Macbeth
What news more?
Seyton
All is confirm’d, my lord, which was reported.
Macbeth
I’ll fight till from my bones my flesh be hack’d.
Give me my armour.
Seyton
’Tis not needed yet.
Macbeth
I’ll put it on.
Send out more horses; skirr the country round;
Hang those that talk of fear. Give me mine armour.
How does your patient, doctor?
Doctor
Not so sick, my lord,
As she is troubled with thick coming fancies,