Macbeth - Act III Scene IV

Note: Our version is in blue. The original version is in red.

Act III Scene IV
Macbeth: Jason
Lady Macbeth: Jenny Ann
Murderer 2: Corrie
Lennox: Yannick
Ross: Carl
Lourdes: Corrie

[Setting: Banquet Hall]
The same. Hall in the palace.

Mb: Howdy, folks. I’m glad y’all enjoyed the hay-ride. Wasn’t that fun? Now grab your brewskie and hunker down for some good eatin’.
Macbeth: You know your own degrees; sit down: at first and last the hearty welcome.

[Everyone opens McDonald’s bags. Music and laughing.]

Lords: Thanks to your majesty.

LM: Give all your peon friends my regards.
*Lady Macbeth: Pronounce it for me, sir, to all our friends; for my heart speaks they are welcome.

Mb: Don’t mind her. She thinks she’s better’n us; but after a little persuasion from ol’ Jack Daniels, she’ll come down. Bottoms up, everybody!(socializes briefly)
*Macbeth: Ourself will mingle with society, and play the humble host. Our hostess keeps her state, but in best time we will require her welcome.

Macbeth: See, they encounter thee with their hearts' thanks. Both sides are even: here I'll sit i' the midst: be large in mirth; anon we'll drink a measure the table round.

[Music and laughing fades. M2 appears at door. Mb stumbles over to M2.]
*First Murderer appears at the door

Mb: What’s that on your face? Is that blood?
Macbeth: There's blood on thy face.

M2: No, it’s ketchup, you old drunk hick! Of course it’s blood. It’s Banquo’s.
Murderer 1: 'Tis Banquo's then.

Mb: It’s better’n on your face than on mine… I mean, it’s better’n on my face than yours… I mean…
[M2 slaps Mb.]
Mb: Is he dead?
Macbeth: 'Tis better thee without than he within. Is he dispatch'd?

M2: He has been beaten by the mighty swine. Too many ribs can kill a man.
Murderer 1: My lord, his throat is cut; that I did for him.

Mb: Whoa! I’d better quit eatin’ ‘em then (drops bucket). Forsooth, thou art the best of the swine beaters! Did you get Fleance, too?
Macbeth: Thou art the best o' the cut-throats: yet he's good that did the like for Fleance: if thou didst it, thou art the nonpareil.

M2: Most intoxicated sir, Fleance has escaped.
Murderer 1: Most royal sir, Fleance is 'scaped.

Mb: Dad-burn! Well how did you dispose of Banquet?
Macbeth: Then comes my fit again: I had else been perfect, whole as the marble, founded as the rock, as broad and general as the casing air: but now I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confined, bound in to saucy doubts and fears. But Banquo's safe?

M2: He and the swine are lying beaten in a ditch.
Murderer 1: Ay, my good lord: safe in a ditch he bides, with twenty trenched gashes on his head; the least a death to nature.

Mb: Get on outta here. We’ll talk later, when I’m sober.
Macbeth: Thanks for that: There the grown serpent lies; the worm that's fled hath nature that in time will venom breed, no teeth for the present. Get thee gone: to-morrow we'll hear, ourselves, again.

[Exit M2. Mb stumbles back into hall.]
Exit Murderer

LM: You’re forgetting your guests in your drunkenness. You should go mingle with them, although they’re probably too drunk to care anyway.
Lady Macbeth: My royal lord, You do not give the cheer: the feast is sold that is not often vouch'd, while 'tis a-making,'tis given with welcome: to feed were best at home; from thence the sauce to meat is ceremony; meeting were bare without it.

Mb: Digest!
Macbeth: Sweet remembrancer! Now, good digestion wait on appetite, and health on both!

Lx: Sit down, your drunkenness.
Lennox: May't please your highness sit.

[Enter Ghost of Banquo and sits in Mb’s place.]
The GHOST OF BANQUO enters, and sits in MACBETH's place

Mb: I wish my drinking-buddy Banquet was here.(hiccups)
Macbeth: Here had we now our country's honour roof'd, were the graced person of our Banquo present; who may I rather challenge for unkindness than pity for mischance!

Rs: He promised he would be here, but he is not. Sit down, and we’ll deal you in.
Ross: His absence, sir, lays blame upon his promise. Please't your highness to grace us with your royal company.

Mb: But the table’s full.
Macbeth: The table's full.

Lx: You’re drunker than I thought. There’s a place right here!
Lennox: Here is a place reserved, sir.

Mb: Where at?
Macbeth: Where?

Lx: Right here, man! What’s wrong with you?
Lennox: Here, my good lord. What is't that moves your highness?

Macbeth: Which of you have done this?

Lo: What, my good lord?
Lords: What, my good lord?

[Ghost wails]

Mb: Are y’all joshlin’ me? Thou canst not say I did it. Never shake thy gory locks at me!
Macbeth: Thou canst not say I did it: never shake thy gory locks at me.

Rs: Gentlemen, rise. His highness is not well.
Ross: Gentlemen, rise: his highness is not well.

