Macbeth Page #5

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...honour,

love,

obedience,

troops of friends,

I must not look to have,

but, in their stead,

curses,

not loud,

but deep, mouth-honour, breath,

which the poor heart would fain deny

and dare not.

Seyton.

All is confirmed, my Lord,

which was reported.

I'll fight till from my bones

my flesh be hacked.

- Give me my armour.

- 'Tis not needed yet.

I'll put it on!

And now a wood

comes toward Dunsinane.

Ring the alarum bell.

Arm, arm, and out!

Tyrant, show thy face!

(Macbeth) There is nor flying hence

nor tarrying here.

I 'gin to be aweary of the sun

and wish the estate o' the world

were now undone.

Blow, wind.

Come, wrack.

At least we'll die

with harness on our back.

'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.

'Why should I play the Roman fool

and die on mine own sword?'

Whiles I see lives,

the gashes do better upon them.

Turn, hellhound.

Turn.

Of all men else

I have avoided thee.

But get thee back.

My soul is too much charged

with blood of thine already.

I have no words.

My voice is in my sword.

Thou losest labour.

As easy mayst thou the intrenchant air

with thy keen sword impress

as make me bleed.

(Roars)

Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests.

I bear a charmed life

which must not yield

to one of woman born.

Despair thy charm

and let the angel

whom thou still hast served tell thee

Macduff was from his mother's womb

untimely ripped.

Accursed be the tongue

that tells me so,

for it hath cowed

my better part of man.

I'll not fight with thee.

(Macduff) Then yield thee, coward,

and live to be

the show and gaze of the time.

I will have thee,

as our rarer monsters are,

painted upon a pole,

and underwrit:

"Here may you see the tyrant,

"Macbeth."

(Groans)

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 damned be him

that first cries,

"Hold, enough!"

He's worth more sorrow,

and that I'll spend for him.

He's worth no more.

Hail,

King of Scotland!

Hail, King of Scotland!

(Soldiers) Hail, King of Scotland!

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