1 Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure.
2 I'll call upon you straight: abide within.
3 Ay, my good lord: our time does call upon's.
4 His absence, sir, Lays blame upon his promise.
5 They did so; to the amazement of mine eyes, That look'd upon't.
6 A heavy summons lies like lead upon me, And yet I would not sleep.
7 Go bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready, She strike upon the bell.
8 The queen that bore thee, Oft'ner upon her knees than on her feet, Died every day she lived.
9 New honours come upon him, Like our strange garments, cleave not to their mould But with the aid of use.
10 Let your Highness Command upon me, to the which my duties Are with a most indissoluble tie For ever knit.
11 Malcolm and Donalbain, the King's two sons, Are stol'n away and fled; which puts upon them Suspicion of the deed.
12 I will drain him dry as hay: Sleep shall neither night nor day Hang upon his pent-house lid; He shall live a man forbid.
13 My lord is often thus, And hath been from his youth: pray you, keep seat; The fit is momentary; upon a thought He will again be well.
14 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.
15 I am yet Unknown to woman; never was forsworn; Scarcely have coveted what was mine own; At no time broke my faith; would not betray The devil to his fellow; and delight No less in truth than life: my first false speaking Was this upon myself.
16 He chid the sisters When first they put the name of king upon me, And bade them speak to him; then, prophet-like, They hail'd him father to a line of kings: Upon my head they plac'd a fruitless crown, And put a barren sceptre in my gripe, Thence to be wrench'd with an unlineal hand, No son of mine succeeding.
17 I think, withal, There would be hands uplifted in my right; And here, from gracious England, have I offer Of goodly thousands: but, for all this, When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head, Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country Shall have more vices than it had before, More suffer, and more sundry ways than ever, By him that shall succeed.
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