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Remove from her the means of all annoyance,
And still keep eyes upon her; so, good night.
My mind she’ás mated, and amaz’d my fight.
I think, but dare not speak.
Gent. Good night, good Doctor. [Exeunt.

S CE N E II.
Changes to a Field, with a Wood at a distance.
Enter Menteth, Cathness, Angus, Lenox, and Soldiers.
Ment. T'Hisusele Siward, and the good Macduff.

THE English Power is near, led on by Malcolm,
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've a file
Of all the Gentry; there is Siward's son
And many unrough youths, that even now,
Proteft their first of manhood.

Ment. What does the tyrant?

Cath. Great Dunsinane he Itrongly fortifies ;
Some fay, 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 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.

Ment. Who then shall balme
His peter'd senses to recoil, and fart,
When all that is within him does condemn
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Itself

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Itself, for being there?

Cath. Well, march we on,
To give obedience where 'tis truly ow'd :
Meet we the med'cine of the fickly 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 fovereign flower, and drown the weeds.
Make

up

our March towards Birnam.

S CE N E III.

The Castle of DUNSINAN E. Enter Macbeth, Doctor, and Attendants. Macb. BRING me to no more Reports, let them

fly all : 'Till Birnam-wood remove to Dunsnane, I cannot taint with fear. What's the boy Malcoln ? Was he not born of woman? Spirits, that know All mortal consequences, have pronounc'd it: Fear not, Macbeth ; no man, that's born of woman, Shall e'er have power upon thee.--Then fly, falfe Thanes, And mingle with the English Epicures. The mind I fway 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 lown!
Where got'ft 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 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. [heart,

Macb. Take thy face hence-Seyton ! - I'm sick at When I behold -Seyton, I say !--This push

it on.

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.
Seyton,

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 be Give me my armour.

[hack't; Sey. 'Tis not needed yet. Macb. I'll

put
Send out more horses, skir the country round;
Hang those, that talk of fear. Give me mine armour.
How do's your Patient, Dodor ?

Do&t. Not so fick, my lord,
As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies,
That keep her from her rest.

Macb. Cure her of that :
Cànst thou not minister to a mind diseas’d,
Pluck from the memory a rooted forrow,
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 unto himself.

Macb. Throw physic 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'ft, 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?

Doc. 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.

Do&t. Were I from Dunsinane away and clear, Profit again should hardly draw me here. (Exeunt.

S CE N E IV.

Changes to Birnam-Wood. Enter Malcolm, Siward, Macduff, Siward's Son,

Menteih; Cathness, Angus, and Soldiers marching. Mal. OUSINS; I hope the days are near at

[hand 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 Hofts, and make discov'ry Err in report of us.

Sold. It shall be done.'

Siw. We learn no other, but the confin'd tyrant Keeps fill in Dunsinane, and will endure Our fitting 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. Let our just censures
Attend the true event, and put we on
Industrious soldiership

C

Siw. 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.

Changes to the Casle of 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 Cafle's strength Will laugh a fiege io scorn. Here let them lie, 'Till famine and the ague eat them up: Were they not forc'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.

Mach. I have almost forgot the taste of fears : The time has been, my senses would have cool'd To hear a night-hriek; 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 flaught'rous thoughts, Cannot once start me. Wherefore was that Cry?

Sey. The Queen, my Lord, is dead.

Macb. She thould have dy'd hereafter; There would have been a time for such a word. To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last fyllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusky death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking thadow, a poor Player,

That

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