• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

And still keep eyes upon her. So good night.

My mind she has mated and amazed my sight.

I think, but dare not speak.

GENTLEWOMAN.

Good night, good doctor.

Exeunt.

SCENE II. The country near Dunsinane. Drum and colors.

Enter Menteith, Caithness, Angus, Lennox, and Soldiers.

MENTEITH. 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.

ANGUS.

Near Birnam Wood

Shall we well meet them; that way are they coming.

CAITHNESS.

Who knows if Donalbain be with his brother?

LENNOX.

For certain, sir, he is not; I have a file

Of all the gentry. There is Seward's son

And many unrough youths that even now

Protest their first of manhood.

MENTEITH.

What does the tyrant?

CAITHNESS.

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.

ANGUS.

Now does he feel

His secret murthers 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.

MENTEITH.

Who then shall blame

His pester'd senses to recoil and start,

When all that is within him does condemn

Itself for being there?

CAITHNESS.

Well, march we on

To give obedience where 'tis truly owed.

Meet we the medicine of the sickly weal,

And with him pour we, in our country's purge,

Each drop of us.

LENNOX.

Or so much as it needs

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.

MACBETH. 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 pronounced 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-faced loon!

Where got'st thou that goose look?

SERVANT.

There is ten thousand-

MACBETH.

Geese, villain?

SERVANT.

Soldiers, sir.

MACBETH.

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 counselors to fear. What soldiers, whey-face?

SERVANT.

The English force, so please you.

MACBETH.

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 disseat me now.

I have lived long enough. My way of life

Is fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf,

And that which should accompany old age,

As honor, love, obedience, troops of friends,

I must not look to have; but in their stead,

Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honor, breath,

Which the poor heart would fain deny and dare not.

Seyton!

Enter Seyton.

SEYTON. What's your gracious pleasure?

MACBETH.

What news more?

SEYTON.

All is confirm'd, my lord, which was reported.

MACBETH.

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

Give me my armor.

SEYTON.

'Tis not needed yet.

MACBETH.

I'll put it on.

Send out more horses, skirr the country round,

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

How does your patient, doctor?

DOCTOR.

Not so sick, my lord,

As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies,

That keep her from her rest.

MACBETH.

Cure her of that.

Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased,

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