MACBETH: 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.
YOUNG SIWARD: What is thy name? 
YOUNG SIWARD: No; though thou call'st thyself a hotter name
Than any is in hell.
YOUNG SIWARD: The devil himself could not pronounce a title
More hateful to mine ear.
YOUNG SIWARD: Thou liest, abhorred tyrant; with my sword 
I'll prove the lie thou speak'st.
MACDUFF: 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 the greatest note
Seems bruited. Let me find him, fortune!
And more I beg not.
SIWARD: 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.