"I have liv'd long enough: my way of life Is fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf; And that which should accompany old age,
As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, I must not look to have; but, in their stead, Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honour, breath, Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not."
Macbeth says this; The upcoming battle will either make Macbeth secure (cheer me ever) or dethrone (disseat) him. He bitterly compares his life to a withered (sere) leaf. He cannot look forward to old age with friends and honor, but only to curses and empty flattery (mouth-honor, breath) from those too timid (the poor heart) to tell the truth.