Posted by Mystic No More.............. on 3/19/2002, 8:36 am Shakespeares Macbeth
That croaks the fetal entrance of Duncan
Under my battlements. Come you spirits
That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here,
and fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full
Of direst cruelty! make thick my blood,
Styop up the access and passage to remorse,
that no compunctious visitings of nature
Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between
The affect and it! Come to my womans breasts,
and take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers,
Wherever in your sightless substances
You wait on natures mischief! Come, thick night,
and pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell,
That my keen knife see not the wound it makes,
nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark,
To cry, "Hold, hold!"
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