To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last fyllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools

The way to dusky death. Out, out, brief candit!
Life's but a walking fhadow, a poor player,
That ftruts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more: it is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of found and fury,
Signifying nothing.

Enter a Messenger.

Thou com'ft to use thy tongue: thy ftory quickly.
Mef. My gracious Lord,

I should report that which, 'I'd' fay, I faw,
But know not how to do't.

Mach. Well, fay it, Sir.

Mef. As I did ftand my watch upon the hill, I look'd toward Birnam, and anon methought The wood began to move.

Mach. Liar, and flave!

[Striking bim.

Mef. Let me endure your wrath, if't be not fo:
Within this three mile you may fee it coming;
I fay, a moving grove.

Mach. If thou fpeak'st false,

Upon the next tree fhalt thou hang alive
'Till famine cling thee: If thy fpeech be footh,
I care not if thou do'ft for me as much.

I pull in refolution, and begin

To doubt th' equivocation of the fiend,

That lies like truth. Fear not, 'till Birnam wood
Do come to Dunfinane, and now a wood

Comes toward Dunfinane. Arm, arm, and out!
If this which he avouches does appear,

There is no flying hence, nor tarrying here;
I'gin to be a weary of the fun,

And

(a) Dusky graves. Rich. 3. 373. and the infernal God is call d dusky Dis, Temp. 55.

2 dufty... old edit. Theob, emend.

3 I

And wifh the ftate o'th' world were now undone.
Ring the alarum bell, blow wind, come wrack,
At least we'll die with harness on our back.

[Exeunt.

Enter Malcolm, Siward, Macduff, and their Army,

Mal. Now

with Boughs.

near enough: your leavy fcreens throw down,

And fhew like thofe you are. You (worthy uncle)
Shall with my coufin, your right noble fon,
Lead our first battel. Brave Macduff and we
Shall take upon's what else remains to do,
According to our order.

Siw. Fare you well:

Let us but find the tyrant's power to-night,
Let us be beaten, if we cannot fight.

Macd. Make all our trumpets fpeak, give them all breath, Thofe clam'rous harbingers of blood and death. [Exeunt. [Alarums continued.

Enter Macbeth.

Mach. They've ty'd me to a ftake, I cannot fly, But bear-like I muft fight the courfe. What's he That was not born of woman? fuch a one

Am I to fear, or none.

Enter Young Siward.

Yo. Siw. What is thy name?

Macb. Thou'lt be afraid to hear it.

Yo. Siw. No: though thou call'ft thy felf a hotter name

Than any

is in hell.

Mach. My name's Macbeth.

Yo. Siw.

Yo. Siw. The devil himself could not pronounce a tick More hateful to mine ear.

Mach. No, nor more fearful.

Yo. Siw. Thou lieft, abhorred tyrant; with my fwod the lie thou fpeak'st.

I'll prove

[Fight, and young Siward's fin

[Ex.

Mach. Thou waft born of woman;
But fwords I fmile at, weapons laugh to scorn,
Brandifh'd by man that's of a woman born.

Alarums. Enter Macduff.

Macd. That way the noife is: Tyrant, fhew thy face; If thou be'ft flain, and with no ftroke of mine, My wife and childrens ghosts will haunt me ftill. I cannot ftrike at wretched Kerns, whofe arms Are hir'd to bear their ftaves: Or thou, Macbeth, Or elfe my fword with an unbatter'd edge

I fheath again undeeded. There thou fhould't be —
By this great clatter one of greatest note

Seems bruited. Let me find him, fortune! and
More I beg not.

Enter Malcolm and Siward.

[Exit. Alarum,

Siw. This way, my Lord; the caftle's gently render'd:

The tyrant's people on both fides do fight,

The noble Thanes do bravely in the war,

The day almost it felf profeffes yours,

And little is to do.

Mal. We've met with foes

That ftrike befide us.

Siw. Enter, Sir, the castle.

[Exeunt. Alarum,

VII.

SCENE

Enter Macbeth.

Mach. Why fhould I play the Roman fool, and die On mine own fword? whilft I fee lives, the gafhes Do better upon them.

To

To him, enter Macduff.

Macd. Turn, hell-hound, turn.

Mach. Of all men elfe I have avoided thee:
But get thee back, my foul is too much charg'd
With blood of thine already.
Macd. I've no words,

My voice is in my fword. Thou bloodier villain
Than terms can give thee out!

Mach. Thou lofeft labour,

As eafie may't thou the intrenchant air

[Fight. Alarum.

With thy keen fword imprefs, as make me bleed:
Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests,

I bear a charmed life, which muft not yield
To one of woman born.

Macd. Defpair thy charm,

And let the angel whom thou still haft ferv'd
Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb
Untimely ripp'd.

Mach. Accurfed be that tongue that tells me fo;
For it hath cow'd my better part of man:
And be thefe juggling fiends no more believ'd,
That palter with us in a double fenfe;
That keep the word of promise to our ear,
And break it to our hope! I'll not fight with thee.
Macd. Then yield thee, coward,

And live to be the fhew, and gaze o' th' time.
We'll have thee, as our rarer monsters are,
Painted upon a pole, and under-writ,

Here may you fee the Tyrant.

Mach. I'll not yield

To kifs the ground before young Malcolm's feet,
And to be baited with the rabble's curse.
Though Birnam wood be come to Dunfinane,
And thou oppos'd, being of no woman born;
Yet I will try the laft. Before my body
1 throw my warlike fhield. Lay on, Macduff,
And damn'd be he, that first cries hold, enough.
[Exeunt fighting. Alarum.
SCENE

Retreat and Flourish. Enter with Drum and Colours, Mi'colm, Siward, Roffe, Thanes, and Soldiers.

Mal. I would the friends we mifs were fafe arriv'd. Siw. Some must go off: and yet by these I fee, So great a day as this is cheaply bought.

Mal. Macduff is miffing, and your noble fon.
Roffe. Your fon, my Lord, has paid a foldier's debt;
He only liv'd but till he was a man,

The which no fooner had his + prowefs' confirm'd
In the unfhrinking ftation where he fought,

But like a man he dy❜d.

Siw. Then is he dead?

{row

Roffe. Ay, and brought off the field: your caufe of for

Muft not be meafur'd by his worth, for then

It hath no end.

Siw. Had he hurts before?

Roffe. Ay, on the front.

Siw. Why then, God's foldier be he!

Had I as many fons as I have hairs,

I would not wifh them to a fairer death:
And fo his knell is knoll'd.

Mal. He's worth more forrow,

And that I'll spend for him.

Siw. He's worth no more;

They fay he parted well, and paid his score,
So God be with him! Here comes newer comfort.

Enter Macduff with Macbeth's head.

[ftands

Macd. Hail, King! for fo thou art. Behold, where Th' ufurper's curfed head; the time is free: I fee thee compaft with thy kingdom's peers, That fpeak my falutation in their minds: Whofe voices I defire aloud with mine.

4 prow'ls

Hail,