« НазадПродовжити »
Re-enter Macbeth. Mac. Why should I play the Roman fool, and die On mine own sword? whiles I see lives, the gashes Do better upon them.
Turn, hell-hound, turn.
I have no words,
Thou losest labour: As easy may'st thou the intrenchant air With thy keen sword impress, as make me bleed: Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests; I bear a charmed life, which must not yield To one of woman born. 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.
Mac. Accursed be that tongue that tells me so,
Macd. Then yield thee, coward,
We'll have thee, as our rarer monsters are,
I'll not yield,
Retreat. Flourish. Re-enter with Drum and Colours,
Malcolm, old Siward, Rosse, Lenox, Angus, Cath-
noble son. Rosse. Your son, my lord, has paid a soldier's
Then he is dead?
Had he bis hurts before?
Why then, God's soldier be he!
He's worth more sorrow, 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 com
Re-enter Macduff, with Macbeth's head on a pole.
King of Scotland, hail'
[Flourish. Mal. We shall not spend a large expence of time, Before we reckon with your several loves, And make us even with you. My thanes and kins
men, Henceforth be earls, the first that ever Scotland In such an honour nam’d. What's more to do, Which would be planted newly with the time,As calling home our exild friends abroad, That fled the snares of watchful tyranny;
Producing forth the cruel ministers