Macbeth's Soliloquy Poem

Murder!

Hear not the bloody instrument of thy wicked dreams,

Take but the sensible steps,

To see the ravishing present, not the horror of thy creation

Thou still moves,

Like a sentinel, towards the dagger of thy vision, to clutch it,

But the brain is oppressed

with the cold heat of thy wither’d strides

He lives,

But his eyes are curtain’d in his sleep, not by nature,

And his breath is made dead  

By thy fatal vision, and thy blade of witchcraft

Art thou a wolf of abuse, in the dungeon?

That howls at the heat of this business that fools thy stealthy mind,

Or art thou the hand of nature?

That informs thy other senses of no such business