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Macd. My children too?

Rosse. Wife, children, servants, all That could be found.

Macd. And I must be from thence! My wife kill'd too?

Rosse. I have said.

Mai. Be comforted :
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?—Oh,

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 !

Mai. 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.

ACT THE FIFTH.

SCENE I.

Lady Macbeth's Rooms, in the Castle at Dunsinane.

Enter a Gentlewoman and a Physician. Phy. I have two nights watch'd with you, but can perceive no truth in your report. When was it she last walk'd ?

Gent. Since his majesty went into the field, I have seen her rise from her bed, throw her night-gown upon her, unlock her closet, take forth paper, fold it, write upon it, read it, afterwards seal it, and again return to bed; yet all this while in a most fast sleep.

Phy.' What at any time have you heard her say? Gent. That, sir, which I will not report after her.

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

Gent. Neither to you, nor any one; having no witness to confirm my speech.—Lo you, here she comes! This is her very guise; and, upon my life, fast asleep. Observe her; stand close.

Enter Lady Macbeth, with a Taper.
Phy. How came she by that light?
Gent. Why, it stood by her : she has light by her
continually; 'tis her command.

Phy. You see her eyes are open.
Gent. Ay, but their sense is shut.

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

Gent. It is an accustom'd action with her, to seem

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thus washing her hands; I have known her continue in this a quarter of an hour.

Lady. Yet here's a spot.
Phy. Hark, she speaks.

Lady. Out, damned 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?

Phy. Do you mark that?

Lady. 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.

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

Gent. She has spoke what she should not, I am sure of that: Heaven knows what she has known.

Lady. Here's the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh! oh! oh!

Phy. What a sigh is there! The heart is sorely charg'd.

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

Lady. Wash your hands, put on your night-gown ; look not so pale :

-I tell you yet again, Banquo's buried : he cannot come out of his grave.

Phy. Even so ?

Lady. 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 Lady Macbeth. Phy. Will she now go to bed? Gent. Directly. Phy. More needs she the divine, than the physician.

bosom,

Look after her;
Remove from her the means of all annoyance,
And still keep eyes upon her.-
Good Heaven, forgive us all!

[Exeunt Physician and Gentlewoman.

SCENE II.

A Hall in the Castle at Dunsinane.

Flourish of Trumpets and Drums.

Enter Macbeth and Six GENTLEMEN.
Macb. 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 not he born of woman? The spirits that know
All mortal consequences 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 sagg with doubt, nor shake with fear.

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

2 Off. There is ten thousand-
Macb. Geese, villain?
2 Off. 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?
2 Off. The English force, so please you,

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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 disseat me now. I have liv'd long enough : my way of life Is fallen 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. 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 be

hack'd.-
Give me my armour.

Sey. 'Tis not needed yet.
Macb. I'll put it on.-

Enter Physician.
Send out more horses, skirr the country round;
Hang those that talk of fear. Exit Seyton.
How does your patient, doctor?

Phy. 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 foul bosom of that perilous stuff,
Which weighs upon the heart?

Phy. Therein the patient
Must minister to himself.

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