Shakespeare's First Folio Part 568

The diuell d.a.m.ne thee blacke, thou cream-fac'd Loone: Where got'st thou that Goose-looke

Ser. There is ten thousand

Macb. Geese Villaine?

Ser. Souldiers Sir

Macb. Go p.r.i.c.ke thy face, and ouer-red thy feare Thou Lilly-liuer'd Boy. What Soldiers, Patch?

Death of thy Soule, those Linnen cheekes of thine Are Counsailers to feare. What Soldiers Whay-face?

Ser. The English Force, so please you

Macb. Take thy face hence. Seyton, I am sick at hart, When I behold: Seyton, I say, this push Will cheere me euer, or dis-eate me now.

I haue liu'd long enough: my way of life Is falne into the Seare, the yellow Leafe, And that which should accompany Old-Age, As Honor, Loue, Obedience, Troopes of Friends, I must not looke to haue: but in their steed, Curses, not lowd but deepe, Mouth-honor, breath Which the poore heart would faine deny, and dare not.

Seyton?

Enter Seyton.

Sey. What's your gracious pleasure?

Macb. What Newes more?

Sey. All is confirm'd my Lord, which was reported

Macb. Ile fight, till from my bones, my flesh be hackt.

Giue me my Armor

Seyt. 'Tis not needed yet

Macb. Ile put it on: Send out moe Horses, skirre the Country round, Hang those that talke of Feare. Giue me mine Armor: How do's your Patient, Doctor?

Doct. Not so sicke my Lord, As she is troubled with thicke-comming Fancies That keepe her from her rest

Macb. Cure of that: Can'st thou not Minister to a minde diseas'd, Plucke from the Memory a rooted Sorrow, Raze out the written troubles of the Braine, And with some sweet Obliuious Antidote Cleanse the stufft bosome, of that perillous stuffe Which weighes vpon the heart?

Doct. Therein the Patient Must minister to himselfe

Macb. Throw Physicke to the Dogs, Ile none of it.

Come, put mine Armour on: giue me my Staffe: Seyton, send out: Doctor, the Thanes flye from me: Come sir, dispatch. If thou could'st Doctor, cast The Water of my Land, finde her Disease, And purge it to a sound and pristine Health, I would applaud thee to the very Eccho, That should applaud againe. Pull't off I say, What Rubarb, Cyme, or what Purgatiue drugge Would scowre these English hence: hear'st y of them?

Doct. I my good Lord: your Royall Preparation Makes vs heare something

Macb. Bring it after me: I will not be affraid of Death and Bane, Till Birnane Forrest come to Dunsinane

Doct. Were I from Dunsinane away, and cleere, Profit againe should hardly draw me heere.

Exeunt.

Scena Quarta.

Drum and Colours. Enter Malcolme, Seyward, Macduffe, Seywards Sonne, Menteth, Cathnes, Angus, and Soldiers Marching.

Malc. Cosins, I hope the dayes are neere at hand That Chambers will be safe

Ment. We doubt it nothing

Seyw. What wood is this before vs?

Ment. The wood of Birnane

Malc. Let euery Souldier hew him downe a Bough, And bear't before him, thereby shall we shadow The numbers of our Hoast, and make discouery Erre in report of vs

Sold. It shall be done

Syw. We learne no other, but the confident Tyrant Keepes still in Dunsinane, and will indure Our setting downe befor't

Malc. 'Tis his maine hope: For where there is aduantage to be giuen, Both more and lesse haue giuen him the Reuolt, And none serue with him, but constrained things, Whose hearts are absent too

Macd. Let our iust Censures Attend the true euent, and put we on Industrious Souldiership

Sey. The time approaches, That will with due decision make vs know What we shall say we haue, and what we owe: Thoughts speculatiue, their vnsure hopes relate, But certaine issue, stroakes must arbitrate, Towards which, aduance the warre.

Exeunt. marching

Scena Quinta.

Enter Macbeth, Seyton, & Souldiers, with Drum and Colours.

Macb. Hang out our Banners on the outward walls, The Cry is still, they come: our Castles strength Will laugh a Siedge to scorne: Heere let them lye, Till Famine and the Ague eate them vp: Were they not forc'd with those that should be ours, We might haue met them darefull, beard to beard, And beate them backward home. What is that noyse?

A Cry within of Women.

Sey. It is the cry of women, my good Lord

Macb. I haue almost forgot the taste of Feares: The time ha's beene, my sences would haue cool'd To heare a Night-shrieke, and my Fell of haire Would at a dismall Treatise rowze, and stirre As life were in't. I haue supt full with horrors, Direnesse familiar to my slaughterous thoughts Cannot once start me. Wherefore was that cry?

Sey. The Queene (my Lord) is dead

Macb. She should haue dy'de heereafter; There would haue beene a time for such a word: To morrow, and to morrow, and to morrow, Creepes in this petty pace from day to day, To the last Syllable of Recorded time: And all our yesterdayes, haue lighted Fooles The way to dusty death. Out, out, breefe Candle, Life's but a walking Shadow, a poore Player, That struts and frets his houre vpon the Stage, And then is heard no more. It is a Tale Told by an Ideot, full of sound and fury Signifying nothing.

Enter a Messenger.

Thou com'st to vse thy Tongue: thy Story quickly

Mes. Gracious my Lord, I should report that which I say I saw, But know not how to doo't

Macb. Well, say sir

Mes. As I did stand my watch vpon the Hill I look'd toward Byrnane, and anon me thought The Wood began to moue

Macb. Lyar, and Slaue

Mes. Let me endure your wrath, if't be not so: Within this three Mile may you see it comming.

I say, a mouing Groue

Macb. If thou speak'st false, Vpon the next Tree shall thou hang aliue Till Famine cling thee: If thy speech be sooth, I care not if thou dost for me as much.

I pull in Resolution, and begin To doubt th' Equiuocation of the Fiend, That lies like truth. Feare not, till Byrnane Wood Do come to Dunsinane, and now a Wood Comes toward Dunsinane. Arme, Arme, and out, If this which he auouches, do's appeare, There is nor flying hence, nor tarrying here.

I 'ginne to be a-weary of the Sun, And wish th' estate o'th' world were now vndon.

Ring the Alarum Bell, blow Winde, come wracke, At least wee'l dye with Harnesse on our backe.