Shakespeare's First Folio Part 569

Exeunt.

Scena s.e.xta.

Drumme and Colours. Enter Malcolme, Seyward, Macduffe, and their Army, with Boughes.

Mal. Now neere enough: Your leauy Skreenes throw downe, And shew like those you are: You (worthy Vnkle) Shall with my Cosin your right n.o.ble Sonne Leade our first Battell. Worthy Macduffe, and wee Shall take vpon's what else remaines to do, According to our order

Sey. Fare you well: Do we but finde the Tyrants power to night, Let vs be beaten, if we cannot fight

Macd. Make all our Trumpets speak, giue the[m] all breath Those clamorous Harbingers of Blood, & Death.

Exeunt.

Alarums continued.

Scena Septima.

Enter Macbeth.

Macb. They haue tied me to a stake, I cannot flye, But Beare-like I must fight the course. What's he That was not borne of Woman? Such a one Am I to feare, or none.

Enter young Seyward.

Y.Sey. What is thy name?

Macb. Thou'lt be affraid to heare it

Y.Sey. No: though thou call'st thy selfe a hoter name Then any is in h.e.l.l

Macb. My name's Macbeth

Y.Sey. The diuell himselfe could not p.r.o.nounce a t.i.tle More hatefull to mine eare

Macb. No: nor more fearefull

Y.Sey. Thou lyest abhorred Tyrant, with my Sword Ile proue the lye thou speak'st.

Fight, and young Seyward slaine.

Macb. Thou was't borne of woman; But Swords I smile at, Weapons laugh to scorne, Brandish'd by man that's of a Woman borne.

Enter.

Alarums. Enter Macduffe.

Macd. That way the noise is: Tyrant shew thy face, If thou beest slaine, and with no stroake of mine, My Wife and Childrens Ghosts will haunt me still: I cannot strike at wretched Kernes, whose armes Are hyr'd to beare their Staues; either thou Macbeth, Or else my Sword with an vnbattered edge I sheath againe vndeeded. There thou should'st be, By this great clatter, one of greatest note Seemes bruited. Let me finde him Fortune, And more I begge not.

Exit. Alarums.

Enter Malcolme and Seyward.

Sey. This way my Lord, the Castles gently rendred: The Tyrants people, on both sides do fight, The n.o.ble Thanes do brauely in the Warre, The day almost it selfe professes yours, And little is to do

Malc. We haue met with Foes That strike beside vs

Sey. Enter Sir, the Castle.

Exeunt. Alarum

Enter Macbeth.

Macb. Why should I play the Roman Foole, and dye On mine owne sword? whiles I see liues, the gashes Do better vpon them.

Enter Macduffe.

Macd. Turne h.e.l.l-hound, turne

Macb. Of all men else I haue auoyded thee: But get thee backe, my soule is too much charg'd With blood of thine already

Macd. I haue no words, My voice is in my Sword, thou bloodier Villaine Then tearmes can giue thee out.

Fight: Alarum

Macb. Thou loosest labour As easie may'st thou the intrenchant Ayre With thy keene Sword impresse, as make me bleed: Let fall thy blade on vulnerable Crests, I beare a charmed Life, which must not yeeld To one of woman borne

Macd. Dispaire thy Charme, And let the Angell whom thou still hast seru'd Tell thee, Macduffe was from his Mothers womb Vntimely ript

Macb. Accursed be that tongue that tels mee so; For it hath Cow'd my better part of man: And be these Iugling Fiends no more beleeu'd, That palter with vs in a double sence, That keepe the word of promise to our eare, And breake it to our hope. Ile not fight with thee

Macd. Then yeeld thee Coward, And liue to be the shew, and gaze o'th' time.

Wee'l haue thee, as our rarer Monsters are Painted vpon a pole, and vnder-writ, Heere may you see the Tyrant

Macb. I will not yeeld To kisse the ground before young Malcolmes feet, And to be baited with the Rabbles curse.

Though Byrnane wood be come to Dunsinane, And thou oppos'd, being of no woman borne, Yet I will try the last. Before my body, I throw my warlike Shield: Lay on Macduffe, And d.a.m.n'd be him, that first cries hold, enough.

Exeunt. fighting. Alarums.

Enter Fighting, and Macbeth slaine.

Retreat, and Flourish. Enter with Drumme and Colours, Malcolm, Seyward, Rosse, Thanes, & Soldiers.

Mal. I would the Friends we misse, were safe arriu'd

Sey. Some must go off: and yet by these I see, So great a day as this is cheapely bought

Mal. Macduffe is missing, and your n.o.ble Sonne

Rosse. Your son my Lord, ha's paid a souldiers debt, He onely liu'd but till he was a man, The which no sooner had his Prowesse confirm'd In the vnshrinking station where he fought, But like a man he dy'de

Sey. Then he is dead?

Rosse. I, and brought off the field: your cause of sorrow Must not be measur'd by his worth, for then It hath no end