Macbeth by William Shakespeare (top 100 books to read TXT) 📕

of the sun
    And wish the estate o' the world were now undone.
    Ring the alarum bell! Blow, wind! Come, wrack!
    At least we'll die with harness on our back. Exeunt.
SCENE VI. Dunsinane. Before the castle.

Enter Malcolm, old Siward, Macduff, and their Army, with boughs.
Drum and colors.

  MALCOLM. Now near enough; your leavy screens throw down,
    And show like those you are. You, worthy uncle,
    Shall with my cousin, your right noble son,
    Lead our first battle. Worthy Macduff and we
    Shall take upon 's what else remains to do,
    According to our order.
  SIWARD. Fare you well.
    Do we but find the tyrant's power tonight,
    Let us be beaten if we cannot fight.
  MACDUFF. Make all our trumpets speak, give them all breath,
    Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death.
                                                         Exeunt.

SCENE VII. Dunsinane. Before the castle. 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 O Thou liest, abhorred tyrant; with my sword
    I'll prove the lie thou speak'st.
                          They fight, and young Seward 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 best 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. Alarum.

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 labor.
    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 patter 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 upon 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.

SCENE IX.

Retreat. Flourish. Enter, with drum and colors, 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 honor 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.
                 -THE END-

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The Tragedy of Macbeth