Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb
Untimely ripp'd.".

Mach. 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 sense;
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 fhow, and gaze o'th'time.

We'll have thee, as our rarer monsters are,
Painted upon a pole, and underwrit,
Here may you fee the tyrant.
Mach. I'll not yield

To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet,
And to be baited with the rabble's curfe.
`Though Birnam wood be come to Dunfinane,
And thou oppos'd, being of no woman born;
Yet I will try the laft. Before my body

I throw my warlike fhield. Lay on, Macduff;
And damn'd be he that firft cries, hold, enough.

[Exeunt fighting. alarum.

SCENE VIII.

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 see,

So great a day as this is cheaply bought.

Mal. Macduff is miffing, and your noble fon.

Roffe. Your fon, my lord, has pay'd 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 unshrinking station where he fought,
But like a man he dy❜d.

0.

Siw. Then is he dea

Roffe. Ay, and brought

Muft not be meafur'd by his wo.
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 pay'd 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 ftands Th' ufurper's curfed head; the time is free :

I fee thee compass'd with thy kingdom's peers,

That speak my falutation in their minds;
Whofe voices I defire aloud with mine: -
Hail, king of Scotland! hail!

All. Hail, king of Scotland!

Mal. We fhall not spend 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 minifters

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's needful else

[Aourifb.

That