Macbeth

id="scene-5-7" epub:type="z3998:scene">

Scene VII

Another part of the field.

	Alarums. Enter Macbeth.
Macbeth	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.
Young Siward	What is thy name?
Macbeth	Thou’lt be afraid to hear it.
Young Siward	No; though thou call’st thyself a hotter name Than any is in hell.
Macbeth	My name’s Macbeth.
Young Siward	The devil himself could not pronounce a title More hateful to mine ear.
Macbeth	No, nor more fearful.
Young Siward	Thou liest, abhorred tyrant; with my sword I’ll prove the lie thou speak’st. They fight and Young Siward is slain.
Macbeth	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.
Macduff	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 hired 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.
Siward	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.
Malcolm	We have met with foes That strike beside us.
Siward	Enter, sir, the castle. Exeunt. Alarums.

Scene VIII

Another part of the field.

	Enter Macbeth.
Macbeth	Why should I play the Roman fool, and die On mine own sword? whiles I see lives, the gashes Do better upon them.
	Enter Macduff.
Macduff	Turn, hell-hound, turn!
Macbeth	Of all men else I have avoided thee: But get thee back; my soul is too much charged With blood of thine already.
Macduff	I have no words: My voice is in my sword: thou bloodier villain Than terms can give thee out! They fight.
Macbeth	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.
Macduff	Despair thy charm; And let the angel whom thou still hast served Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother’s womb Untimely ripp’d.
Macbeth	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 believed, 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.
Macduff	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 on a pole, and underwrit, “Here may you see the tyrant.”
Macbeth	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 opposed, 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. Alarums.
	Retreat. Flourish. Enter, with drum and colours, Malcolm, old Siward, Ross, the other Thanes, and Soldiers.
Malcolm	I would the friends we miss were safe arrived.
Siward	Some must go off: and yet, by these I see, So great a day as this is cheaply bought.
Malcolm	Macduff is missing, and your noble son.
Ross	Your son, my lord, has paid a soldier’s debt: He only lived 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.
Siward	Then he is dead?
Ross	Ay, and brought off the field: your cause of sorrow Must not be measured by his worth, for then It hath no end.
Siward	Had he his hurts before?
Ross	Ay, on the front.
Siward	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.
Malcolm	He’s worth more sorrow, And that I’ll spend for him.
Siward	He’s worth no more: They say he parted well, and paid his score: And so, God be with him! Here comes newer comfort.
	Re-enter Macduff, with Macbeth’s head.
Macduff	Hail, king! for so thou art: behold, where stands The usurper’s cursed head: the time is free: I see thee compass’d with thy kingdom’s pearl, That speak my salutation in their minds; Whose voices I desire aloud with mine: Hail, King of Scotland!
All	Hail, King of Scotland! Flourish.
Malcolm	We shall not spend a large expense of time Before we reckon with your several loves, And make us even with you. My thanes and kinsmen, Henceforth be earls, the first that ever Scotland In such an honour named. What’s more to do, Which would be planted newly with the time, As calling home our exiled friends abroad That fled the snares of watchful tyranny; Producing forth the cruel ministers Of this dead butcher and his fiend-like queen, Who, as ’tis thought, by self and violent hands Took off her life; this, and what needful else That calls upon us, by the grace of Grace, We will perform in measure, time and place: So, thanks to all at once and to each one, Whom we invite to see us crown’d at Scone. Flourish. Exeunt.

Colophon

Macbeth
was published in 1606 by
William Shakespeare.

This ebook was produced for
Standard Ebooks
by
Emma Sweeney,
and is based on a transcription produced in 1993 by
Jeremy Hylton
for the
Massachusetts Institute of Technology
and on digital scans available at the
HathiTrust Digital Library.

The cover page is adapted from
Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth,
a painting completed in 1889 by
John Singer Sargent.
The cover and title pages feature the
League Spartan and Sorts Mill Goudy
typefaces created in 2014 and 2009