Macbeth Act 1 Board
Storyboard Text
- 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, Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem To have thee crowned withal.
- Give him tending;He brings great news.
- So please you, it is true — our thane is coming. One of my fellows had the speed of him, Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more Than would make up his message.
- i
- That croaks the fatal entrance of DuncanUnder my battlements. Come, you spiritsThat tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here,And fill me from the crown to the toe, top-fullOf direst cruelty. Make thick my blood;Stop up the access and passage to remorse,That no compunctious visitings of natureShake my fell purpose, nor keep peace betweenThe effect and it. Come to my woman's breasts,And take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers,Wherever, in your sightless substances,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 darkTo cry 'Hold, hold.'
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