Puslapio vaizdai

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last fyllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusky b death. Out, out, brief candi:!
Life's but a walking fhadow, a poor player,
That ftruts and frets his hour upon the ftage,
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of found and fury,
Signifying nothing.

Enter a Messenger.

'I'd` fay, I faw,

Thou com'ft to use thy tongue: thy ftory quickly.
Mef. My gracious Lord,
I should report that which,
But know not how to do't.
Mach. Well, fay it, Sir.
Mef. As I did ftand my watch upon the hill,
I look'd toward Birnam, and anon methought
The wood began to move.

Macb. Liar, and flave!

[Striking bin.

Mef. Let me endure your wrath, if't be not fo:
Within this three mile you may fee it coming;
I fay, a moving grove.

Macb. If thou fpeak'ft falfe,

Upon the next tree fhalt thou hang alive
'Till famine cling thee: If thy fpeech be footh,
I care not if thou do'ft for me as much.-

I pull in refolution, and begin

To doubt th' equivocation of the fiend,
That lies like truth. Fear not, 'till Birnam wood
Do come to Dunfinane, and now a wood

Comes toward Dunfinane. Arm, arm, and out!
If this which he avouches does appear,
There is no flying hence, nor tarrying here;
I'gin to be a weary of the fun,


(a) Dusky graves. Rich. 3. 373. and the infernal God is call'd dusky Dis, Temp. 55.

2 dufty... old edit. Theob, emend.

3 I

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.

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Before Dunfinane.

Enter Malcolm, Siward, Macduff, and their Army,
with Boughs.

Mal. Now
TOW near enough: your leavy screens throw
And fhew like thofe you are. You (worthy uncle)
Shall with my coufin, your right noble fon,
Lead our firft battel. Brave Macduff and we
Shall take upon's what else remains to do,
According to our order.

Siw. Fare you well:

Let us 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, Thofe clam'rous harbingers of blood and death. [Exeunt. [Alarums continued.

Enter Macbeth.

Mach. They've ty'd me to a stake, I cannot fly,
But bear-like I muft fight the course. 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.

Mach. My name's Macbeth.

Yo. Siw.

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

Mach. No, nor more fearful.

Yo. Siw. Thou lieft, abhorred tyrant; with my fwod I'll prove the lie thou fpeak'ft.

[Fight, and young Siward's fizin Mach. Thou waft born of woman; But fwords I fmile at, weapons laugh to scorn, Brandifh'd by man that's of a woman born.


Alarums. Enter Macduff.

Macd. That way the noife is: Tyrant, fhew thy face;
If thou be'ft flain, and with no ftroke of mine,
My wife and childrens ghofts will haunt me ftill.
I cannot ftrike at wretched Kerns, 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 fhould'ft 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.

[Exeunt. Alarum,



Enter Macbeth.

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

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To him, enter Macduff.

Macd. Turn, hell-hound, turn.

Mach. Of all men elfe I have avoided thee:
But get thee back, my foul is too much charg'd
With blood of thine already.

Macd. I've no words,

My voice is in my fword. Thou bloodier villain
Than terms can give thee out! [Fight. Alarum.

Mach. Thou lofeft labour,

As eafie may'ft thou the intrenchant air
With thy keen fword imprefs, as make me bleed:
Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests,
I bear a charmed life, which muft not yield
To one of woman born.

Macd. Defpair thy charm,

And let the angel whom thou still haft ferv'd
Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb
Untimely ripp'd.

Mach. 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 fenfe;
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 monsters are,
Painted upon a pole, and under-writ,
Here may you fee the Tyrant.

Macb. I'll 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, being 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 first cries hold, enough.
[Exeunt fighting. Alarum.




Retreat and Flourish. Enter with Drum and Colours, Mi colm, Siward, Roffe, Thanes, and Soldiers.

Mal. I would the friends we mifs were fafe arriv'd. Siw. Some muft go off: and yet by these I fee, So great a day as this is cheaply bought.

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 +'prowefs 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 caufe of for Muft not be meafur'd by his worth, for then It hath no end.

Siw. Had he 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 score,
So God be with him! Here comes newer comfort.

Enter Macduff with Macbeth's bead.


Macd. Hail, King! for fo thou art. Behold, where Th' ufurper's curfed head; the time is free: I fee thee compaft with thy kingdom's peers, That fpeak my falutation in their minds: Whofe voices I defire aloud with mine.

4 prow'ls


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