That shapes this monstrous apparition—

It comes upon me-Art thou any thing?
Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil,
That mak'st my blood cold, and my hair to stare?
Speak to me, what thou art.

Light thickens: and the crow
Makes wing to the rooky wood,

Good things of day begin to droop and drowse;
While night's black agents to their prey do rouse.
Thou marvell'd at my words: but hold thee still;
Things, bad begun, make strong themselves by ill.
Alas, I am afraid they have awak'd,

And 'tis not done; th' attempt and not the deed,
Confounds us- -Hark!—I laid the daggers ready,
He could not miss them. Had he not resembled
My father as he slept, I had done it.

Enter MACBETH.

Mac. I've done the deed-didst thou not hear a noise? Lady. I heard the owl scream, and the crickets cry. Did you not speak?

Mac. When?

Lady. Now.

Mac. As I descended?

Lady. Ay.

Mac. Hark-who lies i' th' second chamber?

Lady. Donalbain.

Mac. This is a sorry sight.

Lady. A foolish thought to say a sorry sight.

Mac. There's one did laugh in his sleep, and one cry'd murder!

That they did wake each other; I stood and heard them:

But they did say their pray'rs, and address'd them

Again to sleep.

Lady. There are two lodg'd together.

Mac. One cried, God bless us! and Amen, the other;

As they had seen me with these hangman's hands,

Listening their fear; I could not say Amen,

When they did say God bless us.

Lady. Consider it not so deeply.

Mac. But wherefore could I not pronounce Amen? I had most need of blessing, and Amen

Stuck in my throat.

Sorrow.

SEEMS, madam? nay, it is: I know not seems.
'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother,

Nor customary suits of solemn black,

Nor windy suspiration of forc'd breath;
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,
Nor the dejected "haviour of the visage,

W

Together with all forms, modes, shows of grief
That can denote me truly: these indeed seem,
For they are actions that a man might play;
But I have that within which passeth show,
These but the trappings and the fruits of woe.

Remorse.

Oя when the last account 'twixt heaven and earth.
Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal
Witness against us to damnation !

How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds
Makes deeds ill done! Hadst not thou been by,
A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd,
Quoted and sign'd to do a deed of shame,
This murder had not come into my mind,
But taking note of thy abhorred aspect,
Finding thee fit for bloody villany,
Apt, liable to be employed in danger,
I faintly broke with thee of Arthur's death;
And thou, to be endeared to a king,

Mad'st it no conscience to destroy a prince.

Despair.

K. Hen. How fares my lord? speak, Beaufort, to thy sovereign. Car. If thou be'st Death, I'll give thee England's treasure, Enough to purchase such another island,

So thou wilt let me live and feel no pain.

K. Hen. Ah, what a sign it is of evil life,

When death's approach is seen so terrible!

War. Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee.
-Car. Bring me to my trial when you will,

Dy'd he not in his bed? where should he die?

Can I make men live, whether they will or no?---
Oh! torture me no more, I will confess.

Alive again? then show me where he is,

I'll give athousand pounds to look upon him.-
He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them-

Comb down his hair; look! look! it stands upright,
Like lime-twigs to catch my winged soul!
Give me some drink, and hid the apothecary
Bring the strong poison that I bought of him.

K. Hen. O thou eternal Mover of the heavens,

Look with gentle eye upon this wretch;

O beat away the busy meddling fiend,

That lays strong siege unto this wretch's soul,

And from his bosom purge this black despair!

War. See how the pangs of death do make him grin.

K. Hen. Peace to his soul, if God's good pleasure be!
Lord Cardinal, if thou think'st on Heav'n's bliss,
Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope,
He dies, and makes no sign: O God, forgive him..

Surprise and Astonishment.

GONE to be married, gone to swear a peace!
False blood to false blood join'd! Gone to be friends!
Shall Lewis have Blanch? and Blanch those provinces ?
It is not so: thou hast misspoke, misheard!

Be well advis'd, tell o'er thy tale again:

It cannot be thou dost but say 'tis so.
What dost thou mean by shaking of thy head?
Why dost thou look so sadly on my son?

What means that hand upon that breast of thine?
Why holds thine eye that lamentable rheum,
Like a proud river peering o'er his bounds?
Be these sad sighs confirmers of thy words?
Then speak again; not all thy former tale,
But this one word, whether thy tale be true.

