Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Macb. The Handle toward my Hand? Come, let me clutch thee:
Macb. I haue thee not, and yet I see thee still.
Macb. Art thou not fatall Vision, sensible
Macb. To feeling, as to sight? or art thou but
Macb. A Dagger of the Minde, a false Creation,
Macb. Proceeding from the heat‑oppressed Braine?
Macb. I see thee yet, in forme as palpable,
Macb. As this which now I draw.
Macb. Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going,
Macb. And such an Instrument I was to vse.
Macb. Mine Eyes are made the fooles o'th'other Sences,
Macb. Or else worth all the rest: I see thee still;
Macb. And on thy Blade, and Dudgeon, Gouts of Blood,
Macb. Which was not so before. There's no such thing:
Macb. It is the bloody Businesse, which informes
Macb. Thus to mine Eyes. Now o're the one halfe World
Macb. Nature seemes dead, and wicked Dreames abuse
Macb. The Curtain'd sleepe: Witchcraft celebrates
Macb. Pale Heccats Offrings: and wither'd Murther,
Macb. Alarum'd by his Centinell, the Wolfe,