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DUNCAN. What bloody man is that? He can report, As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt The newest state. MALCOLM. This is the sergeant Who, like a good and hardy soldier, fought 'Gainst my captivity.--Hail, brave friend! Say to the king the knowledge of the broil As thou didst leave it. SOLDIER. Doubtful it stood; As two spent swimmers that do cling together And choke their art. The merciless Macdonwald,-- Worthy to be a rebel,--for to that The multiplying villainies of nature Do swarm upon him,--from the Western isles Of kerns and gallowglasses is supplied; And fortune, on his damned quarrel smiling, Show'd like a rebel's whore. But all's too weak; For brave Macbeth,--well he deserves that name,-- Disdaining fortune, with his brandish'd steel, Which smok'd with bloody execution, Like valor's minion, Carv'd out his passag tTill he fac'd the slave; And ne'er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him, Till he unseam'd him from the nave to the chaps, And fix'd his head upon our battlements. DUNCAN. O valiant cousin! worthy gentleman! SOLDIER. As whence the sun 'gins his reflection Shipwrecking storms and direful thunders break; So from that spring, whence comfort seem'd to come Discomfort swells. Mark, King of Scotland, mark: No sooner justice had, with valor arm'd, Compell'd these skipping kerns to trust their heels, But the Norweyan lord, surveying vantage, With furbish'd arms and new supplies of men, Began a fresh assault. DUNCAN. Dismay'd not this Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo? SOLDIER. Yes; As sparrows eagles, or the hare the lion. If I say sooth, I must report they were As cannons overcharg'd with double cracks; So they Doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe: Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds, Or memorize another Golgotha, I cannot tell:-- But I am faint; my gashes cry for help. DUNCAN. So well thy words become thee as thy wounds; They smack of honor both.--Go, get him surgeons. [Exit Soldier, attended.] Who comes here? MALCOLM. The worthy Thane of Ross. LENNOX. What a haste looks through his eyes! So should he look That seems to speak things strange. [Enter Ross.] ROSS. God save the King! DUNCAN. Whence cam'st thou, worthy thane? ROSS. From Fife, great king; Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky And fan our people cold. Norway himself, with terrible numbers, Assisted by that most disloyal traitor The Thane of Cawdor, began a dismal conflict; Till that Bellona's bridegroom, lapp'd in proof, Confronted him with self-comparisons, Point against point rebellious, arm 'gainst arm, Curbing his lavish spirit: and, to conclude, The victory fell on us. DUNCAN. Great happiness! ROSS. That now Sweno, the Norways' king, craves composition; Nor would we deign him burial of his men Till he disbursed, at Saint Colme's-inch, Ten thousand dollars to our general use. DUNCAN. No more that Thane of Cawdor shall deceive Our bosom interest:--go pronounce his present death, And with his former title greet Macbeth. ROSS. I'll see it done. DUNCAN. What he hath lost, noble Macbeth hath won. [Exeunt.] |