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Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not.-
Sey. What is your gracious pleasure ?
What news more?
Sey. All is confirm’d, my lord, which was reported.
Macb. I'll fight, till from my bones my flesh be hack’d.
Give me my armour.
'Tis not needed yet.
Macb. I'll put it on.-
Send out more horses, skirr the country round;
Hang those that talk of fear.—Give me mine armour.
How does your patient, doctor?
Not so sick, my lord,
As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies,
That keep her from her rest.
Cure her(110) of that:
Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd;
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 stuff111)
Which weighs upon the heart ?
Therein the patient
Must minister to himself.
Macb. Throw physic to the dogs,—I'll none of it. —
Come, put mine armour on; give me my
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, 112) or what purgative drug,
Would scour these English hence? Hear'st thou of them ?
Doct. 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.
[Exeunt all except Doctor. Doct. Were I from Dunsinane away and clear, Profit again should hardly draw me here.
SCENE IV. Country near Dunsinane: a wood in view.
Enter, with drum and colours, Malcolm, old Siward and young
SIWARD, MACDUFF, MENTEITH, CAITHNESS, Angus, LENNOX,
Ross, and Soldiers, marching.
Mal. Cousins, I hope the days are near at hand
That chambers will be safe.
We doubt it nothing.
Siw. What wood is this before us?
The wood of Birnam.
Mal. 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.
It shall be done.
Siw. 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 ta’en,
Both more and less have given him the revolt ;(113)
And none serve with him but constrained things,
Whose hearts are absent too.
Let our just
Attend the true event, and put we on
The time approaches
That will with due decision make us know
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.
SCENE V. Dunsinane. Within the castle.
Enter, with drum and colours, MACBETH, SEYTON, and Soldiers.
Macb. Hang out our banners on the outward walls ; The
cry is still, “ They come :” our castle's strength Will laugh a siege to scorn : here let them lie Till famine and the
Were they not forcid(114) with those that should be ours,
We might have met them dareful, beard to beard,
And beat them backward home.
[A cry of women within.
What is that noise ?
Sey. It is the cry of women, my good lord.
Macb. I have almost forgot the taste of fears :
The time has been, my senses would have cool'd(116)
To hear a night-shriek; and my fell of hair
Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir
As life were in 't: I have supp'd full with horrors;
Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts,
Cannot once start me.
Wherefore was that cry?
Sey. The queen, my lord, is dead.
Macb. She should have died hereafter ;
There would have been a time for such a word.—
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle !
Life’s but a walking shadow; a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Enter a Messenger.
Thou com’st to use thy tongue ; thy story quickly.
Mess. Gracious my lord,
I should report that which I say I saw,
But know not how to do it.
Well, say, sir.(117)
Mess. As I did stand my watch upon the hill,
I look”d toward Birnam, and anon, methought,
The wood began to move.
Liar and slave!
Mess. Let me endure your wrath, if't be not so:
Within this three mile may you see it coming ;
I say, a moving grove.
If thou speak'st false,
Upon the next tree shalt(118) thou hang alive,
Till famine cling thee: if thy speech be sooth,
I care not if thou dost for me as much.-
I pull in resolution ;(119) and begin
To doubt th' equivocation of the fiend,
That lies like truth : “ Fear not, till Birnam wood
Do come to Dunsinane ;”—and now a wood
Comes toward Dunsinane.—Arm, arm, and out!
If this which he avouches does appear,
There is nor flying hence nor tarrying here.
I gin to be a-weary of the sun,
And wish th' estate o’the world were now undone.-
Ring the alarum-bell !-Blow, wind ! come, wrack!
At least we'll die with harness on our back. [Exeunt.
SCENE VI. The same. A plain before the castle.
Enter, with drum and colours, MALCOLM, old SIWARD, MACDUFF,
Sc., and their Army with boughs.
Mal. Now near enough; your leafy screens throw down,
And show like those you are.—You, worthy uncle,
Shall, with my cousin, your right-noble son,
Lead our first battle : worthy Macduff and we
Shall take upon 's what else remains to do,
According to our order.
Fare you well. —
Do we but find the tyrant's power to-night,
Let us be beaten, if we cannot fight.
Macd. Make all our trumpets speak; give them all breath, Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death. [Exeunt.
SCENE VII. The same. Another part of the plain.
Alarums. Enter MACBETH.
Macb. They've tied me to a stake; I cannot fly,
But, bear-like, I must fight the course.-What's he
That was not born of woman? Such a one
Am I to fear, or none.
Enter young Siward.
Yo. Siw. What is thy name?
Thou'lt be afraid to hear it.
Yo. Siw. No; though thou call'st thyself a hotter name
Than any is in hell.
My name's Macbeth.
Yo. Siw. The devil himself could not pronounce a title
More hateful to mine ear.
No, nor more fearful.
Yo. Siro. Thou liest, abhorrèd tyrant; with my sword
prove the lie thou speak’st.
[They fight, and young Siward is slain. Macb.
Thou wast born of woman.-
But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn,
Brandish'd by man that's of
Alarums. Enter MacDUFF.
Macd. That way the noise is.-Tyrant, show thy face !
If thou be'st slain and with no stroke of mine,
My wife and children's ghosts will haunt me still.
I cannot strike at wretched kerns, whose arms
Are hir'd to bear their staves : either thou, Macbeth,
Or else my sword, with an unbatter'd edge,
I sheathe again undeeded. There thou shouldst be;
By this great clatter, one of greatest note
Seems bruited :-let me find him, fortune !
And more I beg not.