Macbeth by William Shakespeare
Act 5 - Scene 8
Another part of the field.
Macbeth : Why should I play the Roman fool, and die
[p]On mine own sword? whiles
I see lives, the gashes
[p]Do better upon them.
Macduff : Turn, hell-hound, turn!
Macbeth : Of all men else I have avoided thee:
[p]But get thee back; my soul is
too much charged
[p]With blood of thine already.
Macduff : I have no words:
[p]My voice is in my sword: thou bloodier
villain
[p]Than terms can give thee out!
Macbeth : Thou losest labour:
[p]As easy mayst thou the intrenchant air
[p]With
thy keen sword impress as make me bleed:
[p]Let fall thy blade on
vulnerable crests;
[p]I bear a charmed life, which must not
yield,
[p]To one of woman born.
Macduff : Despair thy charm;
[p]And let the angel whom thou still hast
served
[p]Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb
[p]Untimely
ripp'd.
Macbeth : Accursed be that tongue that tells me so,
[p]For it hath cow'd my
better part of man!
[p]And be these juggling fiends no more
believed,
[p]That palter with us in a double sense;
[p]That keep the
word of promise to our ear,
[p]And break it to our hope. I'll not
fight with thee.
Macduff : Then yield thee, coward,
[p]And live to be the show and gaze o' the
time:
[p]We'll have thee, as our rarer monsters are,
[p]Painted on a
pole, and underwrit,
[p]'Here may you see the tyrant.'
Macbeth : I will not yield,
[p]To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's
feet,
[p]And to be baited with the rabble's curse.
[p]Though Birnam
wood be come to Dunsinane,
[p]And thou opposed, being of no woman
born,
[p]Yet I will try the last. Before my body
[p]I throw my warlike
shield. Lay on, Macduff,
[p]And damn'd be him that first cries, 'Hold,
enough!'
[p][Exeunt, fighting. Alarums]
[p][Retreat. Flourish. Enter,
with drum and colours,]
[p]MALCOLM, SIWARD, ROSS, the other Thanes,
and Soldiers]
Malcolm : I would the friends we miss were safe arrived.
Siward : Some must go off: and yet, by these I see,
[p]So great a day as this
is cheaply bought.
Malcolm : Macduff is missing, and your noble son.
Ross : Your son, my lord, has paid a soldier's debt:
[p]He only lived but
till he was a man;
[p]The which no sooner had his prowess
confirm'd
[p]In the unshrinking station where he fought,
[p]But like a
man he died.
Siward : Then he is dead?
Ross : Ay, and brought off the field: your cause of sorrow
[p]Must not be
measured by his worth, for then
[p]It hath no end.
Siward : Had he his hurts before?
Ross : Ay, on the front.
Siward : Why then, God's soldier be he!
[p]Had I as many sons as I have
hairs,
[p]I would not wish them to a fairer death:
[p]And so, his
knell is knoll'd.
Malcolm : He's worth more sorrow,
[p]And that I'll spend for him.
Siward : He's worth no more
[p]They say he parted well, and paid his
score:
[p]And so, God be with him! Here comes newer comfort.
Macduff : Hail, king! for so thou art: behold, where stands
[p]The usurper's
cursed head: the time is free:
[p]I see thee compass'd with thy
kingdom's pearl,
[p]That speak my salutation in their minds;
[p]Whose
voices I desire aloud with mine:
[p]Hail, King of Scotland!
All : Hail, King of Scotland!
Malcolm : We shall not spend a large expense of time
[p]Before we reckon with
your several loves,
[p]And make us even with you. My thanes and
kinsmen,
[p]Henceforth be earls, the first that ever Scotland
[p]In
such an honour named. What's more to do,
[p]Which would be planted
newly with the time,
[p]As calling home our exiled friends
abroad
[p]That fled the snares of watchful tyranny;
[p]Producing forth
the cruel ministers
[p]Of this dead butcher and his fiend-like
queen,
[p]Who, as 'tis thought, by self and violent hands
[p]Took off
her life; this, and what needful else
[p]That calls upon us, by the
grace of Grace,
[p]We will perform in measure, time and place:
[p]So,
thanks to all at once and to each one,
[p]Whom we invite to see us
crown'd at Scone.
Previous: Act 5 - Scene 7
Next: Act 5 - Scene 8
