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Hell is 40


two: why, then 'tis time to do 't.
murky. Fie, my lord, fie! a soldier, and
afeard? What need we fear who knows it,
when none can call our power to account?
Yet who would have thought the old man to

have had so much blood in him?
Doct. Do you mark that?
Lady M. The thane of Fife had a wife; where

is she now? What, will these hands ne'er be
clean? No more o' that, my lord, no more

o'that: you mar all with this starting.
Doct. Go to, go to; you have known what you

should not. Gent. She has spoke what she should not, I am

sure of that: heaven knows what she has

known. Lady M. Here's the smell of the blood still : all

the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this

little hand. Oh, oh, oh! Doct. What a sigh is there ! The heart is sorely

charged. Gent. I would not have such a heart in my bosom

for the dignity of the whole body. Doct. Well, well, well,Geni. Pray God it be, sir.


Doct. 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 M. Wash your hands ; put on your night

gown ; look not so pale : I tell you yet again, Banquo's buried ; he cannot come out on's 70

Doct. Even so ?
Lady M. 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.

Doct. Will she go now to bed?
Gent. Directly.
Doct. 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. Drum and colours. Enter Menteith, Caithness, Angus,

Lennox, and Soldiers.
Ment. 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 Birpam wood
Shall we well meet them; that way are they coming.
Caith. Who knows if Donalbain be with his brother?
Len. For certain, sir, he is not : I have a file

Of all the gentry: there is Siward's son,
And many uorough youths, that even now 10

Protest their first of manhood.

What does the tyrant ? Caith. 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
et murders sticking on his hands;


His se


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.

31 [Exeunt, marching.

Scene III,

Dunsinane. A room in the castle.

Enter Macbeth, Doctor, and Attendants. Macb. 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

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 ?
Serv. There is ten thousand-

Geese, villain ? Serv.

Soldiers, sir. Macb. Go prick thy face and over-red thy fear,

Thou lily-liver'd boy. What soldiers, patch!
Death of my soul! those linen cheeks of thine

Are counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whey-face!
Serv. The English force, so please you.
Macb. 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.


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