I'gin to be aweary of the fun, And wish the eftate o'the world were now undone._ Ring the alarum bell:- Blow, wind! come, wrack! At least we'll dye with harness on our back. [Exeunt. SCENE VI. The fame. Plain before the Caftle. Enter, with Drum and Colours, MALCOLM, old SEYWARD, MACDUFF, &C. and Forces, with Boughs. MAL. Now, near enough; your leavy screens throw And fhew like those you are:-You, worthy uncle, [down, 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. o. S. Fare you well. Do we but find the tyrant's power to-night, [breath, MACd. Make all our trumpets fpeak, give them all Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death. [Exeunt. SCENE VII. The fame. Another Part of the Plain. Alarums, as of a Battle join'd. Skirmishings. Enter MACBETH. MAC. They have ty'd 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 SEXWARD. y. S. What is thy name? MAC'. Thou'lt be afraid to hear it. y. S. Than any No; though thou call'ft thyfelf a hotter name is in hell. Macb. My name's Macbeth. S. The devil himself could not pronounce a title y. More hateful to mine ear. MAC. No, nor more fearful. J. S. Thou ly'ft, abhorred tyrant; with my fword I'll prove the lye thou speak'ft. [fight; and young Seyward is flain. MAC. Thou waft born of woman. But fwords I fmile at, weapons laugh to fcorn, Alarums. Enter MACDUFF. [Exit. MAC. That way the noise is: Tyrant, fhew thy face; I fheath again undeeded. There thou should'ft be; o. S. This way, my lord; the caftle's gently render'd: t The tyrant's people on both fides do fight; The noble thanes do bravely in the war; And little is to do. MAL. We have met with foes That ftrike befide us. 0. S. Enter, fir, the castle. Re-enter MACBETH. [Exeunt. Alarums. MAC. Why fhould I play the Roman fool, and dye On mine own sword? whiles I fee lives, the gashes Do better upon them: Re-enter MACDUFF. MAC. Turn, hell-hound, turn. MAC. Of all men else I have avoided thee: But get thee back, my foul is too much charg'd With blood of thine already. MACd. I have no words, My voice is in my fword; thou bloodier villain MAC'. Thou loseft labour: As easy may'st thou the intrenchant air [fight. With thy keen fword imprefs, as make me bleed: I bear a charmed life, which muft not yield MAC. Defpair thy charm; And let the angel, whom thou still haft ferv'd, MAC. Accurfed be that tongue that tells me fo, And be these jugling 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 fhew and gaze o'the time. We'll have thee, as our rarer monsters are, Painted upon a pole; and under-writ, Here may you fee the tyrant. MAC. I will not yield, To kifs the ground before young Malcolm's feet, 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, and old SEY WARD; with ROSSE, MAL. I would the friends, we mifs, were fafe arriv'd. o. S. 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. Ros. Your fon, my lord, has pay'd a foldier's debt: He only liv'd but 'till he was a man; The which no fooner had his prowess confirm'd In the unfhrinking ftation where he fought, But like a man he dy'd. o. S. Then he is dead? [forrow Ros. Ay, and brought off the field: your cause of Muft not be measur'd by his worth, for then It hath no end. o. S. Had he his hurts before? Ros. Ay, on the front. o. S. 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: And fo his knell is knoll'd. MAL. He's worth more forrow, VOL. IV. They fay, he parted well, and pay'd his score: And fo, God be with him! Here comes newer comfort. Re-enter MACDUFF, with Macbeth's Head. MACd. Hail, king! for fo thou art: Behold, where stands The usurper's curfed head: the time is free: I fee thee compaff'd with thy kingdom's pearl, That speak my falutation in their minds; Whose voices I desire aloud with mine, Hail, king of Scotland! all. Hail, king of Scotland! [Flourish. MAL. We fhall not spend a large expence 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 fiend-like queen; Flourish. [Exeunt. |