Ring the alarum-bell; blow, wind! come, wrack! SCENE before Dunfinane. 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) Si. Fare you well; Do we but find the tyrant's power to-night, Macd. Make all our trumpets fpeak, give them all breath, Those clam'rous harbingers of blood and death. [Exe. [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? Mach. Thou'lt be afraid to hear it. Yo. Siry. No: though thou call'it thy felf a hotter name, Than any is in hell. Macb. My name's Macbeth. To. Siw. The devil himself could not pronounce a title More hateful to mine ear Macb. No, nor more fearful. r. Siw. Thou lieft, abhorred tyrant; with my I'll prove the lie thou speak'ft. fword [Fight, and young Siward's flain. Mach 1 Mach. 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 Enter Malcolm and Siward. [Exit. Alarum. Sivu. 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 trike befide us. Siw. Enter, Sir, the caftle. Enter Macbeth. [Exeunt. Alarum. Mach. Why should I play the Roman fool, and die On mine own fword? whilft I fee lives, the gashes Do better upon them. To him, enter Macduff, Macd. Turn, hell-hound, turn. But Macb. Of all men elfe I have avoided thee: get thee back, my foul is too much char g'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. Macb. Mach. Thou lofeft labour; As eafy may't thou the intrenchant air With thy keen fword imprefs, as make me bleed : I bear a charmed life, which muft not yield Macd. Defpair thy charm! And let the angel, whom thou ftill haft ferv'd, Macb. Accurfed be that tongue, that tells me fo? For it hath cow'd my better part of man: And be there jugling fiends no more believ'd, 1 And break it to our hope! I'll not fight with thee. 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. Mal. I would, the friends, we mifs, were fafe arriv’d. So great a day as this is cheaply bought. Mal. Macduff is mifling, 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, Roffe. Ay, and brought off the field: your caufe of forrow Must not be measur'd by his worth, for then It hath no end. Siw. Had he his hurts before? Siw. Why then, God's foldier be he! I would not with them to a fairer death: Mal. He's worth more forrow, And that I'll spend for him. Siv. He's worth no more; They fay, he parted well, and paid his fcore. Macd. Hail, King! for fo thou art. Behold, where ftands All. Hail, King of Scotland! [Flourish. Mal. We fhall not fpend a large expence of time,Before we reckon with your fev'ral loves, And make us even with you. Thanes and kinfmen, 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, (47) The which no feener had his process confirm'd, In the unfhrinking ftation where he fought, But like a man, he 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 fore, quem quifque vivus pugnando locum ceperat, eum amiffa anima corpore regebat.. Saluft. As calling home our exil'd friends abroad, Of this dead butcher, and his fiend-like Queen ; (48) [Flourish. Exeunt omnes. This, and what needful elfe That calls upon us, by the grace of heaven.] This is a reading only of Mr. Pope; for all the copies, that I have feen, read, -by the grace of grace. It is an expreffion our author is fund of: and fo he often ftyles the divinity himself, as well as his attribute. Whilft I, their King, that thither them importune, Do curfe the grace that with fuch grace hath bleft them. Hop'ft thou my cure? Hel. The greatest grace lending grac, &c. In the like manner he loves to redouble other words: 2 Gent. of Vero. All's Well, &c. 3 Henry VI Anto, and Cleop |