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Mes. Let me endure your wrath, if't be not so: Within this three mile may you see it coming;

I say, a moving grove.


If thou speak'st false,

Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive,

Till famine cling thee: if thy speech be sooth,
I care not if thou dost for me as much.-

I pull in resolution; and begin

To doubt the equivocation of the fiend,

That lies like truth: Fear not, till Birnam wood

Do come to Dunsinane;-and now a wood

Comes toward Dunsinane.-Arm, arm, and out!.
If this, which he avouches, does appear,
There is nor flying hence, nor tarrying here.

I 'gin to be a-weary of the sun,

And wish the estate o'the world were now undone.-Ring the alarum bell:-Blow, wind! come, wrack! At least we'll die with harness on our back.




Enter, with drum and colours, Malcolm, old Siward,
Macduff, &c. and their Army, with Boughs.
Mal. Now near enough; your leavy 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,

Fare you well.

According to our order.


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.

Mac. 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.

Yo. Siw. What is thy name?


Thou'lt be afraid to hear it.

Yo. Siw. No; though thou call'st thyself a hotter


Than any is in hell.


My name's Macbeth.

Yo. Siw. The devil himself could not pronounce

a title

More hateful to mine ear.


No, nor more fearful.

Yo. Siw. Thou liest, abhorred tyrant; with my

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[They fight, and young Siward is slain. 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 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 sheathe 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. Alarum.

Enter Malcolm and old Siward.

Siw. This way, my lord;-the castle's gently


The tyrant's people on both sides do fight;
The noble thanes do bravely in the war;

The day almost itself professes yours,

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Re-enter Macbeth.

Mac. Why should I play the Roman fool, and die

On mine own sword? whiles I see lives, the gashes

Do better upon



Re-enter Macduff.

Turn, hell-hound, turn.

Mac. Of all men else I have avoided thee:

But get thee back, my soul is too much charg'd With blood of thine already.


I have no words,

My voice is in my sword; thou bloodier villain.

Than terms can give thee out!


[They fight.

Thou losest labour:

As easy 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.


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.

Mac. 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 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.


I'll 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, being of no woman born,
Yet I will try the last: Before my body

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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.

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.


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.

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