Hold, take my sword. There's husbandry in Heaven;
I think not of them;Yet when we can entreat an hour to serve, We would spend it in some words upon that business.
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?
How goes the night, boy?The moon is down; I have not heard the clockAnd she goes down at twelve. I take't, 'tis later sir.
Give me my sword.Who's there?A friend. All's well. I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters:To you they have show'd some truth.
A bell ringsI 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.
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