The king hath happily received, Macbeth, The news of thy success; and when he reads Thy personal venture in the rebels’ fight, His wonders and his praises do contend Which should be thine or his: silenced with that, In viewing o’er the rest o’ the selfsame day, He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks, Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make, Strange images of death. As thick as hail Came post with post; and every one did bear Thy praises in his kingdom’s great defence, And pour’d them down before him.

We are sent To give thee from our royal master thanks; Only to herald thee into his sight, Not pay thee.

And, for an earnest of a greater honour, He bade me, from him, call thee thane of Cawdor: In which addition, hail, most worthy thane! For it is thine.