The way to dufty death. Out, out, brief candle! Enter a Meffenger. 'Thou com'ft to use thy tongue: thy story quickly. I fhould report that which, I fay, I faw, Macb. Well, fay it, Sir. Mej. As I did ftand my watch upon the hill, I look'd toward Birnam, and anoa, methought, The wood began to move. Mach. Liar, and slave! [Striking him. Mef. Let me endure your wrath, if't be not fo: Within this three mile may you fee it coming; I fay, a moving grove. Macb. If thou fpeak'ft falfe, Upon the next tree fhalt thou hang alive, I care not if thou doft for me as much. I pull in refolution, and begin To doubt th' equivocation of the fiend, That lies like truth. "Fear not, 'till Birnam-wood "Do come to Dunfinane,"—and now a wood Comes toward Dunfinane. Arm, arm, and out! And wish, the state o' th' world were now undone. Here dyes the dusky torch of Mortimer. (46) I'gin to be a weary of the fun; Ibid. 2 Henry VI, -R.cb. III. And wife, &c.] Macbeth feems here exactly in the circumftance of Dido in Virgil. He knows his fate; and his misfortunes fit fo heavy upon him, that he is weary of being longer in the world. Tum vero infælix fatis exterrita Dido Mortem orat; tædet cœli convexa tueri, Æneid. IV, Ring the alarum-bell; blow, wind! come, wrack! At least, we'll die with harness on our back. [Exeunt, SCENE before Dunsinane. Enter Malcolm, Siward, Macduff, and their Army with Mal, Now, Boughs. TOW, near enough: your leavy screens throw And fhew like those you are. You (worthy uncle) Lead our firft battle. Brave Macduff and we Shall take upon's what else remains to do, Siw. Fare you well: Do we but find the tyrant's power to-night, Macd, Make all our trumpetsfpeak,give them all breath, Thofe clam'rous harbingers of blood and death. [Ex. [Alarums continued, Enter Macbeth, Mach. They'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'it thy felf 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 Mach. No, nor more fearful. Y. Siw. Thou lieft, abhorred tyrant; with my fword I'll prove the lie thou speak'st, [Fight, and young Siward's flain. Macb Macb. Thou waft born of woman; But fwords I fmile at, weapons laugh to fcorn, Alarums. Enter Macduff. [Exit. Macd. That way the noife is: tyrant, fhew thy face; I fheath again undeeded. There thou should't be→ Seems bruited. And more I beg not. Enter Malcolm and Siward. [Exit. Alarum. 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 almoft itself profeffes yours, And little is to do. Mal: We've met with foes, That strike befide us. Siw. Enter, Sir, the caftle. Enter Macbeth. [Exeunt. Alarum. Mach. Why fhould I play the Roman fool, and die On mine own fword? whilft I fee lives, the gathes Do better upon them. To him, enter Macduff. Macd. Turn, hell-hoand, turn. 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. Q3 [Fight. Alarum. Mach. Mach. Thou lofeft labour; As cafy may't thou the intrenchant air I bear a charmed life, which must not yield Macd. Defpair thy charm! And let the angel, whom thou ftill haft ferv'd, fo! Macb. Accurfed be that tongue, that tells me And live to be the fhew, and gaze o' th' time. Here may you fee the tyrant. Mach. I will not yield To kifs the ground before young Malcolm's feet: Retreat and flourish. Enter with drum and colours, Malcolm, Siward, Roffe, Thanes, and Soldiers. off: Mal. I would, the friends, we mifs, were fafe arriv'd. Siw. Some muft go and yet by these I see, 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 The which no fooner had his prow'fs confirm'd, (47) In the unfhrinking ftation where he fought, But like a man he dy❜d. Sir. 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. Sir. Had he his hurts before? Siw. Why then, God's foldier be he! I would not wish them to a fairer death: 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 fcore. . Macd. Hail, King! for fo thou art. Behold, where stands All. Hail, King of Scotland! [Flourish. 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 firft that ever Scotland (47) The which no fooner bad bis prowess confirm'd, In the unfhrinking ftation where he fought, But like a man, be dy'd.] The refolution, with which young Siward is defcrib'd to have dy'd, feems very much a copy of Cataline and his defperate affociates behaviour, in a much worfe caufe. Nam fire, quem quifque vivus pugnando locum ceperat, eum amiffa anima compose tegebat. Saluft. |