Lady Macbeth (Samson Crawford
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The raven himself is hoarse, that croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan...
That no compunctious visitings of nature. Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between the effect and it! Come to my woman's breast and take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers. Wherever in your sightless substances. You wait on nature's mischeif!
Under my battlements. 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! Make thick my blood. Stop up the access and passage to remorse.
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!"
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