Doctor.

I have two nights watch'd with you, but can perceive no truth in your report. When was it she last walk'd?

Gent.

Since his majesty went into the field, I have seen her rise from her bed, throw her night-gown upon her, unlock her closet, take forth paper, fold it, write upon't, read it, afterwards seal it, and again return to bed; yet all this while in a most fast sleep.

Doct.

A great perturbation in nature! to receive at once the benefit of sleep, and do the effects of watching. In this slumbry agitation, besides her walking, and other actual performances, what (at any tme) have you heard her say?

Gent.

That Sir, which I will not report after her.

Doct.

You may to me, and 'tis most meet you should.

Gent.

Neither to you, nor any one, having no witness to confirm my speech. Enter Lady Macbeth with a taper. Lo you! here she comes: this is her very guise, and upon my life fast asleep; observe her, stand close.

Doct.

How came she by that light?

Gent.

Why, it stood by her: she has light by her continually, 'tis her command.

Doct.

You see her eyes are open.

Gent.

Ay, but their sense is shut.

Doct.

What is it she does now? look how she rubs her hands.

Gent.

It is an accustom'd action with her, to seem thus washing her hands: I have known her continue in this a quarter of an hour.

Lady.

Yet here's a spot.

Doct.

Hark, she speaks. I will set down what comes from her, to satisfie my remembrance the more strongly.

Lady.

Out! damned spot; out I say—one; two; why then 'tis time to do't—hell is murky. Fie, my lord, fie, a soldier, and afraid? 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.

The Thane of Fife had a wife; where is she is now? what, will these hands ne'er be clean?—no more o'that, my lord, no more o'that: you marr all with 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: heav'n knows what she has known.

Lady.

Here's the smell of 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 charg'd.

Gent.

I would not have such a heart in my bosome, for the dignity of the whole body.

Doct.

Well, well, well—

Gent.

Pray God it be, Sir.

Doct.

This disease is beyond my practice: yet I have known those which have walkt in their sleep, who have died holily in their beds.

Lady.

Wash your hands, put on your night-gown, look not so pale—I tell you yet again, Banquo's buried; he cannot come out of his grave.

Doct.

Even so?

Lady.

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 whisp'rings are abroad; unnat'ral deeds
Do breed unnat'ral troubles. Infected minds
To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets.
More needs she the divine than the physician.
Good 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'as † ^notemated, and amaz'd my sight.
I think, but dare not speak.

Gent.
Good-night, good doctor. [Exeunt.

SCENE II. A Field with a Wood at distance. Enter Menteth, Cathness, Angus, Lenox, and Soldiers.

Ment.
The English power is near, led on by Malcolm,
His uncle Seyward, and the good Macduff.
Revenges burn in them: for their dear causes
‡ ^noteWould to the bleeding and the grim alarm
Excite the mortified man.

Ang.
Near Birnam wood
Shall we well meet them; that way are they coming.

Cath.
Who knows if Donalbaine be with his brother?

Len.
For certain, Sir, he is not: I've a file
Of all the gentry; there is Seyward's son,
And many unruff'd youths, that even now
Protest their first of manhood.

Ment.
What does the tyrant?

Cath.
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.

Ang.
Now do's he feel
His secret murthers 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 recoyl, and start,
When all that is within him does condemn
It self, for being there?

Cath.
Well, march we on,
To give obedience where 'tis truly ow'd:
Meet we the med'cine 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 our march towards Birnam. [Exeunt. SCENE III. Dunsinane. 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 Malcolme?
Was he not born of woman? Spirits that know
All mortal consequences, have pronounc'd it:
&plquo;Fear not Macbeth, no man that's born of woman
&plquo;Shall e'er have power upon thee.—Fly false Thanes,
And mingle with the English epicures.
The mind I sway by, and the heart I bear,
Shall never sagg with doubt, nor shake with fear. Enter a Servant.
The devil damn thee black, thou cream-fac'd lown:
Where got'st thou that goose-look?

Ser.
There are ten thousand—

Macb.
Geese, villain?

Ser.
Soldiers, Sir.

Macb.
Go, prick thy face, and over-red thy fear,
Thou lilly-liver'd boy. What soldiers, patch?
Death of thy soul! those linnen cheeks of thine
Are counsellors to fear. What soldiers, wheyface?

Ser.
The English force, so please you.

Macb.
Take thy face hence—Seyton!—I'm sick at heart,
When I behold—Seyton, I say!—this push
Will cheer me ever, or disease me now.
I have liv'd long enough: my way of life
Is fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf:
&plquo;And that which should accompany old age,
&plquo;As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends,
&plquo;I must not look to have: but in their stead,
&plquo;Curses not loud but deep, mouth-honour, breath,
&plquo;Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not. 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 is hackt,
Give me my armour.

