SCENE VIII. ANOTHER PART OF THE FIELD.
Enter MACBETH
MACBETH
Why should I play the Roman fool, and die On mine own sword? whiles I see lives, the gashes
Do better upon them.
Enter MACDUFF
MACDUFF
Turn, hell-hound, turn!
MACBETH
Of all men else I have avoided thee: But get thee back; my soul is too much charged With blood of thine already.
MACDUFF
I have no words: My voice is in my sword: thou bloodier villain
Than terms can give thee out!
They ๏ฌght
MACBETH
Thou losest labour: As easy mayst 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.
MACDUFF
Despair thy charm; And let the angel whom thou still hast served Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb Untimely ripp'd.
MACBETH
Accursed be that tongue that tells me so, For it hath cow'd my better part of man!
And be these juggling ๏ฌends no more believed, That palter with us in a double sense; That keep the word of promise to our ear, And break it to our hope. I'll not ๏ฌght with thee.
MACDUFF
Then yield thee, coward, And live to be the show and gaze o' the time: We'll have thee, as our rarer monsters are,
Painted on a pole, and underwrit, 'Here may you see the tyrant.'
MACBETH
I will not yield, To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet, And to be baited with the rabble's curse.
Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane, And thou opposed, being of no woman born, Yet I will try the last. Before my body
I throw my warlike shield. Lay on, Macduff, And damn'd be him that ๏ฌrst cries, 'Hold, enough!'
Exeunt, ๏ฌghting. Alarums
Retreat. Flourish. Enter, with drum and colours, MALCOLM, SI- WARD, ROSS, the other Thanes, and Soldiers
MALCOLM
I would the friends we miss were safe arrived.
SIWARD
Some must go off: and yet, by these I see, So great a day as this is cheaply bought.
MALCOLM
Macduff is missing, and your noble son.
ROSS
Your son, my lord, has paid a soldier's debt: He only lived but till he was a man; The which no sooner had his prowess con๏ฌrm'd In the unshrinking station where he fought, But like a man he died.
SIWARD
Then he is dead?
ROSS
Ay, and brought off the ๏ฌeld: your cause of sorrow Must not be measured by his worth, for then It hath no end.
SIWARD
Had he his hurts before?
ROSS
Ay, on the front.
SIWARD
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: And so, his knell is knoll'd.
MALCOLM
He's worth more sorrow, And that I'll spend for him.
SIWARD
He's worth no more They say he parted well, and paid his score: And so, God be with him! Here comes newer comfort.
Re-enter MACDUFF, with MACBETH's head
MACDUFF
Hail, king! for so thou art: behold, where stands The usurper's cursed head: the time is free: I see thee compass'd with thy kingdom's pearl, That speak my salutation in their minds;
Whose voices I desire aloud with mine: Hail, King of Scotland!
ALL
Hail, King of Scotland!
Flourish
MALCOLM
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 ๏ฌrst that ever Scotland In such an honour named. What's more to do, Which would be planted newly with the time, As calling home our exiled friends abroad That ๏ฌed the snares of watchful tyranny; Producing forth the cruel ministers Of this dead butcher and his ๏ฌend-like queen, Who, as 'tis thought, by self and violent hands Took off her life; this, and what needful else That calls upon us, by the grace of Grace, We will perform in measure, time and place: So, thanks to all at once and to each one, Whom we invite to see us crown'd at Scone.
Flourish. Exeunt
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