Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

William Shakespeare (1564–1616). The Oxford Shakespeare. 1914.

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.

Young Siw.What is thy name?

Macb.Thou’lt be afraid to hear it.

Young Siw.No; though thou call’st thyself a hotter name

Than any is in hell.

Macb.My name’s Macbeth.

Young Siw.The devil himself could not pronounce a title

More hateful to mine ear.

Macb.No, nor more fearful.

Young 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.

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 kerns, 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 bruited. Let me find him, fortune!

And more I beg not.[Exit.Alarums.

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.

Mal.We have met with foes

That strike beside us.

Siw.Enter, sir, the castle.[Exeunt.Alarums.

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.Turn, hell-hound, turn!

Macb.Of all men else I have avoided thee:

But get thee back, my soul is too much charg’d

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![They fight.

Macb.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

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 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.’

Macb.I will not yield,

To kiss the ground before young Malcolm’s feet,

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 war-like shield. Lay on, Macduff,

And damn’d be him that first cries, ‘Hold, enough!’[Exeunt, fighting.

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.

Ross.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

In the unshrinking station where he fought,

But like a man he died.

Siw.Then he is dead?

Ross.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?

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,

And that I’ll spend for him.

Siw.He’s worth no more;

They say, he parted well, and paid his score:

And so, God be with him! Here comes newer comfort.