All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, Thane of Glamis! SECOND WITCH. All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, Thane of Cawdor! THIRD WITCH. All hail, Macbeth! that shalt be king hereafter!

Methought I heard a voice cry, “Sleep no more! / Macbeth does murder sleep,”—the innocent sleep; / Sleep that knits up the ravell’d sleave of care, / The death of each day’s life, sore labour’s bath, / Balm of hurt minds, great nature’s second course, / Chief nourisher in life’s feast.

To be thus is nothing, / But to be safely thus.

He has no children.—All my pretty ones? / Did you say all?—O hell-kite!—All? / What, all my pretty chickens and their dam / At one fell swoop?

Bleed, bleed, poor country! / Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure, / For goodness dare not check thee!

Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas’d, / Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, / Raze out the written troubles of the brain, / And with some sweet oblivious antidote / Cleanse the stuff’d bosom of that perilous stuff / Which weighs upon the heart?

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, / Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, / To the last syllable of recorded time; / And all our yesterdays have lighted fools / The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! / Life’s but a walking shadow; a poor player, / That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, / And then is heard no more: it is a tale / Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, / Signifying nothing.

O horror, horror, horror! Tongue nor heart cannot conceive nor name thee!

For Banquo’s issue have I fil’d my mind; / For them the gracious Duncan have I murder’d; / Put rancours in the vessel of my peace / Only for them; and mine eternal jewel / Given to the common enemy of man, / To make them kings, the seed of Banquo kings!

O, treachery! Fly, good Fleance, fly, fly, fly! Thou mayst revenge—O slave!