HOME | DD
Prosaic-Scriptor — Macbeth, Act 6 - A Musical
Published: 2009-05-14 04:01:57 +0000 UTC; Views: 5332; Favourites: 0; Downloads: 9
Redirect to original
Description
Act 6, Scene 1Scotland. An open courtyard.
(Malcolm, Fleance, Macduff, Citizens)
Enter King Malcolm, Fleance, Macduff, and Citizens, all ready to receive the King’s speech.
MALCOLM: Years of starvation and frigid defeat,
Hath left our hallow’d country strong not weak.
Macbeth once led Scotland to certain h*ll,
His ear to Woman’s deadly pois’nous spell.
Yet time hath past, three years and half to date,
And evil doth take time to recreate.
We think of past decrepit acts and deeds,
And know that we have naught but love to breed.
‘Tis time we cured our Scotland of her flaws,
And laid down new commandments and just laws.
For we must live past foul destiny,
We shall not heed th’ call of prophecy.
We will go forth to seize the mighty sword
Of honor duly won by Scottish lords.
For Peace hath held her reign for far too long,
And War must rise to sing her bloody song.
Our Scots must leave their gentile, loving wives,
And pick up cutlass, arrows, bows and knives.
We fight for Scotland, fight for good, not pain!
Th’ pow’r of honoring thy comrade slain.
We shall rise up, and like the snake who ate
th’ mouse i’ singularity create,
A country not just strong and proud, but grand,
We will go forth in faith to conquer land.
Malcolm is shot. Chaos ensues.
FLEANCE: The King is slain! My heart dies here as well,
Felicity is carded; joy tempered
With pain acute and heartbeats’ shallow wail.
Rushes to Malcolm.
My lord! Thy breast weeps tears I cannot staunch.
I wait to hear thy breath return; sweet life,
Sweet life!
MALCOLM: Tis too late now, come closer, dear Fleance,
Times termagant are no cause for wet cheeks.
Tis tristful, aye, but let us speak ere my breath
Departs; Death is a taxing mistress, boy,
and Time hath no patience for her delays.
MACDUFF: A doctor, doctor! Charlatans; thy
Services are not required! Haste, haste!
MALCOLM: Closer, closer!
FLEANCE: Death’s turn shall come ere day turns night; whether thy
Body adorns th’ heap, it matters not.
My king, stay with us. Medics near, anon!
MALCOLM: Th’ only thing that governs me, are now
Th’ Fateful sisters three; my thread is snip’d.
Th’ lips of death lie on my brow, body
Cold and weakened from loss of precious life.
Three years hath past, I have been king, but more
Joyful a king there never was before.
My boy --
He coughs.
My blasted wife hath begotten no heir.
Thou art th’ only... man I trust implicitly,
I leave my kingdom here; in thy hands th’ key.
No bodements hold thy stars in iron grip,
Thy crown shall be of brambles golden, not
Sick superstitions from Weird Sisters’ mouths.
Thy honor is reason enough to make thee king,
Yet I know thou can take the suffering.
Remember ill-fated Macbeth, and how
He single-handedly brought Scotland down.
He coughs more. The arrow wound is bleeding freely.
Oh— Death calls!
He dies.
FLEANCE: My King! Lord, Thane, I call thee anything
But dead!
MACDUFF: (aside) Th’ King must not gull unsinew’d Fleance,
Mayhap he be prounouncёd heir, but ears
That heard, alone were mine and his. Tis but
A matter of facility to spread
Th’ truth that Malcolm, King of Scots, is dead,
And if it doth behoves me naught to speak
Of Fleance’ rise to pow’r, shy and meek
Th’ boy is in th’ end, and I have won,
I will bring forth new blood with Earth undone.
(not aside)
The King! Ere dusk th’ King of Scots hath died!
Even more pandemonium ensues.
Exit all but Fleance and Malcolm.
FLEANCE SONG 1.
Act 6, Scene 2
Empty courtyard near castle.
