macbeth

macbeth (11)

O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife

like Valour’s minion

Vaulting ambition which o’erleaps itself

Upon my head they placed a fruitless crown

So foul and fair a day

I think not of them

You know your own degrees

these hangman’s hands

angels are brightes still, though the brightest fell

dark night strangles the travelling lamp

I play the Roman fool and die

the weird sisters

fair is foul and foul is fair

lady macbeth

your majesty loads our house

dashed the brains out had I so sworn

my dearest partner of greatness

will these hands ne’er be clean

banquo

instruments of darkness

duncan

his silver skin laced with his golden blood