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, I sheathe again undeeded. There thou shouldst be; Seems bruited. And more I beg not. [Exit. Alarums. 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; 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. Enter MACDUFF. Turn, hell-hound, turn! MACB. Of all men else I have avoided thee: But get thee back; my soul is too much charged With blood of thine already. MACD. I have no words: My voice is in my sword: thou bloodier villain Than terms can give thee out! МАСВ. [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 served Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb Untimely ripp'd. MACB. Accursed be that tongue that tells me so, For it hath cow'd my better part of man! And be these juggling fiends no more believed, 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, МАСВ. I will not yield, To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet, I throw my warlike shield. Lay on, Macduff, MAL. I would the friends we miss were safe arrived. 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. Ross. Your son, my lord, has paid a soldier's debt: He only lived but till he was a man ; The which no sooner had his prowess confirm'd SIW. Then he is dead? Ross. Ay, and brought off the field: your cause of sorrow Must not be measured by his worth, for then It hath no end. SIW. Had he his hurts before? Ross. Ay, on the front. SIW. 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 is knoll'd. MAL. He's worth more sorrow, He's worth no more: And that I'll spend for him. SIW. They say he parted well, and paid his score: And so, God be with him! Here comes newer comfort. Re-enter MACDUFF, with Macbeth's head. MACD. Hail, king! for so thou art: behold where stands The usurper's cursed head: the time is free: Hail, King of Scotland! ALL. Hail, King of Scotland! [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 Producing forth the cruel ministers Of this dead butcher and his fiend-like queen, That calls upon us, by the grace of Grace, Edinburgh: T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to His Majesty |