Locate and identify the Act, Scene, and Line number of the given lines. Also include A.)
who is being spoken to or about and B.) the importance of the quotation/id lit terms
found/themes/etc.
Witches: Fair is foul, and foul is fair:/ Hover through the fog and filthy air.
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Witches: A drum, a drum!/ Macbeth doth come.
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Witches: All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane of Glamis!/ All hail, Macbeth, hail
to thee, thane of Cawdor!/ All hail, Macbeth, thou shalt be king hereafter!
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Macbeth: Cannot be ill, cannot be good: if ill,/ Why hath it given me earnest of
success,/Commencing in a truth? I am thane of Cawdor:/ If good, why do I yield
to that suggestion/ Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair/ And make my
seated heart knock at my ribs,/ Against the use of nature?
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Lady Macbeth: Yet do I fear thy nature;/ It is too full o the milk of human
kindness/ To catch the nearest way: thou wouldst be great;
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Lady Macbeth: Hie thee hither,/ That I may pour my spirits in thine ear;
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Lady Macbeth: Unsex me here, And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full/ of
direst cruelty! make thick my blood.
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1
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Lady Macbeth: Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent undert
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Macbeth: that we but teach/ Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return/ To
plague the inventor:
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Macbeth: I have no spur/ To prick the sides of my intent, but only/ Vaulting
ambition, which oerleaps itself/ and falls on the other.
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Lady Macbeth: I have given suck, and know/ How tender tis to love the babe
that milks me:/ I would, while it was smiling in my face,/ Have pluckd my nipple
from his boneless gums,/ And dashd the brains out, had I so s worn as you/
Have done to this.
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Lady Macbeth: But screw your courage to the sticking-place and well not fail.
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Macbeth: False face must hide what the false heart doth know.
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Macbeth: Is this a dagger which I see before me,/The handle toward my hand?
Come, let me clutch thee./I have thee not, and yet I see thee still./Art thou not,
fatal vision, sensible/To feeling as to sight? or art thou /but A dagger of the
mind, a false creation,/Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?/I see thee
yet, in form as palpable/As this which now I draw./Thou marshall'st me the way
that I was going;/And such an instrument I was to use./Mine eyes are made the
fools o' the other senses,/Or else worth all the rest; I see thee still,/And on thy
blade and dudgeon gouts of blood,/Which was not so before. There's no such
thing:/ It is the bloody business which informs/Thus to mine eyes. Now o'er the
one halfworld/Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse/The curtain'd
sleep; witchcraft celebrates/Pale Hecate's offerings, and wither'd
murder,/Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf,/Whose howl's his watch, thus with
his stealthy pace./With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design/Moves
like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set earth,/Hear not my steps, which way they
walk, for fear/Thy very stones prate of my whereabout,/And take the present
horror from the time,/Which now suits with it. Whiles I threat, he lives:/Words to
2
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Witches: Double, double toil and trouble;/ Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
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Witches: By the pricking of my thumbs,/ Something wicked this way comes./
Open, locks, Whoever knocks!
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Second Apparition: Be bloody, bold, and resolute; laugh to scorn/ The power of
man, for none of woman born/ Shall harm Macbeth.
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Lady Macduff: when our actions do not, our fears do make us traitors.
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Malcolm: black Macbeth will seem as pure as snow, and the poor state/ Esteem
him as a lamb, being compared /With my confineless harms.
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Malcolm: Macbeth is ripe for shaking, and the powers above/ Put on their
instruments.
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Lady Macbeth: Out, damned spot! out, I say!--One: two: why,/ then, 'tis time to
do't.--Hell is murky!
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Lady Macbeth: Here's the smell of the blood still: all the/ perfumes of Arabia will
not sweeten this little/ hand. Oh, oh, oh!
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Macbeth: she should have died hereafter;/There would have been a time for
such a word./To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,/Creeps in this petty
pace from day to day/ To the last syllable of recorded time,/And all our
yesterdays have lighted fools/The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief
candle!/Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player/That struts and frets his hour
upon the stage/And then is heard no more: it is a tale/Told by an idiot, full of
sound and fury,/Signifying nothing.
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4
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Macduff: Despair thy charm,/And let eth angel whom thou still hast served /Tell
thee, Macduff was from his mothers womb/Untimely ripped.
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Malcolm: Of this dead butcher and his fiend-like queen,/Who, as tis thought, by
self and violent hands/ Took of her life.
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