Cordelia on the Ingratitude of her Sisters.
O, my dear father! Restoration, hang
Thy medicine on my lips; and let this kiss
Repair those violent harms, that my two sisters
Have in thy reverence made!

Had you not been their father, these white flakes
Had challeng'd pity of them. Was this a face
To be expos'd against the warring winds?
Tostand against the deep, dread-bolted thunder?
In the most terrible and nimble stroke
Of quick cross lightning? to watch (poor perdu!)
Within this thin helm? Mine enemy's dog
Though he had bit me, should have stood that

Against my fire; and wast thou fain, poor father,
To hovel thee with swine, and rogues forlorn,
In short and musty straw? Alack! alack!
'Tis wonder that thy life and wits at once
Had not concluded all.

Scene between Lear and Cordelia.

Cord. How does my royal lord? how fares your majesty?

Lear. You do me wrong to take me out o' the grave.

Thou art a soul in bliss; but I am bound
Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears
Do scald like molten lead.

Cord. Sir, do you know me?

Lear. You are a spirit, I know; when did you die?

Cord. Still, still far wide!
[a while.
Phys. He's scarce awake, let him alone
Lear. Where have I been? where am I?-
Fair day-light!

I am mightily abus'd.—I should even die with
To see another thus.-I will not swear
These are my hands.

Cord. O look upon me, Sir,

And hold your hands in benediction o'er me: No, Sir, you must not kneel.

Lear. Pray, do not mock me : I am a very foolish fond old man, Fourscore and upward: and, to deal plainly, I fear I am not in my perfect mind. Methinks I should know you, and know this

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Lear to Cordelia, when taken Prisoners.

No, no, no, no! come, let's away to prison: We two alone will sing like birds i' the cage: When thou dost ask me blessing, I'll kneel down,

And ask of thee forgiveness: so we'll live, And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh

At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues Talk of court news; and we'll talk with them


[outWho loses, and who wins; who's in, who's And take upon us the mystery of things, As if we were God's spies; and we'll wear out, In a wall'd prison, packs and sects of great ones, That ebb and flow by the moon.

Edm. Take them away.

Lear. Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia, The gods themselves throw incense.

The Justice of the Gods.

The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices Make instruments to scourge us.

Edgar's Account of his discovering himself to his Father, &c.

List a brief tale:

And, when 'tis told, O that my heart would


The bloody proclamation to escape,

That follow'd me so near (O 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
That very dogs disdain'd: and in this habit
Met I my father, with his bleeding rings,
Their precious stones new lost; became his
Led him, begg'd for him, sav'd him from de-
Never (O fault!) reveal'd myself unto him,
Until some half-hour past, when I was arm'd,
Not sure, though hoping, of this good success,
I ask'd his blessing, and from first to last
Told him my pilgrimage: but his flaw'd heart
(Alack, too weak the conflict to support!)
'Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief,
Burst smilingly.

Bast. This speech of yours hath mov'd me, And shall, perchance, do good: but speak you


You look as you had something more to say.

Alb. If there be more, more woful, hold For I am almost ready to dissolve, [it in s Hearing of this.

Edg. This would have seem'd a period To such as love not sorrow: but another,

Phys. Be comforted, good madam: the great To amplify too much, would make much more


And top extremity.

Whilst I was big in clamor, came there a Lady Macbeth, on the News of Duncan's


Who having seen me in my worst estate, Shunn'd my abhorr'd society; but, then, finding Who 'twas that so endur'd, with his strong


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And there I left him tranc'd.

Lear on the Death of Cordelia. Howl, howl, howl, howl!) you are men of stones!

Had I your tongues and eyes, I'd use them so That heaven's vault should crack.-O, she is gone for ever!

I know when one is dead, and when one lives;
She's dead as earth: lend me a looking-glass;
If that her breath will mist or stain the stone,
Why, then she lives.

This feather stirs; she lives! If it be so,
It is a chance which does redeem all sorrows,
That ever I have felt.

Kent. O, my good master!
Lear. Pr'ythee away—

A plague upon you, murderers, traitors all!
I might have sav'd her; now she's gone for


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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 th' access and passage to remorse;
That no compunctious visitings of nature
The effect and it! Come to my woman's breasts,
Shake my fell purpose, nor keep pace between
And take my milk for gall, you murd'ring mi-

The raven himself is hoarse,

Wherever in your sightless substances [night,
You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick
And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell,
That my keen knife see not the wound it makes;
Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the
To cry, "Hold! hold!"-

Macbeth's Irresolution.

