As life were in't: I have fupp'd full with horrors; There would have been a time for fuch a word.— Told by an idiot, full of found and fury, Enter a Messenger. Thou com'ft to use thy tongue; thy story quickly. Mef. Gracious my lord, I fhould report that which I say I saw, But know not how to do it. Macb. Well, fay, fir. Mef. As I did stand my watch upon the hill, I look'd toward Birnam, and anon, methought, The wood began to move. Macb. Liar, and flave! [ftriking him. Mes. Let me endure your wrath, if 't be not so: Within this three mile may you fee it coming; I fay, a moving grove. Macb. If thou fpeak'ft falfe, Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive, Till famine cling thee: if thy fpeech be footh, Į care not if thou doft for me as much. 8 I pull I pull in refolution; and begin To doubt the equivocation of the fiend, That lies like truth: Fear not, till Birnam wood Comes toward Dunfinane.-Arm, arm, and out!— There is nor flying hence, nor tarrying here. I 'gin to be a-weary of the fun, And with the estate o' the world were now undone. Ring the alarum bell:-Blow, wind! come, wrack! [Exeunt. SCENE VI. The fame. A Plain before the Caftle. Enter, with Drum and Colours, MALCOLM, old SIWARD, MACDUFF, Sc. and their Army, with Boughs. Mal. Now near enough; your leavy screens throw down, Lead our first battle: worthy Macduff, and we, According to our order. 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 clamorous harbingers of blood and death. [Exeunt. Alarums continued. SCENE SCENE VII. The fame. Another part of the Plain. Enter 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. Enter young SIWARD. Thou'lt be afraid to hear it. Yo. Siw. What is thy name? Macb. Yo. Siw. No; though thou call'ft thyself 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. Macb. No, nor more fearful. Yo. Siw. Thou lieft, abhorred tyrant; with my fword I'll prove the lie thou speak'st. Macb. [They fight, and young Siward is slain. But fwords I fmile at, weapons laugh to fcorn, Alarums. Enter MACDUFF. [Exit. Macd. That way the noife is :-Tyrant, show thy face: If thou be'ft flain, and with no stroke of mine, My wife and children's ghosts will haunt me still, I cannot strike at wretched Kernes, whofe arms Are hir'd to bear their staves; either thou, Macbeth, Or elfe my fword, with an unbatter'd edge, I fheathe |