Macbeth: Act 4, Scene 3

Macbeth: Act 4, Scene 3

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  • Let us seek some shade, and there Weep our sad bosoms empty.
  • New sorrows strike heaven on the face, that it resounds. As if felt with Scotland, and yell'd out.
  • Great tyranny, lay thou basis sure, for goodness dares not check thee: wear thou thy wrongs; The title is affer'd. Fare thee well, lord:
  • Old Siward, with ten thousand warlike men, all ready at the point, was setting forth.
  • Such welcome and unwelcome things at once 'Tis hard to reconcile.
  • There are a crew of wretched souls That stay his cure: their malady convinces the great assay of art; but at his torch, Such sanctity hath heaven given his hand, They presently amend.
  • I thank you, Doctor.
  • What's the disease mean?
  • 'Tis call'd the evil. We are coming thither: gracious England hath Lent us good Siward and ten thousand men; An older and a better soldier none That Christendom gives out.
  • 'Tis call'd the evil.
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