Yo. Sey. The Devil himself could not pronounce a Title More hateful to mine Ear.

Mach. No, nor more fearful.

Yo. Seyw. Thou lieft, thou abhorred Tyrant, with my Sword I'll prove the lie thou fpeak'st.

[Fight, and Young Seyward's flain

Mach. Thou waft born of Woman;

But Swords I fmile at, Weapons laugh to fcorn,
Brandish'd by Man that's of a Woman born.

Alarums. Enter Macduff.

[Exit.

Macd. That way the noife is: Tyrant, fhew thy Face, If thou be'ft flain, and with no ftroke of mine, My Wife and Childrens Ghofts will haunt me ftill I cannot ftrike at wretched Kernes, whose arms Are hir'd to bear their Staves; either thou, Macbeth, Or else my Sword with an unbatter'd edge I fheath again undeeded. There thou should'ft be By this great clatter, one of greatest note Seems bruited. Let me find him, Fortune, And more I beg not.

[Exit.

Alarums:

Enter Malcolme and Seyward.

Seyw. This way, my Lord, the Caftle's gently rendered: The Tyrant's People, on both fides do fight,

The noble Thanes do bravely in the War,

The day almost it felf profeffes yours,

And little is to do.

Mal. We have met with Foes

That ftrike befide us.

Seyw. Enter, Sir, the Castle.

Enter Macbeth.

[Exeunt. Alarum.

Mach. Why fhould I play the Roman Fool, and die
On mine own Sword? whilft I fee lives, the gafhes
Do better upon them.

Enter Macduff.

Macd. Turn Hell-hound, turn.

Mach. Of all Men elfe I have avoided thee:

But get

thee back, my Soul is too much charg'd

With Blood of thine already.

Macd, I have no words,

My Voice is in my Sword, thou bloodier Villain

Than terms can give thee out.

[Fight.

Alarum.

Masb.

Mack. Thou lofeft labour,

As eafie may'st thou the intrenchant Air
With thy keen Sword imprefs, 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. Defpair thy Charm,

And let the Angel whom thou still haft ferv'd
Tell thee, Macduff was from his Mother's Womb
Untimely rip'd.

Mach. Accurfed be that tongue that tells me fo
For it hath Cow'd my better part of Man:
And be thefe Jugling Fiends no more believ❜d,
That palter with us in a double fense,
That keep the word of promife to our Ear,
And break it to our Hope. I'll not fight with thee.
Macd. Then yield thee, Coward,

And live to be the fhew, and gaze o'th' time.
We'll have thee, as our Rarer-Monsters are
Painted upon a Pole, and under-writ,
Here may you fee the Tyrant.
Macb. I will not yield

To kifs the ground before young Malcolm's Feet,
And to be baited with the Rabbles Curfe.
Though Birnam Wood be come to Dunsinane,
And thou oppos'd, being of no Woman born,
Yet I will try the laft. Before my Body,
I throw my Warlike Shield: Lay on Macduff,
And damn'd be him, that firft cries hold, enough,

[Exeunt fighting. Alarums.

Enter fighting, and Macbeth is flain.

Retreat and Flourish. Enter with Drum and Colours,
Malcolme, Seyward, Roffe, Thanes, and Soldiers.
Mal. I would the Friends we mifs, were fafe arriv'd.
Seyw. Some muft go off: and yet by these I see,
So great a day as this is cheaply bought.

Mal. Macduff is miffing, and your noble Son.
Roffe. Your Son, my Lord, has paid a Soldier's Debts

He only liv'd but 'till he was a Man,

The which no fooner had his Prowefs confirm'd,

In the unfhrinking station where he fought,

U 2

But

But like a Man he dy❜d.

Seyw. Then he is dead?

Roffe. Ay, and brought off the Field: your cause of forrow Muft not be measur'd by his worth, for then

It hath no end.

Seyw. Had he his hurts before?

Roffe. Ay, on the Front.

Seyw. Why then, God's Soldier be he:
Had I as many Sons as I have Hairs,

I would not wish them to a fairer death:
And fo his Knell is knoll'd.

Mal. He's worth more forrow,

'And that I'll spend for him.

Seyw. He's worth no more,

They fay he parted well, and paid his score,

And fo God be with him. Here comes newer comfort.
Enter Macduff with Macbeth's Head.

Macd. Hail, King! for fo thou art. Behold, where ftands Th' Ufurper's Curfed Head; the time is free:

I fee thee compaft with thy Kingdom's Peers,
That speak my falutation in their Minds:
Whofe Voices I defire aloud with mine.
Hail King of Scotland.

All. Hail, King of Scotland.

Mal. We fhall not spend a large expence of time, Before we reckon with your feveral loves,

[Flourish.

And make us even with you. My Thanes and Kinsmen
Henceforth be Earls, the firft that ever Scotland
In fuch an Honour nam'd: What's more to do
Which would be planted newly with the time,
As calling home our exil'd Friends abroad,
That fled the Snares of watchful Tyranny,
Producing forth the cruel Minifters

Of this dead Butcher, and his Fiend-like Queen;
Who (as 'tis thought) by felf and violent hands,
Took off her Life; This, and what needful elfe
That calls upon us, by the Grace of Grace,
We will perform in Measure, Time and Place:
So Thanks to all at once, and to each one,
Whom we invite, to fee us Crown'd at Scone.

[Flourish. Exeunt omnes.

PRINCE

O F

DENMARK.

A

TRAGEDY.

Printed in the YEAR 1709.

C

Dramatis Perfonæ,

Laudius, King of Denmark.

Fortinbras, Prince of Norway.

Hamlet, Son to the former, and Nephew to the

prefent King.

Reynoldo, Servant to Polonius.
Ghost of Hamlet's Father.

Gertrude, Queen of Denmark, and Mother to Hamlet.
Ophelia, Daughter to Polonius, belov'd by Hamlet.
Ladies attending on the Queen.

Players, Grave-makers, Sailors, Messengers, and other Attendants.

SCENE ELSINOOR.

HAM