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Direness, fainiliar to my slaughtrous thoughts,
Cannot once start me.- -Wherefore was that cry?

Sey. The queen, my lord, is dead.

Mucb. She should have died bereafter;
There would have been a time for such a word.
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools

way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow: a poor player, That strats and frets his hour



And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing-

Enter a Messenger.
Thou com’st to use thy tongue; thy story quickly.

Mess. Gracious, my lord,
I shall report that which I say I saw,
But know not how to do it.

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!

[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.

If thou speak'st false,
Upon the next tree shall thou hang alive,
Till famine cling thee: if thy speech be sooth,
I care not if thou dost for me as much,
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 son,
And wish the estate o'the world were now undone.
Ring the alarúm bell : Blow, wind! come,

wrack! At least we'll die with harness on our back. [Exeunte

SCENE VI. The same. A Plain before the Castle.
Enter, with Drums and Colours, MALCOLM, old Si-
WARD, MACDUFF, fc. and their Army, with Boughs.
Mal. Now near enough; your leafy screens throw

And show like those you are You, worthy uncle,
Sball, 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.

Fare you well.-
Do we but find the tyrant's power to-night;
Let us be beaten, if we cannot fight.
Macd. Make all our trumpets speak; give them all

breath, Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death.

[Exeunt. Alarums continued.

SCENE VII. The same. Another Purt of the Plain.

Macb. They have tied me to a stake ; I cannot fly,
But, bear-like, I must fight the course.- What's lie,
That was not born of woman? Such a one
Am I to fear, or none.


Y. Siw. What is tliy name?

Thou'lt be afraid to hear it.
Y. Siw. No; though thou call'st thyself a hotter name
Than any is in hell.

My name's Macheth.

Y. Siw. The devil himself could not pronounce a title More hateful to mine ear. Macb.

No, nor more fearful. Y. Siw. Thou liest, abhorred tyrant; with my sword I'll prove the lie thou speak’st.

[They fight, and young Siward is slain. Macb.

Thou wast born of woman.-But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn, Brandish'd by man that's of a woman born. [Exit.

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 ghost will haunt me still. I capnot strike at wretched kernes, whose arms Are hir'd to bear their staves; either thou, Macbeth, Or else my sword, with an unbatter'd edge, I sheathe again undeeded. There thou shouldst be; By this great clatter, one of greatest note Seems bruiled: Let me find him, fortune! And more I beg not.

[Exit. Alarum.
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.

We have met with foes
That strike beside us.

Enter, sir, the castle.

[Exeunt. Alarum. Re-enter MACBETH. Macb. Why should I play the Roman fool, and die, On mine own sword? whiles 1 see lives, the gashes Do better upon them.

Re-enter MACDUFF. Macd.

Turn, hell-bound, turn, Macb. Of all inen 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!

[They fight. Macb.

Thou losest labour: As easy may'st thou the intrenchant air With thy keen sword impress, as make me bleed : Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests; I bear a charmed life, which must not yield To one of woman born. Macd.

Despair thy charm;
And let the angel, whom thou still hast serv'd,
Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb
Untinely ripp'd.

Macb. Accursed be that tongue that tells me so,
For it hath cow'd my belter part of man
And be these juggling 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 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.

I'll not yield,
To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feel,
And to be baited with the rabble's curse.
Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane,
And thou oppos’d, being of no woman born,
Yet I will try the last: Before my body
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, old SiWARD, Rosse, LENOX, ANGUS,
CATHNESS, Menteth, and Soldiers.
Mal. I would, the friends we miss were safe arriv'd.


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. Yoar 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?
Rosse. Ay, and brought off the field : your cause of
Must not be measur'd by his worth, for then
It hath no end.

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 his knoll'd.

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;
So, God be with him!—Here comes newer comfort.
Re-enter MACDUFF, with MACBETH's Head on a Pole.
Macd. Hail, king! for so thou art: Behold, where

The usurper's cursed head : the time is free:
I see thee compass'd with thy kingdom's pearl,
That speak my salutation in their minds;
Whose voices I desire aloud with mine,-
Hail, king of Scotland !

King of Scotland, hail !

[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 honour nam'd. What's more to do,

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