The Same. 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 | 4 |
| That was not born of woman? Such a one | |
| Am I to fear, or none. | |
| |
Enter Young SIWARD. | |
| Young Siw. What is thy name? | 8 |
| 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. | 12 |
| 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 | 16 |
| 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. | 20 |
| |
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. | 24 |
| 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; | 28 |
| By this great clatter, one of greatest note | |
| Seems bruited. Let me find him, fortune! | |
| And more I beg not. [Exit. Alarums. | |
| |
Enter MALCOLM and Old SIWARD. | 32 |
| 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, | 36 |
| And little is to do. | |
| Mal. We have met with foes | |
| That strike beside us. | |
| Siw. Enter, sir, the castle. [Exeunt. Alarums. | 40 |
| |
Re-Enter MACBETH. | |
| Macb. Why should I play the Roman fool, and die | |
| On mine own sword? whiles I see lives, the gashes | |
| Do better upon them. | 44 |
| |
Re-Enter MACDUFF. | |
| 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 | 48 |
| 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. | 52 |
| 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; | 56 |
| 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 | 60 |
| 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: | 64 |
| 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. | 68 |
| 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, | 72 |
| ‘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. | 76 |
| 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, | 80 |
| And damn’d be him that first cries, ‘Hold, enough!’ [Exeunt, fighting. | |
| |
Retreat. Flourish. Re-Enter, with drum and colours, MALCOLM, Old SIWARD, ROSS, Thanes, and Soldiers. | |
| Mal. I would the friends we miss were safe arriv’d. | |
| Siw. Some must go off; and yet, by these I see, | 84 |
| 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; | 88 |
| 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? | 92 |
| 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? | 96 |
| 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: | 100 |
| 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; | 104 |
| 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 | 108 |
| 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; | 112 |
| 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, | 116 |
| 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, | |
| Which would be planted newly with the time, | 120 |
| As calling home our exil’d friends abroad | |
| That fled the snares of watchful tyranny; | |
| Producing forth the cruel ministers | |
| Of this dead butcher and his fiend-like queen, | 124 |
| Who, as ’tis thought, by self 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: | 128 |
| So, thanks to all at once and to each one, | |
| Whom we invite to see us crown’d at Scone. [Flourish. Exeunt. | |
