The moon is down; I have not heard the clock.
What, sir, not yet at rest? The king's abed. 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.
I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters. To you they have showed some truth.
I think not of them. Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve, We would spend it in some words upon that business, If you would grant the time.
Thanks, sir; the like to you.
Go bid thy mistress: when my drink is ready, She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed.
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 the mind, a false creation, Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain? I see thee yet, in form as palpable As this which now I draw.
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.