Macduff

Porter
Here’s a knocking indeed! If a man were porter
of hell gate, he should have old turning the key.
  Knock
Knock, knock, knock! Who’s there, i’ th’ name
of Beelzebub? Here’s a farmer that hanged himself
on th’ expectation of plenty. Come in time! Have
napkins enough about you; here you’ll sweat for ’t.
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Lennox
The night has been unruly. Where we lay,
Our chimneys were blown down and, as they say,
Lamentings heard i’ th’ air, strange screams of death,
And prophesying, with accents terrible,
Of dire combustion and confused events
New hatched to th’ woeful time. The obscure bird
Clamored the livelong night. Some say the Earth
Was feverous and did shake.
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Donalbain
What is amiss?
Macbeth
You are, and do not know ’t.
The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood
Is stopped; the very source of it is stopped.
Macduff
Your royal father’s murdered.

Th’ expedition of my violent love
Outrun the pauser, reason.

Malcolm
O,
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Malcolm
Let us seek out some desolate shade and there
Weep our sad bosoms empty.
Macduff
Let us rather
Hold fast the mortal sword and, like good men,
Bestride our downfall’n birthdom. Each new morn
New widows howl, new orphans cry, new sorrows
Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds
As if it felt with Scotland,
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Macduff
Not in the legions
Of horrid hell can come a devil more damned
In evils to top Macbeth.

Such welcome and unwelcome things at once
’Tis hard to reconcile.

Malcolm
I grant him bloody,
Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful,
Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin
That has a name.
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Macduff 
Stands Scotland where it did?

Alas, poor country,
Almost afraid to know itself. It cannot
Be called our mother, but our grave

Ross
Alas, poor country,
Almost afraid to know itself. It cannot
Be called our mother, but our grave, where nothing
But who knows nothing is once seen to smile;
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Malcolm
Gracious England hath
Lent us good Siward and ten thousand men;
An older and a better soldier none
That Christendom gives out.
Ross
Would I could answer
This comfort with the like. But I have words
That would be howled out in the desert air,
Where hearing should not latch them.
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Macduff
Turn, hellhound, 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.
  Fight.
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  Enter Macduff with Macbeth’s head.
Macduff
Hail, King! for so thou art. Behold where stands
Th’ usurper’s cursèd head. The time is free.
I see thee compassed with thy kingdom’s pearl,
That speak my salutation in their minds,
Whose voices I desire aloud with mine.
Hail, King of Scotland!
All
Hail,
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