Part 24

Exeunt.

Alarums continued.

Scena Septima.

Enter Macbeth.

Macb. They haue tied me to a stake, I cannot flye, But Beare-like I must fight the course. What's he That was not borne of Woman? Such a one Am I to feare, or none. Enter young Seyward.

Y.Sey. What is thy name? Macb. Thou'lt be affraid to heare it

Y.Sey. No: though thou call'st thy selfe a hoter name Then any is in hell

Macb. My name's Macbeth

Y.Sey. The diuell himselfe could not pronounce a Title More hatefull to mine eare

Macb. No: nor more fearefull

Y.Sey. Thou lyest abhorred Tyrant, with my Sword Ile proue the lye thou speak'st.

Fight, and young Seyward slaine.

Macb. Thou was't borne of woman; But Swords I smile at, Weapons laugh to scorne, Brandish'd by man that's of a Woman borne. Enter.

Alarums. Enter Macduffe.

Macd. That way the noise is: Tyrant shew thy face, If thou beest slaine, and with no stroake of mine, My Wife and Childrens Ghosts will haunt me still: I cannot strike at wretched Kernes, whose armes Are hyr'd to beare their Staues; either thou Macbeth, Or else my Sword with an vnbattered edge I sheath againe vndeeded. There thou should'st be, By this great clatter, one of greatest note Seemes bruited. Let me finde him Fortune, And more I begge not.

Exit. Alarums.

Enter Malcolme and Seyward.

Sey. This way my Lord, the Castles gently rendred: The Tyrants people, on both sides do fight, The Noble Thanes do brauely in the Warre, The day almost it selfe professes yours, And little is to do

Malc. We haue met with Foes That strike beside vs

Sey. Enter Sir, the Castle.

Exeunt. Alarum

Enter Macbeth.

Macb. Why should I play the Roman Foole, and dye On mine owne sword? whiles I see liues, the gashes Do better vpon them. Enter Macduffe.

Macd. Turne Hell-hound, turne

Macb. Of all men else I haue auoyded thee: But get thee backe, my soule is too much charg'd With blood of thine already

Macd. I haue no words, My voice is in my Sword, thou bloodier Villaine Then tearmes can giue thee out.

Fight: Alarum

Macb. Thou loosest labour As easie may'st thou the intrenchant Ayre With thy keene Sword impresse, as make me bleed: Let fall thy blade on vulnerable Crests, I beare a charmed Life, which must not yeeld To one of woman borne