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Alarum art thou Banquo Beat Beatrice Benedick Besore blood Bora Borachio brother Claud Claudio Clot Cloten cousin Cymbeline dare daughter dead death Dogb doth England Enter Exeunt Exit eyes faid father fave Fleance foldier fome fool foul France French friends gentleman give Gower grace Guiderius hand Harfleur hast hath hear heart heaven Henry Hero honour Iach Iachimo Imogen John Kath king Lady leek Leon Leonato liege lise look lord Macb Macbeth Macd Macduff Macedon madam majesty marry master Master constable mistress never night noble Pedro Pifanio Pist Pojl Post Posthumus pray prifoner prince queen reafon SCENE sear sellow shew sield signior sirst speak surther swear sword tell thane thee there's thine thing thou art thoufand tongue unto villain wear What's Whofe Witch
Page 72 - This story shall the good man teach his son; And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remembered...
Page 22 - Is this a dagger which I see before me, 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?
Page 10 - Where some, like magistrates, correct at home, Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad, Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings, Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds, Which pillage they with merry march bring home To the...
Page 29 - Dear Duff, I pr'ythee, contradict thyself, And say, it is not so. Re-enter MACBETH and LENOX. Macb. Had I but died an hour before this chance, I had liv'da blessed time; for, from this instant, There's nothing serious in mortality : All is but toys : renown, and grace, is dead ; The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees Is left this vault to brag of.
Page 42 - 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.
Page 70 - I have lived 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, and dare not.
Page 13 - For in my way it lies. Stars hide your fires ! Let not light see my black and deep desires : The eye wink at the hand ! yet let that be, Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see.
Page 25 - Infirm of purpose ! Give me the daggers : the sleeping and the dead Are but as pictures : 'tis the eye of childhood That fears a painted devil.
Page 70 - By Jove, I am not covetous for gold, Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost ; It yearns me not if men my garments wear ; Such outward things dwell not in my desires : But if it be a sin to covet honour, I am the most offending soul alive.
Page 14 - It is too full o' the milk of human kindness To catch the nearest way : thou wouldst be great ; Art not without ambition ; but without The illness should attend it : what thou wouldst highly, That wouldst thou holily ; wouldst not play false, And yet wouldst wrongly win...