Scene VI, VII. MACBETH. Let us be beaten, if we cannot fight. The cry is still, They come: Our castle's strength Do we but find the tyrant's power to-night, Macd. Make all our trumpets speak; g.ve their Sey. It is the cry of women, my good lord. The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Enter a Messenger. Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death. SCENE VII.-The same. Another part of the Macb. They have tied me to a stake; I cannot fly, Enter Young Siward. Yo. Siw. What is thy name? Thou'lt be afraid to hear it. ter name Than any is in hell. pronounce My name's Macbeth. Macb. I'll prove the lie thou speak'st. [They fight, and Young Siward is slain. Thou wast born of woman. Thou com'st to use thy tongue; thy story quickly. But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn, Mess. Gracious my lord, I shall report that which I say I saw, But know not how to do it. Macb. Well, say, sir. Mess. As I did stand my watch upon the hill, I look'd toward Birnam, and anon, methought, The wood began to move. Macb. Liar, and slave! If thou speak'st false, Macb. Macd. That way the noise is :-Tyrant, show If thou be'st slain, and with no stroke of mine, I sheath again undeeded. There thou should'st be; [Exit. Alarum. render'd: The tyrant's people on both sides do fight; out!—And [Exeunt. Mal. Siw. Enter, sir, the castle. SCENE VI.-The same. A plain before the cas-On mine own sword? whiles I see lives, the gashes tle. Enter, with drums and colours, Malcolm. Do better upon them. Old Siward, Macduff, &c. and their army, with boughs. As easy may'st thou the entrenchant air1 I bear a charmed life, which must not yield Macd. Despair thy charm; And let the angel, whom thou still hast serv'd, Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb Untimely ripp'd. Macb. Accursed be that tongue that tells me so, And live to be the show and gaze o'the time. Macb. I'll not yield, To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet, throw my warlike shield: lay on, Macduff; And damn'd be him that first cries, Hold, enough. [Exeunt, fighting. Retreat. Flourish. Re-enter, with drum and colours, Malcolm, Old Siward, Rosse, Lenox, Angus, Cathness, Menteth, and soldiers. Mal. I would, the friends we miss were safe 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 missing, and your noble son. Rosse. Your son, my lord, has paid a soldier's debt: He only liv'd but till he was a man; The which no sooner had his prowess confirm'd Then he is dead? Siw. Must not be measur'd by his worth, for then Siw. Had he his hurts before? He's worth more sorrow, Mal. And that I'll spend for him. Siw. He's worth no more, They say, he parted well, and paid his score: So, God be with him!-Here comes newer comfort. Re-enter Macduff, with Macbeth's head on a pole. Macd. Hail, king! for so thou art: Behold, where stands The usurper's cursed head: the time is free: King of Scotland, hai!! men, Henceforth be earls, the first that ever Scotland Of this dead butcher, and his fiend-like queen ; This play is deservedly celebrated for the propriety of its fiction, and solemnity, grandeur, and variety of its action; but it has no nice discrimina tions of character; the events are too great to admit the influence of particular dispositions, a:.d the course of the action necessarily determines the conduct of the agents. The danger of ambition is well described; and I know not whether it may not be said, in defence of some parts which now seem improbable, that in Shakspeare's time it was necessary to warn cre dulity against vain and illusive predictions. The passions are directed to their true end. Lady Macbeth is merely detested; and though the cou rage of Macbeth preserves some esteem, yet every reader rejoices at his fall. JOHNSON. (3) The kingdom's wealth or ornament. |