Original
Modern English
You know your own degrees; sit down: at first And last the hearty welcome.
You know your places; sit down: first And last, a warm welcome to all of you.
Thanks to your majesty.
Thanks to your majesty.
Ourself will mingle with society, And play the humble host. Our hostess keeps her state, but in best time We will require her welcome.
I’ll mingle with the guests, And act as the humble host. Our hostess will maintain her dignity, but at the right time We’ll expect her welcome.
Pronounce it for me, sir, to all our friends; For my heart speaks they are welcome.
Please say it for me, sir, to all our guests; My heart tells me they’re all welcome.
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.
Look, they greet you with their heartfelt thanks. Both sides are even: I’ll sit right here in the middle: Let’s be cheerful; soon we’ll have a drink, Around the table.
There’s blood on thy face.
There’s blood on your face.
’Tis Banquo’s then.
It’s Banquo’s blood, then.
’Tis better thee without than he within. Is he dispatch’d?
It’s better you have it on you than him in here. Is he dead?
My lord, his throat is cut; that I did for him.
My lord, his throat is cut; I did that for him.
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.
You’re the best of the killers: still, he’s a good man Who did the same for Fleance: if you did that, You’re one of a kind.
Most royal sir, Fleance is ’scaped.
Most royal sir, Fleance has escaped.
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?
Then my troubles start again: I would have been perfect, As solid as marble, steady as a rock, As open and wide as the air around us: But now I’m trapped, restricted, filled with Annoying doubts and fears. But Banquo’s dead, right?
Ay, my good lord: safe in a ditch he bides, With twenty trenched gashes on his head; The least a death to nature.
Yes, my good lord: he’s lying safe in a ditch, With twenty deep cuts on his head; The smallest of which is enough to kill him.
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.
Thanks for that: There lies the fully grown snake; the worm that escaped Has the kind of nature that will eventually turn poisonous, But for now, it has no teeth. Go now: tomorrow We’ll hear more about it ourselves.
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.
My royal lord, You’re not acting cheerful: the feast is spoiled When it’s not enjoyed, even while it’s being prepared, It should be served with a warm welcome: it’s best to eat at home; The sauce to the meat is the ceremony; A meeting feels empty without it.
Sweet remembrancer! Now, good digestion wait on appetite, And health on both!
Sweet reminder! Now, may good digestion follow appetite, And good health to both!
May’t please your highness sit.
May it please your highness to sit.
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!
Here, we could have honored our country, If the distinguished person of our Banquo were here; Who, I would rather accuse of unkindness Than feel pity for his misfortune!
His absence, sir, Lays blame upon his promise. Please’t your highness To grace us with your royal company.
His absence, sir, Reflects poorly on his promise. If it pleases your highness, To honor us with your royal presence.
The table’s full.
The table is full.
Here is a place reserved, sir.
There’s a place reserved here, sir.
Where?
Where?
Here, my good lord. What is’t that moves your highness?
Here, my good lord. What is it that troubles you, your highness?
Which of you have done this?
Which of you has done this?
What, my good lord?
What, my good lord?
Thou canst not say I did it: never shake Thy gory locks at me.
You can’t say I did it: never shake Your bloody hair at me.
Gentlemen, rise: his highness is not well.
Gentlemen, stand up: the king isn’t feeling well.
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?
Sit, good friends: my husband often acts like this, And has since he was young: please, stay seated; This fit is only temporary; after a moment, He’ll be fine again: if you watch him too closely, You’ll upset him and make him more emotional: Eat, and don’t worry about him. Are you a man?
Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that Which might appal the devil.
Yes, and a brave one, who dares look at something That might frighten the devil.
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.
Oh, what nonsense! This is just a picture of your fear: This is the imaginary dagger you said Led you to kill Duncan. Oh, these little tricks, False fears that pretend to be real, would be more fitting For a woman’s tale by the winter fire, Told with her grandmother’s approval. What a shame! Why are you making such faces? When it’s all over, You’re just staring at a stool.
