Dun.
What bloody man is that? He can report,
As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt
The newest state.

Mal.
This is the sergeant,
Who, like a good and hardy soldier, fought
'Gainst my captivity:—Hail, brave friend!
Say to the king the knowledge of the broil,
As thou didst leave it.

Sol.
Doubtfully it stood,
As two spent swimmers, that do cling together,
And choke their art. The merciless Macdonwald^{1 note}
From the western isles
Of Kernes and Gallowglasses^{2 note}

And fortune, on his damned quarrel smiling,
Show'd like a rebel's whore: But all's too weak:
For brave Macbeth, (well he deserves that name,)
Disdaining fortune, with his brandish'd steel,
Which smok'd with bloody execution,
Like valour's minion,
Carv'd out his passage till he fac'd the slave;
And ne'er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him,
Till he unseam'd him from the nave to the chaps,
And fix'd his head upon our battlements.

Dun.
O valiant cousin! worthy gentleman!

Sol.
Mark, king of Scotland, mark:
No sooner justice had, with valour arm'd,
Compell'd these skipping Kernes to trust their heels;
But the Norweyan lord, surveying vantage,
With surbish'd arms, and new supplies of men,
Began a fresh assault.

Dun.
Dismay'd not this
Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo?

Sol.
Yes;
As sparrows, eagles; or the hare, the lion.
But I am faint, my gashes cry for help.

Dun.
So wel! thy words become thee, as thy wounds;
They smack of honour both:—Go, get him surgeons. [The Soldier is supported off, L.
Who comes here?

Mal.
The worthy Thane^{3 note} of Rosse.

Len.
What a haste looks through his eyes! So should he look,
That comes to speak things strange.

Enter Rosse, R.

Ros.
God save the king!

Dun.
Whence cam'st thou, worthy Thane?

Ros.
From Fife, great king,
Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky,
And fan our people cold.
Norway himself, with terrible numbers,
Assisted by that most disloyal traitor
The Thane of Cawdor, 'gan a dismal conflict:
Till that Bellona's bridegroom,^{4 note} lapt in proof,^{5 note}
Confronted him with self-comparisons.
Point against point rebellious, arm 'gainst arm,
Curbing his lavish spirit: And, to conclude,
The victory fell on us;—

Dun.
Great happiness!

Ros.
That now
Sweno, the Norways' king, craves composition;
Nor would we deign him burial of his men,
Till he disbursed, at Saint Colmes' inch,(A)8Q0161
Ten thousand dollars to our general use.

Dun.
No more that Thane of Cawdor shall deceive
Our bosom interest:—Go, pronounce his present death,
And with his former title greet Macbeth.

Ros.
I'll see it done.

Dun.
What he hath lost, noble Macbeth hath won. [Exeunt Duncan and Nobles, L., Rosse, Angus, and two others, R.

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