Macbeth
Be thee like a rebel's whore
Let disdaining fortune, with his brandish'd steel,
Cleave not to its mould
When the deed is done and done
When the battle's lost and won
Though thy mind cannot be lost
Yet it shall be tempest-toss'd
Stars, hide your fires,
Let light not see his dark and deep desires
Hear it not, for it is a knell
The heaven's breath
That summons thee to heaven or to hell
Thy soul's flight, if it find heaven,
Must find it out tonight
Hover through the fog and filthy air
Screw your courage to the sticking place
Spurn fate, scorn death and hopes 'bove
As do hounds, mongrels, curs and water-rugs
Sleep shall neither night nor day
Hang upon thy penthouse lid
Upon thy head they shall place
A crown, a scepter.
It will have blood
They say blood will have blood.
That will be ere the set of sun.
Aroint thee.
Kill him.
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