Double, double, toil and trouble
Fire burn and cauldron bubble

Be bloody, bold and resolute; laugh to scorn
The pow’r of man, for none of woman born
Shall harm Macbeth

From this moment
The very firstlings of my heart shall be
The firstlings of my hand

I think our country sinks beneath the yoke;
It weeps, it bleeds, and each new day a gash
Is added to her wounds

But I must also feel it as a man