Macbeth Act 5 Scene 3
Dunsinane. A room in the castle.
The Original
Plain Modern English
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.
Macbeth
No more reports! Let every thane desert me.
Until Birnam Wood gets up and moves to Dunsinane,
fear can't touch me. What's the boy Malcolm?
Wasn't he born of woman? The spirits who know
every mortal outcome pronounced my future:
'Fear not, Macbeth — no man born of woman
will ever have power over you.' So flee,
you traitor thanes —
go mingle with those soft English gluttons.
The mind that steers me and the heart I carry
will never sag with doubt or shake with fear.
Enter a Servant.
Macbeth
The devil damn thee black, thou cream-faced loon!
Where got'st thou that goose look?
Macbeth
The devil damn you black, you cream-faced idiot!
Where did you get that goose-scared face?
Servant
There is ten thousand—
Servant
There are ten thousand—
Macbeth
Geese, villain!
Macbeth
Geese, you fool?
Servant
Soldiers, sir.
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?
Macbeth
Go prick your cheeks and paint some color over that fear,
you lily-livered boy. What soldiers, clown?
Damn your soul — those bedsheet-white cheeks of yours
are spreading the fear around. WHAT soldiers, milk-face?
Servant
The English force, so please you.
Servant
The English army, if it please you.
Macbeth
Take thy face hence.
Macbeth
Get your face out of my sight.
Exit Servant.
Macbeth
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!
Macbeth
Seyton! — I'm sick at heart
when I look at — SEYTON, I said! — This battle
either secures me forever or unseats me now.
I've lived long enough. My life has withered
into autumn — the dry, yellow leaf.
And everything that should come with old age —
honor, love, obedience, crowds of friends —
I can't hope to have. What I get instead:
curses (quiet ones, but deep), lip-service, empty breath —
which the poor heart giving it would love to refuse, and doesn't dare. SEYTON!
Enter Seyton.
Seyton
What is your gracious pleasure?
Seyton
What is Your Grace's pleasure?
Macbeth
What news more?
Macbeth
What's the latest?
Seyton
All is confirm'd, my lord, which was reported.
Seyton
Everything reported has been confirmed, my lord.
Macbeth
I'll fight till from my bones my flesh be hack'd.
Give me my armour.
Macbeth
Then I'll fight until the flesh is hacked off my bones.
Get me my armor.
Seyton
'Tis not needed yet.
Seyton
You don't need it 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?
Macbeth
I'll put it on anyway.
Send out more riders. Scour the whole countryside —
hang anyone who talks about being afraid. My armor!
How's your patient, doctor?
Doctor
Not so sick, my lord,
As she is troubled with thick coming fancies,
That keep her from her rest.
Doctor
Not sick, exactly, my lord —
more besieged by visions crowding in one after another,
keeping her from any 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?
Macbeth
Then cure her of that.
Can't you treat a diseased mind?
Pull a deep-rooted sorrow out of the memory,
erase the troubles written on the brain,
and with some sweet forgetting-drug
flush from the clogged heart the poisonous matter
pressing down on it?
Doctor
Therein the patient
Must minister to himself.
Doctor
For that,
the patient must treat herself. (He is not only talking about her, and Macbeth knows it.)
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?
Macbeth
Then throw medicine to the dogs — I want none of it!
Come on, get my armor on me. Give me my baton.
Seyton — send out the riders. Doctor, my thanes are deserting me.
Hurry up, man. — Doctor, if you could test
my country's urine, diagnose her disease,
and purge her back to clean, perfect health,
I'd applaud you until the echo itself
applauded back. — Take that strap off, I said. —
What rhubarb, senna, what laxative drug
would flush these English out of here? You've heard about them?
Doctor
Ay, my good lord; your royal preparation
Makes us hear something.
Doctor
Yes, my good lord — your royal war preparations
make it hard not to.
Macbeth
Bring it after me.
I will not be afraid of death and bane,
Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane.
Macbeth
Carry the rest behind me.
I will not fear death or ruin
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 away from Dunsinane and safely clear,
no paycheck could drag me back. (The most relatable man in the play.)
Exeunt.