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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,
Macbeth seemed like a noble fellow, He fought hard and seemed mellow. The witches’ prophecies brought out a different side, One filled with paranoia and fake pride. His first murder started his quench for blood,
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