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There would be hands uplifted in my right;
And here, from gracious England, have I offer
Of goodly thousands: but, for all this,
When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head,
Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country
Shall have more vices than it had before;
More suffer, and more sundry ways than ever,
By him that shall succeed.

Macd. What should he be?

Mal. It is myself I mean: in whom I know All the particulars of vice so grafted, That, when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth Will seem as pure as snow; and the poor state Esteem him as a lamb, being compar'd With my confineless harms.

Macd. Not in the legions

Of horrid hell, can come a devil more damn'd
In evils, to top Macbeth.

Mal. I grant him bloody,
Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful,
Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin
That has a name. But there's no bottom, none,
In my voluptuousness: your wives, your daughters,
Your matrons, and your maids, could not fill up
The cistern of my lust; and my desire
All continent impediments would o'erbear,
That did oppose my will: better Macbeth,
Than such a one to reign.

Mucd. Boundless intemperance

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Macd. O Scotland! Scotland!

Mal. If such a one be fit to govern, speak:
I am as I have spoken.
Macd. Fit to govern!

No, not to live.-O nation miserable,
With an untitled tyrant bloody-sceptred,
When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again?
Since that the truest issue of thy throne
By his own interdiction stands accurs'd,
And does blaspheme his breed?—Thy royal father
Was a most sainted king; the queen, that bore thee,
Oft'ner upon her knees than on her feet,
Died every day she lived. Fare thee well!
These evils, thou repeat'st upon thyself,
Have banish'd me from Scotland.—O, my breast.
Thy hope ends here!

Mal. Macduff, this noble passion,
Child of integrity, hath from my soul

Wip'd the black scruples, reconcil'd my thoughts
To thy good truth and honour. Devilish Macbeth
By many of these trains hath sought to win me
Into his power; and modest wisdom plucks me
From over-credulous haste. But God above
Deal between thee and me! for even now
I put myself to thy direction, and
Unspeak mine own detraction; here abjure
The taints and blames I laid upon myself,
For strangers to my nature. I am yet
Unknown to woman; never was forsworn;
Scarcely have coveted what was mine own;
At no time broke my faith; would not betray
The devil to his fellow; and delight
No less in truth, than life: my irst false speaking
Was this upon myself. What I am truly,
Is thine, and my poor country's, to command:
Whither, indeed, before thy here-approach,
Old Siward, with ten thousand warlike men,
All ready at a point, was setting forth;
Now we'll together; and the chance of goodness,
Be like our warranted qua rel! Why are you silent?
Macd. Such welcome and unwelcome things at
'Tis hard to reconcile.

Sticks deeper; grows with more pernicious root
Than summer-seeding lust: and it hath been
The sword of our slain kings. Yet do not fear;
Scotland hath foysons to fill up your will,
Of your mere own: all these are portable,
With other graces weigh'd.

Mal. But I have none: the king-becoming
As justice, verity, temperance, stableness, [graces,
Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness,
Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude,
I have no relish of them; but abound
In the division of each several crime,
Acting it many ways. Nay, had I power, I should
Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell,
Uproar the universal peace, confound
All unity on earth.

Enter a Doctor. Mal. Well; more anon.— -Comes the king forth. I pray you? [souls, Doct. Ay, sir: there are a crew of wretched That stay his cure; their malady convinces The great assay of art; but, at his touch, Such sanctity hath heaven given his hand, They presently amend.

Mal. I thank you, doctor.

[exit Doct. Macd. What is the disease he means? Mal. 'Tis call'd the evil:

A most miraculous work in this good king;
Which often, since my here-remain in England,
I have seen him do. How he solicits heaven,
Himself best knows: but strangely-visited people,
All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye,
The mere despair of surgery, he cures;
Hanging a golden stamp about their necks,
Put on with holy prayers: and 'tis spoken,
To the succeeding royalty he leaves

The healing benediction. With this strange virtue, He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy;

And sundry blessings hang about his throne,
That speak him full of grace.
Enter Rosse.
Macd. See, who comes here?

