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Alarum Angus Attendants Banquo Birnam wood blood call'd Cath cauldron charm Chor cousin daggers dare dead death deed Docl Donalbain doth Drum and Colours Duncan Dunsinane dy'd enchantment England Enter Lady Macbeth Enter Macbeth Enter Malcolm Exeunt Exit father fear Fife fight Fleance Gent Give Glamis grace gracious Hail hand hast hath hear heart heaven Hecate hither honour horror i'the is't king of Scotland Knock Lenox lives look lord Macd Macduff murder nature night noble o'the poor pray Re-enter Rosse Saracens SCENE Scone Scotland Servant Seyton shake Shakspere shalt shew Siward sleep Soldiers sorrow speak spirits strange sword thane of Cawdor thee There's thine things thou art thought three WiTcHEs Thunder to-night tongue traitor tyrant weird sisters What's Who's wife witchcraft woman worthy thane
Page 42 - But let the frame of things disjoint, both the worlds suffer, Ere we will eat our meal in fear, and sleep In the affliction of these terrible dreams That shake us nightly: 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.
Page 14 - Hie thee hither, That I may pour my spirits in thine ear; And chastise with the valour of my tongue All that impedes thee from the golden round, Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem To have thee crown'd withal.
Page 13 - Yet do I fear thy nature ; It is too full o' the milk of human kindness To catch the nearest way.
Page 42 - Enter MACBETH. How now, my lord ? why do you keep alone, Of sorriest fancies your companions making ? Using those thoughts which should indeed have died With them they think on ? Things without all remedy, Should be without regard : what's done is done.
Page 16 - This guest of summer, The temple-haunting. martlet, does approve, By his lov'd mansionry, that the heaven's breath Smells wooingly here : no jutty, frieze, Buttress, nor coigne of vantage, but this bird Hath made his pendent bed, and procreant cradle : Where they most breed and haunt, I have observ'd, The air is delicate.
Page 15 - 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 !
Page 72 - Put on with holy prayers : and 'tis spoken, To the succeeding royalty he leaves The healing benediction. With this strange virtue, He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy ; And sundry blessings hang about his throne, That speak him full of grace.
Page 82 - Cure her of that: Canst 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 stuffd bosom of that perilous stuff Which weighs upon the heart?