Macb. Liar and slave ! 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. Macb. If thou speak'st false, Upon the next tree shalt 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 th' equivocation of the fiend, That lies like truth: "Fear not, till Birnam wood Comes toward Dunsinane.-Arm, arm, and out!- There is nor flying hence, nor tarrying here. I 'gin to be a-weary of the sun, And wish th' estate o' the world were now undone.- [Exeunt. SCENE VI.-DUNSINANE. A Plain before the Castle. Enter, with drum and colours, MALCOLM, Old SIward, Macduff, &c., and their army with boughs. Mal. Now near enough; your leafy screens throw down, And show like those you are.-You, worthy uncle, 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. 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. SCENE VII.-Another Part of the Plain. Alarums. Enter MACBETH. Macb. They have tied 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 SIward. Yo. Siw. What is thy name? Macb. Thou 'It be afraid to hear it. Yo. Siw. No; though thou call'st thyself a hotter name, Than any is in hell. Macb. My name's Macbeth. Yo. Siw. The devil himself could not pronounce a title More hateful to mine car. Macb. No, nor more tearful. Yo. Siw. Thou liest, abhorred tyrant; with my sword I'll prove the lie thou speak'st. Macb. [They fight, and Young SIWARD is slain. But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn, 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 ghosts will haunt me still. I cannot 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 ; Enter MALCOLM and Old Siward. - [Exit. [Exit. Alarum. 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, 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! Mach. Of all men else I have avoided thee: But get thee back; my soul is too much charg'd Macd. I have no words,— My voice is in my sword; thou bloodier villain Than terms can give thee out! Macb. [They fight. Thou losest labour: As easy mayst 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 Mach. Accursed be that tongue that tells me so, 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." I will not yield, Macb. I throw my warlike shield: lay on, Macduff; [Exeunt, fighting. Retreat. Flourish. Re-enter, with drum and colours, MALCOLM, Old SIWARD, ROSSE, Thanes, and Soldiers. Mal. I would the friends we miss were safe arriv'd. 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 liv'd but till he was a man ; The which no sooner had his prowess confirm'd 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 measur'd by his worth, for then It hath no end. Siw. Had he his hurts before? Why then, God's soldier be he! Rosse. Ay, on the front. Had I as many sons as I have hairs, I would not wish them to a fairer death: And so, his knell is knoll'd. 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: And so, God be with him!-Here comes newer comfort. Macd. Hail, king! for so thou art: behold, where stands The usurper's cursed head: the time is free: I see thee compass'd with thy kingdom's pearl, All. Hail, king of Scotland! [Flourish Mal. We shall not spend a large expense of time, Of this dead butcher, and his fiend-like queen,— [Flourish. Exeunt. |