Macbeth

 

If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well 

It were done quickly: if the 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'ld jump the life to come. But in these cases 

We still have judgment here; that we but teach 

Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return 

To plague the inventor: this even-handed justice 

Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice 

To our own lips. He's here in double trust; 

First, as I am his kinsman and his subject, 

Strong both against the deed; then, as his host, 

Who should against his murderer shut the door, 

Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan 

Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been 

So clear in his great office, that his virtues 

Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against 

The deep damnation of his taking-off; 

And pity, like a naked new-born babe, 

Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, horsed 

Upon the sightless couriers of the air, 

Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye, 

That tears shall drown the wind. I have no spur 

To prick the sides of my intent, but only 

Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself 

And falls on the other.

​
 

Lady Macbeth

 

The raven himself is hoarse 

That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan 

Under my battlements. 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; 

Stop up the access and passage to remorse, 

That no compunctious visitings of nature 

Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between 

The effect and it! Come to my woman's breasts, 

And take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers, 

Wherever in your sightless substances 

You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick night, 

And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell, 

That my keen knife see not the wound it makes, 

Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark, 

To cry 'Hold, hold!'

​

Lords

 

My former speeches have but hit your thoughts, 

Which can interpret further: only, I say, 

Things have been strangely borne. The gracious Duncan 

Was pitied of Macbeth: marry, he was dead: 

And the right-valiant Banquo walk'd too late; 

Whom, you may say, if't please you, Fleance kill'd, 

For Fleance fled: men must not walk too late. 

Who cannot want the thought how monstrous 

It was for Malcolm and for Donalbain 

To kill their gracious father? damned fact! 

How it did grieve Macbeth! did he not straight 

In pious rage the two delinquents tear, 

That were the slaves of drink and thralls of sleep? 

Was not that nobly done? Ay, and wisely too; 

For 'twould have anger'd any heart alive 

To hear the men deny't. So that, I say, 

He has borne all things well: and I do think 

That had he Duncan's sons under his key-- 

As, an't please heaven, he shall not– they should find 

What 'twere to kill a father;

​

Witches 

 

Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd. 

Thrice and once the hedge-pig whined. 

Harpier cries 'Tis time, 'tis time. 

Round about the cauldron go; 

In the poison'd entrails throw. 

Toad, that under cold stone 

Days and nights has thirty-one 

Swelter'd venom sleeping got, 

Boil thou first i' the charmed pot. 

Double, double toil and trouble; 

Fire burn, and cauldron bubble. 

Fillet of a fenny snake, 

In the cauldron boil and bake; 

Eye of newt and toe of frog, 

Wool of bat and tongue of dog, 

Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting, 

Lizard's leg and owlet's wing, 

For a charm of powerful trouble, 

Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. 

Double, double toil and trouble; 

Fire burn and cauldron bubble. 

​
 

Malcolm 

 

Macduff, this noble passion, 

Child of integrity, hath from my soul 

Wiped the black scruples, reconciled my thoughts 

To thy good truth and honour. Devilish Macbeth 

By many of these trains hath sought to win me 

Into his power, and modest wisdom plucks me 

From over-credulous haste: but God above 

Deal between thee and me! for even now 

I put myself to thy direction, and 

Unspeak mine own detraction, here abjure 

The taints and blames I laid upon myself, 

For strangers to my nature. I am yet 

Unknown to woman, never was forsworn, 

Scarcely have coveted what was mine own, 

At no time broke my faith, would not betray 

The devil to his fellow and delight 

No less in truth than life: my first false speaking 

Was this upon myself: what I am truly, 

Is thine and my poor country's to command: 

Whither indeed, before thy here-approach, 

Old Siward, with ten thousand warlike men, 

Already at a point, was setting forth. 

Now we'll together; and the chance of goodness 

Be like our warranted quarrel! Why are you silent?