Is this a dagger that tells us truths?
Macbeth hath murder'd sleep
Hecate applaud the deed. Tear to pieces
With thy bloody and invisible hand
The instruments of darkness will have blood
With twenty gashes on his head
On thy blade gouts of blood
Will great Neptune's ocean wash this blood
Clean from his hand?
Horrible shadows, quit my sight!
Fatal vision
Mine eyes made fool o' the other senses
I heard a voice cry, God bless us!
Murder!
A false creation of his mind
Shake off this restless sleep, and look on death itself
Seek to know no more
No comments:
Post a Comment