If you shall cleave to my consent, when ’tis,It shall make honor for you.
So I lose noneIn seeking to augment it, but still keepMy bosom franchised and allegiance clear,I shall be counselled.
Go bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready,She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed.
I go, and it is done. The bell invites me.Hear it not, Duncan, for it is a knell That summons thee to heaven or to hell.
That which hath made them drunk hath made me bold.What hath quenched them hath given me fire.Hark! Peace! It was the owl that shrieked, the fatal bellman,Which gives the stern’st good-night. He is about it.
Alack, I am afraid they have awaked,And ’tis not done. Th' attempt and not the deed Confounds us. Hark! I laid their daggers ready;He could not miss 'em. Had he not resembled My father as he slept, I had done ’t.
I heard the owl scream and the crickets cry.Did not you speak?
I have done the deed. Didst thou not hear a noise?