It is the cry of a woman, my good lord...the queen. my lord is dead.
What is that noise?
She would have died hereafter, there would have been a time for such a word, tommorow and tommorow...
I looked towards Birnam, and anon methought the wood began to move!
Let me endure your wrath, if it be not so, Within three miles you can see it coming.
If you speak'st false, I will hang you alive.
Liar and slave!
Why should I play the Roman fool, and die on mine own sword? Whiles I see lives, the gashes do better upon them.
Thou was born of woman. But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn, Brandished by man that's of a woman born.
That way the noise is. Tyrant show thy face!
I have no words: my voice is in my sword, thou bloodier villan 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.
Tho losest labour. As easy mayst thou the intrenced aire with thy keen sword impress me as make me bleed: let thy fall blade on vunerable crests, i bear a charmed life, which must not yeild to one of woman born.
Despair thy charm and let the angel whom thou still hast served tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb untimely ripped.
We shall not spend a large expense of time before we reckon with your several loves, and make us thanes and kinsmen, henceforth be earls, the first that ever Scotland in such an honour named. So thanks to all at once, and to each one, whom we invite to see us crowned at Scone.
Hail, king! for so thou art. Behold where stands Th'usurper's cursed head: the time is free: I see thee compassed with kingdom's pearl, that speak my salutations in their minds; whose voice i desire aloud with mine: Hail, king of Scotland!