900 Doctor. Hang those that talk of fear. Give me mine For where there is advantage to be given, Whose hearts are absent too. Siward. Macduff. Let our just censures Attend the true event, and put we on Macbeth. Industrious soldiership. Cure her of that: Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd, Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, Raze out the written troubles of the brain, And with some sweet oblivious antidote Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff, Which weighs upon the heart? SCENE IV. Country near Dunsinane: a Enter, with Drum and Colours, Malcolm, old Malcolm. Cousins, I hope, the days are near at hand, That chambers will be safe. Menteth. The time approaches, That will with due decision make us know What we shall say we have, and what we owe Thoughts speculative their unsure hopes relate, But certain issue strokes must arbitrate; Towards which, advance the war. [Exeunt, marching, Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts, Seyton. She should have died hereafter: Siward. What wood is this before us? Menteth. The wood of Birnam. Malcolm. Let every soldier hew him down a bough, And bear't before him: thereby shall we shadow The numbers of our host, and make discovery We learn no other but the confident tyrant Keeps still in Dunsinane, and will endure Our setting down before't. Malcolm. As I did stand my watch upon the hill, 'Tis his main hope; The wood began to move. Macbeth. Macbeth If thou speak'st false, Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive, Till famine cling thee: if thy speech be sooth, I care not if thou dost for me as much. I pull in resolution; and begin To doubt th' equivocation of the fiend, That lies like truth: "Fear not, till Birnam wood If this, which he avouches, does appear, Ring the alarum bell!-Blow, wind! come, wrack! Macbeth. No, nor more fearful. Young Siward. Thou liest, abhorred tyrant: with my sword I'll prove the lie thou speak'st. [They fight, and young Siward is slain. Macbeth. Thou wast born of woman:But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn, Brandish'd by man that's of a woman born. That wa Alarums. Enter Macduff. Macduff. [Exit. fway the noise is.- Tyrant, show thy 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 kernes, 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 should'st Then, yield thee, coward, And live to be the show and gaze o' the time: Macbeth. Ay, on the front. Rosse. Siward. 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: He's worth more sorrow, | And that I'll spend for him. He's worth no more: 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. Hail, king! for so thou art. Behold, where stands The usurper's cursed head: the time is free. We shall not spend a large expense of time, Henceforth be earls; the first that ever Scotland Of this dead butcher, and his fiend-like queen, HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. DRAMATIS PERSONE. CLAUDIUS, King of Denmark. Francisco, a Soldier. Hamlet, Son to the former, and Nephew to the Reynaldo, Servant to Polonius. A Captain. Ambassadors. Two Clowns, Grave-diggers. Gertrude, Queen of Denmark, and Mother to Ophelia, Daughter to Polonius. Lords, Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Players, Sailors, SCENE, Elsinore. Well, good night. Francisco on his Post. Enter to him Bernardo. If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus, The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste. Enter Horatio and Marcellus. I think I hear them.-Stand, ho! Who is Horatio. Bernardo. Francisco. Bernardo. Friends to this ground. You come most carefully upon your hour. Bernardo Ol farewell, honest soldier: 'Tis now struck twelve: get thee to bed, Who hath reliev'd you? Thus, twice before, and jump at this dead hour, With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch. Horatio. In what particular thought to work, I know But in the gross and scope of mine opinion, [not; This bodes some strange eruption to our state. Marcellus. Good now, sit down; and tell me, he that knows, Why this same strict and most observant watch task Does not divide the Sunday from the week? Horatio. That can I; At least, the whisper goes so. Our last king, Whose image even but now appear'd to us, Was, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway, Thereto prick'd on by a most emulate pride, Dar'd to the combat; in which our valiant Hamlet (For so this side of our known world esteem'd him) Did slay this Fortinbras; who, by a seal'd Had he been vanquisher; as, by the same co- |