Remove from her the means of all annoyance,
And ftill keep eyes upon her; fo, good night.
My mind she'as mated, and amaz'd my fight.
I think, but dare not speak.

Gent. Good night, good Doctor.

SCENE

[Exeunt.

II.

Changes to a Field, with a Wood at a distance.

•TH

Enter Menteth, Cathnefs, 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 caufes
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 fon
And many unrough youths, that even now,
Proteft their first of manhood.

Ment. What does the tyrant?

Cath. Great Dunfinane he ftrongly fortifies; Some fay, he's mad: others, that leffer hate him, Do call it valiant fury: but for certain,

He cannot buckle his diftemper'd Caufe
Within the belt of Rule.

Ang. Now do's he feel

His fecret murders fticking on his hands;

Now minutely Revolts upbraid his faith-breach;
Thofe, he commands, move only in command,
Nothing in love: now does he feel his Title
Hang loofe about him, like a giant's robe
Upon a dwarfish thief.

Ment. Who then fhall balme

His pefter'd fenfes 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 med'cine of the fickly Weal,
And with him pour we, in our Country's purge,
Each drop of us.

Len. Or fo much as it needs,

To dew the fovereign flower, and drown the weeds. Make up our March towards Birnam.

Macb.

SCENE III.

The Caftle of DUNSINANE.

Enter Macbeth, Doctor, and Attendants.

RING me to no more Reports, let them fly all:

BRI

'Till Birnam-wood remove to Dunfinane,

I cannot taint with fear. What's the boy Malcolm?
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 fag with doubt, nor fhake with fear.

Enter a Servant.

The devil damn thee black, thou cream-fac'd lown! Where got'ft thou that goofe look?

Ser. There are ten thousand-

Macb. Geefe, villain?

Ser. Soldiers, Sir.

Macb. Go, prick thy face, and over-red thy fear, Thou lily-liver'd boy. What foldiers, patch? Death of thy foul! thofe linen cheeks of thine Are counsellors to fear. What foldiers, whey-face? Ser. The English force, so please you. [heart, Macb. Take thy face hence-Seyton!-I'm fick at When I behold-Seyton, I fay !-This pufh

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 fhould accompany old age,
As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends,
I must not look to have: but in their ftead,
Curfes 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.

Sey. 'Tis not needed yet.

Macb. I'll put it on.

[hack't;

Send out more horses, fkir the country round;

Hang thofe, that talk of fear. Give me mine armour. How do's your Patient, Doctor?

Doct. Not fo fick, my lord,

As fhe is troubled with thick-coming fancies,
That keep her from her reft.

Macb. Cure her of that:

Canft 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 fome sweet oblivious antidote,
Cleanse the ftuff'd bofom of that perilous stuff,
Which weighs upon the heart?

Doct. Therein the Patient

Muft minifter unto himself.

Macb. Throw phyfic to the dogs, I'll none of itCome, put my armour on; give me my ftaff. Seyton, fend out-Doctor, the Thanes fly from me→ Come, Sir, dispatch-If thou could'st, Doctor, caft The water of my Land, find her disease, And purge it to a found and priftine health;

I would applaud thee to the very Echo,

That should applaud again. Pull't off, I fay-
What rubarb, fenna, or what purgative drug,
Would fcour thefe English hence! hear'ft thou of them?
Doct. Ay, my good lord; your royal Preparation
Makes us hear fomething..

Macb. Bring it after me;

I will not be afraid of death and bane, 'Till Birnam-foreft come to Dunfinane.

Doct. Were I from Dunfinane away and clear, Profit again fhould hardly draw me here.

[Exeunt.

Enter Malcolm, Siward, Macduff, Siward's Son,
Menteth; Cathness, Angus, and Soldiers marching.
OUSINS; I hope the days are near at

Mal. That chambers will be fafe.
C

Ment. We doubt it nothing.

Siw. What wood is this before us.

Ment. The wood of Birnam.

[hand,

Mal. Let every foldier hew him down a bough, And bear't before him; thereby fhall we fhadow The numbers of our Hofts, and make discov'ry Err in report of us.

Sold. It fhall be done.

Siw. We learn no other, but the confin'd tyrant Keeps ftill in Dunfinane, and will endure Our fitting down before't.

Mal. 'Tis his main hope:

For where there is advantage to be given,

Both more and lefs have given him the Revolt; And none ferve with him but conftrained things, Whofe hearts are absent too.

Macd. Let our juft cenfures

Attend the true event, and put we on
Industrious foldiership

Siw. The time approaches,

That will with due decifion make us know

What we shall say we have, and what we owe:
Thoughts fpeculative their unfure hopes relate;
But certain iffue Strokes muft arbitrate:

Towards which, advance the war. [Exeunt marching.

Changes to the Cafle of Dunfinane.

Enter Macbeth, Seyton, and Soldiers with drums and

colours.

Macb. HANG out our banners on the outward

walls,

The Cry is ftill, they come our Caftle's strength Will laugh a fiege to fcorn. 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 almoft forgot the taste of fears: The time has been, my fenfes would have cool'd To hear a night-fhriek; and my fell of hair Would at a difmal treatife rouze and ftir,

As life were in't. I have fupt full with horrors;
Direness, familiar to my flaught'rous thoughts,
Cannot once ftart 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 fuch a word.
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the laft 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 fhadow, a poor Player,

That