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To amplify too much, would make much more,
And top extremity.
Whilst I was big in clamour, came there a man,
Who having seen me in my worst estate,
Shunn'd my abhorr'd society; but then, finding
Who 'twas that so endur'd, with his strong arms
He fasten'd on my neck, and bellow'd out
As he'd burst heaven; threw him on my father;
Told the most piteous tale of Lear and him,
That ever ear receiv'd: which in recounting.
His grief grew puissant, and the strings of life
Began to crack: Twice then the trumpet sounded,
And there I left him tranc'd.

LEAR ON THE DEATH OF CORDELIA.

Howl, howl, howl, howl;—0, you are men of

stones ;
Had I
your tongues

and
eyes,

I'd use them so That heaven's vault should crack:40, she is gone

for ever! I know when one is dead; and when one lives; She's dead as earth :—Lend me a looking-glass; If that her breath will mist or stain the stone, Why, then she lives.

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This feather stirs; she lives! if it be so,
It is a chance that does redeem all sorrows
That ever I have felt.

Kent. O my good master! [Kneeling.
Lear. Pr’ythee, away.

A plague upon you, murderers, traitors all!
I might have sav'd her; now she's gone

for ever:-
Cordelia, Cordelia, stay a little. Ha!
What is't thou say’st?—Her voice was ever soft,
Gentle, and low.

LEAR DYING.

And my poor fool* is hang'd! No, no, no life: Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life, And thou no breath at all? O, thou wilt come no Never, never, never, never, never! [more,

MACBETH.

ACT I.

WITCHES DESCRIBED. What are these, So wither'd, and so wild in their attire ; That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth, And yet are on't? Live you? or are you aught That man may question? You seem to understand By each at once her choppy finger laying [me, Upon her skinny lips: You should be women, And yet your beards forbid me to interpret That you are so.

MACBETH'S TEMPER. Yet do I fear thy nature; It is too full oʻthe 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.

* Poor fool, in the time of Shakspeare, was an expression of endearment.

LADY MACBETH'S SOLILOQUY ON THE NEWS OF

DUNCAN'S APPROACH.
The raven himself is hoarse,
That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan
Under

my

battlements. Come, come, you spirits
That tend on mortal* thoughts, unsex me here;
And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full
Of direst cruelty! make thick my blood,
Stop up the access and passage to remorset;
That no compunctious visitings of nature
Shake

my
fell

purpose, nor keep peace between The effect and it! Come to my woman's breasts, And take my milk for gall, you murd'ring minisWherever in your sightless substances [ters, You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick night, And palli 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!

MACBETH'S IRRESOLUTION. If it were done, when 'tis done, then 'twere well It were done quickly : If the assassination Could trammel

up the consequence, and catch, With his surcease, success; that but this blow Might be the be-all and the end-all here, But here, upon this bank and shoal of time,We'd jump the life to come.—But, in these cases, We still have judgment here; that we but teach Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return To plague the inventor: This even-handed justice Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice * Murderous. + Pity. # Wrap, as in a mantle.

& Knife anciently meant a sword or dagger.

To our own lips. He's here in double trust:
First, as I am his kinsman and his subject,
Strong both against the deed; then, as his host,
Who should against his murderer shut the door,
Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan
Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been
So clear in his great office, that his virtues
Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against
The deep damnation of his taking-off;
And pity, like a naked new-born babe,
Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubin, hors'd
Upon the sightless couriers* of the air,
Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye,
That tears shall drown the wind.— I have no spur
To prick the sides of my intent, but only
Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself,
And falls on the other.

TRUE FORTITUDE.

I dare do all that may become a man; Who dares do more, is none.

ACT II.

THE MURDERING SCENE.

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?
I see thee yet, in form as palpable,

* Winds ; sightless is invisible.

As this which now I draw.
Thou marshal'st me the way that I was going;
And such an instrument I was to use.
Mine eyes are made the fools o'the other senses,
Or else worth all the rest: I see thee still;
And on thy blade, and dudgeon*, goutst of blood,
Which was not so before. There's no such thing:
It is the bloody business, which informs
Thus to mine eyes.- Now o'er the one half world
Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse
The curtain’d sleep; now witchcraft celebrates
Pale Hecate's offerings; and wither'd murder,
Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf,
Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace,
With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design
Moves like a ghost.-Thou sure and firm-set earth,
Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear
Thy very slones prate of my where-about,
And take the present horror from the time,
Which now suits with it. Whiles I threat, he lives;
Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives.

[A bell rings. 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. [Exit.

Enter Lady Macbeth. Lady M. That which hath made them drunk,

hath made me bold: [Hark!-Peace! What hath quench'd them, hath given me fire:It was the owl that shriek'd, the fatal bellman, Which gives the stern’st good night. He is about it: The doors are open; and the surfeited grooms

* Haft.

+ Drops.

D D

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