The noble thanes do bravely in the war; Macb. Why should I play the Roman fool, and die On mine own sword? Whiles I see lives, the gashes Do better upon them. Macd. Re-enter MACDUFF. Turn, hell-hound, turn. Macb. Of all men else I have avoided thee; But get thee back; my soul is too much charged With blood of thine already. Macd.. I have no words; Thou losest labor: My voice is in my sword; thou bloodier villain Macb. As easy may'st thou the intrenchant air [They fight. With thy keen sword impress, as make me bleed. I bear a charmed life, which must not yield Macd. Despair thy charm; And let the angel, whom thou still hast served, Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb. Untimely ripped. Macb. Accursed be that tongue that tells me so, For it hath cowed my better part of man: And be these juggling fiends no more believed, 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. 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, Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane, And thou opposed, being of no woman born, Retreat. Flourish. Re-enter, with drum and colors, MAL Mal. I would the friends we miss were safe arrived. Siw. Some must go off; and yet, by these I see, So great a day as this is cheaply bought. 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 sorrow Must not be measured by his worth, for then It hath no end. Siw. Had he his hurts before? Rosse. 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 knolled. Mal. And that I'll spend for him. Siw. He's worth more sorrow, He's worth no more; They say, he parted well, and paid his score; Re-enter MACDUFF, with MACBETH's head on a pole. Macd. Hail, king! for so thou art. Behold, where stands The usurper's cursed head: the time is free: I see thee compassed with thy kingdom's pearl, Whose voices I desire aloud with mine, Hail, king of Scotland! All. Hail, king of Scotland! [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, Of this dead butcher, and his fiendlike queen; [Flourish. Exeunt. VOL. 11.-11 |