Macb. Thou losest labour, As cafie may'ft thou the intrenchant Air With thy keen Sword 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 Macd. Accurfed be that tongue that tells me fo; That keep the word of promife to our Ear, And live to be the fhew, and gaze o'th'time. To kifs the ground before young Malcolm's Feet, [Exeunt fighting. Alarums Enter fighting, and Macbeth is flain. Retreat and Flourish. Enter with Drum and Colours, Mal. Macduff is miffing, and your noble Son. The which no fooner had his Prowefs confirm'd, In the unfhrinking ftation where he fought, U & But But like a Man he dy'd. Seyw. Then he is dead? Roffe. Ay, and brought off the Field: your caufe of forrow Muft not be meafur'd by his worth, for then It hath no end. Seyw. Had he his hurts before? Roffe. Ay, on the Front. Seyw. Why then, God's Soldier be he: I would not wish them to a fairer death: Mal. He's worth more forrow, And that I'll spend for him. Sey. He's worth no more, They fay he parted well, and paid his fcore, And fo God be with him. Here comes newer comfort. Macd. Hail, King! for fo thou art. Behold, where ftands Th' Ufurper's Curfed Head; the time is free: I fee thee compaft with thy Kingdom's Peers, All. Hail, King of Scotland. Mal. We fhall not fend a large expence of time, Before we reckon with your feveral loves, [Flourish. And make us even with you. My Thanes and Kinsmen Of this dead Butcher, and his Fiend-like Queen; [Flourish. Exeunt Omnes. |