If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me, without my stir.
is this a dagger which i see before me, the handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee. I have thee not, and yet i see thee still. art thou not, fatal vision, sensible to feeling as to sight? or art thou but a dagger of mind, a false creation, proceeding form the heat oppressed brain? ...
ill call upon you straight. Abide within. it is concluded. Banquo, thy soul' flight, if it find heaven, must find it out tonight
Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! Beware Macduff! Beware the Thane of Fife!
"she would have died hereafter. There would have been a time for such a word...."
"...so thanks to all at once and to each one, whom we invite to see us crowned at Scone."