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 bloody man? Judging by the state he's in, 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 good, tough soldier to keep me from being captured.—Greetings, brave friend! Tell the King what you know of the fighting, 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 uncertain, like two exhausted swimmers clinging to each other and smothering their own skill. The merciless Macdonwald—fit to be a rebel, since for that purpose the multiplying evils of nature swarm all over him—is supplied from the Western Isles with kerns and gallowglasses; and Fortune, smiling on his damned cause, looked like a rebel's whore. But all that was too weak; for brave Macbeth—he well deserves that name—scorning Fortune, with his flourished sword, which steamed with its bloody work, like Valour's favourite carved his way through until he came face to face with the slave; and he never shook his hand or said goodbye to him until he had split him open from the navel to the jaws and stuck 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 very place where the sun begins to rise, so from that same spring which seemed to bring comfort, trouble came flooding. Listen, King of Scotland, listen: no sooner had justice, armed with valour, forced these leaping kerns to take to their heels than the Norwegian lord, spotting his advantage, with polished weapons and fresh reinforcements of men, began a new attack.

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

Didn't this 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—as sparrows alarm eagles, or the hare alarms the lion. To tell the truth, I have to report that they were like cannons loaded with double charges; so they struck double and redoubled blows on the enemy. Whether they meant to bathe in steaming wounds, or to make the place a second Golgotha to be remembered, I cannot say—but I am growing 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: both of them taste of honour.—Go, get him surgeons.

Who comes here?

Who's 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's how a man should look who is about to tell of strange 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 banners mock the sky and fan our people cold. Norway himself, with terrifying numbers, helped by that utterly disloyal traitor the Thane of Cawdor, began a grim battle; until Bellona's bridegroom, wrapped in tested armour, met him as his equal, point against 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. We wouldn't even allow him to bury his men until he paid out ten thousand dollars at Saint Colme's Inch for our general use.

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 the trust I keep close to my heart. 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's done.

What he hath lost, noble Macbeth hath won.

What he has lost, noble Macbeth has won.