But now I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confined, bound in

To saucy doubts and fears.

Now, good digestion wait on appetite,

Macbeth. Act iii. Sc. 4

And health on both!

Ibid.

Thou canst not say I did it; never shake

Thy gory locks at me.

Ibid.

The air-drawn dagger.

Ibid..

The time has been,

That when the brains were out the man would die,
And there an end; but now they rise again,
With twenty mortal murders on their crowns,
And push us from our stools.

Ibid.

I drink to the general joy o' the whole table.

Ibid.

Thou hast no speculation in those eyes
Which thou dost glare with!

Ibid.

A thing of custom, 't is no other; Only it spoils the pleasure of the time.

What man dare, I dare:

Ibid.

Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear,
The arm'd rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger,-
Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves
Shall never tremble.

Ibid.

Hence, horrible shadow!

Unreal mockery, hence!

Ibid.

You have displac'd the mirth, broke the good meeting, With most admir'd disorder.

Ibid.

Can such things be,

And overcome us like a summer's cloud,

Without our special wonder?

Ibid.

Stand not upon the order of your going,
But go at once.

Ibid.

Macb.

What is the night?

L. Macb. Almost at odds with morning, which is which.

Macbeth. Act iii. Sc. 4.

I am in blood

Stepp'd in so far that, should I wade no more,

Returning were as tedious as go o'er.

My little spirit, see,

Sits in a foggy cloud, and stays for me.

Ibid.

Sc. 5.

How now, you secret, black, and midnight hags!

Ibid.

What, will the line stretch out to the crack of doom?

1 Let the air strike our tune,

Whilst we show reverence to yond peeping moon.

Ibid.

Sc. 2

MIDDLETON: The Witch, act v. sc. 2.

Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell.

Macbeth. Act iv. Sc. 3

Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell,
Uproar the universal peace, confound
All unity on earth.

Stands Scotland where it did?

Give sorrow words: the grief that does not speak
Whispers the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Ibid.

What, all my pretty chickens and their dam
At one fell swoop?

Ibid.

I cannot but remember such things were,

That were most precious to me.

Ibid.

O, I could play the woman with mine eyes
And braggart with my tongue.

Ibid.

The night is long that never finds the day.

Ibid.

Out, damned spot! out, I say!

Fie, my lord, fie! a soldier, and afeard?

Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?

Ibid.

All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand.

Ibid.

Act v. Sc. 1.

Ibid.

Till Birnam wood remove to Dunsinane,

I cannot taint with fear.

My way of life

Is fall'n into the sere, the yellow leaf;
And that which should accompany old age,
As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends,
I must not look to have; but in their stead
Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honour, breath,
Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not.

Sc. 3.

Doct.

Not so sick, my lord,

As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies,
That keep her from her rest.

Macb.
Cure her of that.
Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd,
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow,
Raze out the written troubles of the brain,
And with some sweet oblivious antidote
Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff
Which weighs upon the heart?

Doct.

Must minister to himself.

Therein the patient

Macb. Throw physic to the dogs: I'll none of it.

I would applaud thee to the very echo,

That should applaud again.

Macbeth. Act v. Sc. 3.

Hang out our banners on the outward walls;

Ibid.

The cry is still, "They come !" our castle's strength
Will laugh a siege to scorn.

Sc. 5.

My fell of hair

Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir

As life were in 't: I have supp'd full with horrors.

Ibid.

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,

Creeps in this petty pace from day to day

To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools

The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

I pull in resolution, and begin

To doubt the equivocation of the fiend

That lies like truth: "Fear not, till Birnam wood
Do come to Dunsinane."

Ibid.

Ibid.

I gin to be aweary of the sun.

Macbeth. Aci v. Sc. 5.

Blow, wind! come, wrack!

At least we'll die with harness on our back.

Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death.

I bear a charmed life.

And be these juggling fiends no more believ'd,
That palter with us in a double sense:
That keep the word of promise to our ear
And break it to our hope.

Live to be the show and gaze o' the time.

Lay on, Macduff,

Ibid.

Sc. 6.

Sc. 8.1

Ibid.1

Ibid.1

And damn'd be him that first cries, "Hold, enough!"

For this relief much thanks: 't is bitter cold,
And I am sick at heart.

Ibid.1

Hamlet. Act i. Sc. 1.

But in the gross and scope of my opinion,
This bodes some strange eruption to our state.

Ibid.

Whose sore task

Does not divide the Sunday from the week.

Ibid.

This sweaty haste

Doth make the night joint-labourer with the day.

Ibid.

In the most high and palmy state of Rome,
A little ere the mightiest Julius fell,

The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead

Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets.

Ibid.

And then it started like a guilty thing

Upon a fearful summons.

Ibid.

Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air,

The extravagant and erring spirit hies

To his confine.

1 Act v. Sc. 7 in Singer and White.

Ibid.