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!”

We will establish our estate upon / Our eldest, Malcolm; whom we name hereafter / The Prince of Cumberland: which honour must / Not unaccompanied invest him only, / But signs of nobleness, like stars, shall shine / On all deservers.—

Was the hope drunk / Wherein you dress’d yourself? Hath it slept since? / And wakes it now, to look so green and pale / At what it did so freely?

So is he mine; and in such bloody distance, / That every minute of his being thrusts / Against my near’st of life;

There is none but he / Whose being I do fear: and under him / My genius is rebuk’d; as, it is said, / Mark Antony’s was by Caesar.

If there come truth from them / (As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine) / Why, by the verities on thee made good, / May they not be my oracles as well, / And set me up in hope?

We have lost best half of our affair.

Strange things I have in head, that will to hand, / Which must be acted ere they may be scann’d.

'Tis better thee without than he within.

And, which is worse, all you have done / Hath been but for a wayward son, / Spiteful and wrathful; who, as others do, / Loves for his own ends, not for you.