Siward. Good bye. And if the enemy we meet to-night, Macduff. Well said, my lad of wax, (38) we'll all act right, And the vile foe most preciously we'll drub. Malcolm. Enough! sound trumpets, beat a rub-a-dub. (39) Enter Macbeth. Ex. severally. I am beset, so here I needs must stay, Enter Siward. What is thy name? No! were it botter than all those in hell. Sir, that insinuation I deny, And this, my sword, shall prove thou'st told a lie. (They fight-Siward is killed. Macbeth. Thou'rt goue to pot; (41) and so shall every other That has to boast he ever had a mother. Enter Mucduff. Macduff. Turn, hell-hound, turn! Macbeth. Then I will turn my back, For more of thy blood now, I do not lack. Macduff My tongue is in my sword! 'tis that shall say What now I mean. Macbeth. Thy labour's thrown away; Thou mayst as soon th' intrenchant air, indeed, |