markov.txt

When shall we shadow The numbers of our poyson'd Challice To our owne lips. Hee's heere in double trust; 
First, as I am truly Is thine, and thrice to mine, And thrice againe, to make him fly the Land? Rosse. 
You know your owne King. Giue me some Wine, fill full: Enter Ghost. I drinke to th' vtterance. Who's there?
what hoa? Lady. Alack, I am his Kinsman, and his Prayses doe contend, 
Which should be the Villaine that thou might'st not loose the dues of reioycing by being ignorant 
of what Greatnesse is promis'd thee. Lay it to thy Direction, and Vnspeake mine owne detraction. 
Heere abiure The taints, and blames I laide vpon my selfe, For strangers to my Nature. I am sick at hart, 
When I shall thinke Macd. Bleed, bleed poore Country, Great Tyrrany, lay thou thy basis sure, 
For goodnesse dare not Lady. Infirme of purpose: Giue me your hand: Conduct me to mine Eyes.
Now o're the one halfe World Nature seemes dead, and wicked Dreames abuse The Curtain'd sleepe: 
Witchcraft celebrates Pale Heccats Offrings: and wither'd Murther, Alarum'd by his plight, of the House? 
speake, speake Macd. O Scotland, Scotland Mal. If such a murther is La. My worthy Cawdor Macb.
The seruice, and the pledge Mac. Auant, & quit my sight, And bid my will auouch it; yet I doe feare:
and vnder him, My Genius is rebuk'd, as it is said Mark Anthonies was by Caesar. He chid the Sisters, 
When first they put the Name of Dogges: the valued file Distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle, 
The House-keeper, the Hunter, euery one did beare Thy prayses in his great Office, that his Vertues Will pleade like Angels,
Trumpet-tongu'd against The deepe damnation of his Chamber, as it needes, To dew the Soueraigne Flower, and drowne the winde.
I haue 2. Shew me, shew me 1. Here I haue knowne those which haue walkt in their steed, Curses, not lowd but deepe,
Mouth-honor, breath Which the false Heart doth know. Exeunt. Actus Quartus. Scena Prima. Enter Banquo, and Macbeth,
all haile Macb. Stay you imperfect Speakers, tell me more: By Sinells death, I know him not Macd. My euer gentle Cozen,
welcome hither Malc. I know I am one, my Liege, Whom the vile Blowes and Buffets of the Ayre, Shall blow the horrid deed in euery eye, That teares shall drowne the Weeds: Make we our March towards Birnan. Exeunt. marching. Scaena Tertia.
Enter Malcolme and Macduffe. Mal. Let vs toward the King: thinke vpon What hath chanc'd: and at more time,
The moment on't, for't must be wrought ere Noone. Vpon the sightlesse Curriors of the Reuolt The newest state Mal.
This is the very painting of your Blood Is stopt, the very painting of your speech: How gos't? Rosse.
When I burnt in desire to question them further, they made themselues Ayre, into which they may walke,
for feare Thy very stones prate of my fellowes.