LM: He’s just drunk.
[LM pulls Mb towards her] [aside]
LM: Are you a man?
Mb: Yeah, last time I checked.
[LM slaps Mb]
LM: That’s not what I mean! Are you sober?
Lady Macbeth: Sit, worthy friends: my lord is often thus, and hath been from his youth: pray you, keep seat; the fit is momentary; upon a thought he will again be well: if much you note him, you shall offend him and extend his passion: feed, and regard him not. Are you a man?

Mb: Of course I’m sober. Can’t you see Banquet’s ghost?
Macbeth: Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that which might appal the devil.

[Ghost becomes quiet]

LM: You are drunk, aren’t you? You’re seeing things again. Banquo’s dead. You are looking at an empty chair! You’ve really gone past your limit tonight.
Lady Macbeth: O proper stuff! This is the very painting of your fear: this is the air-drawn dagger which, you said, led you to Duncan. O, these flaws and starts, impostors to true fear, would well become a woman's story at a winter's fire, authorized by her grandam. Shame itself! Why do you make such faces? When all's done, you look but on a stool.

Mb: Prithee! Dadburn! Doggone! Zowie! How say you? He was there a minute ago!
Macbeth: Prithee, see there! behold! look! lo! How say you? Why, what care I? If thou canst nod, speak too. If charnel-houses and our graves must send those that we bury back, our monuments shall be the maws of kites.

[Exit ghost]

LM: Get a hold of yourself! ... Lady Macbeth: What, quite unmann'd in folly?
Macbeth: If I stand here, I saw him.
Lady Macbeth: Fie, for shame!

Macbeth: Blood hath been shed ere now, i' the olden time, ere human statute purged the gentle weal; ay, and since too, murders have been perform'd too terrible for the ear: the times have been, that, when the brains were out, the man would die, and there an end; but now they rise again, with twenty mortal murders on their crowns, and push us from our stools: this is more strange than such a murder is.

LM: ... Go back over there and apologize to your peon friends.
Lady Macbeth: My worthy lord, your noble friends do lack you.

Mb: Whatever.(walks in opposite direction of table)
LM: (grabs Mb by arm) No! Over there!
Mb: Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your beers.
Macbeth: I do forget. Do not muse at me, my most worthy friends, I have a strange infirmity, which is nothing to those that know me. Come, love and health to all; then I'll sit down. Give me some wine; fill full. I drink to the general joy o' 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.

Lo: Our beers, and the pledge!(hands Mb beer)
Lords: Our duties, and the pledge.

Mb: (after taking swig) I come to apologize.
[Re-enter ghost, wailing]

Mb: Avaunt! And quit my sight! Let the earth hide thee!
Macbeth: Avaunt! and quit my sight! 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!

LM: He always does this when he’s drunk.
Lady Macbeth: Think of this, good peers, but as a thing of custom: 'tis no other; only it spoils the pleasure of the time.

Mb: Be an anthrax-infested cow or a rabid dog, but do not take the form of Banquet!
Macbeth: What man dare, I dare: approach thou like the rugged Russian bear, the arm'd 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 thy sword; if trembling I inhabit then, protest me the baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow! Unreal mockery, hence!

[Ghost disappears]

Mb: I am a man again.
Macbeth: Why, so: being gone, I am a man again. Pray you, sit still.

LM: It’s just like you to ruin a good party.
Lady Macbeth: You have displaced the mirth, broke the good meeting, with most admired disorder.

Mb: Have none of you seen the sights I have seen?
Macbeth: 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.

Rs: What sights, my lord?
Ross: What sights, my lord?

LM: Just leave. Don’t even speak to him. He just gets worse.
Lennox: I pray you, speak not; he grows worse and worse; question enrages him. At once, good night: stand not upon the order of your going, but go at once.

Lx: Good night, and may your hangover not be severe, my lord.
Lennox: Good night; and better health attend his majesty!

LM: Good night, everyone, and thank you for coming. Does anyone need a designated horseman?
Lady Macbeth: A kind good night to all!

[Exeunt all except LM and Mb]

Macbeth: It will have blood; they say, blood will have blood: stones have been known to move and trees to speak; augurs and understood relations have by magot-pies and choughs and rooks brought forth the secret'st man of blood. What is the night?
Lady Macbeth: Almost at odds with morning, which is which.
Macbeth: How say'st thou, that Macduff denies his person at our great bidding?
Lady Macbeth: Did you send to him, sir?
Macbeth: I hear it by the way; but I will send: there's not a one of them but in his house I keep a servant fee'd. I will to-morrow, and betimes I will, to the weird sisters: more shall they speak; for now I am bent to know, by the worst means, the worst. For mine own good, all causes shall give way: I am in blood stepp'd in so far that, should I wade no more, returning were as tedious as go o'er: strange things I have in head, that will to hand; which must be acted ere they may be scann'd.
Lady Macbeth: You lack the season of all natures, sleep.
Macbeth: Come, we'll to sleep. My strange and self-abuse is the initiate fear that wants hard use: we are yet but young in deed.

Mb: Exeunt! (loses consciousness)

[Exit LM, looking disgusted as she walks past Mb]