Macbeth, Act 5, Scene 8

Why should I play the Roman fool, and die On mine own sword? whiles I see lives, the gashes Do better upon them.

Why should I act the Roman fool and die on my own sword? As long as I see living men, the wounds look better on them.

Turn, hell-hound, turn!

Turn around, dog of hell, turn around!

Of all men else I have avoided thee: But get thee back; my soul is too much charg’d With blood of thine already.

Of all men, you are the one I have avoided. But go back: my soul is already too heavily loaded with your family's blood.

I have no words; My voice is in my sword: thou bloodier villain Than terms can give thee out!

I have no words. My voice is in my sword, you villain bloodier than any words can describe you!

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.

You are wasting your effort. You could as easily cut a mark into the air, which no blade can slice, with your sharp sword as make me bleed. Bring your blade down on helmets that can be wounded: I carry a charmed life, which cannot be surrendered to anyone born of a woman.

Despair thy charm; And let the angel whom thou still hast serv’d Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother’s womb Untimely ripp’d.

Give up hope in your charm, and let the spirit you have always served tell you that Macduff was cut out of his mother's womb before his time.

Accursed be that tongue that tells me so, For it hath cow’d my better part of man! And be these juggling fiends no more believ’d, That palter with us in a double sense; That keep the word of promise to our ear, And break it to our hope!—I’ll not fight with thee.

Cursed be the tongue that tells me that, because it has frightened the manhood in me! And let no one believe these cheating devils any more, who trick us with words that have two meanings, who keep the promise to our ears and break it to our hopes. I will not fight with you.

Then yield thee, coward, And live to be the show and gaze o’ th’ time. We’ll have thee, as our rarer monsters are, Painted upon a pole, and underwrit, “Here may you see the tyrant.”

Then surrender, coward, and live to be the spectacle everyone stares at. We'll have you painted on a board on a pole, the way we display our stranger monsters, with the words written underneath: "Here you may see the tyrant."

I will not yield, To kiss the ground before young Malcolm’s feet, And to be baited with the rabble’s curse. Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane, And thou oppos’d, being of no woman born, Yet I will try the last. Before my body I throw my warlike shield: lay on, Macduff; And damn’d be him that first cries, “Hold, enough!”

I will not surrender, to kiss the ground at young Malcolm's feet and be tormented by the mob's curses. Even though Birnam wood has come to Dunsinane, and you, who were not born of a woman, stand against me, still I will try the last chance. I throw my warlike shield in front of my body. Strike, Macduff, and damned be the man who first cries, "Stop, enough!"

I would the friends we miss were safe arriv’d.

I wish the friends we can't see had arrived here safely.

Some must go off; and yet, by these I see, So great a day as this is cheaply bought.

Some have to die; and yet, judging by those I see here, a day as great as this has been bought cheaply.

Macduff is missing, and your noble son.

Macduff is missing, and your noble son.

Your son, my lord, has paid a soldier’s debt: He only liv’d but till he was a man; The which no sooner had his prowess confirm’d In the unshrinking station where he fought, But like a man he died.

Your son, my lord, has paid what a soldier owes. He only lived until he was a man; and as soon as his courage had proved that, in the place he held without flinching where he fought, he died like a man.

Then he is dead?

Then he is dead?

Ay, and brought off the field. Your cause of sorrow Must not be measur’d by his worth, for then It hath no end.

Yes, and carried off the field. Your grief must not be measured by how much he was worth, because then it would have no end.

Had he his hurts before?

Were his wounds on the front of his body?

Ay, on the front.

Yes, on the front.

Why then, God’s soldier be he! Had I as many sons as I have hairs, I would not wish them to a fairer death: And so his knell is knoll’d.

Why then, let him be God's soldier! If I had as many sons as I have hairs, I would not wish a finer death for them. And with that his funeral bell has been rung.

He’s worth more sorrow, And that I’ll spend for him.

He deserves more grief than that, and I will spend it on him.

He’s worth no more. They say he parted well and paid his score: And so, God be with him!—Here comes newer comfort.

He deserves no more. They say he made a good end and settled his account. And so, God be with him! Here comes fresher comfort.

Hail, King, for so thou art. Behold, where stands Th’ usurper’s cursed head: the time is free. I see thee compass’d with thy kingdom’s pearl, That speak my salutation in their minds; Whose voices I desire aloud with mine,— Hail, King of Scotland!

Hail, King, for that is what you are. Look where the cursed head of the usurper stands: the country is free. I see you surrounded by the finest men of your kingdom, who are saying my greeting in their own minds; and I want their voices aloud along with mine: Hail, King of Scotland!

Hail, King of Scotland!

Hail, King of Scotland!

We shall not spend a large expense of time Before we reckon with your several loves, And make us even with you. My thanes and kinsmen, Henceforth be earls, the first that ever Scotland In such an honour nam’d. What’s more to do, Which would be planted newly with the time,— As calling home our exil’d friends abroad, That fled the snares of watchful tyranny; Producing forth the cruel ministers Of this dead butcher, and his fiend-like queen, Who, as ’tis thought, by self and violent hands Took off her life;—this, and what needful else That calls upon us, by the grace of Grace, We will perform in measure, time, and place. So thanks to all at once, and to each one, Whom we invite to see us crown’d at Scone.

We will not take up much time before we settle accounts with each of your loyalties and pay you what we owe you. My thanes and kinsmen, from now on be earls, the first that Scotland has ever named with such an honour. Whatever else remains to be done, which should be newly established in this new age — such as calling home our friends who are exiled abroad, who fled the traps of a watchful tyranny; bringing to justice the cruel agents of this dead butcher and his devil-like queen, who, as people think, violently took her own life with her own hands — all this, and whatever else is needed and demands our attention, we will carry out, by the grace of God, in the right proportion, at the right time and in the right place. So thanks to all of you at once, and to each one, and we invite you to see us crowned at Scone.