(Macbuff, Macduff)
Enter Macbuff, singing The Macbuff Theme Song.
Enter Macduff.
MACBUFF: Thy knaves hath brought me here, my lord, Macduff.
MACDUFF: Our time grows short, dear new-discovered cuz.
Blood coats th’ barren fields of Scottish lords,
Th’ very earth our latent Malcolm mourns.
Th’ throne hath sat empty for far too long,
No heirs there hath been since before Macbeth.
King Malcolm hath left no successor here,
And thanes do quarrel in th’ streets unhoused.
(aside) Th’ crown of gold should gild my worthy head,
But blood enough hath spilt from kings untrue.
Macbuff shall own th’ jeweled throne, but hands
Unseen shall guide his ev’ry kingly move.
MACBUFF: Thy words ring true. But why call me, my lord?
MACDUFF: Thy father was no lowly vagrant knave,
Thy legacy springs from th’ prophecy.
Thy father, nbble Banquo, lies beneath
A heap of valiant rubble without teeth.
But though he rots, thy destiny unfolds,
Th’ kingdom could be yours, as we are told.
MACBUFF: This news doth burn my virgin, humble ears,
I fear thy wag would suit th’ crown much more
Than any want-wit’s feeble croaks and snores.
MACBUFF: Ah, but verdure stays but strong in you,
Thy suit of pow’r ‘twould be not frowned upon.
Lets us to th’ castle, and charm th’ men.
Act 6, Scene 3
Castle dining room.
(Macduff, Macbuff, Fleance, Rosse, Lords)
Enter Macduff, Fleance, and Lords.
MACDUFF: Good gentlemen, please sit. Refreshments wait.
Thy faces smile, but hearts do sag; a king
Need be discovered, soon, afore too long.
ROSSE: But who shall rise to take th’ throne?
Fleance rises, as if to speak.
MACDUFF: Drink up, drink up.
Th’ witches three, as hath been said to thee,
Hath told us of our next successor, who
As said by those vile soothsayers, that on
Th’ throne th’ son of Banquo shall reign true.
Before us noble Fleance stands, son of
Banquo deceased. Thy hearts do hope that he
Could lead, but down as soft as chickens’ fluff
Doth grace his chin in sparsity; his youth
Halts hope, perhaps we need another one.
ROSSE: Nay, Banquo’s loins reared only one, no more.
MACDUFF: Thy ears do falsely interpret th’ signs;
I sought out Banquo’s firstborn child, in lands afar
Th’ illegitimate boy lay, so I
Sent out th’ royal guard to take him back
To Scotland where his true home lay, but soft
I went, to not disturb; this man was liked,
His brawn remembered, brains forgotten ne’er!
Enter Macbuff. He poses.
ROSSE: (aside to Macduff) ...From where doth he hail?
MACDUFF: Ireland.
ROSSE: Ah.... ‘Tis a silly place, Ireland.
MACBUFF: Theme Song
Lords speak among themselves. Fleance walks to the side.
FLEANCE: (aside) Ay me! My fate crossed mine eyes, but, ‘twere blind
To fate, to chance, to destiny. I lost
My Scots to foreign kin; my half brother
In painted flesh, my kingship robbed from me.
This tune doth dance too sweet to Macbuff’s song;
I sense disturbance; something is gone wrong.
Exeunt.
Act 6, Scene 4
An alley.
(Fleance, Inquirers)
Enter Fleance, moping.
FLEANCE: Confusion now hath dug my open grave;
Murders sacrilegious weigh heavy on
My sorrow’d soul. No justice was to be
Trusted on shoulders frail, and soft as these.
Hark! They come.
Enter Inquirers.
FLEANCE: Thy figures looked ne’er finer than now.
Thy skills are much requir’d to Malcolm’s death assay,
For foul things abound this day, and tis
Well known that evil begets evil deeds.
Unparallel’d by all, thy expertise
Doth speak of strength, and possibilities.
INQUIRER 1: Thy will is ours.
