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Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane.
[Exeunt all except Doctor.
Doct. Were I from Dunsinane away and clear, Profit again should hardly draw me here.
SCENE IV. Country near Dunsinane: a wood in view.
Enter, with drum and colours, MALCOLM, old SIWARD and young
Mal. Cousins, I hope the days are near at hand
The wood of Birnam.
It shall be done.
Siw. We learn no other but the confident tyrant
Let our just censures
I should report that which I say I saw,
But know not how to do it.
Well, say, sir. (117) Mess. As I did stand my watch upon the hill, I look'd toward Birnam, and anon, methought, The wood began to move.
Liar and slave!
Mess. Let me endure your wrath, if't be not so:
I pull in resolution ;(119) and begin
To doubt th' equivocation of the fiend,
That lies like truth: "Fear not, till Birnam wood
There is nor flying hence nor tarrying here.
And wish th' estate o' the world were now undone.-
SCENE VI. The same. A plain before the castle.
Enter, with drum and colours, MALCOLM, old SIWARD, MACDUFF,
Mal. Now near enough; your leafy screens throw down,
Lead our first battle: worthy Macduff and we
Fare you well.Do we but find the tyrant's power to-night, Let us be beaten, if we cannot fight.
Macd. Make all our trumpets speak; give them all breath, Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death.
SCENE VII. The same. Another part of the plain.
Alarums. Enter MACBETH.
Mach. They've 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.
Enter young SIWARD.
Yo. Siw. What is thy name?
Thou'lt be afraid to hear it. Yo. Siw. No; though thou call'st thyself a hotter name Than any is in hell.
My name's Macbeth.
Yo. Siw. The devil himself could not pronounce a title
More hateful to mine ear.
No, nor ore fearful.
Yo. Siw. Thou liest, abhorred tyrant; with my sword I'll prove the lie thou speak'st.
[They fight, and young Siward is slain. Thou wast born of woman.But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn, Brandish'd by man that's of a woman born.
My wife and children's ghosts will haunt me still.
Alarums. Enter MACDUFF.
Macd. That way the noise is.—Tyrant, show thy face! If thou be'st slain and with no stroke of mine,
Are hir'd to bear their staves: either thou, Macbeth,
By this great clatter, one of greatest note