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
Had I your tongues and eyes, I'd use them so That heaven's vault should crack:-O, she is gone
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.
This feather stirs; she lives! if it be so, It is a chance that does redeem all sorrows
That ever I have felt.
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 so Gentle, and low.
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!
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
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.
That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false, And yet wouldst wrongly win.
LADY MACBETH'S SOLILOQUY ON THE NEWS OF
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 minis- Wherever in your sightless substances [ters, 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!
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.
I dare do all that may become a man;
Who dares do more, is none.
Is this a dagger, which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch
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 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*, gouts† 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 stones 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.
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
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