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What bloody man is that? He can report, As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt The newest
state. This is the sergeant Who like a good and hardy soldier fought 'Gainst my captivity.
Hail brave friend! Say tot he king the knowledge of the broil as thou didst leave it. Doubtful
it stood; As two spent swimmers, that do cling together And choke their art. The merciless
Macdonwald-wothy to be rebel, for to that The multiplying villanies 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 ***: but all's too weak: For brave
Macbeth- well he deserves that name- Disdaining fortune, with his brandish'd steel, Which
smoked with bloddy execution, Like valour's minion carved out his passage Till he faced
the slave; Which ne'er shook hands nor bade farwell to him, Till he unseam'd him from
the nave to the chaps, And fix'd his head upon our battlements. O valiant cousin! worthy
gentleman! 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 calour arm'd, COmpell'd these skipping kerns
to trust their heels, But the Norweyan lord, surveying cantage, With furbish'd arms and
new supplies of men Began a fresh assault. Dismay's not this Our captains, Macbeth and
Banquo? Yes; As sparros eagles, or the hare the lion. If I saw sooth, I must report they
were As cannons overcharged 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. So well thy words become thee as thy wounds;
They smack of honour both. Go get him surgeons. Who comes here. The worthy thane of Ross.
What a haste looks through his eyes! So should he look That seems to speak things strange.
God save the king! Whence camest thou, worthy thane? Where Norweyan banners fout the sky
And fan our people cold. Norway himself, with terible umbers. Assisted by that most disloyal
trait The thane of Cawdor, began a dismal conflict; Till that Bellona's bride groom,
lapp'd 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. Great happiness! 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. No more that thane
of Cawdor shall deceive Our *** interest: go pronounce his present death, And with his
former title greet Macbeth. I'll see it done. What he hath lost, noble Macbeth hath won.