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Direness, fainiliar to my slaughtrous thoughts,
Sey. The queen, my lord, is dead.
Mucb. She should have died bereafter;
way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow: a poor player, That strats and frets his hour
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. Gracious, my lord,
Well, say, sir.
Liar, and slave!
If thou speak'st false,
There is nor flying hence, nor tarrying here.
wrack! At least we'll die with harness on our back. [Exeunte
SCENE VI. The same. A Plain before the Castle.
Fare you well.-
breath, Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death.
[Exeunt. Alarums continued.
SCENE VII. The same. Another Purt of the Plain.
Thou'lt be afraid to hear it.
My name's Macheth.
Y. Siw. The devil himself could not pronounce a title More hateful to mine ear. Macb.
No, nor more fearful. Y. Siw. Thou liest, abhorred tyrant; with my sword I'll prove the lie thou speak’st.
[They fight, and young Siward is slain. Macb.
Thou wast born of woman.-But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn, Brandish'd by man that's of a woman born. [Exit.
Alarums. · Enter Macduff. Macd. That way the noise is:— Tyrant, show thy face : If thou be'st slain, and with no stroke of mine, My wife and children's ghost will haunt me still. I capnot 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 shouldst be; By this great clatter, one of greatest note Seems bruiled: Let me find him, fortune! And more I beg not.
We have met with foes
Enter, sir, the castle.
[Exeunt. Alarum. Re-enter MACBETH. Macb. Why should I play the Roman fool, and die, On mine own sword? whiles 1 see lives, the gashes Do better upon them.
Re-enter MACDUFF. Macd.
Turn, hell-bound, turn, Macb. Of all inen else I have avoided thee:
But get thee back, my soul is too much charg'd
I have no words,
[They fight. Macb.
Thou losest labour: As easy may'st thou the intrenchant air With thy keen sword 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.
Despair thy charm;
Macb. Accursed be that tongue that tells me so,
Macd. Then yield thee, coward,
I'll not yield,
[Exeunt, fighting Retreat. Flourish. Re-enter, with Drum and Colours,
Malcolm, old SiWARD, Rosse, LENOX, ANGUS,
Siw. 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. Rosse. Yoar son, my lord, has paid a soldier's debt: He only liv'd but till he was a man; The which no sooner had his prowess confirm'd In the unshrinking station where he fought, But like a man he died. Siw.
Then he is dead?
Had he his hurts before?
Why then, God's soldier be he!
He's worth more sorrow, And that I'll spend for him. Siw.
He's worth no more ;
King of Scotland, hail !
[Flourish. Mal. We shall not spend a large expense of time, Before we reckon with your several loves, And make us even with you. My thanes and kinsmen, Henceforth be earls, the first that ever Scotland In such an honour nam'd. What's more to do,