The night has been unruly

Lennox
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.
Macbeth
’Twas a rough night.
Lennox
My young remembrance cannot parallel
A fellow to it.
  Enter Macduff.
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.Periphrasis
Macbeth
What is ’t you say? The life?
Lennox
Mean you his Majesty?
Macduff
Approach the chamber and destroy your sight
With a new Gorgon.Allusion Do not bid me speak.
See and then speak yourselves.
   Macbeth and Lennox exit.
Awake, awake!Epizeuxis
Ring the alarum bell.—Murder and treason!Anapodoten
Banquo and Donalbain, Malcolm, awake!
Shake off this downy sleep, death’s counterfeit,
And look on death itself.Transferred Epithet & Apposition Up, up, and seeEpizeuxis
The great doom’s image.Paraphrasis Malcolm, Banquo,
As from your graves rise up and walk like sprites
To countenance this horror.Simile—Ring the bell.
   Bell rings. Enter Lady Macbeth.
Lady Macbeth
What’s the business,
That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley
The sleepers of the house? EpizeuxisSpeak, speak!Apposition
Macduff
O gentle lady,
’Tis not for you to hear what I can speak.
The repetition in a woman’s ear
Would murder as it fell.Synecdoche & Personification
  Enter Banquo.
O Banquo, Banquo,
Our royal master’s murdered.
Lady Macbeth
Woe, alas!
What, in our house?
Banquo
Too cruel anywhere.—
Dear Duff, I prithee, contradict thyself
And say it is not so.
  Enter Macbeth, Lennox, and Ross.
Macbeth
Had I but died an hour before this chance,
I had lived a blessèd time; for from this instant
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.