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Click on the verses to see them in context. Shakespeare's plays are available from the Gutenberg Projet.

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And, I warrant, a virtuous,--Where is your mother?

 What news abroad? a letter? As little joy you may suppose in me, Give you good-night. Malcolm and Donalbain, the king's two sons, Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my fortune! A thought which, quarter'd, hath but one part wisdom  To contract, O, the time for, ah, my behove, 
Yea, noise?--Then I'll be brief.--O happy dagger!

 But cruel are the times, when we are traitors, So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo! The horrible conceit of death and night, He doth entreat your grace, my noble lord, 
Well, then, who dost thou mean shall be her king?
 With all the admired beauties of Verona. 
With a new Gorgon:--do not bid me speak;

 Not as protector, steward, substitute, And, in despite, I'll cram thee with more food! I hope, in no place so unsanctified And keep you in the rear of your affection, Not a dump we: 'tis no time to play now. The day will come that thou shalt wish for me 
He was the wretched'st thing when he was young,