Macbeth and his cruel lady would be great,
Which draws to them dread agencies of Fate
Who spur them on to doing deadly deeds,
Planting in them a crop of evil seeds
That breed a sense of false fecundity,
Disguising their innate sterility.
Knowing our inclination to be evil
Is soon exacerbated by the devil,
Whoever would be great must be as good
As any lowly human being should:
Vaulting ambition drives a soul to dare
To execute those deeds which breed despair.
Unless at heart we’re pregnant to good pity,
Our path shall never find the Holy City.