FLEANCE: Aye, now go forth t’ oust and capture he
Who hides and dreams of even more killing.
Inquirers leave.
FLEANCE: That which make men gleeful brings discontent
To troubled me. The grave of Scotland’s king
Doth spread; enlarging to accommodate
My growth, and span, my stutter’d, hasty vows
To avenge thy death, dear Malcolm. Please allow
A bit of pity; sway thy heart, young though
I be, my sword is sharp, beshrew the grave,
I shall not flee.
Fleance Song Two.
FLEANCE: The witches speak notoriously of me
And father mine; who buried ‘neath earth be;
They must have more good tidings of my fate,
Though Malcolm told me not to sate my needs
Through bodements falsely told and falsely preached.
No matter this, I must demand the words.
Exit Fleance.
Act 6, Scene 5
Witches’ den.
(Three witches, Fleance)
Enter on three witches, in bathrobes with mugs reading the paper. Opera music plays. They serve themselves “coffee” from the cauldron nearby.
WITCH 1: Goodyears o’ the knaves do speak,
Hungering for spirits weak;
News doth not speak of our deeds.
Silence as they read and sip.
Someone doth approach!
They throw off bathrobes, and hurriedly put on wig and moustaches. The mugs are thrown in the corner, and the opera is shut off. The cauldron (of coffee) is centered on the table.
WITCH 2: Fleance, son of Banquo nears.
WITCH 3: Banquo lies ‘neath blanket filthy,
Honor proves no pillow worthy;
Scotland hath no need of him.
WITCH 2: Reeks he of hope; something sweet.
Could it be a prophecy?
We must tell him something, see.
WITCH 1: Nay, nothing yet something less.
WITCH 3: Something yet not nothing more!
They cackle witchily.
Enter Fleance.
FLEANCE: Hags! Prophecy, I demand thee thy words!
He pauses and sniffs.
What potion foul ‘tis that?
WITCH 2: Naught but bits of boiled toes,
Steeping as our black plots grow.
Welcome to our evil lair,
Son of man with ugly hair.
But words are not thy servants dear,
To come and bow when need draws near.
WITCH 1: Timely things are prophecies.
WITCH 3: Time not yours, Fleance, said heir.
FLEANCE: I shall not waver in the deadly face
Of sisters strange with drinks unholy and... brown.
WITCH 1: Past is clear, thy future not,
Disappointment always, is,
Thy only clear, straight message.
FLEANCE: Witch!
Grabbing her round the neck.
Thy lips will speak or mine will gnash in anger.
Thy neck will fold, and throat will close, thy words
Of triumph last to breach thy mouth. The future,
pray tell?
WITCH 2: Halt thy pain; we will decease,
Prophecy for thee, and peace.
WITCH 1: Enemy most feared to you
Shall wear the crown, but not, too.
WITCH 3: Malcolm’s crown shall ne’er grace
Thy bright brow or guard thy face.
WITCH 2: Only Banquo’s true son King.
They all laugh.
FLEANCE: Foul siblings, wicked mistresses of Death!
Thy murmurings make fools of sooth and sense!
He runs off.
Act 6, Scene 6
Castle grounds.
(Macbuff, Inquirers)
Enter Inquirers.
INQUIRER 1: Tis said Macbuff wanders these streets often.
Folk say he mumbles like a fool, perhaps
We shall find evidentiary proof ‘gainst him.
INQUIRER 2: Tis strange indeed that possible King would
Stray from castle rooms to simply wander,
When he could be pond’ring on being King.
INQUIRER 1: This smacks of strangeness.
Tis good we came, investigation calls.
INQUIRER 2: He comes!
Enter Macbuff, singing Macbuff Theme Song Reprise. He confesses in it; he killed the king, isn’t Banquo’s son, etc.
INQUIRER 2: Do not look there, dear Inquirer. This man
Is not sane; killing the late king is one thing,
But he is not dear Banquo’s kin! He lies!
Cur’st we are who lived his dreams, he is no
Heir.
