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«A Thesis Submitted to the Graduate Faculty of the Louisiana State University and Agricultural and Mechanical College In partial fulfillment of the ...»

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And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass Which shows me many more; and some I see

That two-fold balls and treble scepters carry:

Horrible sight! Now, I see, 'tis true;

For the blood-bolter'd Banquo smiles upon me, And points at them for his.

What, is this so?

First Witch:

Ay, sir, all this is so: but why Stands Macbeth thus amazedly?

OurAct IV scene iii

Lady Macduff:

What had he done, to make him fly the land?


You must have patience, madam.

Lady Macduff: He had none:

His flight was madness: when our actions do not, Our fears do make us traitors.

–  –  –

Lady Macduff:

Wisdom! to leave his wife, to leave his babes, Still dead until… His mansion and his titles in a place From whence himself does fly? He loves us not;

He wants the natural touch: for the poor wren, The most diminutive of birds, will fight, Her young ones in her nest, against the owl.

All is the fear and nothing is the love;

As little is the wisdom, where the flight So runs against all reason.

Ross: My dearest coz, I pray you, school yourself: but for your husband, He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows The fits o' the season. I dare not speak much further;

But cruel are the times, when we are traitors And do not know ourselves, when we hold rumour From what we fear, yet know not what we fear, But float upon a wild and violent sea

Each way and move. I take my leave of you:

Shall not be long but I'll be here again:

Things at the worst will cease, or else climb upward To what they were before. My pretty cousin, Blessing upon you!

Lady Macduff:

Father'd he is, and yet he's fatherless.

–  –  –


Then you'll buy 'em to sell again.

Lady Macduff: Thou speak'st with all thy wit:

And yet, i' faith, with wit enough for thee.


Was my father a traitor, mother?

Lady Macduff: Ay, that he was.

–  –  –

Lady Macduff:

Why, one that swears and lies.


And be all traitors that do so?

Lady Macduff:

Every one that does so is a traitor, and must be hanged.


And must they all be hanged that swear and lie?

Lady Macduff: Every one.

Son: Who must hang them?

Lady Macduff:

Why, the honest men.


Then the liars and swearers are fools, for there are liars and swearers enow to beat the honest men and hang up them.

–  –  –

First Murderer:

Where is your husband?

Lady Macduff:

I hope, in no place so unsanctified Where such as thou mayst find him.

First Murderer: He's a traitor.


Thou liest, thou shag-hair'd villain!

–  –  –


Let us seek out some desolate shade, and there Weep our sad bosoms empty.

Macduff: Let us rather Hold fast the mortal sword, and like good men Bestride our down-fall'n birthdom: each new morn New widows howl, new orphans cry, new sorrows Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds As if it felt with Scotland and yell'd out Like syllable of dolour.

–  –  –

As I shall find the time to friend, I will.

What you have spoke, it may be so perchance.

This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues, Was once thought honest: you have loved him well.

He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young;but something You may deserve of him through me, and wisdom To offer up a weak poor innocent lamb To appease an angry god.

–  –  –

Macduff: Bleed, bleed, poor country!

Great tyranny! lay thou thy basis sure, For goodness dare not cheque thee: wear thouthy wrongs;

The title is affeer'd! Fare thee well, lord:

I would not be the villain that thou think'st For the whole space that's in the tyrant's grasp… IV.iv. 140

–  –  –

Macduff: I shall do so;

But I must also feel it as a man:

I cannot but remember such things were, That were most precious to me. Did heaven look on, And would not take their part? Sinful Macduff, They were all struck for thee! naught that I am, Not for their own demerits, but for mine, Fell slaughter on their souls. Heaven rest them now!


Be this the whetstone of your sword: let grief Convert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage it.

Macduff O, I could play the woman with mine eyes And braggart with my tongue! But, gentle heavens, Cut short all intermission; front to front Bring thou this fiend of Scotland and myself;

Within my sword's length set him; if he 'scape, Heaven forgive him too!

Malcolm: This tune goes manly.

Come, go we to the king; our power is ready;

Our lack is nothing but our leave; Macbeth Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above

Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer you may:

The night is long that never finds the day.

–  –  –

Gentlewoman: Since his majesty went into the field I have seen her rise from her bed, throw her nightgown upon her, unlock her closet, take forth paper, fold it, write upon’t, read it, afterwards seal it, and again return to bed; yet all this while in a most fast sleep.

Doctor: A great perturbation in nature, to receive at once the benefit of sleep and do the effects of watching. In this slumb’ry agitation, besides her walking and other actual performances, what at any time have you heard her say?

Gentle: That, sir, which I will not report after her.

Doc: You may to me, and ‘tis most meet you should.

–  –  –

Doc: Will she go now to bed?

Gentle: Directly.


Foul whisp’rings are abroad. Unnatural deeds Do breed unnatural troubles. Infected minds To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets.

More needs she the divine than the physician.

God, God forgive us all. Look after her;

Remove from her the means of all annoyance, And still keep eyes upon her. So good night.

My mind she has mated, and amazed my sight.

I think, but dare not speak.

–  –  –

Raze out the written troubles of the brain Bouncy walk.

And with some sweet oblivious antidote Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff Which weighs upon the heart?

–  –  –


Throw physic to the dogs; I'll none of it.

Come, put mine armour on; give me my staff.

