Mal.
Now near enough: your Leavy Screens throw down,
And shew like those you are: You (worthy Uncle)
Shall with my Cousin, your right Noble Son,
Lead our first Battel. Worthy Macduff, and we
Shall take upon's what else remains to do
According to our order.

Seyw.
Fare you well:
Do we but find the Tyrant's power to Night,
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. [Exeunt. [Alarums continued. Enter Macbeth.

Macb.
They have ty'd 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 Seyward.

Yo. Seyw.
What is thy Name?

Macb.
Thoul't be afraid to hear it.

Yo. Seyw.
No: though thou call'st thy self a hotter Name
Than any is in Hell.

Macb.
My Name's Macbeth.

Yo. Seyw.
The Devil himself could not pronounce a Title
More hateful to mine Ear.

Macb.
No, nor more fearful.

Yo. Seyw.
Thou liest, thou abhorred Tyrant, with my
Sword I'll prove the lie thou speak'st. [Fight, and Young Seyward's 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, shew thy Face,
If thou be'st slain, and with no stroke of mine,
My Wife and Childrens Ghosts 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 unbatter'd edge
I sheath again undeeded. There thou should'st be
By this great clatter, one of greatest note
Seems bruited. Let me find him, Fortune,
And more I beg not. [Exit. Alarums. Enter Malcolme and Seyward.

Seyw.
This way, my Lord, the Castle's gently rendered:
The Tyrant's People, on both sides do fight,
The noble Thanes do bravely in the War,
The day almost it self professes yours,
And little is to do.

Mal.
We have met with Foes
That strike beside us.

Seyw.
Enter, Sir, the Castle. [Exeunt. Alarum. Enter Macbeth.

Macb.
Why should I play the Roman Fool, and die
On mine own Sword? whilst I see lives, the gashes
Do better upon them. Enter Macduff.

Macd.
Turn Hell-hound, turn.

Macb.
Of all Men 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. [Fight. Alarum.

Macb.
Thou losest labour,
As easie 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,
And let the Angel whom thou still hast serv'd
Tell thee, Macduff was from his Mother's Womb
Untimely rip'd.

Macb.
Accursed be that tongue that tells me so;
For it hath Cow'd my better part of Man:
And be these Jugling 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 shew, and gaze o'th' time.
We'll have thee, as our Rarer-Monsters are
Painted upon a Pole, and under-writ,
Here may you see the Tyrant.

Macb.
I will not yield
To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's Feet,
And to be baited with the Rabbles 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. Alarums. Enter fighting, and Macbeth is slain. Retreat and Flourish. Enter with Drum and Colours, Malcolme, Seyward, Rosse, Thanes, and Soldiers.

Mal.
I would the Friends we miss, were safe arriv'd.

Seyw.
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 dy'd.

Seyw.
Then he is dead?

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

Seyw.
Had he his hurts before?

Rosse.
Ay, on the Front.

Seyw.
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.

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

Seyw.
He's worth no more,
They say he parted well, and paid his score,
And so God be with him. Here comes newer comfort. Enter Macduff with Macbeth's Head.

Macd.
Hail, King! for so thou art. Behold, where stands
Th' Usurper's Cursed Head; the time is free:
I see thee compast with thy Kingdom's Peers,
That speak my salutation in their Minds:
Whose Voices I desire aloud with mine.
Hail King of Scotland.

All.
Hail, King of Scotland. [Flourish.

Mal.
We shall not spend a large expence of time,
Before we reckon with your several loves,
And makes 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 Snares of watchful Tyranny,
Producing forth the cruel Ministers
Of this dead Butcher, 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 omnes.

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