I sheathe again undeeded. There thou should'st be;
By this great clatter, one of greatest note
Seems bruited. Let me find him, fortune!
And more I beg not.

[Exit. Alarum.

Mac. Why should I play the Roman fool, and die
On mine own sword? whiles I see lives, the gashes
Do better upon them.

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 With blood of thine already.

Macd.

I have no words;

My voice is in my sword: thou bloodier villain

As easy may'st 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."

I will not yield,

Macb.
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 warlike shield: lay on, Macduff;
And damn'd be him that first cries, "Hold, enough."

[Exeunt, fighting.

Retreat. Flourish. Re-enter, with Drum and Colours, MAL-
COLM, old SIWARD, Rosse, 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,

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

In the unshrinking station where he fought,

But like a man he died.

Rosse. Ay, and brought off the field. Your cause of sorrow Must not be measur'd by his worth, for then

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.

I see thee compass'd with thy kingdom's pearl,

That speak my salutation in their minds;

Whose voices I desire aloud with mine,
Hail, king of Scotland!

All.

Hail, king of Scotland!

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
In such 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 snares of watchful tyranny;
Producing forth the cruel ministers

Of this dead butcher, and his fiend-like queen,
Who, as 't is 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.

So, thanks to all at once, and to each one,

[Flourish.

Whom we invite to see us crown'd at Scone. [Flourish. Exeunt.

PRINTED BY BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ.

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