It were done quickly: if the assassination [well
Could trammel up 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

If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere


We still have judgement here; that we but
Bloody instructions, which being taught, return
To plague the inventor: this even-handed
Commends the ingredients of our poison'd
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
The deep damnation of his taking-off:
And pity, like a naked new-born babe,
Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubin, hors'd
Upon the sightless couriers of the air,
Shall blow the horrid deed in ev'ry eye, [spur
That tears shall drown the wind-I have no
To prick the sides of my intent, but only
Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself,
And falls on the other.

True Fortitude.

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

The murdering Scene. Macbeth alone.
Is this a dagger, which I see before me,
The handle tow'rd 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 I now draw-

Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going; And such an instrument I was to use. [senses, Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other 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 half

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, [pace,
Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy
With Tarquin's ravishing strides, tow'rds his
Moves like a ghost-Thou sure and firm-set
Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for
Thy very stones prate of my where-about, [fear
And take the present horror from the time,
Which now suits with it-Whiles I threat,
he lives-
[A bell rings.
I go, and it is done; the bell invites me.
Hear it not, Duncan; for it is a knell
That summons thee to heaven or to hell. [Exit.
Enter Lady.
Lady. That which hath made them drunk,
hath made me bold :
[Hark! peace!
What hath quench'd them, hath given me fire:
It was the owl that shriek'd, the fatal bell-man,
Which gives the stern'st good night. He is

about it:

The doors are open; and the surfeited grooms Do mock their charge with snores; I have drugg'd their possets,

That death and nature do contend about them, Whether they live or die.

Macb. [Within] Who's there?-what, ho! Lady. Alack! I am afraid they have awak'd, And 'tis not done :—the attempt, and not the deed, [ready, Confounds us!-hark!-1 laid their daggers He could not miss 'em.-Had he not resembled My father as he slept, I had don't.--My husband?

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Macb. One cried, "God bless us!" and "Amen!" the other; [hands, As they had seen me, with these hangman's Listening their fear. I could not say, Amen, When they did say, God bless us.

Lady. Consider it not so deeply. [Amen? Macb. But wherefore could not I pronounce I had most need of blessing, and Amen Stuck in my throat.

Lady. These deeds must not be thought After these ways; so it will make us mad. Macb. Methought I heard a voice cry,

"Sleep no more!

Macbeth doth murder sleep, the innocent sleep.
Sleep, that knits up the ravell'd sleave of care,
The death of each days's life, sore labor's bath,
Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second
Chief nourisher in life's feast." [course,
Lady. What do you mean? [the house:
Macb. Still it cried, "Sleep no more!" to all
"Glamis hath murder'd sleep; and therefore
Shall sleep no more, Macbeth shall sleep no
Lady. Who was it that thus cried? Why,

worthy Thane,

You do unbend your noble strength, to think So brain-sickly of things: go, get some water, And wash this filthy witness from your hand. Why did you bring these daggers from the place?

They must lie there: go, carry them; and smear The sleepy grooms with blood.

Much. I'll go no more:

I am afraid to think what I have done ;
Look on't again I dare not.

Lady. Infirm of purpose!

Give me the daggers: the sleeping, and the dead,

Are but as pictures: 'tis the eye of childhood
That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed,
I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal,
For it must seem their guilt.

Knocking within.


Mach. Whence is that knocking? [Starting. How is 't with me, when ev'ry noise appals me? What hands are here? Ha! they pluck out

mine eyes!

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Lady. My hands are of your color; but I [Knock.


To wear a heart so white. I hear a knocking
At the south entry. Retire we to our chamber;
A little water clears us of this deed:
How easy is it then! Your constancy
Hath left you unattended-hark! more knock-
Get on your night-gown, lest occasion call us,
And show us to be watchers: be not lost
So poorly in your thoughts.

Macb. To know my deed-'twere best not know myself.

Wake, Duncan, with this knocking! I would thou couldst!

Macbeth's guilty Conscience, and Fears of |


Enter Macbeth to his Lady. Lady. How now, my lord? why do you keep alone,

Of sorriest fancies your companions making? Using those thoughts which should indeed have died

With them they think on? Things without all remedy

[done. Should be without regard: what's done, is Macb. We have scotch'd the snake, not kill'd it; [malice She'll close and be herself, whilst our poor Remains in danger of her former tooth. But let the frame of things disjoint, both the worlds suffer,

Ere we will eat our meal in fear, and sleep
In the affliction of these terrible dreams,
That shake us nightly. Better be with the dead
Whom we, to gain our place, 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 poi-
Malice domestic, foreign levy; nothing [son,
Can touch him farther!

