ACT 5, SCENE 3: Dunsinane. A room in the castle.

Enter MACBETH, Doctor, and Attendants.

MACBETH: 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:                       [5]
'Fear not, Macbeth; no man that's born of woman
Shall e'er have power upon thee.' Then fly, false thanes,
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.                                [10]
Enter a Servant.
The devil damn thee black, thou cream-faced loon!
Where got'st thou that goose look?

Servant: There is ten thousand--

MACBETH:                           Geese, villain!

Servant:                           Soldiers, sir.

MACBETH: Go, prick thy face, and over-red thy fear,
Thou lily-liver'd boy. What soldiers, patch?                                      [15]
Death of thy soul! those linen cheeks of thine
Are counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whey-face?

Servant: The English force, so please you.

MACBETH: Take thy face hence.
[Exit Servant.]
                           Seyton!--I am sick at heart,
When I behold--Seyton, I say!--This push                                        [20]
Will cheer me ever, or disseat me now.
I have lived long enough: my way of life
Is fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf;
And that which should accompany old age,
As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends,                                   [25]
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 not.


SEYTON: What is your gracious pleasure?                                                      [30]

MACBETH:                           What news more?

SEYTON: All is confirm'd, my lord, which was reported.

MACBETH: I'll fight till from my bones my flesh be hack'd.
Give me my armour.

SEYTON:                           'Tis not needed yet.

MACBETH: I'll put it on.
Send out moe horses; skirr the country round;                                  [35]
Hang those that talk of fear. Give me mine armour.
How does your patient, doctor?

Doctor:                           Not so sick, my lord,
As she is troubled with thick coming fancies,
That keep her from her rest.

MACBETH:                           Cure her of that.
Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased,                                       [40]
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow,
Raze out the written troubles of the brain
And with some sweet oblivious antidote
Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff
Which weighs upon the heart?                                                              [45]

Doctor:                           Therein the patient
Must minister to himself.

MACBETH: Throw physic 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, dispatch. If thou couldst, doctor, cast                                [50]
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 rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drug,                                  [55]
Would scour these English hence? Hear'st thou of them?

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

MACBETH:                           Bring it after me.
I will not be afraid of death and bane,
Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane.                                                [60]

Doctor: [Aside] Were I from Dunsinane away and clear,
Profit again should hardly draw me here.


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