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    Act 5. Scene III

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    Chapter 23
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    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 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 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, and dare not. Seyton!

    Enter SEYTON

    SEYTON
    What is your gracious pleasure?

    MACBETH
    What news more?

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

    MACBETH
    I'll fight till from my bones my flesh be hack'd.
    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 stuff'd 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, cyme, 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
    Bring it after me.
    I will not be afraid of death and bane,
    Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane.

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

    Exeunt
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