Hang out our banners on the outward walls;
The cry is still, “They come!” Our castle’s strength
Will laugh a siege to scorn: here let them lie
Till famine and the ague eat them up.
Were they not forc’d with those that should be ours,
We might have met them dareful, beard to beard,
And beat them backward home.
Hang out our banners on the outward walls; The cry is still, “They come!” Our castle’s strength Will laugh a siege to scorn: here let them lie Till famine and the ague eat them up. Were they not forc’d with those that should be ours, We might have met them dareful, beard to beard, And beat them backward home.
hang out our banners on the outward walls; the cry is still, “they come!” our castle’s strength will laugh a siege to scorn: here let them lie till famine and the ague eat them up. were they not forc’d with those that should be ours, we might have met them dareful, beard to beard, and beat them backward home.
hang out our banners on the outward walls; the cry is still,
It is the cry of women, my good lord.
It is the cry of women, my good lord.
it is the cry of women, my good lord.
it is the cry of women, my good lord.
The 'Tomorrow' speech is often read as Shakespeare's most nihilistic statement — a declaration that life has no meaning, that time is pointless, that existence is noise signifying nothing. And it is. But it matters who says it, when, and why. Macbeth has just been told his wife is dead. The speech is nominally a reflection on time (prompted by 'there would have been a time for such a word'), but its emotional source is the accumulation of everything he has lost. Every 'tomorrow' he reaches has brought him further from the man he was, and each one has confirmed that the future he was trying to secure — safety, dynastic continuity, undisputed power — was always already impossible. The nihilism of the speech is not abstract philosophy; it is the specific nihilism of a man who has destroyed everything in pursuit of something that never existed. 'Signifying nothing' is his judgment on his own life. The tragedians of antiquity would recognize the pattern: the man who pursued greatness at any cost and found that the cost was greatness itself.
I have almost forgot the taste of fears.
The time has been, my senses would have cool’d
To hear a night-shriek; and my fell of hair
Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir
As life were in’t. I have supp’d full with horrors;
Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts,
Cannot once start me.
I have almost forgot the taste of fears. The time has been, my senses would have cool’d To hear a night-shriek; and my fell of hair Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir As life were in’t. I have supp’d full with horrors; Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts, Cannot once start me.
i have almost forgot the taste of fears. the time has been, my senses would have cool’d to hear a night-shriek; and my fell of hair would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir as life were in’t. i have supp’d full with horrors; direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts, cannot once start me.
i have almost forgot the taste of fears. the time has been,
The Queen, my lord, is dead.
The Queen, my lord, is dead.
the queen, my lord, is dead.
the queen, my lord, is dead.
She should have died hereafter.
There would have been a time for such a word.
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow; a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
She should have died hereafter. There would have been a time for such a word. Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life’s but a walking shadow; a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more: it is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.
she should have died hereafter. there would have been a time for such a word. tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, creeps in this petty pace from day to day, to the last syllable of recorded time; and all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death. out, out, brief candle! life’s but a walking shadow; a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more: it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
she should have died hereafter. there would have been a time
What critics and directors must decide about 5-5 is what happens in the six words between 'signifying nothing' and 'Arm, arm, and out.' Macbeth has just delivered the most despairing speech in the play — perhaps in all of Shakespeare. And then he arms up and marches out to fight. How do we understand this? One reading: the nihilism makes the action possible — when nothing matters, there is no reason not to fight, and fighting is the only thing left to do. Another reading: the speech is performance, a form of display to himself and his remaining soldiers; underneath it, Macbeth's animal survival instinct is still active. A third reading: this is the measure of tragic character — Macbeth cannot stop. He has described the abyss and he turns from it immediately because looking into it too long is unbearable. All three readings produce valid performances. The text supports all of them.
Gracious my lord,
I should report that which I say I saw,
But know not how to do’t.
Gracious my lord, I should report that which I say I saw, But know not how to do’t.
gracious my lord, i should report that which i say i saw, but know not how to do’t.
gracious my lord, i should report that which i say i saw, bu
Well, say, sir.
Well, say, sir.
well, say, sir.
well, say, sir.
As I did stand my watch upon the hill,
I look’d toward Birnam, and anon, methought,
The wood began to move.
As I did stand my watch upon the hill, I look’d toward Birnam, and anon, methought, The wood began to move.
as i did stand my watch upon the hill, i look’d toward birnam, and anon, methought, the wood began to move.
as i did stand my watch upon the hill, i look’d toward birna
Liar, and slave!
Liar, and slave!
liar, and slave!
liar, and slave!
Let me endure your wrath, if’t be not so.
Within this three mile may you see it coming;
I say, a moving grove.
Let me endure your wrath, if’t be not so. Within this three mile may you see it coming; I say, a moving grove.
let me endure your wrath, if’t be not so. within this three mile may you see it coming; i say, a moving grove.
let me endure your wrath, if’t be not so. within this three
If thou speak’st false,
Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive,
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’ equivocation of the fiend,
That lies like truth. “Fear not, till Birnam wood
Do come to Dunsinane;” and now a wood
Comes toward Dunsinane.—Arm, arm, and out!—
If this which he avouches does appear,
There is nor flying hence nor tarrying here.
I ’gin to be aweary of the sun,
And wish th’ estate o’ th’ world were now undone.—
Ring the alarum bell!—Blow, wind! come, wrack!
At least we’ll die with harness on our back.
If thou speak’st false, Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive, 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’ equivocation of the fiend, That lies like truth. “Fear not, till Birnam wood Do come to Dunsinane;” and now a wood Comes toward Dunsinane.—Arm, arm, and out!— If this which he avouches does appear, There is nor flying hence nor tarrying here. I ’gin to be aweary of the sun, And wish th’ estate o’ th’ world were now undone.— Ring the alarum bell!—Blow, wind! come, wrack! At least we’ll die with harness on our back.
if thou speak’st false, upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive, 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’ equivocation of the fiend, that lies like truth. “fear not, till birnam wood do come to dunsinane;” and now a wood comes toward dunsinane.—arm, arm, and out!— if this which he avouches does appear, there is nor flying hence nor tarrying here. i ’gin to be aweary of the sun, and wish th’ estate o’ th’ world were now undone.— ring the alarum bell!—blow, wind! come, wrack! at least we’ll die with harness on our back.
if thou speak’st false, upon the next tree shalt thou hang a
The Reckoning
The emotional climax of Act 5. Two catastrophes arrive in quick succession: Lady Macbeth's death and the news that the prophecy is being fulfilled. Macbeth's response to his wife's death is the most debated moment in the play — 'She should have died hereafter': did he mean she would have died eventually anyway, or that she chose a bad time to die? Either reading reveals a man too exhausted by loss to feel this loss properly. Then the 'Tomorrow' speech — three sentences of pure philosophical nihilism. And then, immediately after, Macbeth does not collapse. He puts on his armor and goes out to fight. That transition — from 'life is meaningless' to 'arm, arm, and out' — is the final measure of Macbeth: a man who can reach the bottom of despair and keep moving.
If this happened today…
A man is told his wife has died. He says, 'Yes — she would have died eventually.' Then his communications officer tells him the impossible thing that was supposed to protect him has happened. He sits for a moment and delivers the most honest speech about meaninglessness you've ever heard. Then he says: 'Let's go.'