To Be Direct And Honest Is Not

You Peasant Swain! You Whoreson Malt-horse Drudge!

When Death Doth Close His Tender Dying Eyes.

O, Full Of Scorpions Is My Mind!

Let Us Our Lives, Our Souls, Our Debts, Our Careful Wives, Our Children, And Our Sins, Lay On The King!

Still It Cried ‘sleep No More!’ To All The House: ‘glamis Hath Murder’d Sleep, And Therefore Cawdor Shall Sleep No More,—macbeth Shall Sleep No More!