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Fair is foul, and foul is fair; Hover through the fog and filthy air. (1.1.12-13)
"Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee. I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling as to sight? Or art thou but A dagger of the mind, a false creation Proceeding from the heat-oppressèd brain? I see thee yet, in form as palpable As this which now I draw.Thou marshal'st me the way that I was going, And such an instrument I was to use. Mine eyes are made the fools o' th' other senses, Or else worth all the rest. (2.1.44-57)
O, proper stuff!This is the very painting of your fear.This is the air-drawn dagger which you saidLed you to Duncan. O, these flaws and starts,Impostors to true fear, would well become A woman's story at a winter's fire, Authorized by her grandam. Shame itself! Why do you make such faces? When all's done, You look but on a stool. (3.4.73-81)
Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn, and cauldron bubble. (4.1.10-11)
Hang out our banners on the outward walls.The cry is still "They come!" Our castle's strength Will laugh a siege to scorn. Here let them lieTill famine and the ague eat them up.Were they not forced with those that should be ours, We might have met them dareful, beard to beard,And beat them backward home. (5.5.1-8)
All hail King Malcom; King hereafer!
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