Macb.
Bring me no more reports; let them fly all:
Till Birnam ^note wood remove to Dunsinane
I cannot taint ^note with fear. What's the boy Malcolm?
Was he not born of woman? The spirits ^note that know
All mortal consequences have ^note pronounced me thus ^note:
‘Fear not, Macbeth; no man that's born of woman
Shall e'er have power upon ^note thee.’ Then fly ^note, false thanes,
And mingle with the English epicures:
The mind I sway ^note by and the heart I bear
Shall never sag with doubt nor shake with fear. Enter a Servant. ^note
The devil damn thee black, thou cream-faced loon ^note!
Where got'st thou that goose ^note look?

Serv.
There is ^note ten thousand— ^note

Macb.
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 thy soul! those linen cheeks of thine
Are counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whey-face ^note?

Serv.
The English force, so please you.

Macb.
Take thy face hence. [Exit Servant. ^note
Seyton!—I am ^note sick at heart,
When I behold—Seyton, I say!— ^noteThis push
Will cheer ^note me ever, or disseat ^note me now.
I have lived long enough: my way ^note of ^note 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 ^note not.
Seyton! ^note Enter Seyton.

Sey.
What's ^note 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 ^note hack'd.
Give me my armour.

Sey.
'Tis not needed yet.

Macb.
I'll put it on.
Send out moe ^note horses, skirr ^note the country round;
Hang those that talk of ^note fear. Give me mine armour.
How does your patient, doctor?

Doct.
Not so sick, my lord,

As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies,
That keep her from her rest.

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

Doct.
Therein the patient
Must minister to ^note himself.

Macb.
Throw physic to the dogs, I'll none of it.
Come, put mine ^note 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 ^note health,
I would applaud thee to the very echo,
That should applaud again. Pull't off, I say.
What rhubarb, cyme ^note, 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.

Macb.
Bring it after me.
I will not be afraid of death and bane ^note
Till Birnam ^note forest come to Dunsinane.

Doct. [Aside ^note]
Were I from Dunsinane away and clear,
Profit again should hardly draw me here. [Exeunt. ^note

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