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Mucb. Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on Which might appal the devil. [that

Lady. O proper stuff! This is the very painting of your fear: [Aside. This is the air-drawn dagger, which, you said, Led you to Duncan. O these flaws and starts (Impostors to true fear) would well become A woman's story at a winter's fire, Authoriz'd by her grandm. Shame itself! Why do you make such faces? when all's done, You look but on a stool.

Macb. Pr'ythee, see there! Behold! look! lo! how say you?

[Pointing to the Ghost. Why, what care I? if thou canst nod, speak


If charnel-houses and our graves must send Those, that we bury, back-our monuments Shall be the maws of kites.

[The Ghost vanishes. Lady. What! quite unmann'd in folly? Macb. If I stand here, I saw him. Lady. Fie, for shame!

[olden time, Macb. Blood hath been shed ere now, i' the Ere human statute purg'd the gen'ral weal; Ay, and since too, murders have been perform'd Too terrible for the ear: the times have been, That, when the brains were out, the man

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I drink to the general joy of the whole table, And to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss: Would he were here! to all, and him, we And all to all. [thirst, Lords. Our duties, and the pledge. [The Ghost rises again. Macb. Avaunt! and quit my sight! Let the earth hide thee!

Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold; Thou hast no speculation in those eyes, Which thou dost glare with!

Lady. Think of this, good peers, But as a thing of custom: 'tis no other; Only it spoils the pleasure of the time. Macb. What man dare, I dare: Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear, The arm'd rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger; Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves Shall never tremble; or, be alive again, And dare me to the desert with thy sword; If trembling I inhibit thee, protest me The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow! Unreal mockery, hence! Why, so being [The Ghost vanishes. I am a man again.-Pray yon, sit still.


[The Lords rise. Lady. You have displac'd the mirth, broke the good meeting.

With most admir'd disorder.
Macb. Can such things be,
And overcome us like a summer's cloud,
Without our special wonder? You make me
Even to the disposition that I owe, [strange,
When now I think you can behold such sights,
And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks,
When inine are blanch'd with fear.

Rosse. What sights, my lord?
Lady. I pray you, speak not; he grows
worse and worse;

Question enrages him: at once, good night : Stand not upon the order of your going:

But go at once.

Len. Good night, and better health

Attend his majesty.

Lady. A kind good night to all.

[Exeunt Lords. Macb. It will have blood, they say; blood will have blood: [speak; Stones have been known to move, and trees to Augurs, and understood relations, have By magot-pies, and choughs, and rooks, brought The secret'st man of blood.

Witches: their Power.


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Malcolm's Character of himself. Mal. But I have none: the king-becoming


As justice, verity, temperance, stableness,
Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness,
Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude,
I have no relish of them; but abound
In the division of each several crime,
Acting it many ways. Nay, had I pow'r I

Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell,
Uproar the universal peace, confound
All unity on earth.

Macd. O Scotland, Scotland!

Mal. If such a one be fit to govern, speak ; I am as I have spoken.

Macd. Fit to govern!

No, not to live.-O nation miserable,
With an untitled tyrant, bloody-sceptred,
When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again?
Since that the truest issue of thy throne
By his own interdiction stands accurst,
And does blaspheme his breed? Thy_royal
Was a most sainted king; the queen that bore
Oft'ner upon her knees than on her feet,
Died ev'ry day she liv'd. Fare thee well!
These evils thou repeat'st upon thyself,
Have banish'd me from Scotland. Ö my breast,
Thy hope ends here!

Mal. Macduff, this noble passion,
Child of integrity, hath from my soul
Wip'd the black scruples, reconcil'd my
To thy good truth and honor. Devilish Mac-
By many of these trains hath sought to win me
Into his pow'r; and modest wisdom plucks me
From over-credulous haste: but God above
Deal between thee and me! for even now


put myself to thy direction, and Unspeak mine own detraction; here abjure The taints and blames I laid upon myself, For strangers to my nature. I am yet Unknown to woman; never was forsworn; Scarcely have coveted what was mine own; At no time broke my faith; would not betray The devil to his fellow; and delight [ing No less in truth than life; my first false speak. Was this upon myself. What I am truly, Is thine, and my poor country's, to command. An oppressed Country.

Alas! poor country;

Almost afraid to know itself! It cannot
Be call'd our mother, but our grave; where

But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile:
Where sighs, and groans, and shrieks that rent
the air,
Are made, not mark'd; where violent sorrow
A modern ecstasy; the dead man's knell
Is there scarce ask'd, for who; and good men's
Expire before the flowers in their caps, [lives
Dying, or ere they sicken.

Macduff on the Murder of his Wife and

Rosse. Would I could answer This comfort with the like! but I have words,

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