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ALL Fair is foul, and foul is fair; Hover through the fog and filthy air.
Knock, knock, knock! Who’s there, i' th' name of Beelzebub? Here’s a farmer that hanged himself on the expectation of plenty. Come in time, have napkins enough about you, here you’ll sweat for ’t.
I thank you, gentlemen. This supernatural soliciting Cannot be ill, cannot be good. If ill, Why hath it given me earnest of success,Commencing in a truth? I am thane of Cawdor.
Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee.
We have scorched the snake, not killed it. She’ll close and be herself whilst our poor malice Remains in danger of her former tooth. But let the frame of things disjoint, both the worlds suffer,
Come on, gentle my lord, Sleek o'er your rugged looks. Be bright and jovial Among your guests tonight.
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