PL. 7.

The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking sbadow; a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing. » ———

A Messenger arrives with the news that Birnam wood is seen approaching the Castle. He is struck down by Macbeth, who in his wrath, also threatens him,

« If thou speak'st false, Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive,

Till famine cling thee: if thy speech be sooth,

I care not if thou dost for me as much.» —

The scene, represented in the design, is when Malcolm's stratagem, in making each soldier bear the bough of a tree before him, has had the desired effect, and he thus addresses them,

<<Now near enough: your leavy screens throw down,
And show like those you are:-You, worthy uncle,
Shall, with my cousin, your right noble son,
Lead our first battle: worthy Macduff, and we,
Shall take upon us what else remains to do,
According to our order.»>

Macbeth, though he now doubts a double meaning in the predictions of the fiends and begins « to pull in resolution, still displays great personal courage against his foes. Throughout the battle of Dunsinane he is found in the thickest of the conflict, and there Macduff seeks him, saying,

<<< That way the noise is:-Tyrant, show thy face:
If thou be'st slain, and with no stroke of mine,
My wife and children's ghosts will haunt me still.
I cannot strike at wretched kernes, whose arms

Are hir'd do bear their staves; either thou, Macbeth,
Or else my sword, with an unbatter'd edge,

I sheathe again undeeded. There thou should'st be;
By this great clatter, one of greatest note
Stems bruited: Let me find him, fortune!
Ana more I beg not.>>

In the mean time, the Castle surrenders to Malcom: but Macbeth, determined to fight to the last, appears again on the field, exclaiming.

<<Why should I play the Roman fool, and die
On mine own sword? whiles I see lives, the gashes
Do better upon them.

MACDUFF.

Turn, hell-hound, turn. MACBETH. Of all men else I have avoided thee:

But get thee back, my soul is too much charg'd
Wilh hlood of thine already.

MACDUFF.
I have no words,
My voice is in my sword; thou bloodier villain
Than terms can give thee out!

MACBETH.

[They fight.

Thou losest labour: As easy mayst thou the intrenchant air With thy keen sword impress, as make me bleed: Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests; 1 are a charmed life, which must not yield

To one of woman born. MACDUFF.

Despair thy charm; And let the angel, whom thou still hast serv'd, Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb MACBETH. Accursed be that tongue that tells mc so, Untimely ripp'd. For it hath cow'd my better part of man: And be these juggling fiends no more believ'd, 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. MACDUFF. Then yield thee, coward,

And live to be the show and gaze o' the time.
We'll have thee, as our rarer monsters are,
Painted upon a pole; and underwrit,
Here may you see the tyrant.

MACRETH.

I'll 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 oppos'd, being of no woman born,
Yet I will try the last: Before my body

I throw my warlike shield; lay on, Maduff;
And damn'd be him that first cries, Hold, enough.»
[Exeunt, fighting.

The design represents the moment when Macduff, having killed Macbeth, returns, bearing the Tyrant's head on a pole and greets Malcolm thus:

«Hail, king! for so thou art: Behold, where stands

The usurper's cursed head: the time is free:

I see thee compass'd with thy kingdom's pearl,
That speak my salutation in their minds;
Whose voices I desire aloud with mine,-
Hail, king of Scotland!

ALL.

King of Scotland, hail! »