Sey.
'Tis not needed yet.

Macb.
I'll put it on:
Send out more horses, skirre the country round,
Hang those that talk of fear. Give me mine armour.
How do's 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 of that:
&plquo;Canst thou not minister to minds diseas'd,
&plquo;Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow,
&plquo;Raze out the written troubles of the brain;
&plquo;And with some sweet oblivious antidote,
&plquo;Cleanse the full bosome of that perilous stuff
&plquo;Which weighs upon the heart?

Doct.
Therein the patient
Must minister unto himself.

Macb.
Throw physick to the dogs, I'll none of it—
Come, put my armour on, give me my staff.
Seyton, send out—Doctor, the Thanes fly from me—
Come, Sir, dispatch—If thou could'st, 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 rubarb, senna, 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,
'Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane.

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

SCENE IV. Birnam Wood. Enter Malcolme, Seyward, Macduff, Seyward's Son, Menteth, Cathness, Angus, and Soldiers marching.

Mal.
Cousin, I hope the days are near at hand
That chambers will be safe.

Ment.
We doubt it nothing.

Seyw.
What wood is this before us?

Ment.
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 discov'ry
Err in report of us.

Sold.
It shall be done.

Seyw.
We learn no other but the confident tyrant
Keeps still in Dunsinane, and will endure
Our setting down before't.

Mal.
'Tis his main hope:
For where there is advantage to be given,
Both more and less have given him the revolt;
And none serve with him but constrained things,
Whose hearts are absent too.

Macd.
^{a note}Let our just censures
Attend the true event, and put we on
Industrious soldiership.

Seyw.
The time approaches,
That will with due decision make us know
What we 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. [Exeunt marching. SCENE V. Dunsinane. Enter Macbeth, Seyton, and Soldiers with drums and colours.

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 lye,
'Till famine and the ague eat them up:
Were they not † ^noteforc'd with those that should be ours,
We might have met them dareful, beard to beard,
And beat them backward home. What is that noise? [A cry within of women.

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
To hear a night-shriek, and my fell of hair
Would at a dismal treatise rouze, and stir
As life were in't. I have supt full with horrors,
Direness familiar to my slaught'rous thoughts
Cannot once start me. Wherefore was that cry?

Sey.
The Queen is dead.

Macb.
She should have dy'd hereafter;
There would have been a time for such a word.
&plquo;To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow
&plquo;Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
&plquo;To the last syllable of recorded time;

&plquo;And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
&plquo;The way to ^{b note}study death. Out, out, brief candle!
&plquo;Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
&plquo;That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
&plquo;And then is heard no more! It is a tale
&plquo;Told by an ideot, full of sound and fury,
&plquo;Signifying nothing! Enter a Messenger.
Thou com'st to use thy tongue: thy story quickly.

Mes.
My gracious lord,
I should report that which I say I saw,
But know not how to do't.

Macb.
Well, say it, Sir.

Mes.
As I did stand my watch upon the hill,
I look'd toward Birnam, and anon methought
The wood began to move.

Macb.
Liar, and slave! [Striking him.

Mes.
Let me endure your wrath, if't be not so:
Within this three mile you may see it coming;
I say, a moving grove.

Macb.
If thou speak'st false,
Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive
'Till famine cling thee: If thy speech be sooth,
I care not if thou do'st for me as much—
I pull in resolution, 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 do's appear,
There is no flying hence, nor tarrying here;

&plquo;I'gin to be a weary of the sun,
&plquo;And wish the state o'th' world were now undone.
&plquo;Ring the alarum bell, blow wind, come wrack,
At least we'll die with harness on our back. [Exeunt. SCENE VI. Before Dunsinane. Enter Malcolme, Seyward, Macduff, and their Army, with Boughs.

Mal.
Now near enough: your leavy screens throw down,
And shew like those you are. You (worthy uncle)
Shall with my cousin, your right noble son,
Lead our first battel. Brave Macduff and we
Shall take upon's what else remains to do,
According to our order.

Seyw.
Fare you well:
Let us 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 clam'rous harbingers of blood and death. [Exeunt. [Alarums continued. Enter Macbeth.

Macb.
They've ty'd 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 Seyward.

Yo. Seyw.
What is thy name?

Macb.
Thou'lt be afraid to hear it.

Yo. Seyw.
No: though thou call'st thy self a hotter name
Than any is in hell.

Macb.
My name's Macbeth.

Yo. Seyw.
The devil himself could not pronounce a title
More hateful to mine ear.

Macb.
No, nor more fearful.

Yo. Seyw.
Thou liest, abhorred tyrant, with my sword
I'll prove the lie thou speak'st. [Fight, and young Seyward's slain.

