The first thing he heard when he got out of the witches’ cave, was, that Macduff, thane of Fife, had fled to England, to join the army which was forming against him under Malcolm, the eldest son of the late king, with intent to displace Macbeth, and set Malcolm, the right heir, upon the throne.  Macbeth, stung with rage, set upon the castle of Macduff, and put his wife and children, whom the thane had left behind, to the sword, and extended the slaughter to all who claimed the least relationship to Macduff.

These and such-like deeds alienated the minds of all his chief nobility from him.  Such as could, fled to join with Malcolm and Macduff, who were now approaching with a powerful army which they had raised in England; and the rest secretly wished success to their arms, though for fear of Macbeth they could take no active part.  His recruits went on slowly.  Every body hated the tyrant, nobody loved or honoured him, but all suspected him, and he began to envy the condition of Duncan whom he had murdered, who slept soundly in his grave, against whom treason had done its worst:  steel nor poison, domestic malice nor foreign levies, could hurt him any longer.

While these things were acting, the queen, who had been the sole partner in his wickedness, in whose bosom he could sometimes seek a momentary repose from those terrible dreams which afflicted them both nightly, died, it is supposed by her own hands, unable to bear the remorse of guilt, and public hate; by which event he was left alone, without a soul to love or care for him, or a friend to whom he could confide his wicked purposes.

He grew careless of life, and wished for death; but the near approach of Malcolm’s army roused in him what remained of his ancient courage, and he determined to die (as he expressed it) “with armour on his back.”  Besides this, the hollow promises of the witches had filled him with false confidence, and he remembered the sayings of the spirits, that none of woman born was to hurt him, and that he was never to be vanquished till Birnam wood should come to Dunsinane, which he thought could never be.  So he shut himself up in his castle, whose impregnable strength was such as defied a siege:  here he sullenly waited the approach of Malcolm.  When, upon a day, there came a messenger to him, pale and shaking with fear, almost unable to report that which he had seen:  for he averred, that as he stood upon his watch on the hill, he looked towards Birnam, and to his thinking the wood began to move!  “Liar and slave,” cried Macbeth; “if thou speakest false, thou shalt hang alive upon the next tree, till famine end thee.  If thy tale be true, I care not if thou dost as much by me:”  for Macbeth now began to faint in resolution, and to doubt the equivocal speeches of the spirits.  He was not to fear, till Birnam wood should come to Dunsinane:  and now a wood did move!  “However,” said he, “if this which he avouches be true, let us arm and out.  There is no flying hence, nor staying here.  I begin to be weary of the sun, and wish my life at an end.”  With these desperate speeches he sallied forth upon the besiegers, who had now come up to the castle.