a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
Thou comest to use thy tongue; thy story quickly.
Gracious my lord,
I should report that which I say I saw,
But know not how to do it.
Well, say, sir.
As I did stand my watch upon the hill,
I look'd toward Birnam, and anon, methought,
The wood began to move.
Liar and slave!
Let me endure your wrath, if't be not so:
Within this three mile may you see it coming;
I say, a moving grove.
If thou speak'st false,
Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive,
Till famine cling thee: if thy speech be sooth,
I care not if thou dost for me as much.
I pull in resolution, and begin
To doubt the equivocation of the fiend
That lies like truth: 'Fear not, till Birnam wood
Do come to Dunsinane:' and now a wood
Comes toward Dunsinane. Arm, arm, and out!
If this which he avouches does appear,
There is nor flying hence nor tarrying here.
I gin to be aweary of the sun,
And wish the estate o' the world were now undone.
Ring the alarum-bell! Blow, wind! come, wrack!
At least we'll die with harness on our back.
Now near enough: your leafy screens throw down.
And show like those you are. You, worthy uncle,
Shall, with my cousin, your right-noble son,
Lead our first battle: worthy Macduff and we
Shall take upon 's what else remains to do,
According to our order.
Fare you well.
Do we but find the tyrant's power to-night,
Let us be beaten, if we cannot fight.
Make all our trumpets speak; give them all breath,
Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death.
They have tied me to a stake; I cannot fly,
But, bear-like, I must fight the course. What's he
That was not born of woman? Such a one
Am I to fear, or none.
What is thy name?
Thou'lt be afraid to hear it.
No; though thou call'st thyself a hotter name
Than any is in hell.
My name's Macbeth.
The devil himself could not pronounce a title
More hateful to mine ear.
No, nor more fearful.
Thou liest, abhorred tyrant; with my sword
I'll prove the lie thou speak'st.
Thou wast born of woman
But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn,
Brandish'd by man that's of a woman born.
That way the