[Exeunt fighting. Alarums.]
Retreat. Flourish. Enter, with drum and colours, Malcolm, old Siward, Ross, Thanes and Soldiers.
MALCOLM.
I would the friends we miss were safe arriv’d.
SIWARD.
Some must go off; and yet, by these I see,
So great a day as this is cheaply bought.
MALCOLM.
Macduff is missing, and your noble son.
ROSS.
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.
SIWARD.
Then he is dead?
ROSS.
Ay, and brought off the field. Your cause of sorrow
Must not be measur’d by his worth, for then
It hath no end.
SIWARD.
Had he his hurts before?
ROSS.
Ay, on the front.