Macbeth

Fair is foul, and foul is fair
Hover through the fog and filthy air

Go pronounce his present death
And with his former title greet Macbeth

All hail, Macbeth, that shalt be king hereafter!

Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none
Why do I yield to that suggestion
Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair
And make my seated heart knock at my ribs