I think not of them. Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve, we would spend it in some words upon that business, if you would grant the time.
All's well. I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters. To you they have showed some truth.
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 dagger of the mind, a false creation Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
My Husband?Infirm of purpose, give me the daggers
I have done the deed.
How is ’t with me when every noise appalls me? What hands are here! Ha, they pluck out mine eyes. Will all great Neptune’s ocean wash this blood Clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather the multitudinous seas incarnadine, Making the green one red.
My hands are of your color but I shame to wear a heart so white.
The Labor we delight in physics pain. This is the door.
I'll make so bold to call, for 'tis my limited service
The night has been unruly. Where we lay, our chimneys were blown down and, as they say, Lamentings heard i’ th’ air, strange screams of death, and prophesying, with accents terrible, of dire combustion and confused events. New hatched to th’ woeful time. The obscure bird clamored the livelong night. Some say the Earth was feverous and did shake
What's the matter?
Confusion now hath made his masterpiece. Most sacrilegious murder hath broke open the Lord’s anointed temple and stole thence the life o’ th’ building