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?
Servant The English force, so please you.
MACBETH Take thy face hence.
[Exit Servant]
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!
[Enter SEYTON]
SEYTON What is your gracious pleasure?
MACBETH What news more?
SEYTON All is confirm'd, my lord, which was reported.
MACBETH I'll fight till from my bones my flesh be hack'd.
Give me my armour.
SEYTON 'Tis not needed 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?
Doctor Not so sick, my lord,
As she is troubled with thick coming fancies,
That keep her from her rest.
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