The numbers of our host, and make discovery
Err in report of us.
Sold.

It shall be done.
Siw. We learn no other, but the confident tyrant
Keeps still in Dunsinane, and will endure
Our setting down before't.
Mal.

'Tis his main hope :
For where there is advantage to be given,
Both more and less have given him the revolt ;
And none serve with him but constrained things,
Whose hearts are absent too.
Macd.

Let our just censures
Attend the true event, and put we on
Industrious soldiership.
Siw.

The time approaches, That will with due decision make us know What we shall say we have, and what we owe. Thoughts speculative their unsure hopes relate; But certain issue strokes must arbitrate : Towards which, advance the war.

[Exeunt, marching

SCENE V.

Dunsinane. Within the Castle.

Enter, with Drums and Colours, MACBETH, SEYTON,

and Soldiers.

Macb. Hang out our banners on the outward walls ; The cry is still, They come: Our castle's strength

Will laugh a siege to scorn: here let them lie,
Till famine, and the ague, eat them up :
Were they not forc'd with those that should be ours,
We might have met them dareful, beard to beard,
And beat them backward home. What is that noise ?

[A cry within, of women. Sey. It is the cry of women, my good lord.

Macb. I have almost forgot the taste of fears : The time has been, my senses would have cool'd To hear a night-shriek ; and my fell of hair Would at a dismal treatise rouse, and stir As life were in't: I have supp'd full with horrors ; Direness, familiar to my slaught'rous thoughts, Cannot once start me.—Wherefore was that cry?

Sey. The queen, my lord, is dead.

Macb. She should have died hereafter ;
There would have been a time for such a word.
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle !
Life’s but a walking shadow; a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour

upon

the

stage,
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

Enter a Messenger.
Thou com'st to use thy tongue; thy story quickly.

Mes. Gracious my lord,
I should report that which I say I saw,
But know not how to do it.
Macb.

Well, say, sir.
Mes. As I did stand my watch upon the hill,
I look'd toward Birnam, and anon, methought,
The wood began to move.
Macb.

Liar, and slave!

[striking him. 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. Macb.

If thou speak'st false, Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive, Till famine cling thee 63 : if thy speech be sooth, I care not if thou dost for me as much.I pull in resolution 6+; 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.

[Exeunt.

SCENE VI.

The Same. A Plain before the Castle. 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, According to our order. Siw.

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.

SCENE VII.

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.
Yo. Siw. What is thy name?
Macb.

Thou'lt be afraid to hear it.
Yo. Siw. No; though thou call'st thyself a hotter

name Than any is in hell. Macb.

My name's Macbeth.
Yo. Siw. The devil himself could not pronounce a

title
More hateful to mine ear,
Macb.

No, nor more fearful.
Yo. Siw. Thou liest, abhorred 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 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,