Do I dare call upon what may be fair?
That I am only a constructive fraud.
The smell of blood lingers in the night air,
And I am left by love and lost to God.
This I that may take blame for Banquo's death,
For I persuaded MacBeth to the test.
The many souls I caused a dying breath,
I humbly ask the divine you're at rest.
My days have grown to length and nights so cold;
I cannot endure my beckoning mind.
Not long ago I may have seemed so bold,
but that woman you will no longer find.
This very lonesome night will be my last,
and my unpleasant life will be the past.