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Macb. Geese, villain?

Serv. 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?
Serv. The English force, so please you.

Macb. Take thy face hence.

- 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 fallen into the sear, the yellow leaf;
And that which should accompany old age,
As honor, love, obedience, troops of friends,
I must not look to have; but, in their stead,
Curses, not loud, but deep, mouth-honor, breath,
Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not.
Seyton !

[Enter Seyton.]

Seyton. 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 armor.

Sey. 'Tis not needed yet.

Macb. I'll put it on.

Send out more horses, skirr the country round;

Hang those that talk of fear. Give me mine armor.

How does you patient, doctor?

Doctor. 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 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?

Doct. Therein the patient

Must minister to himself.

Macb. Throw physic to the dogs; I'll none of it. Come put mine armor on; give me my staff.—

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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.

What rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drug,

Would scour these English hence? Hear'st thou of them? Doct. Ay, my good lord: your royal preparation

Makes us hear something.

Macb. I will not be afraid of death and bane,

Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane.

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Macb. 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 forced with those that should be ours,
We might have met them dareful, beard to beard,
And beat them backward home. What is that noise?
Sey. It is the cry of women, my good lord.

Macb. 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 supp'd full with horrors: Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts, Wherefore was that cry?

Cannot once start me.

Sey. The queen, my lord, is dead.

Macb. 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 idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

[Enter a Messenger.]

Thou com'st to use thy tongue; thy story, quickly.

Messenger. Gracious my lord,

I shall report that which I

But know not how to do 't.

Macb. Well, say, sir.

say

I saw,

Mess. As I did stand my watch upon

the hill,

I look'd toward Birnam, and anon, methought,

The wood began to move.

Macb. Liar and slave!

Mess. Let me endure your wrath, if't be not so. Within this three miles may you see it coming;

I say, a moving grove.

Macb. If thou speak'st false,

Upon the next tree shall thou hang alive,

Till famine cling thee: if thy speech be sooth,

I care not if thou dost for me as much.

I pull in resolution, and begin

To doubt th' equivocation of the fiend,

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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 no flying hence, nor tarrying here.

I 'gin to be aweary of the sun,

And wish th' 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.

SHAKSPERE.

CORIOLANUS AND AUFIDIUS.

Coriolanus. I plainly, Tullus, by your looks perceive, You disapprove my conduct.

Aufidius. I mean not to assail thee with the clamor Of loud reproaches, and the war of words:

But, pride apart, and all that can pervert

The light of steady reason, here to make
A candid, fair proposal.

Cor. Speak, I hear thee.

Auf. I need not tell thee, that I have perform'd
My utmost promise. Thou hast been protected!
Hast had thy amplest, most ambitious wish;
Thy wounded pride is heal'd, thy dear revenge
Completely sated: and, to crown thy fortune,
At the same time, thy peace with Rome restored.
Thou art no more a Volscian, but a Roman :
Return, return; thy duty calls upon thee
Still to protect the city thou hast saved;

It still may be in danger from our arms:
Retire; I will take care thou may'st with safety.

Y

Cor. With safety? - Heavens !—and think'st thou Coriolanus

Will stoop to thee for safety? No! my safeguard

Is in myself, a bosom void of fear.

O, 'tis an act of cowardice and baseness,

To seize the very time my hands are fetter'd
By the strong chain of former obligation,
The safe, sure moment to insult me.— Gods!
Were I now free, as on that day I was,
When at Corioli I tamed thy pride,
This had not been.

Auf. Thou speak'st the truth: it had not.
Oh, for that time again! propitious gods,

If you will bless me, grant it! Know, for that,
For that dear purpose, I have now proposed
Thou should'st return; I pray thee, Marcius, do it:
And we shall meet again on nobler terms.

Cor. Till I have cleared my honor in your council,
And proved before them all, to thy confusion,
The falsehood of thy charge; as soon in battle
I would before thee fly, and howl for mercy,

As quit the station they've assign'd me here.

Auf. Thou canst not hope acquittal from the Volscians.

Cor. I do :- Nay, more, expect their approbation,

Their thanks. I will obtain them such a peace

As thou durst never ask; a perfect union

Of their whole nation with imperial Rome,

In all her privileges, all her rights;

By the just gods, I will.— What wouldst thou more?

Auf. What would I more, proud Roman? This I would

Fire the cursed forest, where these Roman wolves,

Haunt and infest their nobler neighbors round them;
Extirpate from the bosom of this land

A false, perfidious people, who, beneath
The mask of freedom, are a combination
Against the liberty of human kind,-

The genuine seed of outlaws and of robbers.

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