Macb. Why should I play the Roman Foole, and dye Macd. Enter Macduffe. Turne Hell-hound, turne. Mach. Of all men else I have avoyded thee: But get thee backe, my soule is too much charg'd With blood of thine already. Macd I have no words, My voice is in my Sword, thou bloodier Villaine Then tearmes can give thee out. Macb. Fight: Alarum. 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. Macd. Dispaire thy Charme, And let the Angell whom thou still hast serv'd Tell thee, Macduffe was from his Mothers womb Untimely ript. Macb. Accursed be that tongue that tels mee so; For it hath Cow'd my better part of man : And be these Jugling Fiends no more beleev'd, That palter with us in a double sence, That keepe the word of promise to our eare, And breake it to our hope. Ile not fight with thee. And live to be the shew, and gaze o'th'time. Heere may you see the Tyrant. I will not yeeld Macb. Exeunt fighting. Alarums. Enter Fighting, and Macbeth slaine. Retreat, and Flourish. Enter with Drumme and Colours, Mal. I would the Friends we misse, were safe arriv'd. So great a day as this is cheapely bought. Mal. Macduffe is missing, and your Noble Sonne. Rosse. Your Son my Lord, ha's paid a souldiers debt, He onely liv'd but till he was a man, The which no sooner had his Prowesse confirm'd In the unshrinking station where he fought, But like a man he dy'de. Rosse. I, and brought off the field: your cause of sorrow Must not be measured by his worth, for then They say he parted well, and paid his score, And so God be with him. Here comes newer comfort. Enter Macduffe, with Macbeths head. Macd. Haile King, for so thou art. Behold where stands Th'Usurpers cursed head: the time is free: I see thee compast with thy Kingdomes Pearle, All. Haile King of Scotland. Mal. We shall not spend a large expence of time, And make us even with you. My Thanes and Kinsmen In such an Honor nam'd: What's more to do, Of this dead Butcher, and his Fiend-like Queene; Flourish. Flourish. Exeunt Omnes. FINIS. THE TRAGEDIE HAMLET, Prince of Denmarke. Actus Primus. Scana Prima. Enter Bernardo and Francisco two Centinels. Bar. He. Barnardo. Ho's there? OF Fran. Nay answer me : Stand & unfold your selfe. Fran. Barnardo ? Fran. You come most carefully upon your houre. Bar. 'Tis now strook twelve, get thee to bed Francisco. Fran. For this releefe much thankes: 'Tis bitter cold, And I am sicke at heart. Barn. Have you had quiet Guard ? Fran. Not a Mouse stirring. Barn. Well, goodnight. If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus, the Rivals of my Watch, bid them make hast. Enter Horatio and Marcellus. Fran. I thinke I heare them. Stand: who's there? And Leige-men to the Dane. Hor. Friends to this ground. Fran. Give you good night. Mar. O farwel honest Soldier, who hath reliev'd you? Exit Fran. |