Studied by 2 people
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
