⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Macbeth Summary Of Each Act

Friday, September 03, 2021 8:51:56 AM

Macbeth Summary Of Each Act



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Macbeth Summary (Act 1 Scene 1) - Nerdstudy

King Duncan announces that Macbeth will be given the title of Thane of Cawdor. Act 1, Scene 3 : The witches prophesy that Macbeth shall be king and Banquo shall be father of kings. Ross and Angus tell Macbeth he has been given the title of Thane of Cawdor. Macbeth muses on the possibility of killing the King in order to be king. King Duncan thanks Macbeth for his heroic service, then announces that Malcolm is heir to the throne. Act 1, Scene 5 : Lady Macbeth reads Macbeth's letter about what the weird sisters said, and works herself up to work him up to murder.

When Macbeth arrives, Lady Macbeth tells him to look innocent and follow her lead. Act 1, Scene 7 : Macbeth almost talks himself out of killing the King. Lady Macbeth gives her husband a tongue-lashing that makes him commit to their plan to murder the King. Act 2, Scene 1 : Past midnight, Macbeth tells Banquo that they'll speak of the witches another time, and bids him goodnight. Macbeth sees "a dagger of the mind," hears his wife's bell, and goes to kill King Duncan.

Macbeth is so shaken by the murder that he brings the bloody daggers with him, and Lady Macbeth takes them from him, to place them with the sleeping grooms. A knocking at the castle gate frightens Macbeth, and his wife comes to lead him away, so that they can wash the blood from their hands. Macduff discovers King Duncan's body. Macbeth, in pretended fury, kills the King's grooms. Malcolm and Donalbain, fearing that they will be murdered next, flee. Act 2, Scene 4: Ross and an Old Man discuss what an unnatural night it has been. Ross and Macduff doubtfully discuss the news that Malcolm and Donalbain are responsible for their father's murder.

Act 3, Scene 1: Banquo expresses his suspicion of Macbeth, and wonders if the witches' predictions will come true for himself, as they have for Macbeth. Macbeth questions Banquo about the ride he's taking and insists he return in time for a banquet that night. Macbeth persuades two Murderers that Banquo is their enemy, then sends them out to kill Banquo and his son, Fleance. Act 3, Scene 2: Lady Macbeth and Macbeth both envy the peaceful dead, who sleep in peace, while they, who have everything, live in constant fear of losing everything. Macbeth reassures Lady Macbeth that their problems will be solved by a terrible deed to be done in the night.

Act 3, Scene 3: A third Murderer joins the first two. Banquo is killed, but Fleance escapes. Act 3, Scene 4: Macbeth and Lady Macbeth welcome the guests to their banquet. Macbeth hears from First Murderer that Banquo is dead, but Fleance has escaped. The bloody Ghost of Banquo -- which only Macbeth can see -- appears among the guests. When his guests are gone, Macbeth tells his wife he's going to find out why Macduff didn't attend their banquet. Then he hints that he may have to shed more blood, and decides he will speak to the witches again.

Act 3, Scene 5: The three Witches appear with Hecate, who scolds them for having dealings with Macbeth without including her. Hecate tells them that Macbeth is coming to see them the next morning, and then they will show him some magic that will mislead him to his own destruction. If there come truth from them-- As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine-- Why, by the verities on thee made good, May they not be my oracles as well, And set me up in hope? But hush! Sennet sounded. Servant Ay, madam, but returns again to-night. Servant Madam, I will. Enter three Murderers First Murderer But who did bid thee join with us?

Third Murderer Macbeth. Second Murderer He needs not our mistrust, since he delivers Our offices and what we have to do To the direction just. First Murderer Then stand with us. The west yet glimmers with some streaks of day: Now spurs the lated traveller apace To gain the timely inn; and near approaches The subject of our watch. Third Murderer Hark! I hear horses. Second Murderer Then 'tis he: the rest That are within the note of expectation Already are i' the court. First Murderer His horses go about. Third Murderer Almost a mile: but he does usually, So all men do, from hence to the palace gate Make it their walk. Second Murderer A light, a light! A banquet prepared. Lords Thanks to your majesty.

