" 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."
" 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?"
“ Prithee, see there! Behold! Look! Lo! How say you? Why, what care I? If thou canst nod , speak too. If charnel-houses and our graves must send Those that we bury back, our monuments Shall be the maws of kites
"Come, high or low; Thyself and office deftly show.
Hail, King! For so thou art. Behold where stands Th’usurper’s cursed head: the time is free