MACBETH
Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more.By Sinel’s death I know I am thane of Glamis.But how of Cawdor? The thane of Cawdor lives,A prosperous gentleman, and to be kingStands not within the prospect of belief,No more than to be Cawdor. Say from whenceYou owe this strange intelligence, or whyUpon this blasted heath you stop our wayWith such prophetic greeting. Speak, I charge you.
MACBETHYour children shall be kings.BANQUOYou shall be king.
MACBETH
(aside) If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown meWithout my stir.
MACBETH
(aside) The prince of Cumberland! That is a stepOn which I must fall down, or else o’erleap,For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires;Let not light see my black and deep desires.The eye wink at the hand, yet let that beWhich the eye fears, when it is done, to see.
MACBETH
Whence is that knocking?How is ’t with me when every noise appals me?What hands are here? Ha! They pluck out mine eyes.Will all great Neptune’s ocean wash this bloodClean from my hand? No, this my hand will ratherThe multitudinous seas incarnadine,Making the green one red.





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