Page:Macbeth (1918) Yale.djvu/93

Macbeth, V. iii

I have liv'd 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!

Sey. What's 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 armour.

Sey. 'Tis not needed yet.

Macb. I'll put it on.

Send out moe horses, skirr the country round;

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

How does your patient, doctor?

Doct. 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 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?

 35 moe: more

skirr: scour

43 oblivious antidote: remedy causing forgetfulness 