Reading The Tragedy of Macbeth — William Shakespeare

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Macb.

If thou speak'st fhlse,

Vpon the next Tree shall thou hang aliue

Till Famine cling thee: If thy speech be sooth,

I care not if thou dost for me as much.

I pull in Resolution, and begin

To doubt th'Equiuocation of the Fiend,

That lies like truth. Feare not, till Byrnane Wood

Do come to Dunsinane, and now a Wood

Comes toward Dunsinane. Arme, Arme, and out,

If this which he auouches, do's appeare,

There is nor flying hence, nor tarrying here.

I 'ginne to be a‑weary of the Sun,

And wish th'estate o'th'world were now vndon.

Ring the Alarum Bell, blow Winde, come wracke,

At least wee'l dye with Harnesse on our backe.

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