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Behold hither is Macduff, the only sir not born of woman. The only man who can hurt me. And that gent sleeps below mine pristine feet, that gent seemeth halcyon and not with dreams of vengeance against me, hoping secretly to slice mine throat. I shalt killeth him ere he gets the chance to doth the same to me. I shalt no longer best afraid of the guilt that possesses me and I wilt doth this with no hesitation.
S'wounds is thither no humanity hath left in the alas world. What immature puny wench would doth something this horrible. Only Macbeth, a monster with no soul hath left could possess the ability. Lest i going to track that gent down -- this blood is still flush, he must not has't gone very far.
Cease thee piece of the horror! It's time thee payeth for thy treacherous sins wench! Thee deserve nothing more than the dirt off the bottom of mine own shoe.
All Hail Malcolm! King of Scotland!
Behold at thy so hath called King, that gent liveth no more! I shalt taketh his lodging and doth a much better job.
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