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Enter, with Drum and Colours, Menteth, Cathness,

Angus, Lenor, and Soldiers.
Ment. The English power is near, led on by

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.

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

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

[Exeunt, murching.




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 Mal

colm? 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, Shail e'er have power on thee. Then fly, false


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 loon!
Where got'st thou that goose look?

Ser. There is ten thousand

Geese, villain?

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

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?

What news more?

Sey. All is confirni’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.

'Tis not needed yet. Mac. I'll put it on. Send out more horses, skirr the country round; Hang those that talk of fear.—Give me mine ar

mour.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.

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?

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.—

What rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drug, Would scour these English hence?-Hearest thou

of them? Doct. Ay, my good lord; your royal preparation Makes us hear something. Mac. .

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

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



Enter, with Drum and Colours, Malcolm, old Siward

and his Son, Macduff, Menteth, Cathness, Angus, Lenor, Rosse, and Soldiers, marching.

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

We doubt it nothing. Siw. 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 discovery Err in report of us. Sold.

It shall be done. Siw. We learn no other, but the confident tyrant Keeps still in Dunsinane, and will endure Our setting down before't.

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