Doubtful it stood; As two spent swimmers, that do cling together And choke their art. The merciless Macdonwald⁠— Worthy to be a rebel, for to that The multiplying villainies of nature Do swarm upon him⁠—from the western isles Of kerns and gallowglasses is supplied; And fortune, on his damned quarrel smiling, Show’d like a rebel’s whore: but all’s too weak: For brave Macbeth⁠—well he deserves that name⁠— Disdaining fortune, with his brandish’d steel, Which smoked with bloody execution, Like valour’s minion carved out his passage Till he faced the slave; Which ne’er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him, Till he unseam’d him from the nave to the chaps, And fix’d his head upon our battlements.