Lady Macbeth

Glamis thou art, and Cawdor, and shalt be
What thou art promised. Yet do I fear thy nature;
It is too full o’ th’ milk of human kindness
To catch the nearest way. Thou wouldst be great,
Art not without ambition, but without
The illness should attend it.

Yet do I fear thy nature;
It is too full o’ th’ milk of human kindness
To catch the nearest way.
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Come, you spirits
That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here,
And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full
Of direst cruelty. Make thick my blood.

Come, thick night,
And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell,
That my keen knife see not the wound it makes

Stop up th’ access and passage to remorse,
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Macbeth
My dearest love,
Duncan comes here tonight.
Lady Macbeth
And when goes hence?
Macbeth
Tomorrow, as he purposes.
Lady Macbeth
O, never
Shall sun that morrow see!
Your face, my thane, is as a book where men
May read strange matters. To beguile the time,
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Macbeth
We will proceed no further in this business.
He hath honored me of late, and I have bought
Golden opinions from all sorts of people,
Which would be worn now in their newest gloss,
Not cast aside so soon.

We fail?
But screw your courage to the sticking place
And we’ll not fail.
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Macduff
O horror, horror, horror!Epizeuxis
Tongue nor heart cannot conceive nor name thee!Catachresis & Synecdoche
Macbeth and Lennox
What’s the matter?

Confusion now hath made his masterpiece.

Macduff
Confusion now hath made his masterpiece.Personification
Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope
The Lord’s anointed temple and stole thence
The life o’ th’ building.
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Naught’s had, all’s spent,
Where our desire is got without content.Isocolon & Dichotomy

Things without all remedy
Should be without regard. What’s done is done.

‘Tis safer to be that which we destroy
Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy.Antimetabole, Polyptoton & Alliteration
 Enter Macbeth.
How now,
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Macbeth
We have scorched the snake, not killed it.
She’ll close and be herself whilst our poor malice
Remains in danger of her former tooth.

After life’s fitful fever he sleeps well.
Treason has done his worst; nor steel nor poison,
Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing
Can touch him further.

But let the frame of things disjoint,
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Lady Macbeth
Out, damned spot, out, I say! One. Two.
Why then, ’tis time to do ‘t. Hell is murky. Fie, my
lord, fie, a soldier and afeard? What need we fear
who knows it, when none can call our power to
account? Yet who would have thought the old man
to have had so much blood in him?
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Doctor
This disease is beyond my practice. Yet I have
known those which have walked in their sleep,
who have died holily in their beds.
Lady Macbeth
Wash your hands. Put on your nightgown.
Look not so pale. I tell you yet again, Banquo’s
buried; he cannot come out on ’s grave.
Doctor
Even so?
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