MACBETH.

FIRST WITCH.

When shall we three meet again?

CAPTAIN.

The multiplying villainies of nature
Do swarm upon him.

BANQUO.

Or have we eaten on the insane root

That takes the reason prisoner?

Act 1, Sc. 1, l. 1.

Act 1, Sc. 1, l. 11.

Act 1, Sc. 3, l. 84.

BANQUO.

And oftentimes, to win us to our harm,
The instruments of darkness tell us truths,
Win us with honest trifles, to betray's

In deepest consequence.

Act 1, Sc. 3, l. 123.

Became him like the leaving it: he died

As one that had been studied in his death,

To throw away the dearest thing he ow'd,
As 't were a careless trifle.

DUNCAN.

Act 1, Sc. 4, l. 7.

There's no art

To find the mind's construction in the face.

DUNCAN.

Act 1, Sc. 4, l. 12.

Thou art so far before

That swiftest wing of recompense is slow

To overtake thee; 'would thou hadst less de

serv'd,

That the proportion both of thanks and payment Might have been mine! only I have left to say More is thy due than more than all can pay.

LADY MACBETH.

Act 1, Sc. 4, l. 16.

What thou wouldst highly,

That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false,

And yet wouldst wrongly win.

LADY MACBETH.

Act 1, Sc. 5, l. 19.

Thy letters have transported me beyond
This ignorant present, and I feel now

The future in the instant.

Act 1, Sc. 5, l. 53.

DUNCAN.

Nimbly and sweetly the air recommends itself
Unto our gentle senses.

MACBETH.

Act 1, Sc. 6, l. 1.

If it were done, when 't is done, then 't were well It were done quickly: if th' 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 th' inventor; this even-handed justice
Commends th' ingredients of our poisoned chalice
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 cherubim 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.

Act 1, Sc. 7, l. 1.

LADY MACBETH.

Was the hope drunk,

Wherein you dress'd yourself?

Act 1, Sc. 7, l. 35.

LADY MACBETH.

Letting "I dare not wait upon

Like the poor cat i' th' adage?

MACBETH.

"I would,"

Act 1, Sc. 7, l. 44.

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

LADY MACBETH.

Act 1, Sc. 7, l. 46.

But screw your courage to the sticking place,

And we 'll not fail.

MACBETH.

Act 1, Sc. 7, l. 60.

I am settled, and bend up

Each corporal agent to this terrible feat.

Away, and mock the time with fairest show:

False face must hide what the false heart doth

know.

MACBETH.

Act 1, Sc. 7, l. 79.

Is this a dagger which I see before me,

The handle toward my hand? Come, let me

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 marshall'st me the way that I was going; And such an instrument I was to use,

Mine eyes are made the fools o' th' other senses,

Or else worth all the rest: I see thee still;
And on the 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; 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.

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.

LADY MACBETH.

Act 2, Sc. 1, l. 33.

The attempt and not the deed

Confounds us.

Act 2, Sc. 2, 1. 10.