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Mal. Let every soldier hew him down a bough,
It shall be done.
Siw. We learn no other but the confident tyrant Keeps still in Dunsinane, and will endure
Our setting down before 't.
Let our just censures
The time approaches,
That will with due decision make us know
Within the Castle.
Enter, with drum and colours, MACBETH, SEYTON,
Macb. Hang out our banners on the outward walls;
Were they not forc'd with those that should be ours,
And beat them backward home. [A cry of women within.
Sey. It is the cry of women, my good lord.
As life were in 't: I have supp'd full with horrors;
Wherefore was that cry?
Sey. The queen, my lord, is dead.
Macb. She should have died hereafter;
There would have been a time for such a word.-
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Enter a Messenger.
Thou com'st to use thy tongue; thy story quickly.
I should report that which I say I saw,
Well, say, sir.
Mess. As I did stand my watch upon the hill, I look'd toward Birnam, and anon, methought, The wood began to move.
Liar, and slave!
Macb. [Striking him. Mess. Let me endure your wrath, if 't be not so. Within this three mile may you see it coming; I say, a moving grove. Macb.
If thou speak'st false,
Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive,
I pull in resolution; and begin
To doubt the equivocation of the fiend
That lies like truth: Fear not, till Birnam wood
Do come to Dunsinane;-and now a wood
Comes toward Dunsinane.--Arm, arm, and out!
If this which he avouches does appear,
There is nor flying hence nor tarrying here.
I'gin to be a-weary of the sun,
And wish the estate o' the world were now undone.—
Ring the alarum-bell!-Blow, wind! come, wrack!
SCENE VI.-The same. A Plain before the Castle.
Enter, with drum and colours, MALCOLM, old SIWARD, MACDUFF, &c., and their Army, with boughs.
Mal. Now near enough; your leafy screens throw down, And show like those you are.-You, worthy uncle,
Shall, with my cousin, your right-noble son,
Macd. Make all our trumpets speak; give them all breath, Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death. [Exeunt.
SCENE VII.-The same.
Another part of the Plain.
Alarums. Enter MACBETH.
Mach. 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?
Am I to fear, or none.
Such a one
Enter young SIWARD.
Yo. Siw. What is thy name?
Thou 'lt be afraid to hear it.
Mach. Yo. Siw. No; though thou call 'st thyself a hotter name Than any is in hell.
My name's Macbeth.
Macb. Yo. Siw. The devil himself could not pronounce a title More hateful to mine ear.
No, nor more fearful.
Macb. Yo. Siw. Thou liest, abhorred tyrant; with my sword I'll prove the lie thou speak'st.
[They fight, and young SIWARD is slain.
But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn,
Alarums. Enter MACDUFF.
Macd. That way the noise is. -Tyrant, show thy face!
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 kerns, whose arms
I sheathe again undeeded. There thou shouldst be;
Enter MALCOLM and old SIWARD.
Siw. This way, my lord;-the castle's gently render'd: 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.
SCENE VIII.-The same. Another part of the Plain.
Macb. Why should I play the Roman fool, and die
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.
I have no words,My voice is in my sword: thou bloodier villain Than terms can give thee out!
Thou losest labour:
As easy mayst thou the intrenchant air
With thy keen sword impress, as make me bleed:
I bear a charmed life, which must not yield
To one of woman born.
Despair thy charm;
Macd. Accursed be that tongue that tells me so,
And be these juggling fiends no more believ❜d,
And break it to our hope!-I'll not fight with thee,
And live to be the show and gaze o' the time:
Painted upon a pole, and underwrit,
Here may you see the tyrant.
I will not yield,
I throw my warlike shield: lay on, Macduff;
Retreat. Flourish. Enter, with drum and colours, MALCOLM, · old SIWARD, ROSS, LENNOX, ANGUS, CAITHNESS, MENTEITH, and Soldiers.
Mal. I would the friends we miss were safe arriv'd.
Siw. Some must go of; and yet, by these I see,
So great a day as this is cheaply bought.
Mal. Macduff is missing, and your noble son.
Ross. 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?
Ross. 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?
Ross. Ay, on the front.
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.
And that I'll spend for him.
He's worth more sorrow,
He's worth no more:
They say he parted well, and paid his score:
And so, God be with him!-Here comes newer comfort.