Mal. My countryman; but yet I know him not.
Macd. My ever-gentle cousin, welcome hither.
Mal. I know him now.-(
-Good God, betimes
The means that make us strangers! [remove
Rosse. Sir, amen.

Macd. Stands Scotland where it did?

It cannot

Rosse. Alas, poor country;
Almost afraid to know itself!
Be call'd our mother, but our grave: where nothing,
But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile;
Where sighs, and groans, and shrieks that rend
the air,

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Macd. The tyrant has not batter'd at their peace?
Rosse. No; they were well at peace, when I did
leave them.
[goes it?
Macd. Be not a niggard of your speech. How
Rosse. When I came hither to transport the

Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumour
Of many worthy fellows that were out;
Which was to my belief witness'd the rather,
For that I saw the tyrant's power a-foot.
Now is the time of help; your eye in Scotland
Would create soldiers, make our women fight,
To doff their dire distresses.

Mal. Be it their comfort,

We are coming thither: gracious England hath
Lent us good Siward, and ten thousand men ;
An older, and a better soldier, none,
That Christendom gives out.

Rosse. Would I could answer


What, man! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows,
Give sorrow wor7: the grief, that does not speak,

Are made, not mark'd; where violent sorrow seems Whispers the o'erfraught heart, and bids it break.

A modern ecstacy; the dead man's knell

Is there scarce ask'd, for who; and good men's
Expire before the flowers in their caps,
Dying or ere they sicken.


Macd. O, relation,

This comfort with the like! But I have words,
That would be howl'd out in the desert air,
Where hearing should not latch them.

Macd. What concern they?

The general cause? or is it a fee-grief,
Due to some single breast?


Enter a Doctor of Physic, and a waiting Gentle

Rosse. No mind, that's honest,

But in it shares some woe; though the main part
Pertains to you alone.

Macd. If it be mine,


Doct. I have two nights watched with you, but can perceive no truth in your report. When was it she last walked?

Gent. Since his majesty went into the field, I

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Macd. My children too?

Rosse. Wife, children, servants, all
That could be found.

Macd. And I must be from thence
My wife kill'd too?
Rosse. I have said.

Mal. Be comforted:

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But I must also feel it as a man:
I cannot but remember such things were, [on,
That were most precious to me.- -Did heaven look
And would not take their part? Sinful Macduff,
They were all struck for thee! naught that I am,
Not for their own demerits, but for mine, [now.
Fell slaughter on their souls: Heaven rest therr

Mal. Be this the whetstone of your sword: let

Convert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage it.
Macd. O, I could play the woman with mine eyes
And braggart with my tongue!-But, gentle

Cut short all intermission; front to front,
Bring thou this fiend of Scotland, and myself;
Within my sword's length set him; if he 'scape,
Heaven forgive him too!

Mal. This tune goes manly.

Come, go we to the king; our power is ready;
Our lack is nothing but our leave. Macbeth
Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above [may;
Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer you
The night is long, that never finds the day. [exeunts

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Doct. How came she by that light?

His uncle Siward, and the good Macduff.

Gent. Why, it stood by her: she has light by Revenges burn in them: for their dear causes
her continually; 'tis her command.
Would, to the bleeding, and the grim alarm,
Excite the mortified man.

Gent. It is an accustomed action with her, to seem thus washing her hands; I have known her continue in this a quarter of an hour.

Lady M. Yet here's a spot.

Doct. Hark, she speaks: I will set down what comes from her, to satisfy my remembrance the more strongly.

Lady M. Out, damned spot! out, I say!-One; two; Why, then, 'tis time to do't:-Hell is murky! -Fie, my lord, fie! a soldier, and afeard? What need we fear who knows it, when none can call our power to account?-Yet who would have thought the old man to have so much blood in him?

