Shakespeare's Macbeth, with the chapters of Hollinshed's 'Historie of Scotland' on which the play is based, adapted for educational purposes, with an intr. and notes by W.S. Dalgleish

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J. Gordon, 1862 - 112 Seiten
 

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Seite 31 - 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...
Seite 28 - I am thane of Cawdor : If good, why do I yield to that suggestion Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair, And make my seated heart knock at my ribs, Against the use of nature...
Seite 40 - One cried, God bless us ! and Amen the other, As* they had seen me, with these hangman's hands. Listening their fear, I could not say Amen, When they did say God bless us.
Seite 40 - Who was it that thus cried? Why, worthy thane, You do unbend your noble strength, to think So brainsickly 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.
Seite 59 - I will) unto the weird sisters : More shall they speak; for. now I am bent to know, By the worst means, the worst : for mine own good, All causes shall give way ; I am in blood Stepp'd in so far, that, should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o'er : Strange things I have in head, that will to hand ; Which must be acted, ere they may be scann'd.
Seite 41 - 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.
Seite 32 - 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...
Seite 32 - You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick night, 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 dark, To cry 'Hold, hold!
Seite 35 - Was the hope drunk Wherein you dress'd yourself? Hath it slept since? And wakes it now, to look so green and pale At what it did so freely ? From this time Such I account thy love.
Seite 80 - I have lived long enough : my way of life Is fall'n into the sear,* the yellow leaf, And that which should accompany old age, 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.

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