Mach. Why fhould 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.

Mach. 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.

Mach. Thou lofeft labour;

[Fight. Alarum.

As eafie may'ft thou the intrenchant air

With thy keen fword imprefs, as make me bleed:
Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crefts,

I bear a charmed life, which must not yield
To one of woman born.

Macd. Despair thy Charm!

And let the Angel, whom thou ftill haft ferv'd,
Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb
Untimely ripp'd.

Macb. Accurfed be that tongue that tells me fo, For it hath cow'd my better part of man;

And be thefe juggling fiends no more believ'd,
That palter with us in a double fense;

That keep the word of promife to our ear,

And break it to our hope. I'll not fight with thee.
Macd. Then yield thee, coward,

And live to be the fhew, and gaze o'th' time.
We'll have thee, as our rarer monsters are,

9

-intrenchant air] That

is, air which cannot be cut.

VOL. VI.

Falter with us ] That fuf fe with ambiguous expreffions. I i

Painted

Painted upon a pole, and under-writ,
Here may you fee the tyrant.
Mach. I will not yield,

To kifs the ground before young Malcolm's feet,
And to be baited with the rabble's Curfe.
Though Birnam-wood be come to Dunsinane,
And thou, oppos'd, be of no woman born,
Yet I will try the laft. Before my body
I throw my warlike shield. Lay on, Macduff;
And damn'd be he, that firft cries, Hold, enough.
[Exeunt fighting. Alarums,

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. Siw. Some must go off; and yet, by these I fee, 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 which no fooner had his prowess confirm'd,
In the unfhrinking station where he fought,
But like a man he dy❜d.

Siw. Then is he 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.

Siw. Had he his hurts before?

Roffe. Ay, on the front.

Siw. Why then, God's foldier be he! Had I as many fons as I have hairs,

I would not wish them to a fairer death.
And fo his knell is knoll'd.

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 score.
So, God be with him!-Here comes newer comfort.

Enter Macduff, with Macbeth's head.

Macd. Hail, King! for fo thou art. Behold, where
stands

Th' Ufurper's curfed head. The time is free;
I fee thee compaft with thy Kingdom's Peers,
That fpeak my falutation in their minds,
Whofe voices I defire aloud with mine.
Hail, King of Scotland!

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,
As calling home our exil'd friends abroad,
That fled the fnares of watchful tyranny,
Producing forth the cruel ministers

Of this dead butcher, and his fiend-like Queen,
Who, as 'tis thought, by felf and violent hands
Took off her life; this, and what needful else

And fo his knell is knoll'd.] This incident is thus related from Henry of Huntingdon by Camden in his Remains, from which our authour probably copied it.

When Seyward, the martial earl of Northumberland, undergood that his fon, whom he had

Ii 2

sent in service against the Scotchmen, was flain, he demanded whether his wounds were in the fore part or hinder part of his body. When it was answered, in the fore part, he replied, "I am "right glad; neither with I any

"other death to me or mine." That

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 fee us crown'd at Scone.

C. MARCIUS

CORIOLANUS.

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