That ftruts and frets his hour upon the Stage, Enter a Meffenger. Thou com'ft to ufe thy tongue: thy ftory quickly. I fhould report That which, I say, I saw, Mach. Well, fay it, Sir. Mef. As I did ftand my watch upon the hill, I look'd toward Birnam, and anon, methought, The Wood began to move. Macb. Liar, and flave! [Striking him. Mef. Let me endure your wrath, if't be not so: Within this three mile may you fee it coming; I fay, a moving grove. Macb. If thou fpeak'ft, falfe, Upon the next tree fhalt thou hang alive, I pull in Refolution, and begin To doubt the equivocation of the fiend, That lies like truth. Fear not, 'till Birnam-wood Comes towards Dunfinane. Arm, arm, and out! And wish, the ftate o'th' world were now undone. VI. Before DUNSINANE. Enter Malcolm, Siward, Macduff, and their Army Mal. NOW with Boughs. TOW, near enough: your leavy fcreens throw down, And And fhew like thofe you are. You (worthy uncle) Lead our firft battle. Shall take upon's what else remains to do, Siw. Fare you well: Do We but find the Tyrant's Power to night, [breath, Macd. Make all our trumpets fpeak, give them all Thofe clam'rous harbingers of blood and death. [Exe. [Alarums continued. Enter Macbeth. Macb. They've ty'd me to a flake, I cannot fly, But, bear-like, I muft fight the courfe. What's he, That was not born of woman? fuch a one Am I to fear, or none. Enter young Siward. Yo. Siw. What is thy name? Macb. Thou'lt be afraid to hear it. [name, Yo. Siw. No: though thou call'ft thyfelf a hotter Than any is in hell. Mach. My name's Macbeth. [title Yo. Siw. The devil himself could not pronounce a More hateful to mine ear. Mach. No, nor more fearful. [fword Yo. Siw. Thou lieft, abhorred Tyrant; with my I'll prove the lie thou speak'ft. [Fight, and young Siward's flain. Macb. Thou waft born of woman ; But fwords I fmile at, weapons laugh to scorn, Alarums. Enter Macduff. [Exit. Macd. That way the noife is: Tyrant, fhew thy face; If thou be'ft flain, and with no ftroke of mine, My wife and children's ghofts will haunt me ftill. I cannot strike at wretched Kernes, whose arms Are hir'd to bear their ftaves: Or thou, Macbeth, Or elfe my fword with an unbatter'd edge I fheath I fheath again undeeded. There thou fhould'ft be-- Enter Malcolm and Siward. Exit. Alarm. Siw. This way, my lord, the Caftle's gently renThe tyrant's people on both fides do fight; [der'd: The noble Thanes do bravely in the war; The day almost itself profeffes yours, And little is to do. Mal. We've met with foes, That ftrike befide us. Siw. Enter, Sir, the Castle. SCENE Miacb. W [Exeunt, Alarm. VII. Enter Macbeth. HY fhould I play the Roman fool, and die Do better upon them. To him, enter Macduff. Macd. Turn, hell-hound, turn. [gafhes Macb. Of all men elfe I have avoided thee : But get thee back, my foul is too much charg'd With blood of thine already. Macd. I've no words; My voice is in my fword! thou bloodier villain, Than terms can give thee out. Macb. Thou lofeft labour; As cafy may't thou the intrenchant air [Fight. Alarm. With thy keen fword imprefs, as make me bleed: I bear a charmed life, which must not yield Macd. Defpair thy Charm! And let the Angel, whom thou ftill haft ferv'd, Macb. Accurfed be that tongue that tells me fo, For For it hath cow'd my better part of man : 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 fhew, and gaze o' th' time. Here may you fee the tyrant. To kifs the ground before young Malcolm's feet: SCENE VIII. Retreat and flourish. Enter with Drum and Colours, Malcolm, Siward, Roffe, Thanes and Soldiers. Mal. Would, the friends, we mifs, were fafe ar •I riv'd. Siw. Some muft go off: and yet, by these I fee, So great a day as this is cheaply bought. Mal. Macduff is mifling, and your noble fon. The which no fooner had his prowess confirm'd, Siw. Then is he dead? Roffe. Ay, and brought off the field: your cause of forrow Muft not be meafur'd by his worth, for then Siw. Had he his hurts before? Roffe. Ay, on the front. Siw. Why then, God's foldier be he! I would not wish them to a fairer death: Mal. He's worth more forrow, They fay, he parted well, and paid his score. Macd. Hail, King! for fo thou art. Behold, where ftands Th' Ufurper's curfed head; the time is free: All. Hail, King of Scotland! [Flourish. Mal. We fhall not spend a large expence of time, Of this dead butcher, and his fiend-like Queen; 3 [Flourish. Exeunt omnes The End of the Seventh Volume. |