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The Same. A Plain before the Castle.

Enter, with Drum and Colours, MAlco LM, oldSIw ARD, MacDUFF, &c. and their Army, with Boughs.

Mal. Now near enough; your leavy screens throw down, And show like those you are:—You, worthy uncle, Shall, with my cousin, your right-noble son, Lead our first battle : worthy Macduff, and we, Shall take upon us what else remains to do, According to our order. Siw. Fare you well.— Do we but find the tyrant's power to-night, Let us be beaten, if we cannot fight. Macd. Make all our trumpets speak; give them all breath, Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death. [Ereunt. Alarums continued.


The Same. Another Part of the Plain.
Enter Macbeth.

Macb. They have tied me to a stake; I cannot fly, But, bear-like, I must fight the course.—What's he,

That was not born of woman? Such a one
Am I to fear, or none.

Enter young Siwabd.

Yo. Siw. What is thy name?

Macb. Thou'lt be afraid to hear it.

Yo. She. No; though thou call'st thyself a hotter

name Than any is in hell.

Macb. My name's Macbeth.

Yo. Sim. The devil himself could not pronounce a


More hateful to mine ear,
Macb. No, nor more fearful.

Yo. She. Thou liest, abhorred tyrant; with my

sword I'll prove the lie thou speak'st

[Theyjight, and young Siward is slain. Macb. Thou wast born of woman.—

But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn, Brandish'd by man that's of a woman born. [Exit*

Alarums. Enter Macduff.

Macd. That way the noise is:—Tyrant, show thy


If thou be'st slain, and with no stroke of mine,
My wife and children's ghosts will haunt me still.
I cannot strike at wretched kernes, whose arms
Are hir'd to bear their staves; either thou, Macbeth,
Or else my sword, with an unbatter'd edge,

I sheathe again undeeded. There thou should'st bej

By this great clatter, one of greatest note

Seems bruited: Let me find him, fortune!

And more I beg not. [£rif. Ala mm.

Enter Malcolm and old Siward.

She. This way, my lord; — the castle's gently ren


The tyrant's people on both sides do fight;
The noble thanes do bravely in the war;
The day almost itself professes yours,
And little is to do.

Mai. We have met with foes

That strike beside us.

Siw. Enter, sir, the castle.

[Exeunt. Alarum,

Re-enter Macbeth.

Macb. Why should I play the Roman fool, and die On mine own sword ? whiles I see lives, the gashes Do better upon them.

Re-enter Macduff.

Macd. Turn, hell-hound, turn.

Macb. Of all men else I have avoided thee: But get thee back, my soul is too much charg'd With blood of thine already.

Macd. I have no words,

My voice is in my sword; thou bloodier villain
Than terms can give thee out! [TheyJigM.

Macb. Thou losest labour:

As easy may'st thou the intrenchant air
With thy keen sword impress, as make me bleed:
Let fell thy blade on vulnerable crests;
I bear a charmed life K, which must not yield
To one of woman born.

Macd. Despair thy charm;

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

Macb. Accursed be that tongue that tells me so,
For it hath cow'd my better part of man!
And be these juggling fiends no more believ'd,
That palter with us in a double sense;
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 show and gaze o'the time.
We'll have thee, as our rarer monsters are.
Painted upon a pole; and underwrit,
Here may you see the tyrant.

Macb. I'll not yield,

To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet.
And to be baited with the rabble's curse.
Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane,
And thou oppos'd, being of no woman born,
Yet I will try the last: Before my body
I throw my warlike shield: lay on, Macduff;
And damn'd be him that first cries, Hold, enough.

[Exeunt, fighting.

Retreat. Flourish. Re-enter with Drum and Colours, Malcolm, oWSiwARD, Rosse, Lenox, Angus, Cathness, Menteth, and Soldiers.

Mai. I would the friends we miss, were safe arriv'd.

Siw. Some must go off: and yet, by these I see, So great a day as this is cheaply bought.

Mai. Macduff is missing, and your noble son.

Rosse. Your son, my lord, has paid a soldier's debt: He only liv'd but till he was a man; The which no sooner had his prowess confirm'd In the unshrinking station where he fought, But like a man he died.

Siw. Then he is dead?

Rosse. Ay, and brought off the field: your cause

of sorrow

Must not be measur'd by his worth, for then
It hath no end.

Siw. Had he his hurts before?

Rosse. Ay, on the front.

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

Had I as many sons as I have hairs,
I would not wish them to a fairer death:
And so his knell is knoll'd*8.

Mai. He's worth more sorrow,

And that I'll spend for him.

Siw. He's worth no more;

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

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