Mal. Let every soldier hew him down a bough,
And bear 't before him; thereby shall we shadow
The numbers of our host, and make discovery
Err in report of us.


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.

'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.

Attend the true event, and put we on
Industrious soldiership.


Let our just censures

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.


Within the Castle.

Enter, with drum 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. [A cry of women within.
What is that noise?

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.

Re-enter SEYTON.


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.
Mess. Gracious my lord,

I should report that which I say I saw,
But know not how to do it.


Well, say, sir.

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

Liar, and slave!

Macb. [Striking him. Mess. 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: 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.


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 leafy 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 's what else remains to do,
According to our order.

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.

SCENE VII.-The same.

Another part of the Plain.

Alarums. Enter MACBETH.

Mach. 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?

Am I to fear, or none.

Such a one

Enter young SIWARD.

Yo. Siw. What is thy name?

Thou 'lt be afraid to hear it.

Mach. Yo. Siw. No; though thou call 'st thyself a hotter name Than any is in hell.

My name's Macbeth.

Macb. Yo. Siw. The devil himself could not pronounce a title More hateful to mine ear.

No, nor more fearful.

Macb. Yo. Siw. Thou liest, abhorred tyrant; with my sword I'll prove the lie thou speak'st.


[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.

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 kerns, 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 shouldst be;
By this great clatter, one of greatest note
Seems bruited. Let me find him, fortune!
And more I beg not.

[Exit. Alarums.

Enter MALCOLM and old SIWARD.

Siw. This way, my lord;-the castle's gently render'd: The tyrant's people on both sides do fight;

The noble thanes do bravely in the war;

The day almost itself professes yours,

And little is to do.

[blocks in formation]

SCENE VIII.-The same. Another part of the Plain.


Macb. Why should I play the Roman fool, and die
On mine own sword? whiles I see lives, the gashes
Do better upon them.



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.


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 mayst 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.

Macd. 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 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, 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.

Retreat. Flourish. Enter, with drum and colours, MALCOLM, · old SIWARD, ROSS, LENNOX, ANGUS, CAITHNESS, MENTEITH, and Soldiers.

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

Siw. Some must go of; and yet, by these I see,

So great a day as this is cheaply bought.

Mal. Macduff is missing, and your noble son.

Ross. 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.

Siw. Then he is dead?

Ross. Ay, and brought off the field: your cause of sorrow Must not be measur'd by his worth, for then

It hath no end.

Siw. Had he his hurts before?

Ross. Ay, on the front.


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.


And that I'll spend for him.


He's worth more sorrow,

He's worth no more:

They say he parted well, and paid his score:

And so, God be with him!-Here comes newer comfort.

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