SCENE VII.The same. 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. SIWARD. Enter young Siward. Yo. Sin. What is thy name? Macb. Thou'lt be afraid to hear it. Yo. Sin. No; though thou call'st thyself a hotter Than any is in hell. [name Macb Yo. Sin. The devil himself could not pronounce a More hateful to mine ear. My name's Macbeth. [title No, nor more fearful. Macb. Yo. Sin. Thou liest, abhorred tyrant; with my I'll prove the lie thou speak'st. [sword [They fight, and young SIWARD is slain. Macb. Alarums. Enter MACDUff. [Exit. Macd. That way the noise is :-Tyrant, show thy I sheathe again undeeded. There thou should'st be; [Exit. Alarum. either thou, Macbeth, must encounter me, Or else my sword, &c. Enter MALCOLM and old SIWARD. Sin. This way, my lord;-the castle's gently renThe tyrant's people on both sides do fight; [der'd: The noble thanes do bravely in the war; The day almost itself professes yours, And little is to do. Macb. Why should I play the Roman fool, and die On mine own sword? whiles I see lives, the gashes Do better upon them. Macd. Re-enter MACDUFF. 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 Than terms can give thee out! [They fight. Thou losest labour: Macb. With thy keen sword impress, as make me bleed : 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 keep the word of promise to our ear, And break it to our hope.-I'll not fight with thee. And live to be the show and gaze o' th' time. Here may you see the tyrant. Macb. I'll not yield, To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet, Retreat Flourish. Re-enter, with drum and colours, Mal. I would, the friends we miss were safe arriv'd. Sin. 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. The which no sooner had his prowess confirm'd But like a man he died. Siw. Then he is dead? Rosse. Ay, and brought off the field: your cause of sorrow Must not be measur'd by his worth, for then It hath no end. Sin. Had he his hurts before? That is, on cloth suspended on a pole. Rosse. Ay, on the front. Sin. 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. Mal. And that I'll spend for him. He's worth more sorrow, He's worth no more: They say, he parted well, and paid his score: All. Istands King of Scotland, hail! several loves, [Flourish. Of this dead butcher, and his fiend-like queen; [Flourish. Exeunt. 'thy kingdom's wealth, or ornament, meaning the peers. |