Macd.Make all our trumpets fpeak, give them all breath, Thofe clam'rous harbingers of blood and death. [Exeunt. [Alarums continued.

Enter Macbeth.

Mach. The've ty'd me to a stake, I cannot fly, But bear-like I must fight the courfe. What's he That was not born of woman? fuch 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'ft thyfelf a hotter name is in hell.

Than any

Mach. My name's Macbeth.

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

Mach. No, nor more fearful.

Yo. Siw. Thou lieft, abhorred tyrant; with my fword I'll prove the lie thou speak'ft.

[Fight, and young Siward's flain.

Macb. Thou waft born of woman;

But fwords I fmile at, weapons laugh to fcorn,
Brandish'd by man that's of a woman born.

Alarums. Enter Macduff.

[Exit.

Macd. That way the noife is: Tyrant, fhew thy face;
If thou be'ft flain, and with no ftroke of mine,
My wife and children's ghofts will haunt me ftill,
I cannot ftrike at wretched Kerns, whofe arms
Are hir'd to bear their ftaves: Or thou, Macbeth,
Or else my sword with an unbatter'd edge

I fheath again undeeded. There thou should't 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 Siward,

Siw.This way, my Lord; the caftle's gently render'd:
The tyrant's people on both fides do fight,
The noble Thanes do bravely in the war,

The day almost itself profeffes yours,
And little is to do., མན་

Mal

Macb. Why fhould I play the Roman fool, and die On mine own fword? whilft I fee lives, the gafhes Do better upon them.

To bim, enter Macduff,

Macd. Turn, hell-hound, torn.

Macb. Of all men elfe I have avoided thee : But get thee back, my foul is too much charg'd With blood of thine already.

Macd. I've no words,

My voice is in my fword. Thou bloodier villain
Than terms can give thee out!

Mach. Thou losest labour,'

As eafie may'ft thou the intrenchant air

[Fight, Alarum.

With thy keen fword imprefs, as make me bleed:
Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests,

I bear a charmed life, which muft not yield
To one of woman born.

Macd. Defpair thy charm,

And let the angel whom thou ftill haft ferv'd
Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb
Untimely ripp'd.

Mach. Accurfed be that tongue that tells me fo;
For it hath cow'd my better part of man:

And be thefe juggling fiends no more believ'd,

That palter with us in a double fense;

That keep the word of promife 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 fhew, and gaze o'th' time.
We'll have thee, as our rarer monfters are,
Pointed upon a pole, and under-writ,

Here may you fee the tyrant.

Mach. I'll not yield

To kifs the ground before young Malcolm's feet,
And to be baited with the rabble's curfe.
Though Birnam wood be come to Dunfinane,

An

And thou oppos'd, being of no woman born;
Yet will I try the laft. Before my body

I throw my warlike fhield. Lay on, Macduff, a
And damn'd be he, that firft cries hold, enough.

[Exeunt fighting. Alarum.

SCENE VIII.

Retreat and flourish. Enter with Drum and Colours, Mal-
colm, Siward, Roffe, Thanes, and Soldiers.
Mal. I would the friends we mifs were fafe arriv'd.
Siw. Some must go off and yet by these I fee,
So great a day as this is cheaply bought,

Mal. Macduff is miffing, and your noble fon.

Roffe. Your fon, my Lord,, has paid a foldier's debt He only liv'd but till he was a man,

The which no fooner had his prowess confirm'd

In the unfhrinking ftation where he fought,

But like a man he dy'd.

Siw. Then is he dead?

Roffe. Ay, and brought off the field: your caufe of forrow Muft not be measur'd by his worth, for then

It hath no end.

Siw. Had he his hurts before?

Roffe. Ay, on the front.

Siw. Why then, God's foldier be he!
Had I as many fons as I have hairs,

I would not wish them to a fairer death:
And fo his knell is knoll'd.

Mal. He's worth more forrow,

And that I'll spend for him.

Siw. He's worth no more;

They fay he parted well, and paid his score,
So God be with him! here comes newer comfort.

Enter Macduff with Macbeth's bead.

[ftands

Macd. Hail, King! for fo thou art. Behold, where

Th' ufurper's curfed head; the time is free:
I fee thee compaft with thy kingdom's peers,
That speak my falutation in their minds :
Whofe voices I defire aloud with mine.
Hail, King of Scotland! hail!

All Hail, King of Scotland!

[Flourish.

Mal.

Mal. We fhall not spend a large expence of time, Before we reckon with your fev'ral loves,

And make us even with you. Thanes and kinsmen,
Henceforth be Earls, the first that ever Scotland
In fuch an honour nam'd. What's more to do
Which would be planted newly with the time,
As calling home our exil'd friends abroad
That fled the fnares of watchful tyranny,
Producing forth the cruel minifters

Of this dead butcher, and his fiend-like Queen;
(Who, as 'tis thought, by felf and violent hands
Took off her Life ;) this, and what's needful elfe
That calls upon us, by the grace of heaven
We will perform in measure, time,, and place ;
So thanks to all at once, and to each one,
Whom we invite to fee us crown'd at Scone.

[Flourish. Exeunt omnca,

TROILUS

AND

CRESSIDA.