Macb.
Why should I play the Roman fool, and die
On mine own sword? whilst I see lives, the gashes
Do better upon them. To him, 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've 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 ripp'd.

Macb.
Accursed be that tongue that tells me so,
For it hath cow'd my better 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 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 rabble's Curse.
Though Birnam-wood be come to Dunsinane,
And thou, oppos'd, be 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 he, that first cries, “hold, enough. [Exeunt fighting. Alarums.

Previous section

Next section