Macbeth

So foul and fair a day I have not seen.Dichotomy
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Witches vanish.

Banquo
The earth hath bubbles, as the water has,
And these are of them. Whither are they vanished?
Macbeth
Into the air, and what seemed corporal melted,
As breath into the wind. Would they had stayed!
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Macbeth, aside
Two truths are told
As happy prologues to the swelling act
Of the imperial theme.—I thank you, gentlemen.

Aside

This supernatural soliciting
Cannot be ill, cannot be good. If ill,
Why hath it given me earnest of success
Commencing in a truth? I am Thane of Cawdor.
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Duncan
O worthiest cousin,
The sin of my ingratitude even now
Was heavy on me. Thou art so far before
That swiftest wing of recompense is slow
To overtake thee. Would thou hadst less deserved,Metaphor
That the proportion both of thanks and payment
Might have been mine! Only I have left to say,
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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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If it were done when ’tis done, then ’twere well
It were done quickly. If th’ assassination
Could trammel up the consequence and catch
With his surcease success, that but this blow
Might be the be-all and the end-all here,
But here, upon this bank and shoal of time,
We’d jump the life to come. But in these cases
We still have judgment here,
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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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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,
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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.
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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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