Unit 2: Part 3 Vocabulary I

For brave Macbeth—well he deserves that name—
Disdaining fortune, with his brandished steel,
Which smoked with bloody execution,
Like valor’s minion carved out his passage
Till he faced the slave

Whether he was combined
With those of Norway, or did line the rebel
With hidden help and vantage, or that with both
He labored in his country’s wrack, I know not;
But treasons capital, confessed and proved,
Have overthrown him.

Two truths are told,
As happy prologues to the swelling act
Of the imperial theme.

My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical
Shakes so my single state of man that function
Is smothered in surmise, and nothing is
But what is not.

He that’s coming
Must be provided for: and you shall put
This night’s great business into my dispatch;
Which shall to all our nights and days to come
Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom.

So I lose none
In seeking to augment it, but still keep
My bosom franchised and allegiance clear,
I shall be counseled.

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-oppressed brain?
I see thee yet, in form as palpable
As this which now I draw.

Alarumed by his sentinel, the wolf,
Whose howl’s his watch, thus with his stealthy pace,
With Tarquin’s ravishing strides, towards his design
Moves like a ghost.

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.

Faith, here’s an equivocator,
that could swear in both the scales against
either scale; who committed treason enough for
God’s sake, yet could not equivocate to heaven.

Is’t night’s predominance, or the day’s shame,
That darkness does the face of earth entomb,
When living light should kiss it?

Let your Highness
Command upon me, to the which my duties
Are with a most indissoluble tie
For ever knit.

’Tis much he dares;
And, to that dauntless temper of his mind,
He hath a wisdom that doth guide his valor
To act in safety.

Do you find
Your patience so predominant in your nature,
That you can let this go?

Do not muse at me, my most worthy friends;
I have a strange infirmity, which is nothing
To those that know me.

The son of Duncan,
From whom this tyrant holds the due of birth,
Lives in the English court, and is received
Of the most pious Edward with such grace
That the malevolence of fortune nothing
Takes from his high respect.

Where are they? Gone? Let this pernicious hour
Stand aye accursed in the calendar!

My dearest coz,
I pray you, school yourself. But, for your husband,
He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows
The fits o’ th’ seasons, I dare not speak much further

When I shall tread upon the tyrant’s head,
Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country
Shall have more vices than it had before,
More suffer, and more sundry ways than ever,
By him that shall succeed.

Boundless intemperance
In nature is a tyranny; it hath been
Th’ untimely emptying of the happy throne,
And fall of many kings.

With this there grows
In my most ill-composed affection such
A stanchless avarice that, were I King,
I should cut off the nobles for their lands,
Desire his jewels and this other’s house

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!

A great perturbation in nature, to receive at once the benefit of sleep and do the effects of watching!

Who then shall blame
His pestered senses to recoil and start,
When all that is within him does condemn
Itself for being there?

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

If thou couldst, doctor, cast
The water of my land, find her disease
And purge it to a sound and pristine health,
I would applaud thee to the very echo,
That should applaud again.

Make all our trumpets speak; give them all breath.
Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death.

Make all our trumpets speak; give them all breath.
Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death.

Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests;
I bear a charmed life, which must not yield
To one of woman born.