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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.
I bear a charmed life, which must not yield, 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 ripp'd.
WHAT?!!!? *%)@)$*(%*
Accursed be that tongue that tells me so, For it hath cow'd 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.
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.'
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 damn'd be him that first cries.
ENOUGH!!
I would the friends we miss were safe arrived.
Malcom: Macduff is missing, and your noble son.
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 honour 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 fiend-like 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 crown'd at Scone.