MACBETH

Why should I play the Roman fool, and die

On mine own sword? whiles I see lives, the gashes

Do better upon them.

[Enter MACDUFF]

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.

MACDUFF

Despair thy charm;

And let the angel whom thou still hast served

Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb

Untimely ripp'd.

MACBETH

Accursed be that tongue that