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.
Please, look over there! See! Look! What do you think? Why should I care? If you can nod, speak too. If graves and burial places must send The dead back to life, our tombstones Will just be the food for vultures.
What, quite unmann’d in folly?
What, completely undone by your own foolishness?
If I stand here, I saw him.
If I stand here, I saw him.
Fie, for shame!
Shame on you!
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.
Blood has been spilled before, in ancient times, Before human laws cleaned up society; Yes, and even now, murders happen That are too horrible to even speak about: the times have changed, Back then, when a man’s brain was spilled, he’d die, And that was the end; but now they rise again, With twenty murders on their heads, And push us off our seats: this is stranger Than the murder itself.
My worthy lord, Your noble friends do lack you.
My dear lord, Your noble friends are waiting for you.
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.
I’ve forgotten. Don’t look at me like that, my dear friends, I have a strange condition, which is nothing To those who know me well. Come, let’s drink to everyone’s health; Then I’ll sit down. Pour me some wine; fill it up. I drink to the general happiness of the table, And to our dear friend Banquo, who we miss; I wish he were here! To all of us, and to him, we drink, And all to all.
Our duties, and the pledge.
Our duty, and the toast.
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!
Get away! Leave my sight! Let the earth swallow you! Your bones are hollow, your blood is cold; You don’t have any life in those eyes That you’re glaring at me with!
Think of this, good peers, But as a thing of custom: ’tis no other; Only it spoils the pleasure of the time.
Think of this, good friends, Just as a strange custom: it’s nothing serious; It’s only ruining the fun of the evening.
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!
What man dares, I dare: Come at me like a wild Russian bear, The armed rhinoceros, or the Hyrcanian tiger; Take any form but that, and my strong nerves Will never shake: or I’ll be alive again, And face me in the desert with your sword; If I tremble then, call me A little baby girl. Get out, horrible ghost! Unreal trick, go away!
Why, so: being gone, I am a man again. Pray you, sit still.
Why, that’s better: now that it’s gone, I’m a man again. Please, sit still.
You have displaced the mirth, broke the good meeting, With most admired disorder.
You’ve ruined the fun, spoiled the good meeting, With your disturbing behavior.
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.
Can things like this happen, And hit us like a summer cloud, Without us being completely amazed? You make me feel so strange Even about myself, When I think you can see these visions, And still keep the natural color in your cheeks, While mine turn pale with fear.
What sights, my lord?
What visions, my lord?
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.
Please, don’t talk; he’s getting worse and worse; Asking questions makes him angry. Good night now: Don’t worry about the formalities of leaving, Just go right away.
Good night; and better health Attend his majesty!
Good night; and may better health Attend his majesty!
A kind good night to all!
A kind, good night to all!
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?
There will be blood; they say blood will demand blood: Stones have been known to move and trees to speak; Seers and their strange visions have Been brought to life by magpies, crows, and ravens, To reveal the secrets of the bloodiest men. What time is it?
Almost at odds with morning, which is which.
It’s almost morning, I can’t tell which is which.
How say’st thou, that Macduff denies his person At our great bidding?
What do you think, that Macduff refuses to come At our royal command?
Did you send to him, sir?
Did you send for him, sir?
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.
I hear it through the grapevine, but I’ll send anyway: There’s not a one of them, but I have a servant Paid and ready at his house. Tomorrow I’ll go, And early too, to the weird sisters: They’ll speak more; for now I am determined to find out, By any means necessary, the worst. For my own sake, All other concerns will take a backseat: I’m so deep in blood That if I tried to stop, going back would be as hard as moving forward: I have strange thoughts in my head, that must be carried out; They must be done before I can understand them.
You lack the season of all natures, sleep.
You’re missing the one thing all humans need, sleep.
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.
Come on, let’s go to sleep. My weird actions and self-torment Are just the early signs of fear that lack real experience: We are still new at this.