Siward
Enter, sir, the castle.
Exeunt. Alarums.
Scene VIII
Another part of the field.
Macbeth
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 charged
With blood of thine already.
Macduff
I have no words:
My voice is in my sword: thou bloodier villain
Than terms can give thee out!
They fight.
Macbeth
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;
I bear a charmed life, which must not yield
To one of woman born.