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I could not say Amen…
when they did say God bless us
Still it cried…
sleep no more, Macbeth hath murdered sleep
A little water…
clears us of this deed
Better be with the dead…
than on the torture of the mind
Will all great Neptune’s water…
wash this blood clean from my hand
I am cabined…
cribbed, confined, bound in to the saucy doubts and fears
That when the brains were out…
the man would die and there an end, but now they rise again
Out damned spot…
out I say
All the perfumes of Arabia…
will not sweeten this little hand
My soul is too much charged…
with blood of thine already
O full of scorpions…
is my mind
Whats done… (1)
is done
Bloody instructions…
return to plague the inventor
Thy bones are marrowless…
thy blood is cold
The dare look on that…
which might appal the devil
Hence horrible shadow…
unreal mockery hence
I am in blood…
stepped in so far that I should not wade no more
The Thane of Fife had a wife…
where is she now? What will these hands ne’er be clean
What’s done… (2)
cannot be undone
To bed, to bed…
there’s a knocking at the gate