The Prince of Cumberland! That is a step one which I must fall down, or else o'erlap, for in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires! Let not light see my black and deep desires. The eye wink at the hand; yet let that be which the eye fears, when it is done, to see.
Bring me no more reports. Let them fly all! Till Birnam wood remove to Dunsinane, I cannot taint with fear. What's the boy Malcolm? Was he not born of woman? The spirits that know all mortal consequences have pronounced me thus: "Fear not, Macbeth. No man that's born of woman shall e'er have power upon thee." Then fly, false thanes, and mingle with the English epicures. The mind I sway by and the heart I bear shall never sag with doubt nor shake with fear.
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!
Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb, Untimely ripped.
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow creeps in this petty pace from day to day to the last syllable of recorded time; and all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more. It is a tale told by a idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
Upon my head they placed a fruitless crown and put a barren scepter in my gripe, thence to be wrenched with an unlineal hand, no son of mine succeeding. If't be so, for Banquo's issue have I filed my mind; for them the gracious Duncan have I murdered; put rancors in the vessel of my peace only for them, and mine eternal jewel given to the common enemy of man to make them kings, the seed of Banquo kings! Rather than so, come, fate, into the list, and champion me to the utterance!
I would not yield, To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet, and to be baited with he rabble's curse, through Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane, and thou opposed, being of no women born, Yet I try the last. Before my body I throw my warlike shield. Lay on, Macduff, And damned be him that first cries "Hold Enough"
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 upon a pole, and underwrit "Here may you see the tyrant".