Let's make us med'cines of our great revenge,

To cure this deadly grief.

Macd. He has no children.-All my pretty ones Did you say all?-O hell-kite !—All?

What, all my pretty chickens and their dam

At one fell swoop?

Mal. Dispute it like a man.
Macd.

I shall do so;

But I must also feel it as a man:

I cannot but remember such things were,

That were most precious to me.—Did heaven look on, 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,

Fell slaughter on their souls: heaven rest them now! Mal. Be this the whetstone of your sword: let grief

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 heaven, 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!

[Exeunt.

SCENE 3.-Dunsinane. Ante-room in the Castle.

A Doctor and a Gentlewoman.

Doctor.

HAVE two nights watch'd with you, but can perceive no truth in your report. When was it she last walk'd?

Gentlewoman. Since his majesty went into the field, I have seen her rise from her bed, throw her nightgown upon her, take forth paper, fold it, write upon't, read it, afterwards seal it, and again return to bed; yet all this while in a most fast sleep.

Doctor. A great perturbation in nature to receive at once the benefit of sleep and do the affects of watching. What, at any time, have you heard her say?

Gentlewoman. That, sir, which I will not report after

her.

Doctor. You may to me, and 'tis most meet you should.

Gentlewoman. Neither to you nor any one, having no witness to confirm my speech.-Lo you, here she comes!

Enter Lady MACBETH, with a taper.

This is her very guise; and, upon my life, fast asleep. Observe her; stand close.

Doctor. How came she by that light?

Gentlewoman. Why, it stood by her: she has light by her continually; 'tis her command.

Doctor. You see, her eyes are open.

Gentlewoman. Aye, but their sense is shut.

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

Gentlewoman. It is an accustom'd 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.

Doctor. Hark! she speaks.

Lady M. Out, damnèd 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 had so much blood in him?

Doctor. 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.

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

Gentlewoman. 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!

Doctor. What a sigh is there! The heart is sorely charged.

Gentlewoman. I would not have such a heart in my bosom for the dignity of the whole body.

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 on's grave.

Doctor. Even so?

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.

B

Macbeth.

RING 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 consequence, have pronounc'd 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 an Officer.

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

Officer. There is ten thousand

Macb.

Officer.

Geese, villain?

Soldiers, sir

Macb. 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?
Officer. The English force, so please you.

Macb. Take thy face hence.

[Exit Officer.

Seyton-I am sick at heart,

When I behold-Seyton, I say?—This push
Will cheer me ever, or dis-seat me now.
I have liv'd long enough: my May 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.

What news more?

Sey. What is your gracious pleasure?
Macb.
Sey. All is confirm'd, my lord, which was reported,
Macb. I'll fight till from my bones my flesh be hack'd.

Send out more horses, skirr the country round;

Hang those that talk of fear.-Give me mine armour.

How does your patient, doctor?

Doctor.

[Exit SEYTON.

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 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?

Doctor.

Must minister to himself.

Therein the patient

Mach. Throw physic to the dogs-I'll none of it.