“Out, damned spot! Out, I say!—One, two. Why, then, ’tis time to do ‘t. Hell is murky!—Fie, my lord, fie! A soldier, and afeard? What need we fear who knows it, when none can call our power to account?—Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him.
“Wash your hands. Put on your nightgown. Look not so pale.—I tell you yet again, Banquo’s buried; he cannot come out on ‘s grave.
“To bed, to bed. There’s knocking at the gate. Come, come, come, come. Give me your hand. What’s done cannot be undone.—To bed, to bed, to bed!
“Till Birnam Wood remove to Dunsinane I cannot taint with fear. What’s the boy Malcolm?
“Go, prick thy face and over-red thy fear, Thou lily-livered boy. What soldiers, patch? Death of thy soul! Those linen cheeks of thine Are counselors to fear. What soldiers, whey-face?
“Let every soldier hew him down a bough And bear ‘t before him. Thereby shall we shadow The numbers of our host and make discovery Err in report of us.
“The Queen my lord is dead.
“She should have died hereafter. There would have been a time for such a word. 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 an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.
“As I did stand my watch upon the hill, I looked toward Birnam, and anon methought The wood began to move.
“Now near enough. Your leafy screens throw down, And show like those you are.—You, worthy uncle
“They have tied me to a stake. I cannot fly, But, bearlike, I must fight the course. What’s he That was not born of woman? Such a one Am I to fear, or none.
“Thou wast 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! If thou beest slain, and with no stroke of mine, My wife and children’s ghosts will haunt me still.
“Despair thy charm, And let the angel whom thou still hast served Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother’s womb Untimely ripped.
“Accursed be that tongue that tells me so, For it hath cowed my better part of man!
“Hail, king! For so thou art. Behold where stands The usurper’s cursed head. The time is free. I see thee compassed with thy kingdom’s pearl, That speak my salutation in their minds, Whose voices I desire aloud with mine. Hail, King of Scotland!
“We shall not spend a large expense of time Before we reckon with your several loves And make us even with you. My thanes and kinsmen, Henceforth be earls, the first that ever Scotland In such an honor named. What’s more to do, Which would be planted newly with the time, As calling home our exiled friends abroad That fled the snares of watchful tyranny, Producing forth the cruel ministers Of this dead butcher and his fiendlike queen, Who, as ’tis thought, by self and violent hands Took off her life; this, and what needful else That calls upon us, by the grace of Grace, We will perform in measure, time, and place. So, thanks to all at once and to each one, Whom we invite to see us crowned at Scone