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anon Attendants Banquo bear blood born castle comes conj dare dead death deed Doct Duncan Dunsinane Edition emendation England Enter Enter Macbeth Exeunt Exit face father fear fight Fleance friends give grace hand Hang hath head hear heart heaven highness hold honour hope keep king Knocking Lady Lady Macbeth leave Lennox light live look lord Macb Macbeth Macd Macduff Malcolm meet mind move murder nature never night noble once peace play poor pray present probably Ross Scene Scotland sense Servant Shake sight Siward sleep Soldiers speak spirit stand strange sword thane of Cawdor thanks thee There's things Third thou thought wife wisdom Witch worthy
Página 95 - tis time to do't. — Hell is murky ! — Fie, my lord, fie ! a soldier, and afeard ? What need we fear who knows it, when none can call our power to account ? — Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him ? Doct. Do you mark that ? Lady At. The thane of Fife had a wife : where is she now ? — What, will these hands ne'er be clean ? — No more o' that, my lord ; no more o' that : you mar all with this starting.
Página 52 - Duncan is in his grave; After life's fitful fever he sleeps well; Treason has done his •worst: nor steel, nor poison, Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing, Can touch him further.
Página 91 - 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.
Página 11 - tis strange : And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, The instruments of darkness tell us truths, Win us with honest trifles, to betray 's In deepest consequence.
Página 29 - 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.
Página 90 - Merciful heaven ! — What, man ! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows ; Give sorrow words: the grief that does not speak Whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it break.
Página 52 - Nought's had, all's spent, Where our desire is got without content : 'Tis safer to be that which we destroy, Than, by destruction, dwell in doubtful joy.
Página 18 - You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick night, And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell, That my keen knife see not the wound it makes, Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark, To cry 'Hold, hold!
Página 60 - Blood hath been shed ere now, i' the olden time, Ere human statute purg'd the gentle weal; Ay, and since too, murders have been perform'd Too terrible for the ear: the times have been, That, when the brains were out, the man would die And there an end : but now, they rise again, With twenty mortal murders on their crowns, And push us from our stools: This is more strange Than such a murder is.