Lady Macbeth | ||
SCENE VIII.
Seaton, Macbeth, and Baudron.SEATON.
My lord, the enemy move to the walls,
Th'impetuous thane of Fyfe before the van,
Waves his claymore, and urges to the gate.
I saw him turn impatient as he came,
And drag with fierceness, which brook'd no delay,
The batt'ring engines, lab'ring up the steep.
MACBETH.
Let them come on, and all of woman born.
My soul is kindling, and from every tower,
We will such hurl of furious vengeance hail,
150
That they shall rue their trait'rous appetite,
To break the fold where majesty lies pent.
Lady Macbeth | ||