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.
Don't bring me any more reports. Let all the thanes run from me. Until Birnam Wood moves to Dunsinane, I'll be unaffected by fear. What's the boy Malcolm? Wasn't he born from a woman? The spirits that know the future have told me this: "Do not fear, Macbeth. No man born from a woman will ever overpower you." So run, disloyal thanes, and join the soft and self-indulgent English! My mind and heart will never waver with doubt or shake with fear.
Enter a SERVANT
A SERVANT enters.
The devil damn thee black, thou cream-faced loon!
Where got'st thou that goose look?
May the devil turn you black, you pale-faced moron! Why do you look like a goose?
There is ten thousand—
There are ten thousand—
Go, prick thy face and over-red thy fear,
Thou lily-livered boy. What soldiers, patch?
Death of thy soul! Those linen cheeks of thine
Are counselors to fear. What soldiers, whey-face?
Go prick your cheeks so blood will hide the whiteness of your cheeks, you cowardly boy. What soldiers, fool? Damn you! That pale face of yours will influence the others to be afraid as well. What soldiers, milk-face?
The English force, so please you.
The English army, sir.
Take thy face hence.
Get your face out of here.
The SERVANT exits.
* * * *
25 * * * *
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 sere, the yellow leaf,
And that which should accompany old age,
As honor, love, obedience, troops of friends,
I must not look to have, but, in their stead,
Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honor, breath
Which the poor heart would fain deny and dare not.
Seyton!—I'm sick at heart when I see—Seyton, listen!—This battle will either secure my place forever or knock me from my throne. I have lived long enough. The path of my life now leads me toward withering and death, like a yellowing leaf. And those things that should be a part of old age, such as honor, love, obedience, and loyal friends, I cannot hope to have. Instead, men curse me, quietly but with profound hate, people honor me in words but not in their hearts, and a life that my heart would happily end and yet does not dare to do it. Seyton!
What's your gracious pleasure?
What do you desire, my king?
What news more?
Is there more news?
All is confirmed, my lord, which was reported.
All the rumors have been confirmed, my lord.
I'll fight till from my bones my flesh be hacked.
Give me my armor.
I'll fight until they hack the flesh off my bones. Give me my armor.
'Tis not needed yet.
It's not needed yet.
I'll put it on.
Send out more horses. Skirr the country round.
Hang those that talk of fear. Give me mine armor.
How does your patient, doctor?
I'll put it on anyway. Send out more cavalry. Search the entire country. Hang anyone talking of fear. Give me my armor. (to the DOCTOR) How is your patient, doctor?
Not so sick, my lord,
As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies
That keep her from her rest.
She is not sick, my lord, but she is troubled with constant visions that keep her from sleeping.
* * * * *
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 stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff
Which weighs upon the heart?
Cure her of that. Can't you heal a diseased mind? Remove from her mind a memory of sorrow? Eliminate the troubling thoughts from her brain, and use some sweet medicine clean her chest of that awful stuff that weighs upon her heart?
Therein the patient
Must minister to himself.
For that kind of relief, the patient must heal herself.
50 * * * *
Throw physic to the dogs; I'll none of it.
Come, put mine armor 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, senna, or what purgative drug,
Would scour these English hence? Hear'st thou of them?
Medicine is for the dogs. I'll have nothing to do with it. (to SEYTON) Come, put on my armor. Give me my lance. Seyton, send out the soldiers. (to the DOCTOR) Doctor, the thanes run from me. (to SEYTON) Come on, sir, speed. (to the DOCTOR) Doctor, if you could please do a urine anlysis of my country, diagnose what ails it, and bring my country back to health, I will applaud so loudly you will hear it echo back from the end of the world.—(to SEYTON) Pull it off, I tell you. (to the DOCTOR) What drug would purge the English from this country? Have you heard of any?
Ay, my good lord. Your royal preparation
Makes us hear something.
Yes, my good lord. Your war preparations sounds like such a drug.
Bring it after me.
I will not be afraid of death and bane,
Till Birnam Forest come to Dunsinane.
MACBETH (to SEYTON) Follow me with the armor. I will not be afraid of death and destruction until Birnam forest comes to Dunsinane.
DOCTOR (aside) Were I from Dunsinane away and clear,
Profit again should hardly draw me here.
DOCTOR (to himself) If I were only far away and free from Dunsinane, no amount of money could bring me back.