Macb.
Bring me no more reports; let them fly all^{4 note};
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 pronounc'd me thus^{5 note}

And mingle with the English epicures^{7 note}

Enter a Servant.
The devil damn thee black, thou cream-fac'd loon^{9 note}

Serv.
There is ten thousand—

Macb.
Geese, villain?

Serv.
Soldiers, sir.

Macb.
Go, prick thy face, and over-red thy fear,
Thou lily-liver'd boy^{2 note}

Serv.
The English force, so please you.

Macb.
Take thy face hence.—Seyton!—I am sick at heart,
When I behold—Seyton, I say!—This push
Will cheer me ever, or disseat me now^{6 note}

Is fall'n into the sear^{8 note}

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, but dare not.
Seyton!—

Enter Seyton.

Sey.
What is your gracious pleasure?

Macb.
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.

Sey.
'Tis not needed yet.

Macb.
I'll put it on.

Send out more horses, skirr the country round^{9 note}

Doct.
Not so sick, my lord,
As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies,
That keep her^{2 note} from her rest.

Macb.
Cure her of that:
Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd^{3 note}



;
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow;
Raze out the written troubles of the brain;
And, with some sweet oblivious antidote^{4 note}

Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff^{5 note}

Doct.
Therein the patient
Must minister to himself.

Macb.
Throw physick 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, despatch:—If thou could'st, doctor, cast
The water of my land^{6 note}
, 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^{6 note}

Doct.
Ay, my good lord; your royal preparation
Makes us hear something.

Macb.
Bring it after me.—
I will not be afraid of death and bane,
Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane. [Exit.

Doct.
Were I from Dunsinane away and clear,
Profit again should hardly draw me here. [Exit.

Previous section

Next section