Sir Richard, what think you? Have you beheld,
Or, have you read, or heard? or could you think?
Or do you almost think, although you see,
That you do see? Could thought, without this object,
Form such another? This is the very top,
The height, the crest, or crest unto the crest

Of Murder's arms: This is the bloodiest shame,
The wildest savagꞌry, the vilest stroke,

That ever wall-ey'd Wrath, or starving Rage,
Presented to the tears of soft Remorse.

Pride.

YOUR grace shall pardon me, I will not back;
I am too high born to be property'd;

To be a secondary at control,

Or useful serving-man and instrument

To any sovereign state throughout the world.
Your breath first kindled the dead coal of war
Between this chastis'd kingdom and myself,
And brought in matter that should feed this fire:
And now 'tis far too huge to be blown out
With that same weak wind which enkindled it.
You taught me how to know the face of right,
Acquainted me with interest to this land;
Yea, thrust this enterprise into my heart;
And come ye now to tell me John hath made
His peace with Rome? What is that peace to me?
I, by the honour of my marriage-bed,

After young Arthur, claim this land for mine;

And now, it is half conquered, must I back,

Because that John hath made his peace with Rome? Am I Rome's slave? What penny hath Rome borne, What men provided, what munition sent,

To under-prop this action? Is't not I

That undergo this charge? Who else but I,

I will oppose his fate.

Our force by land

Hath nobly held: our sever'd navy, too,

Have knit again, and fleet, threat'ning most sea-like. Where hast thou been, my heart? Dost thou hear, lady? If from the field I should return once more,

I will appear in blood;

I and my sword will earn my chronicle; 'There is hope in it yet:

I will be treble-sinew'd, hearted, breath'd,
And fight maliciously: for when mine hours
Were nice and lucky, men did ransom lives
Of me for jests; but now I'll set my teeth,
And send to darkness all that stop me.

Show me what thou'lt do;

Woo't weep? woo't fight? woo't fast? woo't tear thyself? Woo't drink up esil; eat a crocodile ?

I'll do't-Do'st thou come here to whine,

To outface me with leaping in her grave?

Be buried quick with her, and so will I :

And if thou prate of mountains, let them throw
Millions of acres on us; till our ground,
Singeing its pate against the burning zone,
Make Ossa like a wart! Nay, an thou'lt mouth
I'll rant as well as thou.

Perplexity.

YES; 'tis Æmilia :-by and by.-She's dead.
'Tis like she comes to speak of Cassio's death;
The noise was high.-Ha! no more moving?
Still as the grave.-Shall she come in, wer't good?
I think she stirs again :-No.-What's the best?
If she come in she'll sure speak to my wife.

Vexation.

O WHAT a rogue and peasant slave am I !
Is it not monstrous, that this player here,

But in a fiction, in a dream of passion,
Could force his soul so to his own conceit,
That from her working all his visage warm'd,
Tears in his eyes, distraction in his aspect,
A broken voice, and his whole function suiting
With forms to his conceit! and all for nothing;
For Hecuba!

What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba,
That he should weep for her?

Peevishness.

Troi. What, art thou angry, Pandarus? what, with me!

Pan. Because she's akin to me therefore, she's not so fair as Helen; an she were not kin to me, she would be as fair on Friday as Helen is on Sunday. But what care I? I care not an she were a blackamoor, 'tis all

one to me.

Troi. Say I she is not fair?

Pan. I do not care whether you do or no. She's a fool to stay behind her father: let her to the Greeks-and so I'll tell her the next time I see her-for my part, I'll meddle nor make no more i' th' matter.

Troi. Pandarus

Pan. Not I.

Troi. Sweet Pandarus

Pan. Pray you speak no more to me-I will leave all as I found itand there's an end.

Malice.

How like a fawning publican he looks!
I hate him, for he is a Christian;

But more for that, in low simplicity,

He lends out money gratis, and brings down
The rate of usance here with us in Venice.
If I can catch him once upon the hip,

I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him.
He hates our sacred nation, and he rails
Ev'n there where merchants most do congregate,
On me, my bargains, and my well won thrift,
Which he calls interest. Cursed be my tribe
If I forgive him.

How blest am I

Jealousy.

In my just censure! in my true opinion I-~
Alack for lesser knowledge !-how accurs'd
In being so bless'd! There may be in the cup
A spider steep'd, and one may drink, depart,
And yet partake no venom, for his knowledge
Is not infected; but if one present

The abhorr'd ingredient to his eye, make known
How he hath drunk, he cracks his gorge, his sides,
With violent hefts.I have drunk, and seen the spider!,