No More Learning

What's he
That was not borne of Woman? Such a one
Am I to feare, or none.
Enter young Seyward.

Y. Sey. What is thy name?
Macb. Thou'lt be affraid to heare it

Y. Sey. No: though thou call'st thy selfe a hoter name
Then any is in hell

Macb. My name's Macbeth

Y. Sey. The diuell himselfe could not pronounce a Title
More hatefull to mine eare

Macb. No: nor more fearefull

Y. Sey.
Thou lyest abhorred Tyrant, with my Sword
Ile proue the lye thou speak'st.

Fight, and young Seyward slaine.

Macb. Thou was't borne of woman;
But Swords I smile at, Weapons laugh to scorne,
Brandish'd by man that's of a Woman borne.
Enter.

Alarums. Enter Macduffe.

Macd. That way the noise is: Tyrant shew thy face,
If thou beest slaine, and with no stroake of mine,
My Wife and Childrens Ghosts will haunt me still:
I cannot strike at wretched Kernes, whose armes
Are hyr'd to beare their Staues; either thou Macbeth,
Or else my Sword with an vnbattered edge
I sheath againe vndeeded. There thou should'st be,
By this great clatter, one of greatest note
Seemes bruited. Let me finde him Fortune,
And more I begge not.

Exit. Alarums.

Enter Malcolme and Seyward.

Sey. This way my Lord, the Castles gently rendred:
The Tyrants people, on both sides do fight,
The Noble Thanes do brauely in the Warre,
The day almost it selfe professes yours,
And little is to do

Malc.