Macbeth, Act 5, Scene 2

The English power is near, led on by Malcolm, His uncle Siward, and the good Macduff. Revenges burn in them; for their dear causes Would to the bleeding and the grim alarm Excite the mortified man.

The English army is close, led by Malcolm, his uncle Siward, and the good Macduff. Thoughts of revenge burn in them; their causes are so dear to them that they would stir even a dead man to the bloody and grim call to arms.

Near Birnam wood Shall we well meet them. That way are they coming.

We will meet them near Birnam wood. That is the way they are coming.

Who knows if Donalbain be with his brother?

Does anyone know whether Donalbain is with his brother?

For certain, sir, he is not. I have a file Of all the gentry: there is Siward’s son And many unrough youths, that even now Protest their first of manhood.

He certainly is not, sir. I have a list of all the gentlemen: Siward's son is there, and many beardless young men who are only now claiming their first manhood.

What does the tyrant?

What is the tyrant doing?

Great Dunsinane he strongly fortifies. Some say he’s mad; others, that lesser hate him, Do call it valiant fury: but, for certain, He cannot buckle his distemper’d cause Within the belt of rule.

He is heavily fortifying great Dunsinane. Some say he is mad; others, who hate him less, call it brave fury. But one thing is certain: he cannot buckle his diseased cause within the belt of self-control.

Now does he feel His secret murders sticking on his hands; Now minutely revolts upbraid his faith-breach; Those he commands move only in command, Nothing in love: now does he feel his title Hang loose about him, like a giant’s robe Upon a dwarfish thief.

Now he feels his secret murders clinging to his hands; now revolts, minute by minute, reproach him for breaking faith. Those he commands move only because they are ordered to, not out of love. Now he feels his title hanging loose around him, like a giant's robe on a dwarfish thief.

Who, then, shall blame His pester’d senses to recoil and start, When all that is within him does condemn Itself for being there?

Who, then, can blame his tormented senses for flinching and jumping, when everything inside him condemns itself for being there?

Well, march we on, To give obedience where ’tis truly ow’d: Meet we the med’cine of the sickly weal; And with him pour we, in our country’s purge, Each drop of us.

Well then, let us march on, to give our obedience where it is truly owed. Let us meet the medicine that will heal the sick state, and with him let us pour out every drop of our blood to purge our country.

Or so much as it needs To dew the sovereign flower, and drown the weeds. Make we our march towards Birnam.

Or as much as is needed to water the royal flower and drown the weeds. Let us start our march towards Birnam.