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.) 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.) Bring it after me.— I will not be afraid of death and bane, Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane. (Exeunt all except Doctor.)

Macbeth Monologue

Rehearse Macbeth's monologue