To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow The way to dusky death. Out, out, brief candit! Told by an idiot, full of found and fury, Enter a Messenger. Thou com'ft to use thy tongue: thy ftory quickly. I should report that which, 'I'd' fay, I faw, 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: Mach. If thou fpeak'st false, Upon the next tree fhalt thou hang alive I pull in refolution, and begin To doubt th' equivocation of the fiend, That lies like truth. Fear not, 'till Birnam wood Comes toward Dunfinane. Arm, arm, and out! There is no flying hence, nor tarrying here; 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. [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) Siw. Fare you well: Let us but find the tyrant's power to-night, 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; 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 — Seems bruited. Let me find him, fortune! and 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: My voice is in my fword. Thou bloodier villain Mach. Thou lofeft labour, As eafie may't thou the intrenchant air [Fight. Alarum. With thy keen fword imprefs, as make me bleed: I bear a charmed life, which muft not yield Macd. Defpair thy charm, And let the angel whom thou still haft ferv'd Mach. Accurfed be that tongue that tells me fo; And live to be the fhew, and gaze o' th' time. Here may you fee the Tyrant. Mach. I'll not yield To kifs the ground before young Malcolm's feet, 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. The which no fooner had his + prowefs' confirm'd 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: 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, 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, |