Das Zählwerk
- Themenstarter Phito_
- Datum Start
1_2_7
P.S. @XXrico007 wie machst du den text dort unter der Linie
Verfasst von my_11_mine aka Muffin
P.S. @XXrico007 wie machst du den text dort unter der Linie
Verfasst von my_11_mine aka Muffin
Versau doch das Spiel nicht haha
Außerdem @my_11_mine musst du für den Text unter meinem Text auf das Zahnrädchen neben deinem Namen und dort auf Signatur bearbeiten klicken.
So ich führs wieder richtig weiter:
PS: Warten bis andere wieder was gepostet haben, sonst denken alle du führst Selbstespräche
Außerdem @my_11_mine musst du für den Text unter meinem Text auf das Zahnrädchen neben deinem Namen und dort auf Signatur bearbeiten klicken.
So ich führs wieder richtig weiter:
PS: Warten bis andere wieder was gepostet haben, sonst denken alle du führst Selbstespräche
1. When shall we three meet againe?
In Thunder, Lightning, or in Raine?
2. When the Hurley-burley's done,
When the Battaile's lost, and wonne
3. That will be ere the set of Sunne
1. Where the place?
2. Vpon the Heath
3. There to meet with Macbeth
1. I come, Gray-Malkin
All. Padock calls anon: faire is foule, and foule is faire,
Houer through the fogge and filthie ayre.
Exeunt.
Scena Secunda.
Alarum within. Enter King Malcome, Donalbaine, Lenox, with
attendants,
meeting a bleeding Captaine.
King. What bloody man is that? he can report,
As seemeth by his plight, of the Reuolt
The newest state
Mal. This is the Serieant,
Who like a good and hardie Souldier fought
'Gainst my Captiuitie: Haile braue friend;
Say to the King, the knowledge of the Broyle,
As thou didst leaue it
Cap. Doubtfull it stood,
As two spent Swimmers, that doe cling together,
And choake their Art: The mercilesse Macdonwald
(Worthie to be a Rebell, for to that
The multiplying Villanies of Nature
Doe swarme vpon him) from the Westerne Isles
Of Kernes and Gallowgrosses is supply'd,
And Fortune on his damned Quarry smiling,
Shew'd like a Rebells Whore: but all's too weake:
For braue Macbeth (well hee deserues that Name)
Disdayning Fortune, with his brandisht Steele,
Which smoak'd with bloody execution
(Like Valours Minion) caru'd out his passage,
Till hee fac'd the Slaue:
Which neu'r shooke hands, nor bad farwell to him,
Till he vnseam'd him from the Naue toth' Chops,
And fix'd his Head vpon our Battlements
King. O valiant Cousin, worthy Gentleman
Cap. As whence the Sunne 'gins his reflection,
Shipwracking Stormes, and direfull Thunders:
So from that Spring, whence comfort seem'd to come,
Discomfort swells: Marke King of Scotland, marke,
No sooner Iustice had, with Valour arm'd,
Compell'd these skipping Kernes to trust their heeles,
But the Norweyan Lord, surueying vantage,
With furbusht Armes, and new supplyes of men,
Began a fresh assault
King. Dismay'd not this our Captaines, Macbeth and
Banquoh?
Cap. Yes, as Sparrowes, Eagles;
Or the Hare, the Lyon:
If I say sooth, I must report they were
As Cannons ouer-charg'd with double Cracks,
So they doubly redoubled stroakes vpon 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 helpe
King. So well thy words become thee, as thy wounds,
They smack of Honor both: Goe get him Surgeons.
Enter Rosse and Angus.
Who comes here?
Mal. The worthy Thane of Rosse
Lenox. What a haste lookes through his eyes?
So should he looke, that seemes to speake things strange
Rosse. God saue the King
King. Whence cam'st thou, worthy Thane?
Rosse. From Fiffe, great King,
Where the Norweyan Banners flowt the Skie,
And fanne our people cold.
Norway himselfe, with terrible numbers,
Assisted by that most disloyall Traytor,
The Thane of Cawdor, began a dismall Conflict,
Till that Bellona's Bridegroome, lapt in proofe,
Confronted him with selfe-comparisons,
Point against Point, rebellious Arme 'gainst Arme,
Curbing his lauish spirit: and to conclude,
The Victorie fell on vs
King. Great happinesse
Rosse. That now Sweno, the Norwayes King,
Craues composition:
Nor would we deigne him buriall of his men,
Till he disbursed, at Saint Colmes ynch,
Ten thousand Dollars, to our generall vse
King. No more that Thane of Cawdor shall deceiue
Our Bosome interest: Goe pronounce his present death,
And with his former Title greet Macbeth
Rosse. Ile see it done
King. What he hath lost, Noble Macbeth hath wonne.
Exeunt.
Scena Tertia.
Thunder. Enter the three Witches.
1. Where hast thou beene, Sister?
2. Killing Swine
3. Sister, where thou?
1. A Saylors Wife had Chestnuts in her Lappe,
And mouncht, & mouncht, and mouncht:
Giue me, quoth I.
Aroynt thee, Witch, the rumpe-fed Ronyon cryes.
Her Husband's to Aleppo gone, Master o'th' Tiger:
But in a Syue Ile thither sayle,
And like a Rat without a tayle,
Ile doe, Ile doe, and Ile doe
2. Ile giue thee a Winde
1. Th'art kinde
3. And I another
1. I my selfe haue all the other,
And the very Ports they blow,
All the Quarters that they know,
I'th' Ship-mans Card.
Ile dreyne him drie as Hay:
Sleepe shall neyther Night nor Day
Hang vpon his Pent-house Lid:
He shall liue a man forbid:
Wearie Seu'nights, nine times nine,
Shall he dwindle, peake, and pine:
Though his Barke cannot be lost,
Yet it shall be Tempest-tost.
