Shakespere's Macbeth

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Scott, Foresman, 1898 - Всего страниц: 176

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Стр. 73 - Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse The curtain'd sleep : witchcraft celebrates Pale Hecate's offerings ; and wither'd murder, Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf, Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace, With Tarquin's ravishing strides towards his design Moves like a ghost — Thou sure and firm-set earth, Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear Thy very stones prate of my where-about, And take the present horror from the time, Which now suits with it.
Стр. 82 - Had I but died an hour before this chance, I had liv'da blessed time; for, from this instant, There's nothing serious in mortality : All is but toys : renown, and grace, is dead ; The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees Is left this vault to brag of.
Стр. 73 - 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?
Стр. 136 - Hell is murky ! — Fie, my lord, fie ! a soldier, and afeard ? What need we fear who knows it, when none can call our power to account? — Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him ? Doct. Do you mark that ? Lady M. The thane of Fife had a wife ; where is she now° ? — What, will these hands ne'er be clean ? — No more o' that, my lord, no mor.e o' that : you mar all with this starting.
Стр. 15 - O for my sake do you with Fortune chide, The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, That did not better for my life provide, Than public means which public manners breeds. Thence comes it that my name receives a brand, And almost thence my nature is subdued To what it works in, like the dyer's hand...
Стр. 68 - I have given suck, and know How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me: I would, while it was smiling in my face, 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.
Стр. 95 - 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.
Стр. 66 - 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.
Стр. 145 - I have almost forgot the taste of fears. The time has been, my senses would have cool'd To hear a night-shriek ; and my fell of hair, Would at a dismal treatise rouse, and stir, As life were in't. I have supp'd full with horrors : Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts, Cannot once start me.
Стр. 60 - Glamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be What thou art promised: yet do I fear thy nature; It is too full o' the milk of human kindness To catch the nearest way : thou wouldst be great ; Art not without ambition, but without The illness should attend it: what thou wouldst highly, That wouldst thou holily ; wouldst not play false, And yet wouldst wrongly win: thou'dst have, great Glamis, That which cries ' Thus thou must do, if thou have it; And that which rather thou dost fear to do Than wishest...

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