They have tied me to a stake. I cannot fly, / But, bear-like I must fight the course.—

Hail, King, for so thou art. Behold, where stands / Th’ usurper’s cursed head: the time is free.

Turn, hell-hound, turn!

Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane, / And thou oppos’d, 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, “Hold, enough!”

There to meet with Macbeth.

As sparrows eagles, or the hare the lion.

Doubtful it stood; / As two spent swimmers that do cling together / And choke their art.

Till that Bellona’s bridegroom, lapp’d in proof, / Confronted him with self-comparisons, / Point against point, rebellious arm ’gainst arm, / Curbing his lavish spirit: and, to conclude, / The victory fell on us.

Or have we eaten on the insane root / That takes the reason prisoner?

You should be women, / And yet your beards forbid me to interpret / That you are so.