Two truths are told
As happy prologues to the swelling act
Of the imperial theme. –I thank you gentlemen.-
This supernatural soliciting
Cannot be ill, cannot be good.
If ill, why hath it given me earnest of success,
Commencing in a trust? I am Thane of Cawdor.
If good, why do I yield to that suggestion,
Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair,
And make my seated heart knowck at my ribs,
Against the use of nature? Present fears
Are less than horrible imaginings.
My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical
Shakes so my single state of man, that function
Is smothered in surmise, and nothing is
But what is not.
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Creatures have told two truths,
As happy introduction to my ascending
The throne. I thank you, gentlemen.
This supernatural gathering
Can’t be bad, can’t be good.
If it is bad, Why has it promised success,
Beginning with a truth? I am a worthy lord of Cawdor.
If it’s good, why do I slow down to that suggestion
Whose horrid picture makes my hair stand up,
And makes my heart pound so hard it knocks at my ribs,
Against the way things normally are? My fears currently,
Are not such horrible thoughts.
I think, the murder is still a fantastic idea,
Builds up my manhood, that functions
Is covered in strong evidence, and nothing is
Only what is not.
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