Dunsinane. A Room in the Castle.
 Enter MACBETH, DOCTOR OF PHYSIC, 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 gott'st thou that goose look?

Servant	There is ten thousand-

Macbeth							Geese, villain?

Servant										Soldiers, sir.

Macbeth	Go, prick thy face and overred thy fear,
	Thou lily-livered boy. What soldiers, patch?
	Death of thy soul! Those linen cheeks of thine
	Are counsellors 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 sere, 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.

Seyton	What's your gracious pleasure?

Macbeth										What news more?

Seyton	All is confirmed, my lord, which was reported.

Macbeth	I'll fight till from my bones my flesh be hacked.
	Give me my armour.

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 armour.
	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 stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff
	Which weighs upon the heart?

Doctor									Therein the patient
	Must minister to himself.

Macbeth	Throw physic 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, 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, senna, or what purgative drug
	Would scour these English hence? Hear'st thou of them?

Doctor	Ay, my good lord; your royal preparation
	Makes us hear something.

Macbeth			[To ATTENDANT.]		Bring it after me.
	I will not be afraid of death and bane
	Till Birnam Forest come to Dunsinane.
									 [Exeunt all but the DOCTOR.

Doctor	[Aside.] Were I from Dunsinane away and clear,
	Profit again should hardly draw me here.
												[Exeunt.
