Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Macd. The Tragedie of Macbeth.
Macd. But I must also feele it as a man;
Macd. I cannot but remember such things were
Macd. That were most precious to me: Did heauen looke on,
Macd. And would not take their part? Sinfull Macduff,
Macd. They were all strooke for thee: Naught that I am,
Macd. Not for their owne demerits, but for mine
Macd. Fell slaughter on their soules: Heauen rest them now.
Mal. Mal.
Mal. Be this the Whetstone of your sword, let griefe
Mal. Conuert to anger: blunt not the heart, enrage it.
Macd. Macd.
Macd. O I could play the woman with mine eyes,
Macd. And Braggart with my tongue. But gentle Heauens,
Macd. Cut short all intermission: Front to Front,
Macd. Bring thou this Fiend of Scotland, and my selfe
Macd. Within my Swords length set him, if he scape
Macd. Heauen forgiue him too.
Mal. This time goes manly: