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There is nor flying hence, nor tarrying here,

I 'gin to be a weary of the Sun;

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

SCENE before DU NSI NANE.

Enter Malcolm, Siward, Macduff, and their Army with

Mal. No

Boughs.

OW, near enough your leavy screens
throw down,

And fhew like thofe you are. You (worthy unele)
Shall with my Coufin, your right-noble fon,
Lead our first 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, give them all

breath,

Those clam'rous harbingers of blood and death. [Exe.

Enter Macbeth.

[Alarums continued.

Macb. 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?

Macb. Thou'lt be afraid to hear it.

Yo. Siw. No: though thou call'ft thy felf a hotter

name,

Than any is in hell.

Macb. My name's Macbeth.

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

P 3

Mach.

Mach. 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,
Brandish'd by man that's of a woman born.

Alarums. Enter Macduff.

[Exit.

Macd. That way the noife is: Tyrant, fhew thy face; If thou be'ft flain, and with no ftroke of mine, My wife aud children's ghofts 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 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.

Enter Malcolm and Siward.

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 it felf profeffes yours,

And little is to do.

Mal. We've met with foes,

That ftrike befide us.

Siw. Enter, Sir, the Castle.

Enter Macbeth.

[Exeunt. Alarum.

Macb. Why should I play the Roman fool, and die On mine own sword? whilft I fee lives, the gafhes Do better upon them.

To him, enter Macduff.

Macd. Turn, hell-hound, turn.

Macb. Of all men else I have avoided thee:

But get thee back, my foul is too much charg'd

With blood of thine already.

Macd

Macd. I've no words;

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

Mach. Thou lofeft labour ;

As cafie may'ft thou the intrenchant air

[Fight. Alarum:

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 ftill haft ferv'd,
Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb
Untimely ripp'd."

Macb. Accurfed be that tongue, that tells me fo
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 fense;
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 monfters 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 Curfe.
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 firft cries, "hold, enough.
[Exeunt fighting. Alarums.

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 see, So great a day as this is cheaply bought.

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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 ftation where he fought,
But like a man he dy'd.

Siw. Then is he dead?

Roffe. Ay, and brought off the field: your cause of forrow

Muft not be meafur'd by his worth, for then

It hath no end.

Sir. 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 wifh 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 fcore.

So, God be with him!

Here comes newer comfort.

Enter Macduff, with Macbeth's head.

Macd. Hail, King! for fo thou 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 fpend 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;

Producing

Producing forth the cruel minifters

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.

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