Fair blood and foul blood,
It matters not.
Quench my thirst.
Against my honours,
I shall wade in your life wine.
With my silver skin laced in direst cruelty,
Innocent and delicate day shall wake no more.
Smoke of hell, drown the wind
As my mortal murdering hands
Knife your wound twenty.
Your assassination will borne valour.
Your death will let stars shine.
Play, hell spirits.
Come haunt our gentle senses
As daggers scream and babes cry
In the fatal entrance of heavy night.
Good night, Macbeth.
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