If this, which he avouches, does appear,
There is nor flying hence, nor tarrying here,
I 'gin to be a-weary of the Sun;

And wifh, the ftate o'th' world were now undone.
Ring the alarum bell; blow, wind! come, wrack!
At leaft, we'll die with harness on our back. [Exeunt.

Enter Malcolm, Siward, Macduff, and their Army with boughs.

Mal. NOW, near enough: your leafy screens throw

down,

And fhew like those you are. You (worthy uncle)
Shall with my coufin, your right noble fon,

Lead our firft battle.

Brave Macduff and we

Shall take upon's what else remains to do,
According to our order.

Siw. 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 fpeak,givethemallbreath, Thofe clam'rous harbingers of blood and death. [Exe. [Alarms continued.

Enter Macbeth.

Mach. They've ty'd me to a stake, 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?

Mach. Thou'lt be afraid to hear it.

Yo. Siw. No: though thou call'st thyself a hotter name, Than any is in hell.

Mach. My name's Macbeth.

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

Mach.

Macb. No, nor more fearful.

Yo. Siw. Thou lieft, abhorred tyrant ; with my fword 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 fcorn,
Brandifh'd by man that's of a woman born.

Alarms. Enter Macduff.

[Exit.

Macd. That way the noife is: Tyrant, fhew thy face If thou be'ft flain, and with no stroke of mine, My wife and children's ghosts will haunt me ftill. I cannot ftrike at wretched Kernes, whofe arms Are hir'd to bear their ftaves: Or thou, Macbeth, Or elfe my fword with an unbatter'd edge

I fheath again undeeded. There thou shouldft beBy this great clatter, one of greatest note

Seems bruited.

Let me find him, fortune!

And more I beg not.

Enter Malcolm and Siward.

[Exit. Alarm.

Siw. This way, my Lord, the caftle's gently render'd: The tyrant's people on both fides do fight;

The noble Thanes do bravely in the war;

The day almoft itself profeffes yours,

And little is to do.

Mal. We've met with foes,

That ftrike befide us.

Siw. Enter, Sir, the caftle.

Enter Macbeth.

[Exeunt. Alarm.

Mach. Why fhould I play the Roman fool, and die On mine own fword? whilft I fee lives, the gashes Do better upon them.

To him, Enter Macduff.

Macd. Turn, hell-hound, turn.

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.

Mach.

Macd. I've no words;

My voice is in my fword! thou bloodier villain,
Than terms can give thee out.

Macb. Thou lofest labour;

As eafy may'ft thou the intrenchant air

[Fight. Alarm.

With thy keen fword 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. Defpair thy charm!

And let the angel, whom thou still haft ferv'd,
Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb
Untimely ripp'd.

Mach. Accurfed be that tongue, that tells me so, For it hath cow'd my better part of man:

And be thefe juggling fiends no more believ'd,
That palter with us in a double sense;
That keep the word of promife 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'th' time.
We'll have thee, as our rarer monsters are,
Painted upon a pole, and under-writ,
"Here may you fee the tyrant."

-Macb. I will not yield,

To kifs the ground before young Malcolm's feet:
And to be baited with the rabble's curse.
Though Birnam-wood be come to Dunfinane,
And thou, oppos'd, be of no woman born,
Yet I will try the laft. Before my body
I throw my warlike fhield. Lay on, Macduff;
And damn'd be he, that first cries,

66

hold, enough." [Exeunt fighting. Alarms.

Retreat and flourish. Enter with Drum and Colours, Malcolm, Siward, Roffe, Thanes, and Soldiers.

Mal. I would, the friends, we mifs, were fafe arriv'd. Siw. Some must go off: and yet, by these I fee,

So great a day as this is cheaply bought.

Mal.

Mal. Macduff is miffing, and your noble fon.
Roffe. Your fon, my Lord, has paid 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 station where he fought,
But like a man he dy'd.

Siw. Then is he dead?

Roffe. Ay, and brought off the field: your caufe of forrow Muft not be measur'd by his worth, for then

It hath no end.

Sirv. Had he his hurts before?
Roffe. Ay, on the front.

Siw. Why then, God's foldier be he!
Had I as many fons as I have hairs,

I would not with them to a fairer death:
And fo his knell is knoll'd.

Mal. He's worth more forrow,

And that I'll spend for him.

Siw. He's worth no more;

They fay, he parted well, and paid his score.
So, God be with him!-Here comes newer comfort.

Enter Macduff, with Macbeth's head.

Macd. Hail, King! for fothou art. Behold, where ftands Th' ufurper's curfed head; the time is free: I fee thee compaft with thy kingdom's Peers, That speak my falutation in their minds: Whofe voices I defire 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 fev'ral loves, And make us even with you. Thanes and kinfmen, Henceforth be Earls, the firft that ever Scotland In fuch an honour nam'd. What's more to do, Which would be planted newly with the time, As calling home our exil'd friends abroad, That fled the fnares of watchful tyranny;

P 2

Producing

Producing forth the cruel ministers

Of this dead butcher, and his fiend-like Queen;
(Who, as 'tis thought, by felf and violent hands
Took off her life ;) this and what needful else
That calls upon us, by the grace of Grace,
We will perform in measure, time and place :
So thanks to all at once, and to each one,
Whom we invite to fee us crown'd at Scone.

[Flourish. Exeunt omnes.

C. MAR

f