Our hostess keeps her state, but in best time We will require her welcome. First Murderer appears at the door. How did you dare To trade and traffic with Macbeth In riddles and affairs of death; And I, the mistress of your charms, The close contriver of all harms, Was never call'd to bear my part, Or show the glory of our art? And, which is worse, all you have done Hath been but for a wayward son, Spiteful and wrathful, who, as others do, Loves for his own ends, not for you. But make amends now: get you gone, And at the pit of Acheron Meet me i' the morning: thither he Will come to know his destiny: Your vessels and your spells provide, Your charms and every thing beside. I am for the air; this night I'll spend Unto a dismal and a fatal end: Great business must be wrought ere noon: Upon the corner of the moon There hangs a vaporous drop profound; I'll catch it ere it come to ground: And that distill'd by magic sleights Shall raise such artificial sprites As by the strength of their illusion Shall draw him on to his confusion: He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear He hopes 'bove wisdom, grace and fear: And you all know, security Is mortals' chiefest enemy.

The gracious Duncan Was pitied of Macbeth: marry, he was dead: And the right-valiant Banquo walk'd too late; Whom, you may say, if't please you, Fleance kill'd, For Fleance fled: men must not walk too late. Who cannot want the thought how monstrous It was for Malcolm and for Donalbain To kill their gracious father? How it did grieve Macbeth! Was not that nobly done? Ay, and wisely too; For 'twould have anger'd any heart alive To hear the men deny't. So that, I say, He has borne all things well: and I do think That had he Duncan's sons under his key-- As, an't please heaven, he shall not--they should find What 'twere to kill a father; so should Fleance. But, peace!

Lord The son of Duncan, From whom this tyrant holds the due of birth Lives in the English court, and is received Of the most pious Edward with such grace That the malevolence of fortune nothing Takes from his high respect: thither Macduff Is gone to pray the holy king, upon his aid To wake Northumberland and warlike Siward: That, by the help of these--with Him above To ratify the work--we may again Give to our tables meat, sleep to our nights, Free from our feasts and banquets bloody knives, Do faithful homage and receive free honours: All which we pine for now: and this report Hath so exasperate the king that he Prepares for some attempt of war.

Lord He did: and with an absolute 'Sir, not I,' The cloudy messenger turns me his back, And hums, as who should say 'You'll rue the time That clogs me with this answer. Some holy angel Fly to the court of England and unfold His message ere he come, that a swift blessing May soon return to this our suffering country Under a hand accursed! Lord I'll send my prayers with him. A cavern. In the middle, a boiling cauldron. Enter the three Witches First Witch Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd.

Second Witch Thrice and once the hedge-pig whined. Third Witch Harpier cries 'Tis time, 'tis time. First Witch Round about the cauldron go; In the poison'd entrails throw. Toad, that under cold stone Days and nights has thirty-one Swelter'd venom sleeping got, Boil thou first i' the charmed pot. ALL Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn, and cauldron bubble. Second Witch Fillet of a fenny snake, In the cauldron boil and bake; Eye of newt and toe of frog, Wool of bat and tongue of dog, Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting, Lizard's leg and owlet's wing, For a charm of powerful trouble, Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.

ALL Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble. Third Witch Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf, Witches' mummy, maw and gulf Of the ravin'd salt-sea shark, Root of hemlock digg'd i' the dark, Liver of blaspheming Jew, Gall of goat, and slips of yew Silver'd in the moon's eclipse, Nose of Turk and Tartar's lips, Finger of birth-strangled babe Ditch-deliver'd by a drab, Make the gruel thick and slab: Add thereto a tiger's chaudron, For the ingredients of our cauldron. Second Witch Cool it with a baboon's blood, Then the charm is firm and good. ROSS You must have patience, madam. He loves us not; He wants the natural touch: for the poor wren, The most diminutive of birds, will fight, Her young ones in her nest, against the owl.

