Glamis, and thane of Cawdor! The greatest is behind.
He bade me, from him, call thee thane of Cawdor: In which addition, hail, most worthy thane, For it is thine.
If good, why do I yield to that suggestion Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair And make my seated heart knock at my ribs, Against the use of nature?
But ’tis strange. And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, The instruments of darkness tell us truths, Win us with honest trifles, to betray ’s In deepest consequence.
New honors come upon him, Like our strange garments, cleave not to their mold But with the aid of use.
O worthiest cousin, The sin of my ingratitude even now Was heavy on me.
The service and the loyalty I owe In doing it pays itself.
The rest is labor which is not used for you: I’ll be myself the harbinger and make joyful The hearing of my wife with your approach.
My plenteous joys, Wanton in fullness, seek to hide themselves In drops of sorrow.
The prince of Cumberland! That is a step On 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 be Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see.