Siward.

Good bye.

And if the enemy we meet to-night,
Let us be beaten if we cannot fight.

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,
And needs must fight-I cannot run away.
No matter for the row, (40) all I may scorn,
Save him, indeed, not of a woman born.

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,
With thy keen sword impress, as make me bleed;
I bear a charmed life which none can harm,
That is of woman born

UPON

MACBETH TRAVESTIE,

After the manner of

DR. JOHNSON, G. STEEVENS, Esq.

AND THE

VARIOUS COMMENTATORS.