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There is nor flying hence, nor tarrying here.
I’gin to be a-weary of the san,
And wish the estate o'the world were now undone.-
Ring the alarù m bell:- Blow, wind! come, wrack!
At least we'll die with harness on our back. [Exeiinte

SCENE VI. The same. A Plain before the Castle.
Enter, with Drums and Colours, MALCOLM, old Si-
WARD, MACDUFF, fc. and their Army, with Boughs.
Mal. Now near evough; your leafy screens throw

down,
And show like those you are:-You, worthy uncle,
Shall, with my cousin, your right-noble son,
Lead our first battle: worthy Macduff, and we,
Shall take upon us 'what else remains to do,
According to our order.
Siw.

Fare you well.-
Do we but find the tyrant's power to-niglit,
Let us be beaten, if we cannot fight.
Macd. Make all our trumpets speak; give them all

breath, Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death.

(Ereunt. Alarums continued.

SCENE V11. 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.

Enter young SIWARD.
Y. Siw. What is thiy name?
Macb.

Thou'lt be afraid to hear it.
Y. Şiw. No; though thou call'st thyself a hotter name
Than any is in hell.
Macb.

My name's Macbeth.

Y. Siw. The devil himself could not pronounce a title More hateful to mine ear. Macb.

No, nor more fearful. Y. Siw. Thou liest, abborred 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 cannot strike at wretched kernes, whose arms Are hir'd to bear their staves; either thou, Macbeth, Or else my sword, with an unbalter'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.

[Exit. Alarum.
Enter MALCOLM and old SIWARD.
Siw. This way, my lord;—the castle's gently render'd:
The tyrant's people on both sides do tight;
The noble thanes do bravely in the war;
The day almost itself professes yours,
And little is to do.
Mal.

We have met with foes
That strike beside us.
Sið.

Enter, sir, the castle.

[Exeunt. Alurum. 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
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. Macb.

Thou losest labour: As easy may'st thou the intrenchant air With ihy 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; And let the angel,

whom thou still hast serv'd, Tell thee, Macduff was from bis mother's womb Untimely ripp’d.

Macb. Accursed be that tongue that tells me so,
For it hath cow'd my belter part of man!
And be these juggling fiends no more believ'd,
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 fight with thee.

Macd. 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 upon a pole; and underwrit,
Here may you see the tyrant.
Macb.

I'll not yield,
To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feel,
And to be baited with the rabble's curse.
Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane,
And thou oppos'd, 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 first cries, Hold, enough.

[Exeunt, fighting Retreat. Flourish. Re-enter, with Drum and Colours,

Malcolm, old SIWARD, Rosse, LENOX, ANGUS,
CATHNESS, MENTETH, and Soldiers.
Mal. I would, the friends we miss were safe arriv'd.

sorrow

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

Had he his hurts before?
Rosse. Ay, on the front.
Siw.

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 his knoll'd.
Mal.

He's worth more sorrow, And that I'll spend for him. Siw.

He's worth no more ;
They say, he parted well, and paid his score;
So, God be with him!-Here comes newer comfort.
Re-enter MACDUFF, with MACBETH's Head on a Pole.
Macd. 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 !
Ali.

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,

Which would be planted newly with the time,-.
As calling home our exil'd friends abroad,
That fled the shares of watchful tyranny;
Producing forth the cruel ministers
Of this dead bulcher, and his fiend-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:

This play is deservedly celebraled for the propriety: of its fiction, and solemnity, grandeur, and variety of its action; but it has no nice discriminalions of cha: racter; the events are too great to admit the influence of particular dispositions, and the course of the action necessarily determines the conduct of the agents.

The danger of ambition is well described ; and I know not whether it may not be said, in defence of some parts which now seem improbable, that in Shakspeare's time it was necessary to warn credulity against vain and illusive predictions.

The passions are directed to their true end. Lady Macbeth is merely detested; and though the courage of Macbeth preserves some esteem, yet every reader rejoices at his fall,

JOHNSON

C. Whittingham, Printer, Chiswick.

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