Macb.
Thou wast born of woman;
But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn,
Brandish'd by man that's of a woman born. [Exit. Alarums. Enter Macduff.

Macduff
That way the noise is: Tyrant, shew thy face,
If thou be'st slain, and with no stroke of mine,
My wife and childrens ghosts will haunt me still.
I cannot strike at wretched Kernes, whose arms
Are hir'd to bear their staves: Or thou Macbeth,
Or else my sword with an unbatter'd edge
I sheath again undeeded. There thou should'st be—
By this great clatter, one of greatest note
Seems bruited. Let me find him, fortune!
And more I beg not. [Exit. Alarum. Enter Malcolme and Seyward.

Seyw.
This way, my lord, the castle's gently render'd:
The tyrant's people on both sides do fight,
The noble Thanes do bravely in the war,
The day almost it self professes yours,
And little is to do.

Mal.
We've met with foes
That strike beside us.

Seyw.
Enter, Sir, the castle. [Exeunt. Alarum.

SCENE VII. Enter Macbeth.

Macb.
Why should I play the Roman fool, and die
On mine own sword? whilst I see lives, the gashes
Do better upon them. To him, enter Macduff.

Macd.
Turn hell-hound, turn.

Macb.
Of all men else I have avoided thee:
But get thee back, my soul is too much charg'd
With blood of thine already.

Macd.
I've no words,
My voice is in my sword! thou bloodier villain
Than terms can give thee out. [Fight. Alarum.

Macb.
Thou losest labour,
As easie may'st thou the intrenchant air
With thy keen sword impress, as make me bleed:
Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests,
I bear a charmed life, which must not yield
To one of woman born.

Macd.
Despair thy charm,
And let the angel whom thou still hast serv'd
Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb
Untimely rip'd.

Macb.
Accursed be that tongue that tells me so;
For it hath cow'd my better part of man:
And be these jugling fiends no more believ'd,
That palter with us in a double sense;
That keep the word of promise to our ear,
And break it to our hope. I'll not fight with thee.

Macd.
Then yield thee, coward,

And live to be the shew, and gaze o'th' time.
We'll have thee, as our rarer-monsters are,
Painted upon a pole, and under-writ,
&plquo;Here may you see the tyrant.

Macb.
I'll not yield
To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet,
And to be baited with the rabble's curse.
Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane,
And thou oppos'd, being of no woman born;
Yet I will try the last. Before my body
I throw my warlike shield. Lay on Macduff,
And damn'd be he, that first cries hold, enough. [Exeunt fighting. Alarums. SCENE VIII. Retreat and Flourish. Enter with Drum and Colours, Malcolme, Seyward, Rosse, Thanes, and Soldiers.

Mal.
I would the friends we miss were safe arriv'd.

Seyw.
Some must go off: and yet by these I see,
So great a day as this is cheaply bought.

Mal.
Macduff is missing, and your noble son.

Rosse.
Your son, my lord, has paid a soldier's debt;
He only liv'd but 'till he was a man,
The which no sooner had his prow'ss confirm'd,
In the unshrinking station where he fought,
But like a man he dy'd.

Seyw.
Then is he dead?

Rosse.
Ay, and brought off the field: your cause of sorrow
Must not be measur'd by his worth, for then
It hath no end.

Seyw.
Had he his hurts before?

Rosse.
Ay, on the front.

Seyw.
Why then, God's soldier be he!
Had I as many sons as I have hairs,
I would not wish them to a fairer death:
And so his knell is knoll'd.

Mal.
He's worth more sorrow,
And that I'll spend for him.

Seyw.
He's worth no more;
They say he parted well, and paid his score,
So God be with him. Here comes newer comfort. Enter Macduff with Macbeth's head.

Macd.
Hail, King! for so thou art. Behold, where stands
Th'usurper's cursed head; the time is free:
I see thee compast with thy kindgom's peers,
That speak my salutation in their minds:
Whose voices I desire aloud with mine.
Hail King of Scotland!

All.
Hail, King of Scotland! [Flourish.

Mal.
We shall not spend a large expence of time,
Before we reckon with your sev'ral loves,
And make us even with you. Thames and kinsmen,
Henceforth be Earls, the first that ever Scotland
In such an honour nam'd. What's more to do
Which would be planted newly with the time,
As calling home our exil'd friends abroad
That fled the snares of watchful tyranny,
Producing forth the cruel ministers
Of this dead butcher, and his fiend-like Queen;
(Who, as 'tis thought, by self and violent hands
Took off her life;) this, and what needful else

That calls upon us, by the grace of ^{c note}heaven
We will perform in measure, time and place:
So thanks to all at once, and to each one,
Whom we invite to see us crown'd at Scone. [Flourish. Exeunt omnes.

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