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

Revenges burn in them; for their dear causes ^note
Would to the bleeding and the grim alarm ^note
Excite the mortified ^note man. ^note

Ang.
Near Birnam 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 ^note a file
Of all the gentry: there is Siward's son,
And many unrough ^note youths, that even now
Protest their first of manhood.

Ment.
What does the tyrant? ^note

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

Ang.
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.

Ment.
Who then shall blame
His pester'd senses to recoil and start,
When all that is within him does condemn
Itself for being there? ^note

Caith.
Well, march we on,
To give obedience where 'tis truly owed:
Meet we the medicine ^note of the sickly weal,

And with him pour we, in our country's purge,
Each drop of us.

Len.
Or so much as it needs
To dew the sovereign flower and drown the weeds.
Make we ^note our march towards Birnam ^note. [Exeunt, marching. ^note

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