And Duncan’s horses⁠—a thing most strange and certain⁠— Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race, Turn’d wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out, Contending ’gainst obedience, as they would make War with mankind.

They did so, to the amazement of mine eyes That look’d upon’t. Here comes the good Macduff.

Alas, the day! What good could they pretend?

They were suborn’d: Malcolm and Donalbain, the king’s two sons, Are stol’n away and fled; which puts upon them Suspicion of the deed.

’Gainst nature still! Thriftless ambition, that wilt ravin up Thine own life’s means! Then ’tis most like The sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth.

He is already named, and gone to Scone To be invested.