Macbeth, he is full so valiant,
Of noble having and royal hope,
But too full o’ the milk of human kindness.
If you look into the seeds of time,
The instruments of darkness tell us truths.
I’ll mounch, and mounch, and mounch,
Of direst cruelty, unseam him from the nave to the chaps,
Dash’d the brains out,
Until I drain him dry as hay.
Unlike the poor cat i’ the adage,
I dare not wash this filthy witness from my hand.
I shall fix his head upon our battlements.
When the hurlyburly’s done,
Fleance, son of mine, succeeding,
The sovereignty will fall upon him,
The seed of Banquo kings.
What Macbeth hath lost, noble Fleance hath won!
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