Palindromic lines omitted by William Shakespeare from the Scottish Play (Macbeth)

When shall we three meet again
In thunder, lightning or in rain?
A hag, a hag, a hag, aha!

Eye of newt and toe of frog
Wool of bat and tongue of dog

To pan it went, a bat - newt in a pot.

But how of Cawdor? The Thane of Cawdor lives
A prosperous gentleman, and to be king
Stands not within the prospect of belief.

Evil, a sign, I ken. One king is alive!

Two truths are told
As happy prologues to the swelling act
Of the imperial theme.

Evil's deeds arise most, I felt. It's a fixer. Ah, to be both: a "rex", if as title fit; some "sir" as deeds live.

This supernatural soliciting
Cannot be ill, cannot be good - if ill
Whay hath it given me earnest of success commencing in a truth?

Tide to omen? Or can I, will I, kill? I win! A crone mooted it!

If charnel-houses, and our graves, must send
Those that we bury, back, our monuments
Shall be the maws of kites.

Evil sits. Oh gee! Ghost is live!

Oh, these flaws and starts
Imposters to true fear, would well become
A woman's story at a winter's fire.

Spook, sir, we note. Rise, sire, to new risk - oops!

Come, you spirits
That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here
And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full
Of direst cruely.

Damned I am as a maiden, mad!

Out, damned spot! Out I say!

Stop, spots!

"Fear not, till Birnam Wood
Do come to Dunsinane" - and now a wood
Comes to Dunsinane. Arm, arm and out!

Do get on, I part! For it's as I do own, wood is astir, of trap I note, God!

I will not yield
To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet
And to be baited with the rabble's curse.

Now I finish too, sore hero. Sooth, sin if I won.

Is this a dagger which I see before me
The handle toward my hand?

A blade, sir, or retinal panic? In a plan I terrorised Alba.
("Alba" is Scottish Gaelic for Scotland.)

When shall we three meet again In thunder, lightning or in rain?	A hag, a hag, a hag, aha!
Eye of newt and toe of frog Wool of bat and tongue of dog	To pan it went, a bat - newt in a pot.
But how of Cawdor? The Thane of Cawdor lives A prosperous gentleman, and to be king Stands not within the prospect of belief.	Evil, a sign, I ken. One king is alive!
Two truths are told As happy prologues to the swelling act Of the imperial theme.	Evil's deeds arise most, I felt. It's a fixer. Ah, to be both: a "rex", if as title fit; some "sir" as deeds live.
This supernatural soliciting Cannot be ill, cannot be good - if ill Whay hath it given me earnest of success commencing in a truth?	Tide to omen? Or can I, will I, kill? I win! A crone mooted it!
If charnel-houses, and our graves, must send Those that we bury, back, our monuments Shall be the maws of kites.	Evil sits. Oh gee! Ghost is live!
Oh, these flaws and starts Imposters to true fear, would well become A woman's story at a winter's fire.	Spook, sir, we note. Rise, sire, to new risk - oops!
Come, you spirits That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full Of direst cruely.	Damned I am as a maiden, mad!
Out, damned spot! Out I say!	Stop, spots!
"Fear not, till Birnam Wood Do come to Dunsinane" - and now a wood Comes to Dunsinane. Arm, arm and out!	Do get on, I part! For it's as I do own, wood is astir, of trap I note, God!
I will not yield To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet And to be baited with the rabble's curse.	Now I finish too, sore hero. Sooth, sin if I won.
Is this a dagger which I see before me The handle toward my hand?	A blade, sir, or retinal panic? In a plan I terrorised Alba. ("Alba" is Scottish Gaelic for Scotland.)