Thou Art A Boil, A

He Is The Most Wretched Of Men Who Has Never Felt Adversity.

The Thane Of Cawdor Lives, A Prosperous Gentleman; And To Be King Stands Not Within The Prospect Of Belief, No More Than To Be Cawdor.

I Hate The Murderer, Love Him Murdered.

Art Thou Afeard To Be The Same In Thine Own Act And Valour As Thou Art In Desire? Wouldst Thou Have That Which Thou Esteem'st The Ornament Of Life, And Live A Coward In Thine Own Esteem, Letting 'i Dare Not' Wait Upon 'i Would,' Like The Poor Cat I' The Adage?

Thus Weary Of The World, Away She Hies, And Yokes Her Silver Doves; By Whose Swift Aid Their Mistress Mounted Through The Empty Skies In Her Light Chariot Quickly Is Convey'd; Holding Their Course To Paphos, Where Their Queen Means To Immure Herself And Not Be Seen.