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Hie thee hither, That I may pour my spirits in thine ear And chastise with the valor of my tongue All that impedes thee from the golden round
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!
Come to my woman's breasts And take my milk for gall
0, never Shall sun that morrow see! Your face, my Thane, is as a book where men May read strange matters.
When Duncan is asleep, his two chamberlains Will I with wine and wassail so convince that memory, the warder of the brain, shall be a fume and the receipt of reason a limbeck only.
What cannot you and I perform upon the unguarded Duncan?
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