Ang. Near Birnam wood


Doct. You see, her eyes are open. Gent. Ay, but their sense is shut. Doct. What is it she does now? Look, low Shall we well meet them; that way are they she rubs her hands. Cath. Who knows, if Donalbain be with his brother?

Doct. Do you mark that?

Lady M. The thane of Fife had a wife. Where is she now? What, will these hands ne'er be clean?-No more o'that, my lord, no more o'that: you mar all with this starting.

Doct. Go to, go to; you have known what you should not.

Gent. She has spoke what she should not, I am sure of that: Heaven knows what she has known. Lady M. Here's the smell of the blood still! all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh! oh! oh! [charged. Doct. What a sigh is there! The heart is sorely Gent. I would not have such a heart in my bosom, for the dignity of the whole body.

Doct. Well, well, well,—

Gent. Pray God it be, sir.

Doct. This disease is beyond my practice: yet I have known those which have walked in their sleep, who have died holily in their beds.

Lady M. Wash your hands, put on your nightgown; look not so pale:-I tell you yet again, Banquo's buried; he cannot come out of his grave. Doct. Even so?

| More needs she the divine, than the physician.--
God, God, forgive us all! Look after her;
Remove from her the means of all annoyance.
And still keep eyes upon her:-So, good night.
My mind she has mated, and amaz'd my sight:
I think, but dare not speak.

Gent. Good night, good doctor.



Enter, with drum and colours, Menteth, Cathness, Angus, Lenox, and Soldiers.

Lady M. To bed, to bed; there's knocking at the gate. Come, come, come, come, give me your hand. What's done, cannot be undone: to bed, to bed, to bed. [exit Lady Macbeth. Doct. Will she go now to bed? Gent. Directly.

Ment. The English power is near, led on by Malcolm,


Doct. Foul whisperings are abroad: unnatural Do breed unnatural troubles. Infected minds To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets

Len. For certain, sir, he is not: I have a fle Of all the gentry; there is Siward's son, And many unrough youths, that even now Protest their first of manhood.

Ment. What does the tyrant?

Cath. 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.

Ang. Now does 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 shall then blame


His pester'd senses 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 medecin of the sickly 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 sovereign flower, and drown the weeds. Make we our march towards Birnam.

[exeunt, marching.


Enter Macbeth, Doctor, and Attendants. Macb. Bring me no more reports; let them fly 'Till Birnam wood remove to Dunsinane, [all: I cannot taint with fear. What's the boy Malcolm? Was he not born of woman? The spirits that know All mortal consequents, pronounc'd me thus: Fear not, Macbeth, no man, that's born of woman, Shall e'er have power on thee.-Then fly, false And mingle with the English epicures: [thanes, The mind I sway by, and the heart I bear, Shall never sagg with doubt, nor shake with fear. Enter a Servant. The devil damn thee black, thou cream-fuc'd loon; Where got'st thou that goose look?

Serv. There is ten thousand-
Mach. Geese, villain?
Serv. Soldiers, sir.

Macb. Go, prick thy face, and over-red thy fear,
Thou lilly-liver'd boy. What soldiers, patch?
Death of thy soul! those linen cheeks of thine
Are counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whey-face?
Serv. The English force, so please you.
Macb. Take thy face hence.-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 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, but dare
Seyton !—

Enter Seyton.
Sey. What is your gracious pleasure?
Macb. What news more?

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How does your patient, doctor?

Doct. Not so sick, my lord,

As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies,
That keep her from her rest.

Macb. 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 stuff
Which weighs upon the heart?

Doct. Therein the patient

Doct. 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. [exit.
Doct. Were I from Dunsinane away and clear,
Profit again should hardly draw me here.


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Enter, with drums and colours, Macbeth, Seyton, and soldiers.

Macb. Hang out our banners on the outward

The cry is still, They come: Our castle's strength
Will laugh a siege to 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.
Macb. I have almost forgot the taste of fears:

Must minister to himself.

