Lillian Wright Macbeth Act V

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  • Yet here’s a spot.
  • Hark! She speaks. I will set down what comes from her, to satisfy my remembrance the more strongly.
  • It is an accustomed action with her to seem thus washing her hands. I have known her continue in this a quarter of an hour.
  • Geese, villain?
  • Go, prick thy face and over-red thy fear, Thou lily-livered boy. What soldiers, patch? Death of thy soul! Those linen cheeks of thine Are counselors to fear. What soldiers, whey-face?
  • Soldiers, sir.
  • There is ten thousand—
  • Let every soldier hew him down a bough And bear ’t before him. Thereby shall we shadow The numbers of our host and make discovery Err in report of us.
  • It shall be done.
  • Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.
  • The queen, my lord, is dead.
  • Thou wast born of woman. But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn, Brandished by man that’s of a woman born.
  • Hail, King of Scotland!
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