I can give the loser leave to chide.
Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious.
I was not born under a rhyming planet, nor I cannot woo to in festival terms.
Lay on, McDuff, and be damned he who first cries, 'Hold, enough!
Rumour doth double, like the voice and echo, The numbers of the feared.
Be wary then; best safety lies in fear.