3

Lady Capulet

What say you? Can you love the gentleman?
This night you shall behold him at our feast.
Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face,
And find delight writ there with beauty's pen.
Examine every married lineament,
And see how one another lends content.
And, what obscured in this fair volume lies,
Find written in the margent of his eyes.
This precious book of love, this unbound lover,
To beautify him, only lacks a cover.

Lady Capulet

The valiant Paris seeks you for his love.

Nurse

A man, young lady! Lady, such a man
As all the world — why, he's a man of wax.

Lady Capulet

Verona's summer hath not such a flower.

Nurse

Nay, he's a flower; in faith, a very flower.                     

Lady Capulet

What say you? Can you love the gentleman?
This night you shall behold him at our feast.

Lady Capulet

Thou know'st my daughter's of a pretty age.

Nurse

Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour.

Lady Capulet

She's not fourteen.

Nurse

I'll lay fourteen of my teeth — and yet, to my teen be it
spoken, I have but four — she is not fourteen. How long is it
[Macbeth's castle at Dunsinane. Enter Macbeth, Doctor, and Attendants]

Macbeth

Bring me no more reports; let them fly all.
Till Birnam wood remove to Dunsinane,
I cannot taint with fear. What's the boy Malcolm?
Was he not born of woman? The spirits that know
All mortal consequences have pronounced me thus:
'Fear not, Macbeth; no man that's born of woman
Shall e'er have power upon thee.' Then fly, false thanes,
And mingle with the English epicures.
The mind I sway by, and the heart I bear,
Shall never sag with doubt nor shake with fear.

Macbeth

                                    Seyton! — I am sick at heart
When I behold — Seyton, I say! — This push
Will cheer me ever, or dis-seat me now.
I have lived long enough. My way of life
Is fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf;
And that which should accompany old age,
As honor, love, obedience, troops of friends,
I must not look to have — but, in their stead:
Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honor, breath
Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not.
— Seyton!

Macduff

                                                     Let us rather
Hold fast the mortal sword, and like good men
Bestride our down-fall'n birthdom. Each new morn
New widows howl, new orphans cry, new sorrows
Strike heaven on the face that it resounds
As if it felt with Scotland and yelled out
Like syllable of dolor.

Malcolm

Macduff

Malcolm

Macduff

Malcolm

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Malcolm

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Malcolm

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Malcolm

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Malcolm

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Malcolm

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Malcolm

Macduff

[Enter a Doctor]

Malcolm

Doctor

Malcolm

[Exit Doctor]

Macduff

Malcolm

[Enter Ross]

Macduff

Malcolm

Macduff

Malcolm

Ross

Macduff

Ross

Macduff

Malcolm

Ross

Macduff

Ross

Macduff

Ross

Macduff

Ross

Macduff

Ross

Malcolm

Ross

Macduff

Ross

Macduff

Ross

Macduff

Ross

Malcolm

Macduff

Ross

Macduff

Ross

Malcolm

Macduff

Malcolm

Macduff

Malcolm

Macduff

Malcolm

[Exit]

Macduff

I am not treacherous.

Malcolm

                                       But Macbeth is.
A good and virtuous nature may recoil
In an imperial charge. But I shall crave your pardon;    
That which you are, my thoughts cannot transpose;
Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell.
Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace,
Yet grace must still look so.

Macduff

Malcolm

Macduff

Malcolm

Macduff

Malcolm

Macduff

Malcolm

Macduff

Malcolm

Macduff

Malcolm

Macduff

Malcolm

Macduff

Malcolm

Macduff

[Enter a Doctor]

Malcolm

Doctor

Malcolm

[Exit Doctor]

Macduff

Malcolm

[Enter Ross]

Macduff

Malcolm

Macduff

Malcolm

Ross

Macduff

Ross

Macduff

Malcolm

Ross

Macduff

Ross

Macduff

Ross

Macduff

Ross

Macduff

Ross

Malcolm

Ross

Macduff

Ross

Macduff

Ross

Macduff

Ross

Malcolm

Macduff

Ross

Macduff

Ross

Malcolm

Macduff

Malcolm

Macduff

Malcolm

Macduff

Malcolm

[Exit]

Macduff

I am not treacherous.

Malcolm

                                       But Macbeth is.
A good and virtuous nature may recoil
In an imperial charge. But I shall crave your pardon;    
That which you are, my thoughts cannot transpose;
Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell.
Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace,
Yet grace must still look so.

Macduff

Malcolm

Macduff

Malcolm

Macduff

Malcolm

Macduff

Malcolm

Macduff

Malcolm

Macduff

Malcolm

Macduff

Malcolm

Macduff

Malcolm

Macduff

[Enter a Doctor]

Malcolm

Doctor

Malcolm

[Exit Doctor]

Macduff

Malcolm

[Enter Ross]

Macduff

Malcolm

Macduff

Malcolm

Ross

Macduff

Ross

Macduff

Malcolm

Ross

Macduff

Ross

Macduff

Ross

Macduff

Ross

Macduff

Ross

Malcolm

Ross

Macduff

Ross

Macduff

Ross

Macduff

Ross

Malcolm

Macduff

Ross

Macduff

Ross

Malcolm

Macduff

Malcolm

Macduff

Malcolm

Macduff

Malcolm

[Exit]

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