The Scottish One (English Sonnet)

I bid welcome at this, our magic hour as we create the witch’s potent brew, Macbeth is yearning for a kingly pow’r a plot of murder, deeds so foul construe. From the shadows he came into the cave when witch’s chant the secrets to the night thrice venom portrayed visions from the grave, as aged Crones were faded out of sight. Beware Macbeth, MacDuff is drawing near so take thy blade and steal his final breath. Defeat thy foe before he calls thy fear, and spirits haunt thy hearth with death. The fires shall burn beneath our witch’s pot until Macbeth fulfils his given lot.