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Doct. What is it she does now? Look how she rubs her hands.

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 One; Two: Why, then 'tis time to do't: Hell is murky! Fye, my lord, fye! 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 had so much blood in him? Doct. Do 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 Y Doct. Go to, go to; you have known what you should not.

grave. Doct. Even so?

Gent. She has spoke what she should not, I am sure of that: Heaven knows what she has known.

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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, [Erit Lady MACBETH. Doct. Will she go now to bed? Gent. Directly.

Doct. Foul whisperings are abroad: Unnatural deeds

Lady M. Here's the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh! oh! oh!


Well, march we on,
To give obedience where 'tis truly ow'd:
Doct. What a sigh is there! The heart is sorely Meet we the medicin of the sickly weal :
And with him pour we, in our country's purge,
Each drop of us.

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

Do breed unnatural troubles: Infected minds
To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets.
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.

Would, to the bleeding, and the grim alarm,
Excite the mortified man.


Near Birnam wood

Shall we well meet them; that way are they coming.
Cath. Who, knows, if Donalbain be with his

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

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.


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.


Who then shall blame
His pester'd senses to recoil, and start,
When all that is within him does condemn
Itself, for being there?


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.
Macb. Bring me no more reports; let them fly all;
Till Birnamn 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 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 thanes,
And mingle with the English epicures:
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-fac'd loon
Where got'st thou that goose look ?
Serv. There is ten thousand

Geese, villain?
Soldiers, sir.


Mach. 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?
Serv. The English force, so please you.
Macb. Take thy face hence.-Seyton !-I am sick

at heart,

Good night, good doctor. [Exeunt. SCENE II. The Country near Dunsinane. Enter, with drum and colours, MENTETH, CATHNESS, ANGUS, LENOX, and Soldiers.

When I behold Seyton, I say! - This push
Will cheer me ever, or disseat me now.

Ment. The English power is near, led on by I have liv'd long enough: my way of life
Is taff'n into the sear, the yellow leaf:
And that which should accompany old age,

His uncle Siward, and the good Macduff.
Revenges burn in them: for their dear causes

As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends,

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Cure ber 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?


Must minister to himself.
Macb. Throw physick to the dogs, I'll none of
Come, put mine armour on; give me my staff:
Seyton, send out. Doctor, the thanes fly from


Come, sir, despatch :-If thou could'st, 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?

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

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Keeps still in Dunsinane, and will endure
Our setting down before't.


The cry is still They come Our castie's strength
Will laugh a siege to scorn: here let them lie,
Till famine, and theague, eat them up.


Were they not fore'a with those that should be ours,
We might have met them dareful, beard to beard,
Therein the patient And beat them backward home What is that
[A cry withun, of women.
Sey. It is the cry of women, my good lord.
Macb. I have almost forgot the taste of fears.
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

We doubt it nothing.
Siw. What wood is this before us?

The wood of Birnam.

Mal. Let every soldier hew him down a bough,
And bear't before him; thereby shall we shadow
The numbers of our host, and make discovery
Err in report of us.

'Tis his main hope:
For where there is advantage to be given,
Both more and less have given him the revolt;
And none serve with him but constrained things,
Whose hearts are absent too.

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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?
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.

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It shall be done.

Saw. We learn no other, but the confident tyrant Till famine cling thee

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.
If thou speak 'st false,
Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive,

if thy speech 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.


A Plain before the

SCENE VI. - The same.
Enter, with drums and colours, MALCOLM, old
SIWARD, MACDUFF, &c. and their Army, with

Mal. Now, near enough; your leavy 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 us what else remains to do,
According to our order.


Fare you well. Do we but find the tyrant's power to-night, Let us be beaten, if we cannot fight.

Macd. Make all our trumpets speak; give them
all breath,

Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death.
[Exeunt. Alarums continued.

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Or else my sword, with an unbatter'd edge,
I sheathe 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. Alcrum.

Enter MALCOLM and old SIWARD.
the castle's gently


My name's Macbeth.

Yo. Siw. The devil himself could not pronounce a title

More hateful to mine ear.


No, nor more fearful. Yo. Siw. Thou liest, abhorred tyrant; with my sword

I'll prove the lie thou speak'st.

[They fight, and young SIWARD is slain.
Thou wast born of woman. —
But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn,
Brandish'd by man that's of a woman born. [Exit.

Siw. This way, my lord;-

Alarums. Enter MACDUff.

