Original
Modern English
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: They’re burning with the desire for revenge; their causes Would stir even a dead man to action at the sound Of the battle cry.
Near Birnam wood Shall we well meet them; that way are they coming.
We’ll meet them near Birnam wood; That’s where they’re coming from.
Who knows if Donalbain be with his brother?
Who knows if 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.
For sure, sir, he’s not: I have a list Of all the nobles: Siward’s son is there, And many young men who are just now Coming into their adulthood.
What does the tyrant?
What’s the tyrant up to?
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’s heavily fortifying Dunsinane: Some say he’s gone mad; others who don’t hate him as much Call it brave fury: but for sure, He can’t keep his troubled cause Under 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’s starting to feel The weight of his secret murders on his hands; Now his betrayal of trust is haunting him, And those he commands only obey him out of duty, Not out of love: now he feels his title Hanging loosely around him, like a giant’s robe On a tiny 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 can blame His tortured senses for pulling back and panicking, When everything inside him condemns Him for even being there?
Well, march we on, To give obedience where ’tis truly owed: Meet we the medicine of the sickly weal, And with him pour we in our country’s purge Each drop of us.
Well, let’s keep marching, To show respect where it’s truly due: Let’s meet the cure for this sickly state, And with him, let’s pour out our country’s purge With every drop of our strength.
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 it needs, To water the sovereign flower and drown the weeds. Let’s make our way toward Birnam.