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Fair is foul, and foul is fair:
Our bosom interest:—go pronounce his present death, 75 And with his former title greet Macbeth.
DUNCAN What he hath lost noble Macbeth hath won.
Were such things here as we do speak about? Or have we eaten on the ínsane root That takes the reason prisoner?
MACBETH 155 [Aside.] If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me, Without my stir.
Come what come may, Time and the hour runs through the roughest day.
For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires:
That I may pour my spirits in thine ear; And chastise with the valour of my tongue All that impedes thee from the golden round, Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem To have thee crown’d withal.
Under my battlements. Come, you spirits That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here; 45 And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full
Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between 50 Th’ effect and it! Come to my woman’s breasts, And take my milk for gall, your murdering ministers, Wherever in your sightless substances
That my keen knife see not the wound it makes
look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under’t.
Only look up clear; 80 To alter favour ever is to fear: Leave all the rest to me.
Who should against his murderer shut the door, Not bear the knife myself.
what news?
I just internaly read this in Christian Borle's voice from the song Hard to be the Bard in the musical Something Rotten
And, to be more than what you were, you would Be so much more the man.
Have pluck’d my nipple from his boneless gums, And dash’d the brains out, had I so sworn as you Have done to this.
MACBETH 65 If we should fail? LADY MACBETH We fail!
Im gonna hold your hand when i tell yall this-
am settled, and bend up
Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand?
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible 45 To feeling as to sight? or art thou but A dagger of the mind, a false creation,
That summons thee to heaven or to hell.
That death and nature do contend about them, Whether they live or die.
These deeds must not be thought After these ways; so, it will make us mad.
Give me the daggers: the sleeping and the dead
A little water clears us of this deed:
Whose execution takes your enemy off; Grapples you to the heart and love of us, Who wear our health but sickly in his life, 115 Which in his death were perfect.
It is concluded:—Banquo, thy soul’s flight, If it find heaven, must find it out to-night.
We have scotch’d the snake, not kill’d it;
In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave; After life’s fitful fever he sleeps well;
Double, double toil and trouble; Fire, burn; and, caldron, bubble.
Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! Beware Macduff; Beware the thane of Fife.—Dismiss me:—enough.
Be bloody, bold, and resolute; laugh to scorn The power of man, for none of woman born Shall harm Macbeth.
Show his eyes, and grieve his heart; Come like shadows, so depart!
Our fears do make us traitors.
SON Nay, how will you do for a husband? LADY MACDUFF 45 Why, I can buy me twenty at any market.
Thou liest, thou shag-hair’d villain! FIRST MURDERER 90 [Stabbing him.] What, you egg!
SON He has kill’d me, mother: Run away, I pray you!
MACDUFF Bleed, bleed, poor country! Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure, For goodness dare not check thee! wear thou thy wrongs, The title is affeer’d.—Fare thee well, lord: 40 I would not be the villain that thou think’st For the whole space that’s in the tyrant’s grasp, And the rich East to boot.
interesting
MACDUFF How does my wife? ROSS 200 Why, well. MACDUFF And all my children? ROSS Well too.
Liar
ROSS 235 Your castle is surpris’d; your wife and babes Savagely slaughter’d: to relate the manner, Were, on the quarry of these murder’d deer, To add the death of you.
Bro you just said the were fine
Yet who 35 would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?
The devil damn thee black, thou cream-fac’d loon! Where gott’st thou that goose look?
I love shakespeare insults
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 25 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, 30 Signifying nothing.
MACBETH They have tied me to a stake; I cannot fly, But, bear-like, I must fight the course.—What’s he That was not born of woman? Such a one Am I to fear, or none.
[They fight, and young SIWARD is slain.]
Man lasted all of 2 seconds
MACDUFF I have no words,— My voice is in my sword:
Badass
Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother’s womb 20 Untimely ripp’d.
ROSS Your son, my lord, has paid a soldier’s debt: 45 He only liv’d but till he was a man; The which no sooner had his prowess confirm’d In the unshrinking station where he fought, But like a man he died. SIWARD Then he is dead?
Ross really keeing everfyone on edge with all these dead son visits
[Re-enter MACDUFF, with MACBETH’S head on a pole.]
Well damn
