1 I am for th air; this night I'll spend Unto a dismal and a fatal end.
2 Laugh to scorn The power of man, for none of woman born Shall harm Macbeth.
3 If you shall cleave to my consent, when 'tis, It shall make honour for you.'
4 Hear it not, Duncan, for it is a knell That summons thee to heaven or to hell.
5 Whate'er thou art, for thy good caution, thanks; Thou hast harp'd my fear aright.
6 Pronounce it for me, sir, to all our friends; For my heart speaks they are welcome.
7 And this report Hath so exasperate the King that he Prepares for some attempt of war.
8 Herein I teach you How you shall bid God 'ild us for your pains, And thank us for your trouble.'
9 O gentle lady, 'Tis not for you to hear what I can speak: The repetition, in a woman's ear, Would murder as it fell.'
10 One of my fellows had the speed of him, Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more Than would make up his message.
11 There the grown serpent lies; the worm that's fled Hath nature that in time will venom breed, No teeth for th present.
12 Had I but died an hour before this chance, I had liv'd a blessed time; for, from this instant There's nothing serious in mortality.
13 And, for an earnest of a greater honour, He bade me, from him, call thee Thane of Cawdor: In which addition, hail, most worthy thane, For it is thine.
14 The rest is labour, which is not us'd for you: I'll be myself the harbinger, and make joyful The hearing of my wife with your approach; So, humbly take my leave.
15 He that's coming Must be provided for; and you shall put This night's great business into my dispatch; Which shall to all our nights and days to come Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom.
16 Thou hast it now, King, Cawdor, Glamis, all, As the Weird Women promis'd; and, I fear, Thou play'dst most foully for't; yet it was said It should not stand in thy posterity; But that myself should be the root and father Of many kings.
17 All our service, In every point twice done, and then done double, Were poor and single business to contend Against those honours deep and broad wherewith Your Majesty loads our house: for those of old, And the late dignities heap'd up to them, We rest your hermits.
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