INQUIRER 1: Our mouths must quiet; this information
Is too dang’rous to behold, my dear friend.
INQUIRER 2: To Fleance we must tell this truth.
Exeunt.
Act 6, Scene 7
Auditorium.
(Fleance, Inquirers, Macbuff, Macduff, Rosse, Noblemen)
Enter Fleance.
FLEANCE: The witches’ truths are veilέd lies, clever
Untruths that rot my insides; I doubted
Myself, because, and then I knew what not
To do! Macbeth cupped his ear to their words,
Now he hath no head, but I have my own!
Tis a false prophecy, naught but nonsense.
Tis folly to believe for moments short.
Enter Inquirers.
INQUIRER 1: My lord! The murderer is found!
FLEANCE: At last! Speak your turn.
INQUIRER 2: The Irish lad was naught but common born,
No King shall he be, not whilst his hands bleed.
The latent King died from his arrows sharp!
He killed your true brethren in Ireland,
Macduff went with him; only for his King
on strings.
FLEANCE: This foul plot we must behead!
INQUIRER 1: Listen! Someone comes.
FLEANCE: Make haste!
Exit Inquirers.
FLEANCE: Macbuff’s betrayal ‘twas predictable.
His demeanor ‘twas always not quite... straight.
But dear Macduff? My cuz, father figure
To mine eyes?
Something must have occur’d to him.
Enter Macbuff, Macduff, and Rosse. Macbuff is kissing Rosse’s baby.
FLEANCE: Traitor! Paunchy hedge-born, horn-beast!
Thou saucy, knotty-pated hugger-mugger!
You killed our king, dear Malcolm my mentor!
Macduff! Thy hands bleed pink as well! Thy face
Turns red; thy mind feels guilt, thy heart’s beat.
MACBUFF: Ay, me! My manly tunes destroyed!
Tries to flee.
FLEANCE: Guards! Detain him!
MACBUFF: Augh!
FLEANCE: Do not dispose of him!
Pause.
His haunch is mine!
He draws his sword. Macbuff tries to draw a tiny dagger, fails, and is slewn.
FLEANCE: Guards, guards! Take them away!
Guards/noblemen throw them off stage.
ROSSE: Fleance!
(aside) The crown of King Malcolm ‘twas stolen; mayhap
This one ‘twill suffice.
Handing him a crown.
All hail King Fleance! Purveyor of good!
ALL: All hail King Fleance!
FLEANCE: My people, I thank you. Thy Scotland will
Rise up against the tides of twisting fate,
Undone by witches’ nervous, twitching hands.
Thy superstitions shall not reappear.
Enter Witch 1.
WITCH 1: Now when all is said and done.
King Fleance sits on the throne.
His own worst enemy sits there;
Banquo’s son was the true heir.
He cannot hide from his fate,
Though he tried, it was the bait.
Destiny was written in
Stars, their mouths and lips barren.
Evil conquered, set i’ stone,
Macbeth hath finally lost the throne.
Our bodements came true in the end,
Good will to all we shall not send.
End Macbeth.
Related content
Comments: 8
impressive work, i have to do the same exact assignment -___-
btw, who is Macbuff?
👍: 0 ⏩: 0
I think I'd appreciate this more if I'd ever read Macbeth, but I like it well enough anyway. Nice work.
👍: 0 ⏩: 1
Well, thank you very much anyway.
👍: 0 ⏩: 0
Damn, that is some skill you have of making it iambic pentameter!
Awesome job!
👍: 0 ⏩: 1
*faints from the fact that its all in iambic pentametre*
that must have taken you hours.
i would punch my english teacher if he made us re-write a scene like that.
👍: 0 ⏩: 1
Took me round.... 8 hours, probably. Not including editing... I actually did the iambic pentameter out of my own volition. We only had to write the opening monologue in it. 
👍: 0 ⏩: 1
oooo.
youre crazy.
lol.
but i admit,
writing with that flowery language IS a lot of fun.
i hope you do good acting it out!!
👍: 0 ⏩: 0