Seyton, send out. Doctor, the thanes fly from me.

Come, sir, dispatch. If thou couldst, doctor, cast Extend hand over rail.

The water of my land, find her disease, And purge it to a sound and pristine health, I would applaud thee to the very echo, That should applaud again.-Pull't off, I say.- Whip around.

What rhubarb, cyme, or what purgative drug, Would scour these English hence? Hear'st thou of them?


Ay, my good lord; your royal preparation Hunch over.

Makes us hear something.

–  –  –


Let every soldier hew him down a bough And bear't before him: thereby shall we shadow The numbers of our host and make discovery Err in report of us.

–  –  –


We learn no other but the confident tyrant Keeps still in Dunsinane, and will endure Our setting down before 't.

Malcolm: 'Tis his main hope:

For where there is advantage to be given, Both more and less have given him the revolt, And none serve with him but constrained things Whose hearts are absent too.

Macduff: Let our just censures Attend the true event, and put we on Industrious soldiership.

–  –  –

Act V scene v


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 Get to platform right in front of steps by the railing holding the candle in my right hand out to my Till famine and the ague eat them up: side by “famine and the ague.” Stand facing out.

Were they not forced with those that should be ours, We might have met them dareful, beard to beard, And beat them backward home.

What is that noise?

Seyton:It is the cry of women, my good lord.


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.

Wherefore was that cry?

Seyton: The queen, my lord, is dead. Blow out my candle after “The queen, my lord, is dead.” Mac: Cross to steps and down them.

She should have died hereafter;

There would have been a time for such a word.

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Cross down cement steps.

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 Cross straight across the stage falling in line with the other dead and out door #5.

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage

–  –  –

Act V scene viii.20


Begin entrance from offstage SR from the cement stairs—slowly with “the dead.” Accursed be that tongue that tells me so, For it hath cow'd my better part of man!

And be these juggling fiends no more believed, That palter with us in a double sense;

That keep the word of promise to our ear, And break it to our hope. I'll not fight with thee.

–  –  –

Siward: Why then, God's soldier be he!

Had I as many sons as I have hairs,

I would not wish them to a fairer death:

And so, his knell is knoll'd.


He's worth more sorrow, And that I'll spend for him.

Siward: He's worth no more

They say he parted well, and paid his score:

And so, God be with him! Here comes newer comfort.


Hail, king! for so thou art: behold, where stands

The usurper's cursed head: the time is free:

I see thee compass'd with thy kingdom's pearl, That speak my salutation in their minds;

Whose voices I desire aloud with mine:

Hail, King of Scotland!


Hail, King of Scotland!


We shall not spend a large expense of time Before we reckon with your several loves, And make us even with you. My thanes and kinsmen, Henceforth be earls, the first that ever Scotland In such an honour named. What's more to do, Which would be planted newly with the time, As calling home our exiled friends abroad That fled the snares of watchful tyranny;

Producing forth the cruel ministers Of this dead butcher and his fiend-like queen, Who, as 'tis thought, by self and violent hands Took off her life; this, and what needful else That calls upon us, by the grace of Grace,

We will perform in measure, time and place:

So, thanks to all at once and to each one, Whom we invite to see us crown'd at Scone. After “…crowned at Scone,” music cue for “The dead” to turn US and walk off into the darkness.

Lights up and come onstage for curtain call.

–  –  –

After closing this show and stepping back from the experience, I have some final words about creating and performing the role of Lady Macbeth. I will close with a general overview of my performance and other closing comments.

Overall, I felt that I created a good character. Lady Macbeth was enough like me so that she didn’t feel foreign, but so much different from me that I really felt that I created something. I do believe that I created a role grounded in textual analysis but expanded with imagination and work. I think the Lady Macbeth that I created was unique to me and the process through which she was created—that process included everyone who worked on the show in any way, shape, or form.

A sign for me that I have done good work is that I continue to adjust throughout the run and I am not ready to give up the show. The closing performance of Macbeth was disappointing because by the end of the show I had five things that I wanted to try the next night. Part of that desire could never go away because of the nature of this woman that Shakespeare wrote—an enigma of strength and fragility. I am grateful that I was given the opportunity to step up to this monster of a woman. I hope someday to be able to step up to her again with a bit more age and wisdom and give her hell again.

–  –  –

Bloom, Harold. Shakespeare: The Invention of the Human. New York: Riverhead Books, 1998 Holinshed, Raphael. Holinshed’s Chronicle as Used in Shakespeare’s Plays. Edited by Allardyce Nicoll and Josephine Nicoll. London: Everyman’s Library, 1927 Kott, Jan. Shakespeare Our Contemporary. Scranton: Norton W.W. and Company, 1974 Paglia, Camille. Sexual Personae. New York: Vintage Books, 1990 Shakespeare, William. Macbeth. Edited by David Bevington. New York: Bantam Books, Wills, Gary. Witches and Jesuits: Shakespeare’s Macbeth. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995

–  –  –

Taralyn Adele MacMullen was born April 29, 1980, in East Ridge, Tennessee.

She received her primary education from various schools in Texas and from Robert F.

Kennedy Middle School in Charlotte, North Carolina. She completed her secondary education at Olympic Senior High School, also in Charlotte, North Carolina. She received her Bachelor of Arts degree in Theatre with a performance emphasis from Greensboro College, in Greensboro, North Carolina in May, 2002.

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