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How goes the night, boy?
The moon is down. I have not heard the clock.
Hold, take my sword. There’s husbandry in heaven;Their candles are all out. Take thee that too.
What, sir, not yet at rest? The king’s a-bed.He hath been in unusual pleasure, and Sent forth great largess to your offices.
Being unprepared, our will became the servant to defect,Which else should free have wrought.
All’s well.I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters:To you they have showed some truth.
I don’t think about them. But when we have an hour to spare, I’d like to talk about it a bit more, if you’d be willing.
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.
Thy very stones prate of my whereabout,And take the present horror from the time,Which now suits with it. Whiles I threat, he lives.Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives.
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