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ACT. V.
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ACT. V.

SCENE I.

A Room in Macbeth's Castle at Dunsinane.
Enter a Physician, and a Waiting Gentlewoman.
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.



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Phy.

What, at any time, have you heard her say?


Gent.

That, Sir, which I shall 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.

Enter Lady Macbeth, with a Taper.

Lo you, here she comes! This is her very guise; and,
upon my life, fast a sleep.


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
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 afear'd? 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!



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Phy.

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


Gent.

I would not have such a heart in my bosom,
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 go now to-bed?

Gent.
Directly.

Phy.
More needs she the divine, than the physician.
Look after her;
Remove from her the means of all annoyance,
And still keep eyes upon her.—
Good heaven, forgive us all!

Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A Court in Macbeth's Castle at Dunsinane.
Flourish. Enter Macbeth, Officers, and Soldiers.
Mac.
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 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:

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The mind I sway by, and the heart I bear,
Shall never sagg with doubt, nor shake with fear.
Enter an Officer.
The devil damn thee black, thou cream-fac'd loon!
Where got'st thou that goose look?

Off.
There is ten thousand—

Mac.
Geese, villain?

Off.
Soldiers, Sir.

Mac.
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?

Off.
The English force, so please you.

Mac.
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?

Mac.
What news more?

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

Mac.
I'll fight, 'till from my bones my flesh be hack'd.
Give me my armour.

Sey.
'Tis not needed yet.

Mac.
I'll put it on.
Send out more horses, skirr the country round;
Hang those that talk of fear.—
Exeunt Seyton and Officer.
Enter Physician.
How does your patient, Doctor?


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Phy.
Not so sick, my Lord,
As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies,
That keep her from her rest.

Mac.
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.

Mac.
Throw physic to the dogs, I'll none of it.—
Re-enter Seyton and an Officer, with Macbeth's Armour.
Come, put mine armour on; give me my staff.
Seyton send out.—Doctor, the thanes fly from me.—
Come, Sir, despatch.—If thou could'st, 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? Hearest thou of them?

Phy.
Ay, my good lord; your royal preparation
Makes us hear something.

Mac.
Bring it after me.—
I will not be afraid of death and bane,
'Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane.

Flourish. Exeunt.

SCENE III.

The open Country.
March. Enter Malcolm, Siward, Macduff, Lenox Rosse, and Soldiers.
Mal.
Cousins, I hope, the days are near at hand,
That chambers will be safe.

Macd.
We doubt it nothing.


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Siw.
What wood is this before us?

Len.
The wood of Birnam.

Mal.
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.

Len.
It shall be done.

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

Macd.
'Tis 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.

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

Macd.
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.

March. Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

A Court in Macbeth's Castle, at Dunsinane.
Flourish. Enter Macbeth, Seyton, Officers, and Soldiers.
Mac.
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 lie,
'Till famine and the ague eat them up:
Were they not forc'd with those that should be ours,
We might have met them dareful, beard to beard,
And beat them backward home.
A cry within, of Women.
What is that noise!


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Sey.
It is the cry of women, my good lord.
Exit Seyton.

Mac.
I have almost forgot the taste of fears:
The time has been, my senses would have cool'd
To hear a night-shriek; and my fell of hair
Would at a dismal treatise rouse, and stir
As life were in't: I have supt full with horrors;
Direness, familiar to my slaught'rous thoughts,
Cannot once start me.
Re-enter Seyton.
Wherefore was that cry?

Sey.
The Queen, my Lord, is dead.

Mac.
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
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 ideot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.—
Enter an Officer.
Thou com'st to use thy tongue; thy story quickly.

Offi.
Gracious my Lord,
I should report that which I say I saw,
But know not how to do it.

Mac.
Well, say, Sir.

Offi.
As I did stand my watch upon the hill,
I look'd toward Birnam, and anon, methought,
The wood began to move.

Mac.
Liar, and slave!

Offi.
Let me endure your wrath, if't be not so:
Within this three mile may you see it coming;
I say, a moving grove.

Mac.
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 do'st for me as much.

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I pull in resolution; and begin
To doubt the 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,
And wish the estate o' the world were now undone.—
Ring the alarum-bell:—Blow, wind! come, wrack!
At least we'll die with harness on our back.

Flourish. Exeunt

SCENE V.

A Plain before Macbeth's Castle, at Dunsinane.
March. Enter Malcolm, Siward, Macduff, Lenox, Rosse, and their Army, with Boughs.
Mal.
Now near enough; your leavy screens throw down,
And shew like those you are:—You, worthy uncle,
Lead our first battle: worthy Macduff, and we,
Shall take upon us what else remains to do,
According to our order.

Len.
This way, my Lord, the castle's gently render'd.

Siw.
Do we but find the tyrant's power to-night,
Let us be beaten, if we cannot fight.

Macd.
Make all our trumpets speak; give them all breath,
Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death.

Exeunt. Alarums.

SCENE VI.

A Court in Macbeth's Castle at Dunsinane.
Alarums. Enter Macbeth.
Mac.
They have ty'd me to a stake; I cannot fly,
But, bear-like, I must fight the course.—What's he,
That was not born of woman? Such a one
Am I to fear, or none.

Exit. Alarums.

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Enter Macduff.
Macd.
That way the noise is:—Tyrant, shew thy face;
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.
Let me find him, fortune!
And more I beg not.

Exit. Alarums.
Re-enter Macbeth.
Mac.
Why should I play the Roman fool, and die
On mine own sword? whiles I see lives, the gashes
Do better upon them.

Re-enter Macduff.
Macd.
Turn, hell-hound, turn.

Mac.
Of all men else I have avoided thee:
But get thee back, my soul is too much charg'd
With blood of thine already.

Macd.
I have no words,
My voice is in my sword; thou bloodier villain
Than terms can give thee out!

Fight. Alarum.
Mac.
Thou losest labour:
As easy may'st thou the intrenchant air
With thy keen sword impress, as make me bleed:
Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests;
I bear a charmed life, which must not yield
To one of woman born.

Macd.
Despair thy charm;
And let the angel, whom thou still hast serv'd,
Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb
Untimely ripp'd.

Mac.
Accursed be that tongue that tells me so,
For it hath cow'd my better part of man!
And be these juggling fiends no more believ'd,
That palter with us in a double sense;
That keep the word of promise to our ear,
And break it to our hope.—I'll not fight with thee,


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Macd.
Then yield thee, coward,
And live to be the shew and gaze o' the time.
We'll have thee, as our rarer monsters are,
Painted upon a pole; and under writ,
Here may you see the tyrant.

Mac.
I'll 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: Lay on Macduff,
And damn'd be him that first cries, Hold, enough.

Alarum. They fight. Macbeth falls.
Mac.
'Tis done! the scene of life will quickly close.
Ambition's vain delusive dreams are fled,
And now I wake to darkness, guilt, and horror;
I cannot bear it! let me shake it off—
It will not be; my soul is clogg'd with blood—
I cannot rise! I dare not ask for mercy—
It is too late, hell drags me down; I sink,
I sink,—my soul is tost for ever!—Oh!—Oh!—

Dies.
Flourish. Enter Malcolm, Rosse, Lenox, Siward, and Soldiers.
Macd.
Hail, King! for so thou art: 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!

All.
King of Scotland, hail!

Flourish.
Mal.
We shall not spend a large expence 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
In such an honour nam'd. What's more to do,
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
THE END.