Macbeth, Act 5, Scene 7

They have tied me to a stake. I cannot fly, But, bear-like I must fight the course.—What’s he That was not born of woman? Such a one Am I to fear, or none.

They have tied me to a stake. I cannot run away, but, like a bear, I have to fight to the end of the course. Who is the man that was not born of a woman? He is the one I must fear, or no one at all.

What is thy name?

What is your name?

Thou’lt be afraid to hear it.

You will be afraid to hear it.

No; though thou call’st thyself a hotter name Than any is in hell.

No, not even if you call yourself by a hotter name than any there is in hell.

My name’s Macbeth.

My name is Macbeth.

The devil himself could not pronounce a title More hateful to mine ear.

The devil himself could not say a name more hateful to my ear.

No, nor more fearful.

No, nor one more frightening.

Thou liest, abhorred tyrant. With my sword I’ll prove the lie thou speak’st.

You are lying, hated tyrant. With my sword I will prove that what you say is a lie.

Thou wast born of woman. But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn, Brandish’d by man that’s of a woman born.

You were born of a woman. But I smile at swords, and laugh with scorn at weapons waved by any man that a woman gave birth to.

That way the noise is.—Tyrant, show thy face! If thou be’st slain and with no stroke of mine, My wife and children’s ghosts will haunt me still. I cannot strike at wretched kerns, whose arms Are hired to bear their staves. Either thou, Macbeth, Or else my sword, with an unbatter’d edge, I sheathe again undeeded. There thou shouldst be; By this great clatter, one of greatest note Seems bruited. Let me find him, Fortune! And more I beg not.

The noise is that way. Tyrant, show your face! If you are killed and not by a blow of mine, the ghosts of my wife and children will go on haunting me. I cannot strike at miserable foot soldiers, whose arms are hired to carry their spears. It must be you, Macbeth, or else I put my sword back in its sheath with its edge undented and nothing done with it. You must be over there; by this great din, someone of the highest rank seems to be announced. Let me find him, Fortune! And I ask for nothing more.

This way, my lord;—the castle’s gently render’d: The tyrant’s people on both sides do fight; The noble thanes do bravely in the war, The day almost itself professes yours, And little is to do.

This way, my lord — the castle was surrendered without a struggle. The tyrant's own men are fighting on both sides. The noble thanes are doing bravely in the battle. The day almost declares itself yours, and there is little left to do.

We have met with foes That strike beside us.

We have met enemies who aim their blows beside us instead of at us.

Enter, sir, the castle.

Go into the castle, sir.