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The King hath happily received, Macbeth, The news of thy success.
We are sent to give thee, our royal master, thanks, Only to herald thee into his sight.
The thane of Cawdor lives. Why do you dress me in borrow'd robes
What, can the devil speak true?
Glamis, and thane of Cawdor! The greatest is behind. Thanks for your pains.
When those that gave the Thane of Cawdor to me  promised no less to them?
Who was the thane lives yet, but under heavy judgement bears that live that life which he deserves to live.
That, trusted home, Might yet enkindle you onto the crown, besides thane of Cawdor
Two truths are told, as happy prologues to the swelling act of imperial theme
Look, how our partner's rapt.
New honors come upon him, Like our strange garments, cleave not to their mould
If chance will have me king, chance may crown me Without my stir.
Worthy MacBeth, we stay upon your leisure
Very Gladly.
give me your favor, my dull brain was wrought with things forgotten.  
Till then, enough. Come, friends.
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