The Country near Dunsinane. |
| |
Enter, with drum and colours, MENTEITH, CAITHNESS, ANGUS, LENNOX, 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. |
| Ang. Near Birnam wood |
| Shall we well meet them; that way are they coming. |
| Caith. 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, |
| And many unrough youths that even now |
| Protest their first of manhood. |
| Ment. What does the tyrant? |
| Caith. Great Dunsinane he strongly fortifies. |
| Some say he's mad; others that lesser hate him |
| Do call it valiant fury; but, for certain, |
| He cannot buckle his distemper'd cause |
| Within the belt of rule. |
| Ang. Now does he feel |
| His secret murders sticking on his hands; |
| Now minutely revolts upbraid his faith-breach; |
| Those he commands move only in command, |
| Nothing in love; now does he feel his title |
| Hang loose about him, like a giant's robe |
| Upon a dwarfish thief. |
| Ment. Who then shall blame |
| His pester'd senses to recoil and start, |
| When all that is within him does condemn |
| Itself for being there? |
| Caith. Well, march we on, |
| To give obedience where 'tis truly ow'd; |
| Meet we the medicine of the sickly weal, |
| And with him pour we in our country's purge |
| Each drop of us. |
| Len. Or so much as it needs |
| To dew the sovereign flower and drown the weeds. |
| Make we our march towards Birnam. [Exeunt, marching. |
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