Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Macb. Who should against his Murtherer shut the doore,
Macb. Not beare the knife my selfe. Besides, this Duncane
Macb. Hath borne his Faculties so meeke; hath bin
Macb. So cleere in his great Office, that his Vertues
Macb. Will pleade like Angels, Trumpet‑tongu'd against
Macb. The deepe damnation of his taking off:
Macb. And Pitty, like a naked New‑borne‑Babe,
Macb. Striding the blast, or Heauens Cherubin, hors'd
Macb. Vpon the sightlesse Curriors of the Ayre,
Macb. Shall blow the horrid deed in euery eye,
Macb. That teares shall drowne the winde. I haue no Spurre
Macb. To pricke the sides of my intent, but onely
Macb. Vaulting Ambition, which ore‑leapes it selfe,
Macb. And falles on th'other.
Macb. Enter Lady.
Macb. How now? What Newes?
La. La.
La. He has almost supt: why haue you left the chamber?
Mac. Mac.
Mac. Hath he ask'd for me?