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We 'ld 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 poisoned chalice
To our own lips.
Macbeth. Act i. Sc. 7.

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, horsed
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 have bought

Ibid.

Golden opinions from all sorts of people.

Ibid.

Letting 'I dare not' wait upon 'I would,'
Like the poor cat i' the adage.

Ibid.

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

Ibid.

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But screw your courage to the sticking-place,
And we 'll not fail.

Ibid.

Memory, the warder of the brain. Macbeth. Act i. Sc. 7.

There's husbandry in heaven

Their candles are all out.

Shut up

Act ii. Sc. 1.

In measureless content.

Is this a dagger which I see before me,
The handle toward my hand?

thee.

Ibid.

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?

Ibid.

Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going.

Ibid.

Now o'er the one half-world

Nature seems dead.

Ibid.

Thou sure and firm-set earth,

Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear

Thy very stones prate of my whereabout.

Ibid.

Hear it not, Duncan; for it is a knell

That summons thee to heaven or to hell.

Ibid.

It was the owl that shrieked, the fatal bellman,
Which gives the stern'st good-night.

Act ii. Sc. 2.

Confounds us.

Ibid.

The attempt and not the deed

I had most need of blessing, and 'Amen'

Stuck in my throat.

1 Act ii. Sc. 1, Dyce, Staunton, White.

Ibid.

Methought I heard a voice cry, 'Sleep no more!
Macbeth does murder sleep,' the innocent sleep,
Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleave of care,
The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath,
Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course,
Chief nourisher in life's feast.

Infirm of purpose!

Macbeth. Act ii. Sc. 2.1

Ibid.1

'Tis the eye of childhood

That fears a painted devil.

Ibid.1

Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood
Clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather
The multitudinous seas incarnadine,

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Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope

The Lord's anointed temple, and stole thence
The life o' the building!

Ibid.2

The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees

Is left this vault to brag of.

Ibid.2

Who can be wise, amazed, temperate and furious,

Loyal and neutral, in a moment?

Ibid.2

1 Act ii. Sc. 1, Dyce, Staunton, White.

2 Act ii. Sc. 1, Dyce, White; Act ii. Sc. 2, Staunton.

There's daggers in men's smiles.

Macbeth. Act ii. Sc. 3.1

A falcon, towering in her pride of place,

Was by a mousing owl hawked at and killed.

Thriftless ambition, that wilt ravin up
Thine own life's means!

I must become a borrower of the night
For a dark hour or twain.

Let every man be master of his time
Till seven at night.

Act ii. Sc. 4.2

Ibid.2

Act iii. Sc. 1.

Ibid.

Upon my head they placed a fruitless crown,
And put a barren sceptre in my gripe,

Thence to be wrenched with an unlineal hand,
No son of mine succeeding.

Ibid.

Mur.

We are men, my liege.

Mac. Ay, in the catalogue ye go for men.

Ibid.

I am one, my liege,

Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world

Have so incensed that I am reckless what

I do to spite the world.

Ibid.

So weary with disasters, tugged with fortune,
That I would set my life on any chance,

Ibid.

To mend it, or be rid on 't.

Things without all remedy

Should be without regard: what's done is done.

We have scotched the snake, not killed it.

Act iii. Sc. 2.

1 Act ii. Sc. 1, Dyce, White; Act ii. Sc. 2, Staunton.
2 Act ii. Sc. 2, Dyce, White; Act ii. Sc. 3, Staunton.

Ibid.

Better be with the dead,

Whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace,
Than on the torture of the mind to lie

In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave;
After life's fitful fever he sleeps well;

Treason has done his worst: nor steel, nor poison,
Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing,

Can touch him further.

In them nature's copy 's not eterne.

A deed of dreadful note.

Macbeth. Act iii. Sc. 2.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill. Ibid.

Now spurs the lated traveller apace

To gain the timely inn.

Act iii. Sc. 3.

But now I am cabined, cribbed, confined, bound in

To saucy doubts and fears.

Act iii. Sc. 4.

Now, good digestion wait on appetite,

And health on both!

Ibid.

Thou canst not say I did it: never shake

Thy gory locks at me.

Ibid.

The air-drawn dagger.

Ibid.

The times have been,

That, when the brains were out, the man would die, And there an end; but now they rise again,

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