I have no words; My voice is in my sword, thou bloodier villain Than terms can give thee out
Of all men else I have avoided thee. But get thee back; my soul is too much charged With blood of thine already.
Despair thy charm, And let the angel whom thou still hast served Tell thee — Macduff was from his mother's womb Untimely ripped.
Thou losest labour. As easy mayst thou the intrenchant air With thy keen sword impress as make me bleed. Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests ; I bear a charmed life, which must not yield To one of woman born.
- Then yield thee, coward,And live to be the show and gaze o' the time.We'll have thee, as our rarer monsters are, Painted on a pole, and underwrit,'Here may you see the tyrant.'
-Accursed be that tongue that tells me so, For it hath cowed my better part of man. And be these juggling fiends no more believed,That palter with us in a double sense —That keep the word of promise to our ear, And break it to our hope. I'll not fight with thee.
finally his rein of terror is over.
I will not yield, To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet, And to be baited with the rabble's Curse. Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane, And thou, opposed, being of no woman born,Yet I will try the last. Before my body I throw my warlike shield. Lay on, Macduff,And damned be him that first cries, 'Hold, enough.