MACBETH. 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 stuff’d bosom of that perilous stuff Which weighs upon the heart? 

 DOCTOR. Therein the patient Must minister to himself. 

 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, 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, or what purgative drug, Would scour these English hence? Hear’st thou of them? 

 DOCTOR. Ay, my good lord. Your royal preparation Makes us hear something. 

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

[Exeunt all except Doctor.]

Doctor

 DOCTOR. Were I from Dunsinane away and clear, Profit again should hardly draw me here. 

[Exit.]

 SCENE IV. Country near Dunsinane: a Wood in view.

Enter, with drum and colours Malcolm, old Siward and his Son, Macduff, Menteith, Caithness, Angus, Lennox, Ross and Soldiers, marching.

Malcolm, old Siward

Macduff, Menteith, Caithness, Angus, Lennox, Ross

 MALCOLM. Cousins, I hope the days are near at hand That chambers will be safe. 

 MENTEITH. We doubt it nothing. 

 SIWARD. What wood is this before us? 

 MENTEITH. The wood of Birnam. 

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