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:(5)
“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.(10)

Enter a Servant.

The devil damn thee black, thou cream-faced loon!
Where got'st thou that goose look?

MACBETH:

Don’t bring me any more reports. To hell with them.
I won’t be afraid
Until Birnam wood remove to Dunsinane. What about the boy Malcolm?
Didn’t a woman give birth to him? The spirits that know
All mortal consequences have told me in this way,
"Fear not, Macbeth. No man that hasn’t been given birth to by a woman
Shall ever have power upon you." Then fly, false barons,
And mingle with the English gluttons.
The mind I think with and the courage I have
Shall never sag with doubt or shake with fear.

The devil damn you black, you cream-faced loon!
Where did you get that cowardly look?

SERVANT:

There is ten thousand—

SERVANT:

There is ten thousand.

MACBETH:

Geese, villain?

MACBETH:

Geese, villain?

SERVANT:

Soldiers, sir.(15)

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 counselors to fear. What soldiers, whey-face?

MACBETH:

Go prick your face and hide your fear in a red face,
You lily-livered boy. What soldiers, servant?
Death of your soul! Those linen cheeks of your
Are counselors to fear. What soldiers, milk-face?

SERVANT:

The English force, so please you.(20)

SERVANT:

The English force, so please you.

MACBETH:

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 lived long enough. My way of life(25)
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,(30)
Which the poor heart would fain deny and dare not.
Seyton!

MACBETH:

Take your face out of here.

Seyton! I am sick at heart,
When I behold Seyton, I say!- This attack
Will give me the throne forever or unseat me now.
I have lived long enough. My way of life
Is fallen into the dry, withered yellow leaf,
And the things which should accompany old age,
Honor, love, obedience, troops of friends,
I think I’ll have, but, instead of them, I’ll have
Curses, not loud, only deep, mouth-honor, breath,
Which the poor heart would gladly deny, and dare not.
Seyton!

Enter Seyton.

SEYTON:

What's your gracious pleasure?

SEYTON:

What's your gracious pleasure?

MACBETH:

What news more?

MACBETH:

What other news?

SEYTON:

All is confirm'd, my lord, which was reported.(35)

SEYTON:

All is confirmed, my lord, which was reported.

MACBETH:

I'll fight, ’til from my bones my flesh be hack'd.
Give me my armor.

MACBETH:

I'll fight until my flesh is hacked from my bones.
Give me my amour.

SEYTON:

’Tis not needed yet.

SEYTON:

It is not needed yet.

MACBETH:

I'll put it on.
Send out more horses, skirr the country round,(40)
Hang those that talk of fear. Give me mine armor.
How does your patient, doctor?

MACBETH:

I'll put it on.
Send out more horses, scour the country all around.
Hang those that talk of fear. Give me my amour.
How is your patient, doctor?

DOCTOR:

Not so sick, my lord,
As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies,
That keep her from her rest.(45)

DOCTOR:

Not so sick, my lord,
As she is troubled with a number of illusions,
That keep her from resting.

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(50)
Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff
Which weighs upon the heart?

MACBETH:

Cure her of that.
Can’t you minister to a diseased mind?
Pluck a rooted sorrow from the memory?
Wipe out the written troubles of the brain,
And cleanse the burdened heart of that dangerous stuff
Which weighs upon the heart with some sweet antidote
Which will make her oblivious to all those things?

DOCTOR:

Therein the patient
Must minister to himself.

DOCTOR:

That’s where the patient
Must minister to himself.

MACBETH:

Throw physic to the dogs, I'll none of it.(55)
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,(60)
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?

MACBETH:

Throw medicine to the dogs, I'll have none of it.
Come, put my amour on. Give me my staff.
Seyton, send out. Doctor, the Barons desert me.
Come, sir, get going. If you could, doctor, analyze
The urine of my land, find her disease,
And purge it to a sound and former health,
I would praise you to the very echo,
That should praise again. You can do it, I say.
What rhubarb, senna, or other purgative drugs,
Would do keep these English here healthy? Have you heard of them?

DOCTOR:

Ay, my good lord: your royal preparation(65)
Makes us hear something.

DOCTOR:

Yes, 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.

MACBETH:

Bring it after me.
I will not be afraid of death and ruin,
Until Birnam forest come to Dunsinane.

DOCTOR:

Were I from Dunsinane away and clear, Profit(70)
again should hardly draw me here.

DOCTOR:

If I were away and clear from Dunsinane.
Money would hardly draw me here again.

Exeunt.