Page 41 - Macbeth Modern Translation

‘Anyway, for being so outspoken and for absenting himself from the tyrant’s
feast, I hear Macduff’s in disgrace. Do you know where he is?’

His friend nodded. ‘Duncan’s son, whose birthright the tyrant stole, has gone
to the English court. He’s been received most graciously by the pious Edward.
Macduff’s gone there. Malcolm’s got the holy king’s support in persuading
the Earl of Northumberland, whom they call Old Siward, and his son, the

renowned Young Siward, to help us. With the assistance of those two and
God we could restore food to our tables and sleep to our nights, instead of
this feast of bloody knives we’ve got at present: and so that we can pay
homage to our rightful king and receive honest rewards – things we’re
longing for now. Well, anyway, this news from England has so enraged the
tyrant that he’s preparing for war.’

‘Did Macbeth send to Macduff to command him to attend the feast?’ said
Lennox.

‘He did, and when he got a blank refusal – ‘Sir, not I’ – the surly messenger
turned his back and muttered darkly, as though to say, ‘You’ll regret this.’’

‘Hmmm,’ said Lennox. ‘And that might well make him cautious. If he’s got

any sense he’ll stay as far away as possible. I wish some holy angel would fly
to the court of England and bring us a message from him before he returns so
that our country, suffering under an accursed hand, can live in hope.’

Macbeth Modern Translation: Act 4, Scene 1

In a dark cave deep below the mud and slime of a lonely heath, the weird
sisters have gathered around a boiling cauldron. A table is covered with foul-
smelling, disgusting items, some half recognisable and others unfamiliar: they
slither or flap, give little leaps, or seem to breathe. Thunder rumbles and
cracks in the distance.

‘Thrice the brindled cat hath mewed.’
‘Thrice, and once the hedge-pig whined.’
‘Harpier cries, ‘t is time, ‘t is time.’

Each hag fills her apron with items from the table. They approach the
cauldron.

‘Round and round the cauldron go:
In the poisoned entrails throw.
Toad, that under cold stone
Days and nights has thirty-one
Sweltered venom, sleeping got,
Boil thou first i’ th’ charmed pot.’

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