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ancient answer appears Attendants bear believe better blood bring comes Count daughter death Duke Enter Exeunt Exit eyes face fair father fear fellow fool fortune give gone hand hast hath head hear heart heaven hold honour hope horse I'll JOHNS JOHNSON Kath keep kind king lady leave live look lord Macb Macbeth Macd madam marry master mean mind mistress nature never night noble once Paul play poor pray present queen reason SCENE seems sense servant serve Shakspeare sleep speak stand stay STEEV sweet tell thank thee There's thine thing thou thou art thought true wife Witch woman young
第25页 - 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.
第26页 - 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 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...
第42页 - Come, seeling night, Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day ; And with thy bloody and invisible hand Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond Which keeps me pale ! — Light thickens ; and the crow Makes wing to the rooky wood : Good things of day begin to droop and drowse; Whiles night's black agents to their prey do rouse.
第17页 - 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, That no compunctious visitings of nature Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between The effect and it!
第55页 - Say there be; Yet nature is made better by no mean, But nature makes that mean: so, o'er that art, Which you say adds to nature, is an art That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry A gentler scion to the wildest stock, And make conceive a bark of baser kind By bud of nobler race: this is an art Which does mend nature, — change it rather; but The art itself is nature.
第46页 - Too terrible for the ear: the times have been, That, when the brains were out, the man would die, And there an end: but now, they rise again, With twenty mortal murders on their crowns, And push us from our stools: This is more strange Than such a murder is.
第65页 - Tis call'd the evil : A most miraculous work in this good king ; Which often, since my here-remain in England, I have seen him do. How he solicits heaven. Himself best knows : but strangely-visited people, All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye, The mere despair of surgery, he cures ; Hanging a golden stamp about their necks, Put on with holy prayers : and 'tis spoken, To the succeeding royalty he leaves The healing benediction.
第56页 - What you do, Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet, I'd have you do it ever: when you sing, I'd have you buy and sell so; so give alms; Pray so ; and, for the ordering your affairs, To sing them too : When you do dance, I wish you A wave o...