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But now I am cabin'd, cribb’d, confined, bound in
Macbeth. Act iii. Sc. 4.
Ibid. Thou canst not say I did it; never shake Thy gory locks at me.
Ibid. The air-drawn dagger.
The time has been,
Ibid. I drink to the general joy o' the whole table.
Ibid. Thou hast no speculation in those eyes Which thou dost glare with!
Ibid. A thing of custom, - 't is no other; Only it spoils the pleasure of the time.
Ibid. What man dare, I dare: Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear, The arm'd rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger, Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves Shall never tremble.
Ibid. Hence, horrible shadow! Unreal mockery, hence!
Ibid. You have displac'd the mirth, broke the good meeting, With most admir'd disorder.
Ibid. Can such things be, And overcome us like a summer's cloud, Without our special wonder ?
Stand not upon the order of your going,
What is the night? L. Macb. Almost at odds with morning, which is which.
Macbeth. Act ii, Sc. 4.
I am in blood
Sc. 5. Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.
Act iv. Sc. 1. Eye of newt and toe of frog, Wool of bat and tongue of dog.
Ibid. How now, you secret, black, and midnight hags! Ibid. A deed without a name.
Ibid. I'll make assurance double sure, And take a bond of fate.
Ibid. Show his eyes, and grieve his heart; Come like shadows, so depart!
Ibid. What, will the line stretch out to the crack of doom ?
Ibid. I'll charm the air to give a sound, While you perform your antic round.1
Ibid. The weird sisters.
Ibid. he flighty purpose never is o'ertook, Unless the deed go with it.
Ibid. When our actions do not, Our fears do make us traitors.
i Let the air strike our tune, Whilst we show reverence to yond peeping moon.
MIDDLETON : The Witch, act v. sc. 2
Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell.
Macbeth, Act iv. Sc. 3 Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell, Uproar the universal peace, confound All unity on earth.
Stands Scotland where it did ?
Give sorrow words: the grief that does not speak
Ibid. I cannot but remember such things were, That were most precious to me.
Ibid. 0, I could play the woman with mine eyes And braggart with my tongue.
Ibid. The night is long that never finds the day.
Ibid. Out, damned spot! out, I say !
Act v. Sc. 1. Fie, my lord, fie! a soldier, and afеard ?
Ibid. Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him ?
Ibid. All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand.
Ibid. Till Birnam wood remove to Dunsinane, I cannot taint with fear.
My way of life
Not so sick, my lord,
Cure her of that.
Therein the patient
Macbeth. Act v. Sc. 3.
Ibid. Hang out our banners on the outward walls; The cry is still, “ They come !" our castle's strength Will laugh a siege to scorn.
Sc. 5. My fell of hair Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir As life were in ’t: I have supp'd full with horrors. Ibid. To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, 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. Out, out, brief candle ! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player That struts and frets his hour upon the stage And then is heard no more: it is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.
Ibid. I pull in resolution, and begin To doubt the equivocation of the fiend That lies like truth: “Fear not, till Birnam wood Do come to Dunsinane."
I gin to be aweary of the sun.
Macbeth. Aci t. Sc. 5. Blow, wind ! come, wrack ! At least we'll die with harness on our back.
Ibid, Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death.
Sc. 6. I bear a charmed life.
Sc. 8.1 And be these juggling fiends no more believ'd, That palter with us in a double sense : That keep the word of promise to our ear And break it to our hope.
Ibid.1 Live to be the show and gaze o' the time.
Ibid.1 Lay on, Macduff, And damn'd be him that first cries, “ Hold, enough!”
Ibid. 1 For this relief much thanks : 't is bitter cold, And I am sick at heart.
Hamlet. Act i. Sc. 1. But in the gross and scope of my opinion, This bodes some strange eruption to our state. Ibid.
Whose sore task Does not divide the Sunday from the week.
Ibid. This sweaty haste Doth make the night joint-labourer with the day. Ibid. In the most high and palmy state of Rome, A little ere the mightiest Julius fell, The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets.
Ibid. And then it started like a guilty thing Upon a fearful summons.
Ibid, Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air, The extravagant and erring spirit hies To his confine.
1 Act v. Sc. 7 in Singer and White.