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.