Scene VII

[Another part of the field.]

Enter Macbeth.

MACBETH:

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.

MACBETH:

They have nailed me down. I cannot fly,
But, like a bear, I must fight till the end. Who is he
That was not born of woman? Such a one
I am to fear, not anyone else.

Enter young Siward.

YOUNG SIWARD:

What is thy name?(5)

YOUNG SIWARD:

What is your name?

MACBETH:

Thou'lt be afraid to hear it.

MACBETH:

You’ll be afraid to hear it.

YOUNG SIWARD:

No, though thou call'st thyself a hotter name
Than any is in hell.

YOUNG SIWARD:

No! Though you call yourself a hotter name
Than any other there is in hell.

MACBETH:

My name's Macbeth.

MACBETH:

My name's Macbeth.

YOUNG SIWARD:

The devil himself could not pronounce a title(10)
More hateful to mine ear.

YOUNG SIWARD:

The devil himself could not pronounce a title
More hateful to my ear.

MACBETH:

No, nor more fearful.

MACBETH:

No, nor more fearful.

YOUNG SIWARD:

Thou liest, abhorred tyrant; with my sword
I'll prove the lie thou speak'st.

YOUNG SIWARD:

You lie, abhorred tyrant; with my sword
I'll prove the lie you speak.

[They] fight, and young Siward slain.

MACBETH:

Thou wast born of woman.(15)
But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn,
Brandish'd by man that's of a woman born.

MACBETH:

You were given birth by a woman.
But I smile at swords, laugh scornfully at weapons,
Brandished by man that's been given birth by a woman.

Exit.

Alarums. Enter Macduff.

MACDUFF:

That way the noise is. Tyrant, show thy face!
If thou beest slain and with no stroke of mine,
My wife and children's ghosts will haunt me still.(20)
I cannot strike at wretched kerns, whose arms
Are hired to bear their staves. Either thou, Macbeth,
Or else my sword, with an unbatter'd edge,
I sheathe again undeeded. There thou shouldst be;
By this great clatter, one of greatest note(25)
Seems bruited. Let me find him, fortune!
And more I beg not.

MACDUFF:

The noise is that way. Tyrant, show your face!
If you are already slain and not by me,
My wife and children's ghosts will still haunt me.
I cannot strike at wretched Irish foot soldiers, whose arms
Are hired to bear their lances; either I kill you, Macbeth,
Or else I’ll put my sword, with an undamaged edge,
Back into its sheath, unused. You should be there.
By this great clatter, someone of the greatest note
Seems to be reported. Let me find him, fortune!
And I will not beg for more.

Exit. Alarums.

Enter Malcolm and Siward.

SIWARD:

This way, my lord; the castle's gently render'd.
The tyrant's people on both sides do fight,
The noble thanes do bravely in the war;
The day almost itself professes yours,
And little is to do.

SIWARD:

This way, my lord; the castle's gently surrounded.
The tyrant's people fight on both sides;
The noble barons fight bravely in the war;
The day almost professes itself to be yours,
And little is to do.

MALCOLM:

We have met with foes
That strike beside us.

MALCOLM:

We have met with foes
That fight beside us.

SIWARD:

Enter, sir, the castle.

SIWARD:

Enter the castle, sir.

Exeunt. Alarum.