Act 5, Scene 3
Dunsinane. A room in the castle.
- Enter Macbeth, English Doctor, and Attendants.
Macbeth2 - 14
- Bring me no more reports, let them fly all.
- Till Birnan 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 pronounc’d 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 Servant.
- The devil damn thee black, thou cream-fac’d loon!
- Where got’st thou that goose-look?
- There is ten thousand—
- Geese, villain?
- Soldiers, sir.
Macbeth18 - 21
- 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?
- The English force, so please you.
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- 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 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 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.
- Enter Seyton.
- What’s your gracious pleasure?
- What news more?
- All is confirm’d, my lord, which was reported.
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- I’ll fight, till from my bones my flesh be hack’d.
- Give me my armor.
- ’Tis not needed yet.
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- 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?
English Doctor47 - 49
- Not so sick, my lord,
- As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies,
- That keep her from her rest.
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- 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?
English Doctor57 - 58
- Therein the patient
- Must minister to himself.
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- Throw physic to the dogs, I’ll none of it.
- Come, put mine armor on; give me my staff.
- Seyton, send out. Doctor, the thanes fly from me.—
- Come, sir, dispatch.— If thou couldst, 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, cyme, or what purgative drug,
- Would scour these English hence? Hear’st thou of them?
English Doctor69 - 70
- Ay, my good lord; your royal preparation
- Makes us hear something.
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- Bring it after me.—
- I will not be afraid of death and bane,
- Till Birnan forest come to Dunsinane.
- Exeunt all but the English Doctor.
English Doctor75 - 76
- Were I from Dunsinane away and clear,
- Profit again should hardly draw me here.