All is the fear and nothing is the love; As little is the wisdom, where the flight So runs against all reason. ROSS My dearest coz, I pray you, school yourself: but for your husband, He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows The fits o' the season. I dare not speak much further; But cruel are the times, when we are traitors And do not know ourselves, when we hold rumour From what we fear, yet know not what we fear, But float upon a wild and violent sea Each way and move. I take my leave of you: Shall not be long but I'll be here again: Things at the worst will cease, or else climb upward To what they were before.

My pretty cousin, Blessing upon you! MACDUFF Let us rather Hold fast the mortal sword, and like good men Bestride our down-fall'n birthdom: each new morn New widows howl, new orphans cry, new sorrows Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds As if it felt with Scotland and yell'd out Like syllable of dolour. What you have spoke, it may be so perchance. This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues, Was once thought honest: you have loved him well. He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young; but something You may deserve of him through me, and wisdom To offer up a weak poor innocent lamb To appease an angry god. A good and virtuous nature may recoil In an imperial charge. But I shall crave your pardon; That which you are my thoughts cannot transpose: Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell; Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace, Yet grace must still look so.

Why in that rawness left you wife and child, Those precious motives, those strong knots of love, Without leave-taking? I pray you, Let not my jealousies be your dishonours, But mine own safeties. You may be rightly just, Whatever I shall think. Great tyranny! Fare thee well, lord: I would not be the villain that thou think'st For the whole space that's in the tyrant's grasp, And the rich East to boot. I think our country sinks beneath the yoke; It weeps, it bleeds; and each new day a gash Is added to her wounds: I think withal There would be hands uplifted in my right; And here from gracious England have I offer Of goodly thousands: but, for all this, When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head, Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country Shall have more vices than it had before, More suffer and more sundry ways than ever, By him that shall succeed.

MALCOLM I grant him bloody, Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful, Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin That has a name: but there's no bottom, none, In my voluptuousness: your wives, your daughters, Your matrons and your maids, could not fill up The cistern of my lust, and my desire All continent impediments would o'erbear That did oppose my will: better Macbeth Than such an one to reign. But fear not yet To take upon you what is yours: you may Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty, And yet seem cold, the time you may so hoodwink. We have willing dames enough: there cannot be That vulture in you, to devour so many As will to greatness dedicate themselves, Finding it so inclined. MALCOLM With this there grows In my most ill-composed affection such A stanchless avarice that, were I king, I should cut off the nobles for their lands, Desire his jewels and this other's house: And my more-having would be as a sauce To make me hunger more; that I should forge Quarrels unjust against the good and loyal, Destroying them for wealth.

MACDUFF This avarice Sticks deeper, grows with more pernicious root Than summer-seeming lust, and it hath been The sword of our slain kings: yet do not fear; Scotland hath foisons to fill up your will. Of your mere own: all these are portable, With other graces weigh'd. MALCOLM But I have none: the king-becoming graces, As justice, verity, temperance, stableness, Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness, Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude, I have no relish of them, but abound In the division of each several crime, Acting it many ways.

Nay, had I power, I should Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell, Uproar the universal peace, confound All unity on earth. No, not to live. O nation miserable, With an untitled tyrant bloody-scepter'd, When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again, Since that the truest issue of thy throne By his own interdiction stands accursed, And does blaspheme his breed? Thy royal father Was a most sainted king: the queen that bore thee, Oftener upon her knees than on her feet, Died every day she lived. Fare thee well! These evils thou repeat'st upon thyself Have banish'd me from Scotland.

O my breast, Thy hope ends here! Devilish Macbeth By many of these trains hath sought to win me Into his power, and modest wisdom plucks me From over-credulous haste: but God above Deal between thee and me! I am yet Unknown to woman, never was forsworn, Scarcely have coveted what was mine own, At no time broke my faith, would not betray The devil to his fellow and delight No less in truth than life: my first false speaking Was this upon myself: what I am truly, Is thine and my poor country's to command: Whither indeed, before thy here-approach, Old Siward, with ten thousand warlike men, Already at a point, was setting forth.

Now we'll together; and the chance of goodness Be like our warranted quarrel! Why are you silent? Enter a Doctor. Ante-room in the castle. Enter a Doctor of Physic and a Waiting-Gentlewoman Doctor I have two nights watched with you, but can perceive no truth in your report. When was it she last walked?

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