Now they hear her speaking: "Yet here's a spot. Out damned spot! out, I say!--One, two, why, then 'tis time to do't.--Hell is murky!--Fie, my lord! a soldier, and afear'd? What need we fear who knows it, when none can call our power to account?--Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?--The Thane of Fife had a wife; Where is she now?--What, will these hands ne'er be clean?--No more o' that, my lord, no more o' that; you mar all with this starting.--Here's the smell of the blood still; all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh! oh! oh!--Wash your hands, put on your nightgown; look not so pale;--I tell you yet again, Banquo's buried; he cannot come out of his grave.--To bed, to bed; there's knocking at the gate. Come, come, come, come, give me your hand. What's done cannot be undone. To bed, to bed, to bed." After such appearances she always in fact goes promptly to bed. The physician who observes her pronounces his opinion: "This disease is beyond my practice. Yet have I known those which have walked in their sleep, who have died holily in their beds." Here however there seems to be something different: "Foul whisperings are abroad; unnatural deeds Do breed unnatural troubles." And then as if he were a psychoanalyst: "Infected minds To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets. More needs she the divine, than the physician.-- God, God forgive us all! Look after her; Remove from her the means of all annoyance, And still keep eyes upon her." Also he answers Macbeth, who inquires after the condition of the patient. "Not so sick, my lord, As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies, That keep her from her rest.... . . . . . . Therein the patient Must minister to himself." Yet as the king's star declines neither the doctor's foresight nor his skill prevents Lady Macbeth, the "diabolical queen" from laying hands upon herself.