« PředchozíPokračovat »
Gent. It is an accustomed 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 't is time to do 't:-Hell is murky!
- Fie, my lord, fie! a soldier, and afеard ? What need we tear 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,
Doct. This disease is beyond my practice : Yet I bave known those which have walked in their sleep who bave died holily in their beds.
Lady M. Wash your hands, put on your night-gown; look not so pale:-1 tell you yet again, Banquo 's buried; he cannot come out on 's 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 ? Gent. Directly.
Doct. Foul whisperings are abroad : Unnatural deeds Do breed unnatural troubles : Infected minds To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets. More needs she the divine than the physician. God, God, forgive us all! Look after her; Remove from her the means of all annoyance, And still keep eyes upon her :-So, good night: My mind she has mated, and amaz’d my sight : I think, but dare not speak. Gent.
Good night, good doctor.
[Exeunt. SCENE II.— The Country near Dunsivane. Enter, with drum and colours, MENTETH, CATHNESS,
Angus, Lenox, and Soldiers. Ment. The English power is near, led on by Malcolm, His uncle Siward, and the good Macduff. Revenges burn in them: for their dear causes Would, to the bleeding and the grim alarm, Excite the mortified man.b Ang.
Near Birnam wood Shall we well meet them; that way are they coming.
Cath. Who knows if Donalbain be with his brother ?
Len. For certain, sir, he is not : I have a file Of all the gentry: there is Siward's son,
Mortified man.-We think, with Warburton, that the poet here means a hermit or religions ascetic,-one indifferent to the concerns of the world, but who would be excited to fight by such of revenge as Macduff comes with.
And many unrough youths, that even now
What does the tyrant?
say he 's mad; others, that lesser hate him,
Now does he feel
Who then shall blame
Well, march we on,
Or so much as it needs,
SCENE III.-Dunsinane. A Room in the Castle.
Enter Macbeth, Doctor, and Attendants. 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 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
Enter a Servant.
look ? Serv. There is ten thousand Macb.
Geese, villain? Serv.
Serv. The English force, so please you.
What news more ? a Sagg-sink down. b Gifford says,
way of life is neither more nor less than a simple periphrasis for life.”
Sey. All is confirm'd, my lord, which was reported.
hack'd. Give me my armour. Sey.
'T is not needed yet. Macb. I 'll put it on. Send out more horses, skira the country round; Hang those that talk of fear.–Give me mine armour :How does your patient, doctor? Doct.
Not so sick, my lord,
Cure her of that:
Therein the patient
Macb. 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, despatch :-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, b or what purgative drug, Would scour these English hence ?-Hearest thou of
them? Doct. Ay, my good lord; your royal preparation Makes us hear something.
" Senna.-We are not sure about this word. The original reads cyme.