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The noble thanes do bravely in the war;
We have met with foes
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.
Turn, hell-hound, turn.
I have no words;
[They fight. Macb.
Thou losest labor :
Despair thy charm;
Macb. Accursed be that tongue that tells me so,
Macd. Then yield thee, coward,
I'll not yield
And thou opposed, being of no woman born,
[Exeunt, fighting Retreat. Flourish. Re-enter, with drum and colors, Mal.
COLM, Old SIWARD, ROSSE, LENOX, ANGUS, CATHNESS,
Siw. Some must go off; and yet, by these I see,
Mal. Macduff is missing, and your noble son.
Rosse. Your son, my lord, has paid a soldier's debt. He only lived but till he was a man; The which no sooner had his prowess confirmed 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
Must not be measured by his worth, for then
Had he his hurts before ?
Why, then, God's soldier be he!
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; And so, God be with him!— Here comes newer comfort.
Re-enter MACDUFF, with MACBETH's head on a pole.
[Flourish. Mal. We shall not spend a large expense of time, Before we reckon with your several loves, And make us even with you. My thanes and kinsmen, Henceforth be earls, the first that ever Scotland In such an honor named. What's more to do, Which would be planted newly with the time,As calling home our exiled friends abroad, That fled the snares of watchful tyranny; Producing forth the cruel ministers Of this dead butcher, and his fiendlike queen; Who, as 'tis thought, by self and violent hands Took off her life; - this, and what needful else That calls upon us, by the grace of Grace, We will perform in measure, time, and place; So thanks to all at once, and to each one, Whom we invite to see us crowned at Scone.