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Attendants Banquo bear blood born Bring charm comes dare dead death deed doubt Duncan England English Enter Macbeth Exeunt Exit face father fear fight Fleance friends Give grace hand Hang hast hath head hear heart heaven highness hold honour hope horses hour I'll keep king Knock known Lady leave light lives look lord Macd Macduff Malcolm means meet mind murder nature never night noble once perform person play poor pray rest Rosse SCENE Scotland Servant shake shew sight Siward sleep Soldiers speak spirits stand strange sword tell thane thane of Cawdor thanks thee There's thine things thou thou art thought tongue true truth tyrant wife Witch woman wood worthy
Стр. 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.
Стр. 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.
Стр. 13 - Yet do I fear thy nature ; It is too full o' the milk of human kindness To catch the nearest way.
Стр. 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.
Стр. 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.
Стр. 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 !
Стр. 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.
Стр. 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?