Macbeth

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  • Out, damned spot! Out, I say!—One, two. Why, then, ’tis time to do ’t. Hell is murky!
  • Soldiers, sir.
  • Go, prick thy face and over-red thy fear, Thou lily-livered boy. What soldiers, patch? Death of thy soul!
  • Despair thy charm, And let the angel whom thou still hast served Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother’s womb Untimely ripped.
  • Come this way, my lord. The castle has been surrendered without a fight. Macbeth’s soldiers are fighting on both sides. Our noblemen are battling bravely
  • Thou losest labor. As easy mayst thou the intrenchant air With thy keen sword impress as make me bleed. Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests; I bear a charmèd life, which must not yield To one of woman born.
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