Dead walls are much given to talking.
This knife shall be in at the death—
I’ll stick him, then off safely get!
Cries the world, this could not be Macbeth,
For he’d ne’er stick at anything yet.
Hark, hark! ’tis the signal, by goles!
It sounds like a funeral knell;
O, hear it not, Duncan! it tolls
To call thee to heaven or hell.
Or if you to heaven won’t fly,