1 So shall I, love; and so, I pray, be you.
2 We shall, my lord, Perform what you command us.
3 No more that Thane of Cawdor shall deceive Our bosom interest.
4 If much you note him, You shall offend him, and extend his passion.
5 If you shall cleave to my consent, when 'tis, It shall make honour for you.'
6 He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace, and fear.'
7 But of that tomorrow, When therewithal we shall have cause of state Craving us jointly.
8 Herein I teach you How you shall bid God 'ild us for your pains, And thank us for your trouble.'
9 Give me your hand; Conduct me to mine host: we love him highly, And shall continue our graces towards him.
10 I will drain him dry as hay: Sleep shall neither night nor day Hang upon his pent-house lid; He shall live a man forbid.
11 So I lose none In seeking to augment it, but still keep My bosom franchis'd, and allegiance clear, I shall be counsell'd.
12 Weary sev'n-nights nine times nine, Shall he dwindle, peak, and pine: Though his bark cannot be lost, Yet it shall be tempest-tost.
13 For mine own good, All causes shall give way: I am in blood Stepp'd in so far that, should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o'er.
14 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.
15 Be lion-mettled, proud, and take no care Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are: Macbeth shall never vanquish'd be, until Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill Shall come against him.
16 Ere the bat hath flown His cloister'd flight, ere to black Hecate's summons The shard-born beetle, with his drowsy hums, Hath rung night's yawning peal, there shall be done A deed of dreadful note.
17 Besides, this Duncan Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been So clear in his great office, that his virtues Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against The deep damnation of his taking-off; And pity, like a naked new-born babe, Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubin, hors'd Upon the sightless couriers of the air, Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye, That tears shall drown the wind.
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