The gracious Duncan / Was pitied of Macbeth:—marry, he was dead:— / And the right valiant Banquo walk’d too late; / Whom, you may say, if’t please you, Fleance kill’d, / For Fleance fled.

we may again / Give to our tables meat, sleep to our nights; / Free from our feasts and banquets bloody knives, / Do faithful homage, and receive free honours, / All which we pine for now.

The flighty purpose never is o'ertook / Unless the deed go with it. From this moment / The very firstlings of my heart shall be / The firstlings of my hand.

A deed without a name.

Though you untie the winds, and let them fight / Against the churches; though the yesty waves / Confound and swallow navigation up; / Though bladed corn be lodg'd, and trees blown down; / Though castles topple on their warders' heads; / Though palaces and pyramids do slope / Their heads to their foundations; though the treasure / Of nature's germens tumble all together, / Even till destruction sicken, answer me / To what I ask you.

What, will the line stretch out to th' crack of doom?

Eye of newt, and toe of frog, / Wool of bat, and tongue of dog, / Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting, / Lizard's leg, and howlet's wing, / For a charm of powerful trouble, / Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.

Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! Beware Macduff; / Beware the Thane of Fife.—

But cruel are the times, when we are traitors, / And do not know ourselves; when we hold rumour / From what we fear, yet know not what we fear, / But float upon a wild and violent sea / Each way and move—

Wisdom! to leave his wife, to leave his babes, / His mansion, and his titles, in a place / From whence himself does fly? He loves us not: / He wants the natural touch; for the poor wren, / The most diminutive of birds, will fight, / Her young ones in her nest, against the owl.