Оригинален текст
1
The crown , my deeds Like a burden does it seem
I stand all alone In a dark and empty dream
2
Such is the bitter taste
Of the blarney outta hell
There was a life to waste
And the witches did it well
3
Here as I sit
On a cold and empty throne
The thanes, most men
All have fled I am alone
4
Such is the bitter taste
Of my hopes about to fall
There was a life to waste
I see demons rising tall
Bridge:
No use to run and hide
No use to run and hide
Ref.:
Now as my dreams lie there in pieces
Where is the glory after all
Now as I stand amidst the ruins
I see demons rising tall
Demons rising tall
5
Still I am invincible
No fear in my heart there'll be
No man man of woman born
Shall have power over me
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Yet there is a bitter taste
Of the madness that did fall.
I had a life to waste
I see demons rising tall
Macbeth:</i> They have tied me to a stake. I cannot fly, but bear-like I must fight the course. What's he that was not born of woman? Such a one am I to fear, or none.
Young Siward:</i> What is thy name?
Macbeth:</i> Thou'lt be afraid to hear it.
Young Siward:</i> No, though thou call'st thyself a hotter name than any is in hell.
Macbeth:</i> My name's Macbeth.
Young Siward:</i> The devil himself could not pr*nounce a title more hateful to mine ear.
Macbeth:</i> No, nor more fearful.
Young Siward:</i> Thou liest, abhorred tyrant. With my sword I'll prove the lie thou speak'st.
They fight, and young Siward is slain
Macbeth:</i> Thou wast born of woman, but swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn, brandished by man that's of a woman bom.
Macbeth:</i> Why should 1 play the Roman fool, and die on mine own sword? Whiles I see lives, the gashes do better upon them.
Enter Macduff
Macduff:</i> Turn, hell-hound, turn.
Macbeth:</i> Macduff, of all men else I have avoided thee. But get thee back. My soul is too much charged with blood of thine already.
Macduff:</i> I have no words; My voice is in my sword, thou bloodier villain than terms can give thee out.
They fight
Macbeth:</i> Thou losest labour. As easy mayst thou the intrenchant air with thy keen sword impress as make me bleed. Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests; I bear a charmed life, which must not yield to one of woman born.
Macduff:</i> Despair thy charm, and let the angel whom thou still hast served tell thee Macduff was from his mother's womb untimely ripped.
Macbeth:</i> Accursed be that tongue that tells me so, for it hath cowed 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.
Macduff:</i> Then yield thee, coward,
Macbeth:</i> I will not yield to kiss the ground before your feet, and to be baited with the rabble's curse.
Though thou opposed being of no woman born, yet I will try the last. Before my body I throw my warlike shield. Lay on, Macduff, and d*mned be him that first cries: "Hold, enough!" My fate may have turned to black but at least I 'II die with harness on my back.