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This castle hath a pleasant seat. The air nimbly and sweetly recommends itself unto our senses
There’s nothing serious in mortality. All is but toys. Renown and grace is dead.The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees Is left this vault to brag of
I had else been perfect, Whole as the marble, founded as the rock, As broad and general as the casing air
Hold fast the mortal sword, and like good men Bestride our down-fall'n birthdom. Each new morn New widows howl, new orphans cry, new sorrows Strike heaven on the face
Here’s the smell of the blood still. All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh, Oh, Oh
Macbeth Storyboard By: Jugraj Singh
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