Looke what I haue
2. Shew me, shew me
1. Here I haue a Pilots Thumbe,
Wrackt, as homeward he did come.
Drum within.
3. A Drumme, a Drumme:
Macbeth doth come
All. The weyward Sisters, hand in hand,
Posters of the Sea and Land,
Thus doe goe, about, about,
Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine,
And thrice againe, to make vp nine.
Peace, the Charme's wound vp.
Enter Macbeth and Banquo.
In Thunder, Lightning, or in Raine?
2. When the Hurley-burley's done,
When the Battaile's lost, and wonne
3. That will be ere the set of Sunne
1. Where the place?
2. Vpon the Heath
3. There to meet with Macbeth
1. I come, Gray-Malkin
All. Padock calls anon: faire is foule, and foule is faire,
Houer through the fogge and filthie ayre.
Exeunt.
Scena Secunda.
Alarum within. Enter King Malcome, Donalbaine, Lenox, with
attendants,
meeting a bleeding Captaine.
King. What bloody man is that? he can report,
As seemeth by his plight, of the Reuolt
The newest state
Mal. This is the Serieant,
Who like a good and hardie Souldier fought
'Gainst my Captiuitie: Haile braue friend;
Say to the King, the knowledge of the Broyle,
As thou didst leaue it
Cap. Doubtfull it stood,
As two spent Swimmers, that doe cling together,
And choake their Art: The mercilesse Macdonwald
(Worthie to be a Rebell, for to that
The multiplying Villanies of Nature
Doe swarme vpon him) from the Westerne Isles
Of Kernes and Gallowgrosses is supply'd,
And Fortune on his damned Quarry smiling,
Shew'd like a Rebells Whore: but all's too weake:
For braue Macbeth (well hee deserues that Name)
Disdayning Fortune, with his brandisht Steele,
Which smoak'd with bloody execution
(Like Valours Minion) caru'd out his passage,
Till hee fac'd the Slaue:
Which neu'r shooke hands, nor bad farwell to him,
Till he vnseam'd him from the Naue toth' Chops,
And fix'd his Head vpon our Battlements
King. O valiant Cousin, worthy Gentleman
Cap. As whence the Sunne 'gins his reflection,
Shipwracking Stormes, and direfull Thunders:
So from that Spring, whence comfort seem'd to come,
Discomfort swells: Marke King of Scotland, marke,
No sooner Iustice had, with Valour arm'd,
Compell'd these skipping Kernes to trust their heeles,
But the Norweyan Lord, surueying vantage,
With furbusht Armes, and new supplyes of men,
Began a fresh assault
King. Dismay'd not this our Captaines, Macbeth and
Banquoh?
Cap. Yes, as Sparrowes, Eagles;
Or the Hare, the Lyon:
If I say sooth, I must report they were
As Cannons ouer-charg'd with double Cracks,
So they doubly redoubled stroakes vpon 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 helpe
King. So well thy words become thee, as thy wounds,
They smack of Honor both: Goe get him Surgeons.
Enter Rosse and Angus.
Who comes here?
Mal. The worthy Thane of Rosse
Lenox. What a haste lookes through his eyes?
So should he looke, that seemes to speake things strange
Rosse. God saue the King
King. Whence cam'st thou, worthy Thane?
Rosse. From Fiffe, great King,
Where the Norweyan Banners flowt the Skie,
And fanne our people cold.
Norway himselfe, with terrible numbers,
Assisted by that most disloyall Traytor,
The Thane of Cawdor, began a dismall Conflict,
Till that Bellona's Bridegroome, lapt in proofe,
Confronted him with selfe-comparisons,
Point against Point, rebellious Arme 'gainst Arme,
Curbing his lauish spirit: and to conclude,
The Victorie fell on vs
King. Great happinesse
Rosse. That now Sweno, the Norwayes King,
Craues composition:
Nor would we deigne him buriall of his men,
Till he disbursed, at Saint Colmes ynch,
Ten thousand Dollars, to our generall vse
King. No more that Thane of Cawdor shall deceiue
Our Bosome interest: Goe pronounce his present death,
And with his former Title greet Macbeth
Rosse. Ile see it done
King. What he hath lost, Noble Macbeth hath wonne.
Exeunt.
Scena Tertia.
Thunder. Enter the three Witches.
1. Where hast thou beene, Sister?
2. Killing Swine
3. Sister, where thou?
1. A Saylors Wife had Chestnuts in her Lappe,
And mouncht, & mouncht, and mouncht:
Giue me, quoth I.
Aroynt thee, Witch, the rumpe-fed Ronyon cryes.
Her Husband's to Aleppo gone, Master o'th' Tiger:
But in a Syue Ile thither sayle,
And like a Rat without a tayle,
Ile doe, Ile doe, and Ile doe
2. Ile giue thee a Winde
1. Th'art kinde
3. And I another
1. I my selfe haue all the other,
And the very Ports they blow,
All the Quarters that they know,
I'th' Ship-mans Card.
Ile dreyne him drie as Hay:
Sleepe shall neyther Night nor Day
Hang vpon his Pent-house Lid:
He shall liue a man forbid:
Wearie Seu'nights, nine times nine,
Shall he dwindle, peake, and pine:
Though his Barke cannot be lost,
Yet it shall be Tempest-tost.
Looke what I haue
2. Shew me, shew me
1. Here I haue a Pilots Thumbe,
Wrackt, as homeward he did come.
Drum within.
3. A Drumme, a Drumme:
Macbeth doth come
All. The weyward Sisters, hand in hand,
Posters of the Sea and Land,
Thus doe goe, about, about,
Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine,
And thrice againe, to make vp nine.
Peace, the Charme's wound vp.
Enter Macbeth and Banquo.
