« AnteriorContinua »
S CE NE II.
A Field with a Wood at a distance.
Enter Menteth, Cathness, Angus, Lenox, and Soldiers.
HE English power is near, led on by Malcolm,
His uncle Siward, and the good Macduff.
Revenges burn in them: for their dear causes
Would to the bleeding and the grim alarm
Excite the mortified man.
Ang. Near Birnam wood
Shall we well meet them; that way are they coming.
Cath. Who knows if Donalbain be with his brother?
Len. For certain, Sir, he is not: I've a file
Of all the gentry; there is Siward's son,
And many unrough youths, that even now
Proteft their first of manhood.
Ment. What does the tyrant?
Cath. Great Dunsinane he strongly fortifies;
Some say he's mad : others that lesser hate him
Do call it valiant fury: but for certain,
He cannot buckle his distemper'd cause
Within the belt of rule.
Ang. Now does he feel
His secret murthers sticking on his hands;
Now minutely, revolts upbraid his faith-breach ;
Those he commands move only in command,
Nothing in love: now does he feel his title
Hang loose about him, like a giant's robe
Upon a dwarfish thief.
Ment. Who then shall blame
His pefter'd senses to recoil, and start,
When all that is within him does condemn
It self, for being there?
Cath. Well, march we on,
To give obedience where 'tis truly ow'd :
Meet we the med'cin of the sickly weal,
And with him pour we, in our country's purge,
Each drop of us.
Len. Or so much as it needs,
To dew the sovereign flower, and drown the weeds.
Make we our march towards Birnam.
Bring me no more reports, let them fly all:
Enter Macbeth, Doctor, and Attendants.
I cannot taint with fear. What's the boy Malcolm?
Was he not born of woman? Spirits that know
All mortal consequences, have pronounc'd it:
Fear not, Macbeth ; no man that's born of woman
Shall e'er have power upon thee. — Fly, false Tbanes,
And mingle with the English epicures!
The mind I sway by, and the heart I bear,
Shall never sagg with doubt, nor shake with fear.
The devil damn thee black, thou cream-fac'd lown!
Where got'st thou that goose-look?
Ser. There are ten thousand
Macb. Geese, villain?
Ser. Soldiers, Sir.
Macb. Go, prick thy face, and over-red thy fear,
Thou lilly-liver'd boy. What foldiers, patch?
Death of thy soul! those linnen cheeks of chine
Are counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whey.face?
Ser. The English force, so please you. [heart,
Macb. Take thy face hence — Seyton! — I'm sick ac When I behold Seylon, I fay! this push
Will cheer me ever, or disease me now.
I have liv'd 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.
Sey. What is your gracious pleasure ?
Macb. What news more?
Sey. All is confirm'd, my Lord, which was reported.
Macb. I'll fight, 'till from my bones my flesh is hackt;
Give me my armour.
Sey. 'Tis not needed yet.
Macb. I'll put it on:
Send out more horses, skirr the country round,
Hang those that calk of fear. Give me mine armour.
How does your patient, Doctor ?
Doet. 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 minds 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 full bofom of that perilous stuff
Which weighs upon the heart?
Doct. Therein the patiene
Must minister unto himself.
Macb. Throw physick to the dogs, I'll none of it
Come, put my armour on, give me my staff.
Seyton, send out — Doctor, the Thanes fly from me
Come, Sir, dispatch - If thou could'ft, Doctor, cast
The water of my land, find her disease,
purge it to a sound and priftine health,
I would applaud thee to the very echo,
That should applaud again. Pullt off, I say
What rubarb, lenna, or what purgative drug,
Would scour these English hence? hear'ft thou of them?
Dot. Ay, my good Lord; your royal preparation Makes us hear something.
Macb. Bring it after me; I will not be afraid of death and bane, 'Till Birnam forest come to Dunsmane.
Doet. Were I from Dunsinane away, and clear, Profit again should hardly draw me here. [-4fde. Exzzzt.
Enter Malcolm, Siward, Macduff, Siward's Son, Menteth,
Cathness, Angus, and Soldiers marcbing.
Mal Cowfin, I hope the days are near at hand
Ment. We doubt it nothing.
Siw. What wood is, this before us?
Ment. The wood of Birnam.
Mel. Let every foldier hew him down a bough,
And bear't before him; thereby shall we shadow
The numbers of our host, and make discov'ry
Err in report of us.
Sold. It shall be done.
Siw. We learn no other but the confident tyrant
Keeps still in Dunsinane, and will endure
Our setting down before't.
Mal. 'Tiş his main hope:
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,
Macd. Let our just censures Attend the true event, and put we on Industrious soldiership.
Siw. 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
Enter Macbeth, Seyton, and Soldiers with drums and
Macb.Hang out our banners on the outward walls,
The cry is still, They come : our castle's strength
Will laugh a siege to scorn. Here let them lye,
"Till famine and the ague eat them up:
Were they not a 'forc'd with those that should be ours,
We might have met them dareful, beard to beard,
And beat them backward home. What is that noise?
[A cry within of Women. Sey. It is the cry of women, my good Lord.
Macb. I have almost forgot the taste of fears:
The time has been, my senses would have coold
To hear a night-shriek, and my fell of hair
Would at a dismal treatise rouze, and stir
As life were in't. I have ''surfeited with horrors,
Direness familiar to my slaughtrous thoughts
Cannot ''now'start me. Wherefore was that cry?
Sey. The Queen is dead.
Macb. She Thould have dy'd hereafter;
There would have been a time for such a word.
(a) For reinforc'd.
9 supt full