All hail, Macbeth! Hail to thee, Thane of Glamis!All hail, Macbeth! Hail to thee, Thane of Cawdor!All hail, Macbeth, that shalt be King hereafter!
We fail? But screw your courage to the sticking place And we'll not fail.
If we should fail?
How is 't with me, when every noise appalls me? What hands are here? Ha! They pluck out mine eyes! Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood Clean from my hand ?No; this my hand will rather
I'll call upon you straight. Abide within. It is concluded: Banquo, thy soul's flight. If it find heaven, must find it out tonight.