DOCTOR, and attendants
Bring me no more reports. Let them fly all.
Till Birnam Wood remove to Dunsinane
I cannot taint with fear. What’s the boy Malcolm?
Was he not born of woman? The spirits that know
5All mortal consequences have pronounced me thus:
“Fear not, Macbeth. No man that’s born of
Shall e'er have power upon thee.” Then fly,
And mingle with the English epicures.
The mind I sway by and the heart I bear
10Shall never sag with doubt nor shake with fear.
Enter a SERVANT
The devil damn thee black, thou cream-faced loon!
Where got’st thou that goose look?
There is ten thousand—
Go, prick thy face and over-red thy fear,
Thou lily-livered boy. What soldiers, patch?
Death of thy soul! Those linen cheeks of thine
Are counselors to fear. What soldiers, whey-face?
20The English force, so please you.
Take thy face hence.