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William Shakespeare


  • billecarthas quoted8 years ago
    When shall we three meet again
    In thunder, lightning, or in rain?
  • ;has quoted6 years ago
    Fair is foul, and foul is fair:
    Hover through the fog and filthy air.
  • Rajba Jadejahas quoted8 years ago
    False face must hide what the false heart doth know.
  • Vincent Wanghas quoted9 years ago
    meet again
    In thunder, lightning, or in rain?
    Second Witch
    When the hurlyburly’s done,
    When the battle’s lost and won.
    Third Witch
    That will be ere the set of sun.
    First Witch
    Where the place?
    Second Witch
    Upon the heath.
    Third Witch
    There to meet with Macbeth.
    First Witch
    I come, Graymalkin!
    Second Witch
    Paddock calls.
    Third Witch
    Fair is foul, and foul is fair:
    Hover through the fog and filthy air.
    Scene II. A camp near Forres.

    Alarum within. Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain, Lennox, with Attendants, meeting a bleeding Sergeant
    What bloody man is that? He can report,
    As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt
    The newest state.
    This is the sergeant
    Who like a good and hardy soldier fought
    ’Gainst my captivity. Hail, brave friend!
    Say to the king the knowledge of the broil
    As thou didst leave it.
    Doubtful it stood;
    As two spent swimmers, that do cling together
    And choke their art. The merciless Macdonwald —
    Worthy to be a rebel, for to that
    The multiplying villanies of nature
    Do swarm upon him — from the western isles
    Of kerns and gallowglasses is supplied;
    And fortune, on his damned quarrel smiling,
    Show’d like a rebel’s whore: but all’s too weak:
    For brave Macbeth — well he deserves that name —
    Disdaining fortune, with his brandish’d steel,
    Which smoked with bloody execution,
    Like valour’s minion carved out his passage
    Till he faced the slave;
    Which ne’er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him,
    Till he unseam’d him from the nave to the chaps,
    And fix’d his head upon our battlements.
    O valiant cousin! worthy gentleman!
    As whence the sun ’gins his reflection
    Shipwrecking storms and direful thunders break,
    So from that spring whence comfort seem’d to come
    Discomfort swells. Mark, king of Scotland, mark:
    No sooner justice had with valour arm’d
    Compell’d these skipping kerns to trust their heels,
    But the Norweyan lord surveying vantage,
    With furbish’d arms and new supplies of men
    Began a fresh assault.
    Dismay’d not this
    Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo?
    As sparrows eagles, or the hare the lion.
    If I say sooth, I must report they were
    As cannons overcharged with double cracks, so they
    Doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe:
    Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds,
    Or memorise another Golgotha,
    I cannot tell.
    But I am faint, my gashes cry for help.
    So well thy words become thee as thy wounds;
    They smack of honour both. Go get him surgeons.
    Exit Sergeant, attended
    Who comes here?
    Enter Ross
    The worthy thane of Ross.
    What a haste looks through his eyes! So should he look
    That seems to speak things strange.
    God save the king!
    Whence camest thou, worthy thane?
    From Fife, great king;
    Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky
    And fan our people cold. Norway himself,
    With terrible numbers,
    Assisted by that most disloyal traitor
    The thane of Cawdor, began a dismal conflict;
    Till that Bellona’s bridegroom, lapp’d in proof,
    Confronted him with self-comparisons,
    Point against point rebellious, arm ’gainst arm.
    Curbing his lavish spirit: and, to conclude,
    The victory fell on us.
    Great happiness!
    That now
    Sweno, the Norways’ king, craves composition:
    Nor would we deign him burial of his men
    Till he disbursed at Saint Colme’s inch
    Ten thousand dollars to our general use.
    No more that thane of Cawdor shall deceive
    Our bosom interest: go pronounce his present death,
    And with his former title greet Macbeth.
    I’ll see it done.
    What he hath lost noble Macbeth hath won.
    Scene III. A heath near Forres.

    Thunder. Enter the three Witches
    First Witch
    Where hast thou been, sister?
    Second Witch
    Killing swine.
    Third Witch
    Sister, where thou?
    First Witch
    A sailor’s wife had chestnuts in her lap,
    And munch’d, and munch’d, and munch’d:—
    ‘Give me,’ quoth I:
    ‘Aroint thee, witch!’ the rump-fed ronyon cries.
    Her husband
  • CharlotteGothamhas quoted10 years ago
    I dare do all that may become a man;
    Who dares do more is none.
  • b1316201520has quotedlast year
    To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
    Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
    To the last syllable of recorded time,
    And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
    The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
    Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
    That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
    And then is heard no more: it is a tale
    Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
    Signifying nothing.
  • hazeraassumptionhas quoted4 years ago
    As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt
  • Marina Gromovahas quoted5 years ago
    But screw your courage to the sticking-place,
  • b7691818328has quoted6 years ago
    Yet here’s a spot
  • Kudakwashe K Mureyahas quoted7 years ago
    Present fears
    Are less than horrible imaginings:
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