Doct. What a sigh is there? The heart is sorely charged.

Gent. I would not have such a heart in my bosom, 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 walk'd in their sleep, who have died holily in their beds.

Lady M. Wash your hands, put on your nightgown; look not so pale:-I tell you yet again, Banquo's buried; he cannot come out of his grave. Doct. Even so?

Lady M. 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. [Exit Lady Macbeth.

Doct. Will she go now to bed?

Gent. Directly.

Doct. Foul whisperings are abroad: Unnatural deeds

Do breed unnatural troubles: Infected minds.
To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets.
More needs she the divine, than the physician.--
God, 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 has mated, and amaz'd my sight:
I think, but dare not speak.

Gent.

Good night, good doctor. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

THE COUNTRY NEAR DUNSINANE.

Enter, with Drum and Colours, Menteth, Cathness, Angus, Lenox, and Soldiers.

Ment. The English power is near, led on by
Malcolm,

His uncle Siward, and the good Macduff.
Revenges burn in them: for their dear causes
Would, 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 Donalbain be with his brother?

Len. For certain, sir, he is not: I have a file
Of all the gentry; there is Siward's son,
And many unrough 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 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.

Who then shall blame

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

Cath.
Well, march we on,
To give obedience where 'tis truly ow'd:
Meet we the medicin of the sickly weal;
And with him pour we, in our country's purge,
Each drop of us.

Or so much as it needs,

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

[Exeunt, marching.

SCENE III.

DUNSINANE. A ROOM IN THE CASTLE.

Enter Macbeth, Doctor, and Attendants. Mac. 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 consequents, pronounc'd me thus:
Fear not, Macbeth; no man, that's born of woman,
Shall e'er have power on thee.Then 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 Sercant.

The devil damn thee black, thou cream-fac'd loon! Where got'st thou that goose look?

Ser. There is ten thousand

Mac.

Geese, villain?

Ser.

Soldiers, sir. Mac. 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? Ser. The English force, so please you.

Mac. Take thy face hence.-Seyton!—I am sick at heart,

When I behold-Seyton, I say!-This push
Will cheer me ever, or disseat 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.

Seyton!

Enter Seyton.

Sey. What is your gracious pleasure?

Mac.

What news more?

Sey. All is confirm'd, my lord, which was re

ported.

Mac. I'll fight, till from my bones my flesh be hack'd.

Give me my armour.

Sey.

Mac. I'll put it on.

'Tis not needed yet.

Send out more horses, skirr the country round; Hang those that talk of fear.-Give me mine ar

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

Mac.
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?

Doct.

Therein the patient

Must minister to himself.

Mac. Throw physick 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, despatch:-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.—