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To dew the sovereign flower, and drown the weeds. 30
Make we our march towards Birnam.

[exeunt, marching.

SCENE III. Dunsinane. A Room in the Castle.

Enter MACBETH, the 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 Malcolm?
Was he not born of woman? The Spirits that know
All mortal consequences have pronounc'd me thus,
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.

Enter a Servant.

The Devil damn thee black, thou cream-fac'd Loon!
Where gott'st thou that goose look ?

SERV. There is ten thousand—




Geese, Villain?

Soldiers, Sir.

MACB. Go prick thy face, and over-red thy fear,
Thou lily-liver'd Boy. What soldiers, Patch?2
Death of thy soul! those linen cheeks of thine
Are counsellors to Fear. What soldiers, Whey-face?
1 physician, i.e. Malcolm.

2 Fool.

SERV. The English force, so please you.

MACB. Take thy face hence.


[Exit Servant.
Seyton !—I am 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;
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 not.


SEYT. What is your gracious pleasure?

What news more?

SEYT. All is confirm'd, my Lord, which was reported. 31
MACB. I'll fight, till from my bones my flesh be hack'd.

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Send out moe horses, skirr the country round;

Hang those that talk of fear. Give me mine armour.

How does your patient, Doctor?


Not so sick, my Lord,

As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies,

That keep her from her rest. MACB.

Cure her of that:


Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd;
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?


Must minister to himself.

Therein the patient

MACB. 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 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 rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drug,

Would scour these English hence? Hear'st thou of

DocT. Ay, my good Lord; your royal preparation

Makes us hear something.


Bring it after me.

I will not be afraid of death and bane,
Till Birnam Forest come to Dunsinane.


DocT. [aside.] Were I from Dunsinane away and


Profit again should hardly draw me here.


SCENE IV. Country near Birnam Wood.

Drum and Colours. Enter MALCOLM, Old SIWARD and his Son, MACDUFF, MENTEITH, CAITHNESS, ANGUS, LENNOX, Ross, and Soldiers, marching.

MAL. Cousins, I hope the days are near at hand

That chambers will be safe.

We doubt it nothing.

The Wood of Birnam.

SIW. What wood is this before us?
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 discovery
Err in report of us.

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SIW. We learn no other but the confident tyrant
Keeps still in Dunsinane, and will endure

Our setting down before 't.


"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.

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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.

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Enter MACBETH, SEYTON, and Soldiers, with Drum
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 lie

Till famine and the ague eat them up:

Were they not forc'd with those that should be our's,

We might have met them dareful, beard to beard,

And beat them backward home.

[A cry of women within.

What is that noise?

SEYT. 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 rouse and stir

As life were in't: I have supp'd full with horrors;
Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts,
Cannot once start me.


Re-enter SEYTON.

Wherefore was that cry?

SEYT. The Queen, my Lord, is dead.

MACB. She should1 have died hereafter;

There would have been a time for such a word.

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Sc. V

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief Candle!
Life's but a walking shadow; a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,

And then is heard no more: it is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

Enter a Messenger.

Thou com❜st to use thy tongue; thy story quickly.
MESS. Gracious my Lord,

I should report that which I
But know not how to do it.


say I saw,

Well, say, Sir.

MESS. As I did stand my watch upon the hill,

I look'd toward Birnam, and anon, methought,
The Wood began to move.


Liar and Slave!

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


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 dost for me as much.

I pull in resolution; and begin

To doubt the 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 does appear,

There is nor flying hence nor tarrying here.

I 'gin to be a-weary of the Sun,




And wish the estate o' the World were now un-

Ring the alarum-bell! Blow, Wind! come, Wrack!
At least we'll die with harness on our back.

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