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