Throw physic to the dogs, I'll none of it.

As I did stand my watch upon the hill, / I look’d toward Birnam, and anon, methought, / The wood began to move.

Do we but find the tyrant's power tonight, / Let us be beaten, if we cannot fight.

If thou be’st slain and with no stroke of mine, / My wife and children’s ghosts will haunt me still.

Of all men else I have avoided thee: / But get thee back; my soul is too much charg’d / With blood of thine already.

I will not yield, / To kiss the ground before young Malcolm’s feet, / And to be baited with the rabble’s curse.