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Gentlewoman. Pray God it be, sir.

Doctor. This disease is beyond my practice: yet I have known those which have walked in their sleep who have died holily in their beds.


Lady Macbeth. Wash your hands, put on your nightgown; look not so pale.—I tell you yet again, Banquo's buried; he cannot come out on's grave.

Doctor. Even so?

Lady Macbeth. To bed, to bed! there's knocking at the gate: come, come, come, come, give me your hand. What's done cannot be undone. To bed, to bed, to bed! [Exit. Doctor. Will she go now to bed?

Gentlewoman. Directly.

Doctor. Foul whisperings are abroad: unnatural deeds Do breed unnatural troubles: infected minds

To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets:
More needs she the divine than the physician.
God, God forgive us all! Look after her;
Remove from her the means of all annoyance,
And still keep eyes upon her. So, good night :
My mind she has mated, and amazed my sight.
I think, but dare not speak.


Good night, good doctor.

SCENE II. The country near Dunsinane.



Drums and colours. Enter MENTEITH, CAITHNESS, Angus, LENNOX, and Soldiers.

Menteith. The English power is near, led on by Malcolm, His uncle Siward and the good Macduff:

Revenges burn in them; for their dear causes

Would to the bleeding and the grim alarm

Excite the mortified man.


Near Birnam wood

Shall we well meet them: that way are they coming.

Caithness. Who knows if Donalbain be with his brother?

Lennox. For certain, sir, he is not: I have a file
Of all the gentry: there is Siward's son,

And many unrough youths, that even now
Protest their first of manhood.


What does the tyrant?

Caithness. Great Dunsinane he strongly fortifies :
Some say he's mad; others that lesser hate him
Do call it valiant fury: but, for certain,
He cannot buckle his distemper'd cause
Within the belt of rule.

Now does he feel

His secret murders sticking on his hands;
Now minutely revolts upbraid his faith-breach;
Those he commands move only in command,
Nothing in love: now does he feel his title
Hang loose about him, like a giant's robe
Upon a dwarfish thief.


Who then shall blame

His pester'd senses to recoil and start,
When all that is within him does condemn

Itself for being there?


Well, march we on,

To give obedience where 'tis truly owed:

Meet we the medicine of the sickly weal,
And with him pour we in our country's purge
Each drop of us.


Or so much as it needs,

To dew the sovereign flower and drown the weeds.
Make we our march towards Birnam.




[Exeunt, marching.

SCENE III. Dunsinane. A room in the castle.

Enter MACBETH, Doctor, and Attendants.

Macbeth. Bring me no more reports; let them fly all: Till Birnam wood remove to Dunsinane,

I cannot taint with fear. What's the boy Malcolm?

Was he not born of woman? The spirits that know
All mortal consequences have pronounced me thus:
'Fear not, Macbeth; no man that's born of woman
Shall e'er have power upon thee.' Then fly, false thanes,
And mingle with the English epicures:

The mind I sway by and the heart I bear

Shall never sag with doubt nor shake with fear.

Enter a Servant.

The devil damn thee black, thou cream-faced loon!
Where got'st thou that goose look?

Servant. There is ten thousand


Geese, villain ?



Soldiers, sir.

Macbeth. Go prick thy face, and over-red thy fear,
Thou lily-liver'd boy. What soldiers, patch?
Death of thy soul! those linen cheeks of thine
Are counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whey-face?
Servant. The English force, so please you.
Macbeth. Take thy face hence.


[Exit Servant. Seyton!-I am sick at heart, When I behold-Seyton, I say!-This push Will cheer me ever, or disseat me now. I have lived long enough: my way of life Is fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf; And that which should accompany old age, As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, I must not look to have; but, in their stead, Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honour, breath, Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not. Seyton!


Seyton. What's your gracious pleasure?


What news more?

Seyton. All is confirm'd, my lord, which was reported.


Macbeth. I'll fight till from my bones my flesh be hack'd. Give me my armour.



'Tis not needed yet.

Macbeth. I'll put it on.

Send out moe horses; skirr the country round;

Hang those that talk of fear.

How does your patient, doctor?


Give me mine armour.

Not so sick, my lord,

As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies,

That keep her from her rest.

Cure her of that.

Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased,
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow,
Raze out the written troubles of the brain,
And with some sweet oblivious antidote
Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff
Which weighs upon the heart?


Must minister to himself.

Therein the patient

Macbeth. Throw physic to the dogs, I'll none of it.
Come, put mine armour on; give me my staff.
Seyton, send out. Doctor, the thanes fly from me.
Come, sir, dispatch. If thou couldst, doctor, cast
The water of my land, find her disease,
And purge it to a sound and pristine health,
I would applaud thee to the very echo,

That should applaud again. Pull't off, I say.

What rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drug,



Would scour these English hence? Hear'st thou of them? Doctor. Ay, my good lord; your royal preparation Makes us hear something.


Bring it after me.

I will not be afraid of death and bane

Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane.


Doctor. [Aside.] Were I from Dunsinane away and clear, Profit again should hardly draw me here.


SCENE IV. Country near Birnam wood.

Drum and colours. Enter MALCOLM, old SIWARD and his Son, MACDUFF, MENTEITH, CAITHNESS, ANGUS, LENNOX, Ross, and Soldiers, marching.

Malcolm. Cousins, I hope the days are near at hand That chambers will be safe.


We doubt it nothing.

The wood of Birnam

Siward. What wood is this before us?


Malcolm. Let every soldier hew him down a bough
And bear't before him: thereby shall we shadow
The numbers of our host, and make discovery
Err in report of us.

[blocks in formation]

Siward. We learn no other but the confident tyrant Keeps still in Dunsinane, and will endure

Our setting down before 't.


'Tis his main hope:


For where there is advantage to be given,
Both more and less have given him the revolt,
And none serve with him but constrained things
Whose hearts are absent too.


Let our just censures

Attend the true event, and put we on

Industrious soldiership.


The time approaches

That will with due decision make us know
What we shall say we have and what we owe.
Thoughts speculative their unsure hopes relate,
But certain issue strokes must arbitrate:
Towards which advance the war.


[Exeunt, marching.

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