Which ne’er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him, Till he unseam’d him from the nave to the chops, And fix’d his head upon our battlements.

It was undecided, like two exhausted swimmers clinging to each other and stifling their own skill. The pitiless Macdonwald—fit to be a rebel, since for that purpose the ever-multiplying evils of nature swarm all over him—was supplied from the Western Isles with light foot soldiers and heavily armed mercenaries; and Fortune, smiling on his damned cause, acted like a rebel's whore. But none of it was enough, for brave Macbeth—he truly deserves that name—scorning Fortune, with his swinging sword, which steamed with the blood of the men it killed, like Valour's favourite cut his way through until he stood face to face with that villain; and he never shook his hand or said goodbye to him until he had split him open from the navel to the jaws and set his head on our battlements.

O valiant cousin! worthy gentleman!

Oh, brave cousin! Worthy gentleman!

As whence the sun ’gins his reflection Shipwracking storms and direful thunders break, So from that spring, whence comfort seem’d to come Discomfort swells. Mark, King of Scotland, mark: No sooner justice had, with valour arm’d, Compell’d these skipping kerns to trust their heels, But the Norweyan lord, surveying vantage, With furbish’d arms and new supplies of men, Began a fresh assault.

Just as shipwrecking storms and terrible thunder break out of the same quarter where the sun begins to rise, so from that very source, where relief seemed to be coming, trouble came pouring out. Listen, King of Scotland, listen: no sooner had justice, armed with courage, forced those nimble foot soldiers to run for their lives, than the Norwegian lord, seeing his chance, with polished weapons and fresh reinforcements, launched a new attack.

Dismay’d not this Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo?

Didn't that alarm our captains, Macbeth and Banquo?

Yes; As sparrows eagles, or the hare the lion. If I say sooth, I must report they were As cannons overcharg’d with double cracks; So they Doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe: Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds, Or memorize another Golgotha, I cannot tell— But I am faint, my gashes cry for help.

Yes—about as much as sparrows alarm eagles, or a hare alarms a lion. To tell the truth, I have to report that they were like cannons loaded with a double charge; that is how they doubled and redoubled their blows on the enemy. Whether they meant to bathe in steaming wounds, or to make the place another Golgotha to be remembered, I cannot say—but I feel faint, my wounds are crying out for help.

So well thy words become thee as thy wounds: They smack of honour both.—Go, get him surgeons.

Your words suit you as well as your wounds do: they both taste of honour.—Go, get him surgeons.

Who comes here?

Who is coming here?

The worthy Thane of Ross.

The worthy Thane of Ross.

What a haste looks through his eyes! So should he look That seems to speak things strange.

What urgency shows in his eyes! That is how a man looks who is about to tell of extraordinary things.

God save the King!

God save the King!

Whence cam’st thou, worthy thane?

Where have you come from, worthy thane?

From Fife, great King, Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky And fan our people cold. Norway himself, with terrible numbers, Assisted by that most disloyal traitor, The Thane of Cawdor, began a dismal conflict; Till that Bellona’s bridegroom, lapp’d in proof, Confronted him with self-comparisons, Point against point, rebellious arm ’gainst arm, Curbing his lavish spirit: and, to conclude, The victory fell on us.

From Fife, great King, where the Norwegian flags mock the sky and fan our people with cold. Norway's king himself, with terrifying numbers, helped by that most disloyal traitor the Thane of Cawdor, began a grim battle, until Bellona's bridegroom, wrapped in tested armour, faced him and matched him move for move, sword point against sword point, rebellious arm against arm, checking his wild spirit. And in the end, the victory was ours.

Great happiness!

Wonderful news!

That now Sweno, the Norways’ king, craves composition; Nor would we deign him burial of his men Till he disbursed at Saint Colme’s Inch Ten thousand dollars to our general use.

So that now Sweno, the king of the Norwegians, is begging for terms of peace. And we would not even allow him to bury his men until he paid out ten thousand dollars at Saint Colme's Inch for our general funds.

No more that Thane of Cawdor shall deceive Our bosom interest. Go pronounce his present death, And with his former title greet Macbeth.

That Thane of Cawdor will never again betray my deepest trust. Go and announce that he is to be put to death at once, and greet Macbeth with his former title.

I’ll see it done.

I'll see that it is done.

What he hath lost, noble Macbeth hath won.

What he has lost, noble Macbeth has won.