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I dare do all that may become a man ;
Who dares do more is none.-Id.

Macbeth. If we should fail,

Lady Macbeth.

We fail!

But screw your courage to the sticking place,
And we'll not fail. When Duncan is asleep
(Whereto the rather shall his day's hard journey
Soundly invite him), his two chamberlains
Will I with wine and wassail so convince,
That memory, the warder of the brain,
Shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason
Alimbeck only.- Id.

Macbeth. Go, bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready,
She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed.

Is this a dagger which I see before me,

(Exit Servant.)

The handle toward my hand? come, let me clutch thee:--

I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.

Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible

To feeling as to sight? or art thou but
A dagger of the mind,-a false creation,
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
I see thee yet, in form as palpable

As this which now I draw;

Thou marshal'st me the

way that I was going;

And such an instrument I was to use.

Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses,
Or else worth all the rest. I see thee still :
And on thy blade, and dudgeon, gouts of blood,
Which was not so before.-There's no such thing:
It is the bloody business which informs

Thus to mine eyes.-Now o'er the one half world
Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse
The curtained sleeper; witchcraft celebrates
Pale Hecate's offerings; and wither'd murder,
Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf,

Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace,
With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design,
Moves like a ghost.-Thou sure and firm-set earth,
Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear
The very stones prate of my whereabouts,
And take the present horror from the times,
Which now suits with it.-Whiles I threat he lives;

Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives.

I go, and it is done; the bell invites me,
Hear it not, Duncan; for it is a knell
That summons thee to heaven, or to hell.

(A bell rings.)

[Exit.

Act 2, Sc. 1.

Macbeth. One cried, God bless us ! and Amen, the other; As they had seen me with these hangman's hands. List'ning their fear, I could not say, Amen,

When they did say, God bless us.

Lady Macbeth. Consider it not so deeply.

Macbeth. But wherefore could not I pronounce, Amen? I had most need of blessing, and Amen

Stuck in my throat.

Lady Macbeth. These deeds must not be thought After these ways; so, it will make us mad.

Macbeth. Methought, I heard a voice cry, Sleep no more! Macbeth doth murder sleep, the innocent sleep: Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care, The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath, Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, Chief nourisher in life's feast ;-Sc. 2.

Macbeth.

Better be with the dead,
Whom we, to gain our place, have sent to peace,
Than on the torture of the mind to lie

In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave;
After life's fitful fever, he sleeps well;

Treason has done his worst: nor steel, nor poison,
Malice domestick, foreign levy, nothing

Can touch him further!-Act 3, Sc. 2.

Avaunt! and quit my

Macbeth (to the ghost of BANQUO).
sight! Let the earth hide thee!
Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold;
Thou hast no speculation in those eyes
Which thou dost glare with!-Sc. 4.

Macbeth.

Can such things be,

And overcome us like a summer's cloud,
Without our special wonder ?-Act 3, Sc. 4.

Rosse.

Would, I could answer

This comfort with the like! But I have words,
That would be howl'd out in the desert air

Where hearing should not catch them.

Macduff.

What concern they?

The general cause? or is it a fee-grief,
Due to some single breast?

Rosse.

No mind, that's honest,

But in it shares some woe; though the main part
Pertains to you alone.

Macduff.

If it be mine

Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it.

Rosse. Let not your ears despise my tongue for ever, Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound That ever yet they heard.

Macduff

Humph! I guess at it.

Rosse. Your castle is surprised; your wife, and babes, Savagely slaughter'd: to relate the manner, Were, on the quarry of these murder'd deer,

To add the death of you.

Malcolm.

Merciful heaven !—

What, man! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows;
Give sorrow words: the grief that does not speak,
Whispers the o'erfraught heart, and bids it break.
Macduff. My children too?

Rosse.

Wife, children, servants, all

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Let's make us med'cines of our great revenge,

To cure this deadly grief.

Macduff. He has no children.-All my pretty ones? Did you say, all?-O! hell-kite!-All?

What, all my pretty chickens, and their dam,

At one fell swoop?

Malcolm. Dispute it like a man.
Macduff.

I shall do so;

But I must also feel it as a man;

I cannot but remember such things were,

That were most precious to me.-Did heaven look on,
And would not take their part? Sinful Macduff,
They were all struck for thee! naught that I am,

Not for their own demerits, but for mine

Fell slaughter on their souls; Heaven rest them now!

Malcolm. Be this the whetstone of your sword: let grief

Convert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage it.

Macduff. O! I could play the woman with mine eyes,
And braggart with my tongue!-But gentle heaven,
Cut short all intermission: front to front,

Bring thou this fiend of Scotland, and myself;
Within my sword's length set him; if he 'scape,
Heaven forgive him too!

Malcolm.

This tune goes manly.

Come, go we to the king: our power is ready :
Our lack is nothing but our leave: Macbeth

Is ripe for shaking, and the powers

above

Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer you may;
The night is long that never finds the day.

Sc. 3.

Doctor. . .

Unnatural deeds

Do breed unnatural troubles: Infected minds

(Exeunt).—Act 4,

To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets.-Act. 5, Sc. 1.

Angus...

Hang loose about him, like a giant's robe

Now does he feel his title

Thou cream-fac'd loon!

Upon a dwarfish thief.-Sc. 2.

Macbeth (to a servant). . .

...

Where gott'st thou that goose look ?

Servant. There is ten thousand

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Macbeth. Go, prick thy face, and over-red thy fear, Thou lily-liver'd boy. What soldiers, patch?

Death of thy soul! those linen cheeks of thine

Are counsellers to fear. What soldiers, whey-face?

Servant. The English force, so please you.

Macbeth. Take thy face hence.-Seyton !-I am sick at heart When I behold-Seyton, I say!—this push Will cheer me ever, or disseat me now. I have liv'd long enough; my way of life Is fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf: And that which should accompany old age, As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, I must not look to have; but in their stead, Curses, not loud, but deep, mouth-honour, breath, Which the poor heart would fain deny but dare not. Seyton!-(enter SEYTON).

Seyton. What is your gracious pleasure?

Macbeth.

What news more?

Seyton. All is confirm'd, my lord, which was reported. Macbeth. I'll fight, till from my bones my flesh be hack'd. Give me my armour.

R

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Macbeth. I'll put it on.

Send out more horses, skirr the country round;
Hang those that talk of fear.-Give me mine armour.
How does your patient, doctor?

Doctor.

Not so sick, my lord,

As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies,
That keep her from her rest.

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Can'st thou not minister to a mind diseas'd!
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow;
Raze out the written troubles of the brain;
And with some sweet oblivious antidote,

Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff,
Which weighs upon the heart?

Doctor.

Therein the patient

Must minister to himself.

Macbeth. Throw physic to the dogs, I'll none of it:-Sc. 3. Macbeth. To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,

To the last syllable of recorded time,

And all our yesterdays have lighted fools

The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more! It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.-Sc. 5.

Macbeth.

Blow, wind! come wrack!

At least we'll die with harness on our back.

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Philip Faulconbridge. Against whose fury and unmatched force,

The awless lion could not wage the fight,

Nor keep his princely heart from Richard's hand.-Act 1, Sc. 1. Archduke of Austria. Upon thy cheek lay I this zealous kiss,

As seal to this indenture of my love;

That to my home I will no more return,

Till Angiers, and the right thou hast in France,

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