SCENE III. Dunsinane. A room in the castle. The Tragedy of Macbeth  Shakespeare homepage  |  Macbeth  | Act 5, Scene 3 

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 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: 

 '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 a Servant  The devil damn thee black, thou cream-faced loon! 

 Where got'st thou that goose look? 

 Servant  There is ten thousand-- 

 MACBETH  Geese, villain! 

 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 counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whey-face? 

 Servant  The English force, so please you. 

 MACBETH  Take thy face hence. 



 Exit Servant  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 

 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  SEYTON  What is your gracious pleasure? 

 MACBETH  What news more? 

 SEYTON  All is confirm'd, my lord, which was reported. 

 MACBETH  I'll fight till from my bones my flesh be hack'd. 

 Give me my armour. 

 SEYTON  'Tis not needed yet. 

 MACBETH  I'll put it on. 

 Send out more horses; skirr the country round; 

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

 How does your patient, doctor? 

 Doctor  Not so sick, my lord, 

 As she is troubled with thick coming fancies, 

 That keep her from her rest. 

 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 

 Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff 

 Which weighs upon the heart? 

 Doctor  Therein the patient 

 Must minister to himself. 

 MACBETH  Throw physic to the dogs; I'll none of it. 

 Come, put mine armour 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, 

 I would applaud thee to the very echo, 

 That should applaud again.--Pull't off, I say.-- 

 What rhubarb, cyme, or what purgative drug, 

 Would scour these English hence? Hear'st thou of them? 

 Doctor  Ay, 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. 

 Doctor  [Aside]  Were I from Dunsinane away and clear, 

 Profit again should hardly draw me here. 



 Exeunt  Shakespeare homepage  |  Macbeth  | Act 5, Scene 3 

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