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You must bear with me: Pray now, forget, and forgive: I am old, and foolish.
pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh
upon us the mystery of things,
Take them away.
THE JUSTICE OF THE GODS.
OF HIS DISCOVERING HIMSELF
TO HIS FATHER. List* a brief tale;And, when 'tis told,'o, that my heart would burst ! The bloody proclamation to escape, That follow'd me so near, (0 our lives' sweetness!
That with the pain of death we'd hourly die, - Rather than die at once!) taught me to shift Into a madman's rags; to assume a semblance
very dog's disdain'd: and in this habit Met I 1
father with his bleeding rings, Their precious stones new lost; became his guide, Led him, begg’d for him, sav'd him from despair; Never (o fault!) reveald myself unto him, Until some half hour past, when I was arm’d, sure, though hoping, of this good success,
I ask'd his blessing, and from first to last
Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief,
Edm. This speech of your's hath mov'd me, And shall, perchance, do good; but speak you on: You look as you had something more to say:
Alb. If there be more, more woful, hold it in;
Edg. This would have seem'd a period
LEAR ON THE DEATH OF CORDELIA.
This feather stirs; she lives! if it be sd,
O my good master! [Kneeling.
Lear. Prgthee, away. 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 soft, 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? 0, thou wilt come no
more, Never, never, never, never, never!
highly, That wouldist thou holily; would’st not play false, And yet would'st wrongly win.
* Poor Fool, in the time of Shakespeare, was an expression of endearment.
LADY MACBETH'S SOLILOQUY ON THE NEWS
DUNCAN'S APPROACH. 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 remorse;t That no compunctious visitings of nature
purpose, nor keep peace between The effect and it! Come to my woman's breasts, And take my milk for gall, you murd'ring ministers, Wherever in your sightless substances You wait on Nature's mischief! Come, thick night; And pallt thee in the dunnest smoke of hell! That my keen knifeß see not the wound it makes; Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark, To cry, Hold, Hold!
MACBETH'S IRRESOLUTION. If it were done, when 'tis done, then 'twere well It were done quickly: If the assassination Could trammel upon 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 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 * Murderous. † Pity.
# Wrap, as in a mantle. s Knife anciently meant a sword or dagger
The deep damnation of his taking-off:
I dare do all that may become a man; Who dares do more is none.
THE MURDERING SCENE,
Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch
thee: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,t gouts of blood, Which was not so before. There's no such thing: It is the bloody business, which informis 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,
* Winds; sightless is invisible. #Haft.