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The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath,
Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course,
Chief nourisher in life's feast.

Macbeth. Act . Sc. 2.1

Ibid.!

Infirm of purpose!

'Tis the eye of childhood

That fears a painted devil.

Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood

Clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather

The multitudinous seas incarnadine,

Making the green one red.

Ibid.1

Ibid.1

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Confusion now hath made his masterpiece!
Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope

Ibid.3

The Lord's anointed temple, and stole thence
The life o' the building!

Ibid.

The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees
Is left this vault to brag of.

Ibid.2

Who can be wise, amazed, temperate and furious,
Loyal and neutral, in a moment?

Ibid.

There's daggers in men's smiles.

Ibid.

A falcon, towering in her pride of place,

Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at and kill'd.

Sc. 4.3

Thriftless ambition, that wilt ravin up
Thine own life's means!

I must become a borrower of the night
For a dark hour or twain.

1 Act ii. sc. 1 in Dyce, Staunton, and White.

2 Act ii. sc. 1 in Dyce and White; Act ii. sc. 2 in Staunton. Act ii. sc. 2 in Dyce and White; Act ii. sc. 3 in Staunton.

Ibid.

Act ii. Sc. 1

Let every man be master of his time

Till seven at night.

Macbeth. Act iii. Sc. 1.

Upon my head they placed a fruitless crown,

And put a barren sceptre in my gripe,

Thence to be wrench'd with an unlineal hand,
No son of mine succeeding.

Mur.

Ibid

We are men, my liege.

Mac. Ay, in the catalogue ye go for men.

Ibid.

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Things without all remedy

Should be without regard; what's done is done.

We have scotch'd the snake, not kill'd it.

Better be with the dead,

Whom we, to gain our peace, 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 poison,

Can touch him further.

Sc. 2.

Ibid

Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing,

Ibid.

In them Nature's copy's not eterne.

Ibid.

A deed of dreadful note.

Ibid.

Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck,

Till thou applaud the deed.

Ibid

Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill.

Ibid.

Now spurs the lated traveller apace
To gain the timely inn.

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But now I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confined, bound in

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Thou canst not say I did it; never shake

Thy gory locks at me.

Ibid.

The air-drawn dagger.

Ibid.

The time has 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.

Ibid.

I drink to the general joy o' the whole table.

Ibid.

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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.

Ibid.

Hence, horrible shadow!

Unreal mockery, hence!

Ibid.

You have displac'd the mirth, broke the good meeting, With most admir'd disorder.

Ibid.

Can such things be,

And overcome us like a summer's cloud,

Without our special wonder?

Ibid.

Stand not upon the order of your going,
But go at once.

Ibid.

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L. Macb. Almost at odds with morning, which is which.

I am in blood

Macbeth. Act iii. Sc. 4.

Stepp'd in so far that, should I wade no more,

Returning were as tedious as go o'er.

My little spirit, see,

Sits in a foggy cloud, and stays for me.

Ibid.

Sc. B.

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How now, you secret, black, and midnight hags!

Ibid.

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What, will the line stretch out to the crack of doom?

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1 Let the air strike our tune,

Whilst we show reverence to yond peeping moon.

MIDDLETON: The Witch, act v. sc. 2.

Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell.

Macbeth. Act iv. Sc. 3

Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell,

Uproar the universal peace, confound
All unity on earth.

Ibid.

Stands Scotland where it did?

Ibid.

Give sorrow words: the grief that does not speak
Whispers the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break.

Ibid.

What, all my pretty chickens and their dam
At one fell swoop?

Ibid.

I cannot but remember such things were,
That were most precious to me.

Ibid

O, I could play the woman with mine eyes
And braggart with my tongue.

Ibid

The night is long that never finds the day.

Ibid

Out, damned spot! out, I say!

Fie, my lord, fie! a soldier, and afeard?

Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?

Ibid.

All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand.

Ibid.

Act v. Sc. 1

Ibid.

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As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends,

I must not look to have; but in their stead

Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honour, breath,
Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not.

Sc. 3.

Ibid.

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