Macb. Throw physic to the dogs, I'll none of The time has been, my senses would have cool'd
To hear a night-shriek; and my fell of hair
Would at a dismal treatise rouse, and stir

As life were in't: I have supp'd full with horrors;
Direness, familiar to my slaught'rous thoughts,
Cannot once start me.- Wherefore was that cry?

Come, put mine armour on; give me my staff:—
Seyton, send out.--Doctor, the thanes fly from me:--
Come, sir, despatch:-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?-Hearest thou
of them?

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Macd. Let our just censures

Attend the true event, and put we on
Industrious soldiership.

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.

Sey. The queen, my lord, is dead.

Macb. She should have died 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 syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays, have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle
Life's but a walking shadow: a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.-

Enter a Messenger.

Macb. Thou wast born of woman.

Thou com'st to use thy tongue; thy story quickly. But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn,
Mess. Gracious my lord,
Brandish'd by man that's of a woman born. [erit.
Alarums. Enter Macduff.
Macd. That way the noise is:-Tyrant, show
thy face:

I shall report that which I say But know not how to do it.

I saw,

Macb. Well, say, sir.

Mess. As I did stand my watch upon the hill, I look'd toward Birnam, and anon, methought, The wood began to move.

Macb. Liar, and slave!

[striking him.

Mess. Let me endure your wrath, if't be not so: Within this three mile may you see it coming; I say, a moving grove.

Macb. If thou speak'st false,

Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive, 'Till famine cling thee: if thy specch be sooth, I care not if thou dost for me as much.

I pull in resolution; and begin
To doubt the equivocation of the fiend,
That lies like truth: Fear not, till Birnam wood
Do come to Dunsinane;—and now, a wood
Comes toward Dunsinane.-Arm, arm, and out!
If this, which he avouches, does appear,
There is nor flying hence, nor tarrying here.
I 'gin to be a-weary of the sun,

And wish the estate o'the world were now undone.

Ring the alarum bell:-Blow, wind! come, wrack! At least we'll die with harness on our back. [exeunt.



Enter, with drums and colours, Malcolm, old Siward, Macduff, &c. and their army, with boughs. Mal. Now near enough; your leafy screens throw down,

And show like those you are.- -You, worthy uncle, Shall, with my cousin, your right-noble son, Lead our first battle: worthy Macduff, and we, Shall take upon's what else remains to do, According to our order.

Siw. Fare you well.Do we but find the tyrant's power to-night, Let us be beaten, if we cannot fight. [all breath, Macd. Make all our trumpets speak; give them Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death. [exeunt; alarums continued.

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If thou be'st slain, and with no stroke of mine,
My wife and children's ghosts will haunt me still.
I cannot strike at wretched kernes, whose arms
Are hir'd to bear their staves; either thou, Macbeth,
Or else my sword, with an unbatter'd edge,'
I sheath again undeeded. There thou should'st be;
By this great clatter, one of greatest note
Seems bruited: Let me find him, fortune!
And more I beg not.
[exit; alarum.
Enter Malcolm and old Siward.
Siw. This way, my lord;—the castle's gently

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And let the angel, whom thou still hast serv'd, Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb Untimely ripp'd.

Macb. Accursed be that tongue that tells me so
For it hath cow'd my better part of man!
And be these juggling fiends no more believ'd,
That palter with us in a double sense;
That keep the word of promise to our ear,
And break it to our hope.-I'll not fight with thee.
Macd. Then yield thee, coward,

And live to be the show and gaze o'the time.
| We'll have thec, as our rarer monsters are,
Painted upon a pole; and underwrit,
Here may you see the tyrant.
Macb. I'll not yield,

To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet,
And to be baited with the rabble's curse.
Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane,
And thou oppos'd, being of no woman born,
Yet I will try the last. Before my body

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