Discomfort swells. Mark, King of Scotland, mark: No sooner justice had, with valour arm’d, Compell’d these skipping kerns to trust their heels, But the Norweyan lord, surveying vantage, With furbish’d arms and new supplies of men, Began a fresh assault. 

 DUNCAN. Dismay’d not this Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo? 

 SOLDIER. Yes; As sparrows eagles, or the hare the lion. If I say sooth, I must report they were As cannons overcharg’d with double cracks; So they Doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe: Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds, Or memorize another Golgotha, I cannot tell— But I am faint, my gashes cry for help. 

 DUNCAN. So well thy words become thee as thy wounds: They smack of honour both.—Go, get him surgeons. 

[Exit Captain, attended.]

Captain,

Enter Ross and Angus.

Ross

Angus

 Who comes here? 

 MALCOLM. The worthy Thane of Ross. 

 LENNOX. What a haste looks through his eyes! So should he look That seems to speak things strange. 

 ROSS. God save the King! 

 DUNCAN. Whence cam’st thou, worthy thane? 

 ROSS. From Fife, great King, Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky And fan our people cold. Norway himself, with terrible numbers, Assisted by that most disloyal traitor, The Thane of Cawdor, began a dismal conflict; Till that Bellona’s bridegroom, lapp’d in proof, Confronted him with self-comparisons, Point against point, rebellious arm ’gainst arm, Curbing his lavish spirit: and, to conclude, The victory fell on us. 

 DUNCAN. Great happiness! 

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