Of all men else I have avoided thee. But get thee back. My soul is too much chargedwith blood of thine already.
I have no words; My voice is in my sword, thou bloodier villainthan terms can give thee out.
Thou losest labor. As easy mayst thou the intrenchant air with thy keen sword impress as make me bleed. Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests; I bear a charmèd life, which must not yield to one of woman born.
Despair thy charm, and let the angel whom thou still hast served tell thee Macduff was from his mother’s womb untimely ripped.
Accursèd be that tongue that tells me so, for it hath cowed my better part of man! and be these juggling fiends no more believed that palter with us in a double sense, that keep the word of promise to our ear and break it to our hope. I’ll not fight with thee.
Then yield thee, coward, and live to be the show and gaze o’ th’ time. We’ll have thee, as our rarer monsters are, painted upon a pole, and underwrit “Here may you see the tyrant.”
I will not yield, to kiss the ground before young Malcolm’s feet, and to be baited with the rabble’s curse. Though Birnam Wood be come to Dunsinane, and thou opposed, being of no woman born, yet I will try the last. Before my body I throw my warlike shield. Lay on, Macduff, and damned be him that first cries, “Hold, enough!”
Exeunt, fighting. Alarums.
They enter fighting, and Macbeth is slain. Macduff exits carrying off Macbeth’s body.