DAVINA: Thank you for joining us, Your Highness. I know this is a difficult and stressful time. We find you at home in your castle with—let's see—the doctor and some other attendants. You appear to be on the verge of battle with the English troops, as well as Malcolm and some Scottish thanes who have joined forces with the English—

MACBETH: I want no more reports. The details don't matter. Until Birnham Wood comes to Dunsinane, I have nothing to fear. 

DAVINA: You're referring to the prediction from the witches? 

MACBETH: And why should I care about that boy, Malcolm? Was he not born of woman? 

DAVINA: And no one born of a woman can harm you—another prediction by the witches. 

MACBETH: From their masters. They have told me that no harm will come to me, so let my traitorous thanes and those English softies plan whatever they want. The mind I sway by and the heart I bear shall never sag with doubt nor shake with fear. 

DAVINA: Well, you certainly sound confident. It's at this point that your servant shows up. 

MACBETH: Oh, right. The one whose face is white with fear? 

DAVINA: Yes. Well, I guess just because you're feeling confident, doesn't mean everyone who serves you does, too. 

MACBETH: Yeah, but this guy's the worst. Has goosebumps all over, looks like a goose, too. 

DAVINA: Yeah, I think that's the one. Well, he's come to report that there are 10,000—Is that right? 

MACBETH: 10,000 what? Geese? 

DAVINA: No. Here it is. 10,000 soldiers. 

MACBETH: Maybe if he, like, slapped himself in the face, it would bring some of the red back. These faces white with fear are getting on my nerves. 

DAVINA: Uh, well, I guess you could suggest that to him. 

MACBETH: Which army is he talking about? 

DAVINA: It's the English. 10,000 English soldiers. 

MACBETH: Tell him to get his face out of here. 

DAVINA: So this must make you a little worried, 10,000 English soldiers? 

MACBETH: Seyton! 

DAVINA: I'm sorry? 

MACBETH: I'm sick when I behold—Seyton! 

DAVINA: Are you calling the devil? 

MACBETH: Seyton. Seyton, the man in charge of my armor for battle. 

DAVINA: Oh, I see. It's somebody who works for you. I'm sorry. For a second there—

MACBETH: This battle will make me happy forever, or will be the end of me. But I've lived long enough. 

DAVINA: Wait a second. Weren't you just saying how confident you are? Why are you suddenly talking about the possibility of dying? 

MACBETH: My way of life has fallen into the sere. The yellow leaf, and that which should accompany old age as honor, love, obedience, troops of friends, I must not look to have—but in their stead, curses. Not loud, but deep, mouth-honor, breath, which the poor heart would fain deny and dare not. 

DAVINA: Wow. So that's an interesting detail. You've gotten assurances from the witches that you can't be defeated, but you're in a pretty lonely position right now. Nobody loves you or honors you, you have no friends, really, you think even your own troops are cursing you under their breath. So you're confident of your safety, but you also seem to be asking yourself, what's the point. 

MACBETH: Has Seyton not shown up yet? 

DAVINA: Oh, right. Yes. Seyton, your armor bearer shows up and confirms the report. The English army and their Scottish allies are approaching. 

MACBETH: Fine. I'll fight till from my bones my flesh be hacked. He should bring me my armor. 

DAVINA: He thinks you don't need it yet. 

MACBETH: We'll put it on now, and then I want him to ride around the countryside and hang any of my soldiers who talk of fear. 

DAVINA: Oh, my. Do you really think that will make the other soldiers more loyal? 

MACBETH: And the doctor's here, right? 

DAVINA: Yes. And why is he with you, by the way? 

MACBETH: He must have some news about his patient. 

DAVINA: Oh, right. Yes. He says, "She's not sick in the usual sense, but she has powerful delusions that keep her from getting rest." This must be Lady Macbeth that you two are talking about. 

MACBETH: Well, then he should cure her of that. Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased, pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, raise out the written troubles of the brain, and with some sweet oblivious antidote, cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff which weighs upon the heart? 

DAVINA: Yes. Well, afflictions of the heart, of the soul do seem much trickier to cure. And according to this doctor, it's in cases like these that the patient must cure himself. Wait—why didn't he say herself? Anyway. This rooted sorrow that you mentioned, is that the killing of Duncan? Or is there an even older sorrow that we haven't heard about? 

MACBETH: You know what, the hell with medicine. I'll have none of it. Is Seyton here with my armor yet? 

DAVINA: Uh, let's see. 

MACBETH: Actually, you know, maybe the doctor could get a urine sample from my country. 

DAVINA: I'm sorry? 

MACBETH: You know, diagnose my country's disease and give it some medicine that would purge us of the English. That would be impressive. 

DAVINA: Yeah, uh, that doesn't seem likely. Even the urine sample part. 

MACBETH: He knows the English are here, right? 

DAVINA: Yes, he's picked up on that. 

MACBETH: Okay. Time for battle then. I will not be afraid of death and bane, till Birnham Forest comes to Dunsinane. 

DAVINA: (WHISPERS) What was he talking about? 

MACBETH: Was the exit that way or this way? Yeah. Thanks. 

DAVINA: Well, let's see. It looks like the doctor gets the last word in the scene. He says that if he could get far away from Dunsinane, he wouldn't come back for all the money in the world. Macbeth must have been paying him pretty well, but I guess everybody has their limit.