1 Laugh to scorn The power of man, for none of woman born Shall harm Macbeth.
2 But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn, Brandish'd by man that's of a woman born.
3 Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane, And thou oppos'd, being of no woman born, Yet I will try the last.
4 My former speeches have but hit your thoughts, Which can interpret farther: only, I say, Thing's have been strangely borne.
5 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.
6 When I came hither to transport the tidings, Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumour Of many worthy fellows that were out; Which was to my belief witness'd the rather, For that I saw the tyrant's power afoot.
7 Besides, this Duncan Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been So clear in his great office, that his virtues Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against The deep damnation of his taking-off; And pity, like a naked new-born babe, Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubin, hors'd Upon the sightless couriers of the air, Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye, That tears shall drown the wind.