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DUNSINANE. A ROOM IN THE CASTLE.
Enter a Doctor of physick, and a waiting Gentle
Doct. I have two nights watch'd with can perceive no truth in your report. it she last walk'd?
you, but When was
Gent. Since his majesty went into the field, I have seen her rise from her bed, throw her nightgown 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.
Doct. A great perturbation in nature! to receive at once the benefit of sleep, and do the effects of watching. In this slumbry agitation, besides her walking, and other actual performances, what, at any time, have you heard her say?
Gent. That, sir, which I will not report after her. Doct. 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 asleep. Observe her; stand close.
Doct. How came she by that light?
Gent. Why, it stood by her: she has light by her continually; 'tis her command.
Doct. You see, her eyes are open.
Gent. Ay, but their sense is shut.
Doct. 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 M. Yet here's a spot.
Doct. Hark, she speaks: I will set down what comes from her, to satisfy my remembrance the more strongly.
Lady M. 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? Doct. Do you mark that?
Lady M. 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.
Doct. 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 M. Here's the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh! oh! oh!
Doct. What a sigh is there? The heart is sorely charged.
Gent. I would not have such a heart in my bosom, for the dignity of the whole body.
Doct. Well, well, well,
Gent. 'Pray God, it be, sir.
Doct. This disease is beyond my practice: Yet I have known those which have walk'd in their sleep, who have died holily in their beds.
Lady M. Wash your hands, put on your nightgown; look not so pale:-I tell you yet again, Banquo's buried; he cannot come out of his grave. Doct. Even so?
Lady M. 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.
Doct. Will she go now to bed?
Doct. Foul whisperings are abroad: Unnatural deeds
Do breed unnatural troubles: Infected minds
Good night, good doctor. [Exeunt.
THE COUNTRY NEAR DUNSINANE.
Enter, with Drum and Colours, Menteth, Cathness, Angus, Lenox, and Soldiers.
Ment. The English power is near, led on by
His uncle Siward, and the good Macduff.
Near Birnam wood
Shall we well meet them; that way are they coming. Cath. Who knows, if Donalbain be with his
Len. For certain, sir, he is not: I have a file
And many unrough youths, that even now
What does the tyrant?
Cath. Great Dunsinane he strongly fortifies:
Hang loose about him, like a giant's robe
Who then shall blame
His pester'd senses to recoil, and start,
When all that is within him does condemn
Itself, for being there?
Well, march we on,
To give obedience where 'tis truly ow'd:
Meet we the medicin of the sickly weal;
Or so much as it needs,
To dew the sovereign flower, and drown the weeds. Make we our march towards Birnam.
DUNSINANE. A ROOM IN THE CASTLE.
Enter Macbeth, Doctor, and Attendants.
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 Mal
Was he not born of woman? The spirits that know All mortal consequents, pronounc'd me thus:
Fear not, Macbeth; no man, that's born of woman, Shall e'er have power on thee.--Then fly, false