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Is this a dagger which I see before me?
To feeling as to sight? or art thou but A dagger of the mind, a false creation, Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
Thou marshall's me the way that i was going; And such an instrument I was to use.
And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood, Which was not so before. There's no such thing: It is the bloody business which inform Thus to mine eyes.
Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse The curtain'd sleep; Witchcraft celebrates Pale Hecate's offerings and wither'd murder.
And take the present horror from the time, Which now suits with it. Whiles I threat, he lives: Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives.
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