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Banquo Birnam blood C. P. ed C. P. editors called castle cites Coll crime Cymb dagger death deed Delius Donalbain Donwald Duncan Dunsinane edition emendation England enimies Enter MACBETH evil Exeunt fear Fleance Fleay folio foorth gallowglasses ghost give Glamis Glamis Castle hail hand hath haue heart heaven Hecate Holinshed honour horror hurlyburly husband Johnson king knocking Lady Macbeth Lady Macduff Lear Lennox lord Malcolm Malone means mind Moberly moral murder murther nature night noble passage play poet quoted by Furness refers reign remarks Rich Rolfe's Ross says scene Schmidt explains Scone Scotland Second Witch seems sense Shakespeare Shakspere Society Siward slaine sleep Sonn speak spirit strange suggested Temp thane thane of Cawdor thee Theo things Third Witch thou thought tion VIII vnto vpon weird sisters wife woman word
Page 69 - 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 marshall'st me the way that I was going ; And such an instrument I was to use. Mine eyes are made the fools o...
Page 61 - The effect and it ! Come to my woman's breasts, And take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers, Wherever in your sightless substances 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 123 - She should have died hereafter; There would have been a time for such a word. Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow 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.
Page 122 - I have almost forgot the taste of fears : The time has been, my senses would have cool'd To hear a night-shriek ; and my fell of hair Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir As life were in 't : I have supp'd full with horrors ; Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts, Cannot once start me.
Page 87 - s to be done ? Macb. Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck, Till thou applaud the deed. Come, seeling night, Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day, And with thy bloody and invisible hand Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond Which keeps me pale ! Light thickens, and the crow Makes wing to the rooky wood : Good things of day begin to droop and drowse, Whiles night's black agents to their preys do rouse.
Page 86 - His cloister'd flight; ere to black Hecate's summons The shard-borne beetle with his drowsy hums Hath rung night's yawning peal, there shall be done A deed of dreadful note.
Page 82 - Reigns that which would be fear'd : 'tis much he dares ; And, to that dauntless temper of his mind, He hath a wisdom that doth guide his valour To act in safety. There is none but he Whose being I do fear : and, under him, My Genius is rebuked ; as, it is said, Mark Antony's was by Caesar.
Page 60 - Yet do I fear thy nature; 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...
Page 256 - This castle hath a pleasant seat ; the air Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself Unto our gentle senses. BAN. This guest of summer, The temple-haunting martlet, does approve By his loved mansionry that the heaven's breath Smells wooingly here : no jutty, frieze, Buttress, nor coign of vantage, but this bird Hath made his pendent bed and procreant cradle : Where they most breed and haunt, I have observed The air is delicate.
Page 72 - I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal, For it must seem their guilt. Exit. Knocking within MACBETH. Whence is that knocking? How is't with me, when every noise appals me? What hands are here? Ha! they pluck out mine eyes. Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood Clean from my hand? No; this my hand will rather The multitudinous seas incarnadine, Making the green one red.