The white chief's urn, containing poems and other contributions

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Page 172 - Why have my sisters husbands, if they say They love you all ? Haply, when I shall wed, That lord whose hand must take my plight shall carry Half my love with him, half my care and duty : Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters, To love my father all.
Page 191 - Who was it that thus cried? Why, worthy thane, You do unbend your noble strength, to think So brainsickly of things. Go get some water, And wash this filthy witness from your hand. Why did you bring these daggers from the place? They must lie there: go carry them, and smear The sleepy grooms with blood.
Page 174 - Not to a rage: patience and sorrow strove Who should express her goodliest. You have seen Sunshine and rain at once: her smiles and tears Were like a better way: those happy smilets That play'd on her ripe lip seem'd not to know What guests were in her eyes; which parted thence As pearls from diamonds dropp'd.
Page 172 - Good my lord, You have begot me, bred me, loved me: I Return those duties back as are right fit, Obey you, love you, and most honour you. Why have my sisters husbands, if they say They love you all? Haply...
Page 191 - And wash this filthy witness from your hand. Why did you bring these daggers from the place? They must lie there: go carry them, and smear The sleepy grooms with blood. MACB. I'll go no more: I am afraid to think what I have done; Look on't again I dare not. LADY M. 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. If he do bleed, I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal, For it must seem their guilt.
Page 172 - Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave My heart into my mouth. I love your majesty According to my bond; nor more nor less.
Page 192 - Nought's had, all's spent, Where our desire is got without content : 'Tis safer to be that which we destroy Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy.
Page 185 - 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 191 - I hear a knocking At the south entry : retire we to our chamber : A little water clears us of this deed : How easy is it, then ! Your constancy Hath left you unattended.
Page 193 - This is the very painting of your fear : This is the air-drawn dagger, which, you said, Led you to Duncan.

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