Macd. That way the noise is: - Tyrant, show
thy face:

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,

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I have no words,
My voice is in my sword; thou bloodier villain
Than terms can give thee out! [They fight.
Thou losest labour:
As easy may'st thou the intrenchant air
With thy keen sword impress, as make me bleed ⚫
Another part of the Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests;
I bear a charmed life, which must not yield
To one of woman born.


Despair thy charm;
And let the angel, whom thou still hast serv'd,

Mach. They have tied me to a stake; I cannot fly,

But, bear-like, I must fight the course.—What's he,Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb
That was not born of woman? Such a one
Am I to fear, or none.

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Re-enter MACDUFF.


Turn, hell-hound, turn. Macb. Of all men else I have avoided thee: But get thee back, my soul is too much charg'd With blood of thine already.

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 thee, as our rarer monsters are,
Painted upon a pole; and underwrit,
Here may you see the tyrant.

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

I throw my warlike shield: lay on, Macduff;
And damn'd be him that first cries, Hold, enough.
[Exeunt, fighting.

Retreat. Flourish. Re-enter with drum and colours, MALCOLM, old SIWARD, ROSSE, LENOX, ANGUS, CATHNESS, MENTETH, and Soldiers.

Mal. I would, the friends we miss were safe arriv'd.

Siw. Some must go off; and yet, by these I see So great a day as this is cheaply bought.

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Siw. Then he is dead?

Rosse. Ay, and brought off the field:
cause of sorrow

Must not be measur'd by his worth, for then
It hath no end.
Had he his hurts before?
Rosse. Ay, on the front.
Why, then, God's soldier be he!
Had I as many sons as I have hairs,
I would not wish them to a fairer death:

He's worth more sorrow,

And so his knell is knoll'd.
And that I'll spend for him.
He's worth no more;
They say, he parted well, and paid his score:
So, God be with him!- Here comes newer comfort.
Re-enter MACDUFF, with MACBETH's head on a pole.
Macd. Hail, king! for so thou art: Behold,
where stands


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Henceforth be earls, the first that ever Scotland
In such an honour nam'd. What's more to do,
Which would be planted newly with the time,
As calling home our exil'd friends abroad,
That fled the snares of watchful tyranny;
Producing forth the cruel ministers
Of this dead butcher, and his fiend-like queen;
Who, as 'tis thought, by self and violent hands
Took off her life; - This, and what needful else
That calls upon us, by the grace of Grace,
We will perform in measure, time, and place:
So thanks to all at once, and to each one,
Whom we invite to see us crown'd at Scone.

[Flourish. Erenzl

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Chat. Thus, after greeting, speaks the king of

In my behaviour, to the majesty,

The borrow'd majesty of England here.


Eli. A strange beginning; - borrow'd majesty!
K. John. Silence, good mother; hear the em-

Chat. Philip of France, in right and true behalf
Of thy deceased brother Geffrey's son,
Arthur Plantagenet, lays most lawful claim
To this fair island, and the territories;

ELINOR, the widow of King Henry II., and mother
of King John.

CONSTANCE, mother to Arthur.

BLANCH, daughter to Alphonso, King of Castile, and
niece to King John.
Lady FAULCONBRIDGE, mother to the Bastard and
Robert Faulconbridge.

To Ireland, Poictiers, Anjou, Touraine, Maine:
Desiring thee to lay aside the sword.
Which sways usurpingly these several titles;
And put the same into young Arthur's hand,
Thy nephew and right royal sovereign.

K. John. What follows, if we disallow of this?
Chat. The proud controul of fierce and bloody war,
To enforce these rights so forcibly withheld.

Lords, Ladies, Citizens of Angiers, Sheriff, Heralds,
Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and other Attendants.

K. John.

Here have we war for war, and blood
for blood,
Controlment for controlment: so answer France.
Chat. Then take my king's defiance from my
The furthest limit of my embassy.

K. John. Bear mine to him, and so depart in


Be thou as lightning in the eyes of France;
For ere thou canst report I will be there,
The thunder of my cannon shall be heard:
So, hence! Be thou the trumpet of our wrath
And sullen presage of your own decay,
An honourable conduct let him have:
Pembroke, look to't : Farewell, Chatillon.
Eli. that now, my son? have I not ever said,
How that ambitious Constance would not cease,
Till she had kindled France, and all the world,
Upon the right and party of her son?

This might have been prevented, and made whole,
With very easy arguments of love;
Which now the manage of two kingdoms must
With fearful bloody issue arbitrate.

K. John. Our strong possession, and our right

for us.

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