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Doctor.

Hang those that talk of fear. Give me mine
[armour.-
How does your patient, doctor?
Not so sick, my lord,
As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies,
That keep her from her rest.

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.

Siward.

Macduff. Let our just censures Attend the true event, and put we on Macbeth. Industrious soldiership. 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?

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SCENE IV. Country near Dunsinane: a
Wood in view.

Enter, with Drum and Colours, Malcolm, old
Siward, and his Son, Macduff, Menteth, Cath-
ness, Angus, Lenox, Rosse, and Soldiers
marching.

Malcolm.

Cousins, I hope, the days are near at hand, That chambers will be safe.

Menteth.

The time approaches, That will with due decision make us know What we shall say we have, and what we owe Thoughts speculative their unsure hopes relate, But certain issue strokes must arbitrate; Towards which, advance the war.

[Exeunt, marching,

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Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts,
Cannot once start me.- Wherefore was that
cry?

Seyton.
The queen, my lord, is dead.
Macbeth.

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
We doubt it nothing. 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.

Siward. What wood is this before us?

Menteth.

The wood of Birnam.

Malcolm.

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.

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We learn no other but the confident tyrant Keeps still in Dunsinane, and will endure Our setting down before't.

Malcolm.

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As I did stand my watch upon the hill,
I look'd toward Birnam, and anon, methought,

'Tis his main hope; The wood began to move.

Macbeth.

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Macbeth

If thou speak'st false, Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive, 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' 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, [undone.--
And wish th' estate o' the world were now

Ring the alarum bell!-Blow, wind! come,

wrack!

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Macbeth.

No, nor more fearful.

Young Siward.

Thou liest, abhorred tyrant: with my sword I'll prove the lie thou speak'st.

[They fight, and young Siward is slain. Macbeth.

Thou wast born of woman:But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn, Brandish'd by man that's of a woman born.

That wa

Alarums. Enter Macduff. Macduff.

[Exit.

fway the noise is.- Tyrant, show thy

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,

Or else my sword, with an unbatter'd edge,

I sheathe again undeeded. There thou should'st
By this great clatter, one of greatest note [be;
Seems bruited. Let me find him, fortune!
And more I beg not.
[Exit. Alarum.
Enter Malcolm and old Siward.

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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."

Macbeth.
I will 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, Thanes.
and Soldiers.
Malcolm.

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Ay, on the front.

Rosse.

Siward.

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:
And so, his knell is knoll'd.
Malcolm.

He's worth more sorrow, |

And that I'll spend for him.
Siward.

He's worth no more: They say, he parted well, and paid his score, And so, God be with him!- Here comes newer comfort.

Re-enter Macduff, with Macbeth's Head.
Macduff.

Hail, king! for so thou art. Behold, where stands

The usurper's cursed head: the time is free.
I see thee compass'd with thy kingdom's pearl,
That speak my salutation in their minds;
Whose voices I desire aloud with mine,-
Hail, king of Scotland!

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We shall not spend a large expense of time,
Before we reckon with your several loves,
And make us even with you. My thanes and
kinsmen,

Henceforth be earls; the first that ever Scotland
Which would be planted newly with the time,-
In such an honour nam'd. What's more to do,
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. Exeunt.

HAMLET,

PRINCE OF DENMARK.

DRAMATIS PERSONE.

CLAUDIUS, King of Denmark.

Francisco, a Soldier.

Hamlet, Son to the former, and Nephew to the Reynaldo, Servant to Polonius.

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A Captain. Ambassadors.
Ghost of Hamlet's Father.
Fortinbras, Prince of Norway.

Two Clowns, Grave-diggers.

Gertrude, Queen of Denmark, and Mother to
Hamlet.

Ophelia, Daughter to Polonius.

Lords, Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Players, Sailors,
Messengers, and Attendants.

SCENE, Elsinore.

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Well, good night.

Francisco on his Post. Enter to him Bernardo. If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus,

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The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste.

Enter Horatio and Marcellus.
Francisco.

I think I hear them.-Stand, ho! Who is
there ?

Horatio.

Bernardo.

Francisco.

Bernardo.

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Friends to this ground.

You come most carefully upon your hour.

Bernardo

Ol farewell, honest soldier:

'Tis now struck twelve: get thee to bed, Who hath reliev'd you?

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Thus, twice before, and jump at this dead hour, With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch. Horatio.

In what particular thought to work, I know But in the gross and scope of mine opinion, [not; This bodes some strange eruption to our state. Marcellus.

Good now, sit down; and tell me, he that knows,

Why this same strict and most observant watch
So nightly toils the subject of the land?
And why such daily cast of brazen cannon,
And foreign mart for implements of war?
Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore

task

Does not divide the Sunday from the week?
What might be toward, that this sweaty haste
Doth make the night joint labourer with the
Who is't, that can inform me?
[day?

Horatio.

That can I; At least, the whisper goes so. Our last king, Whose image even but now appear'd to us, Was, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway, Thereto prick'd on by a most emulate pride, Dar'd to the combat; in which our valiant Hamlet

(For so this side of our known world esteem'd him)

Did slay this Fortinbras; who, by a seal'd
Well ratified by law and heraldry, [compact,
Did forfeit with his life all those his lands,
Which he stood seiz'd of, to the conqueror:
Against the which, a moiety competent
Was gaged by our king; which had return'd
To the inheritance of Fortinbras,

Had he been vanquisher; as, by the same co-
And carriage of the article design'd, [mart,
His fell to Hamlet. Now, sir, young Fortinbras,
Hath in the skirts of Norway, here and there,
Of unimproved mettle hot and full,
Shark'd up a list of lawless resolutes,
For food and diet, to some enterprize
That hath a stomach in't: which is no other
(As it doth well appear unto our state)
But to recover of us, by strong hand
And terms compulsative, those 'foresaid lands
So by his father lost. And this, I take it,
Is the main motive of our preparations,
The source of this our watch, and the chief head
Of this post-haste and romage in the land.

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