Ring the alarum-bell! Blow, wind! come, wrack!
At least we'll die with harness on our back.
Mots clés macbeth
Życie jest jedynie przelotnym cieniem;
żałosnym aktorem, co przez godzinę puszy
się i miota na scenie, po czym znika;
opowieścią idioty, pełną wrzasku i wściekłości,
a nie znaczącą nic.
Mots clés inspirational macbeth
The merciless Macdonald
(Worthy to be a rebel, — for, to that,
The multiplying villainies of nature
Do swarm upon him) from the Western Isles
Of kerns and gallowglasses is supplied;
And Fortune, on his damned quarrel smiling,
Showed like a rebel's whore: but all's too weak:
For brave Macbeth (well he deserves that name)
Disdaining Fortune, with his brandish'd steel,
Which smoked with bloody execution,
Like valour's minion,
Carv'd out his passage.
Mots clés macbeth
The love that follows us sometime is our trouble, which still we thank as love.
William ShakespeareMots clés love tragedy macbeth play william-shakespeare
Thrice the brinded cat hath mew’d.
Thrice and once the hedge-pig whined.
Harpier cries ’Tis time, ’tis time.
Round about the cauldron go;
In the poison’d entrails throw.
Toad, that under cold stone
Days and nights has thirty-one
Swelter’d venom sleeping got,
Boil thou first i’ the charmed pot.
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.
Fillet of a fenny snake,
In the cauldron boil and bake;
Eye of newt and toe of frog,
Wool of bat and tongue of dog,
Adder’s fork and blind-worm’s sting,
Lizard’s leg and owlet’s wing,
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf,
Witches’ mummy, maw and gulf
Of the ravin’d salt-sea shark,
Root of hemlock digg’d i’ the dark,
Liver of blaspheming Jew,
Gall of goat, and slips of yew
Silver’d in the moon’s eclipse,
Nose of Turk and Tartar’s lips,
Finger of birth-strangled babe
Ditch-deliver’d by a drab,
Make the gruel thick and slab:
Add thereto a tiger’s chaudron,
For the ingredients of our cauldron.
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes.
Mots clés macbeth
His silver skin laced with his golden blood.
William ShakespeareDame los puñales; los que duermen y los muertos no son sino sombras; únicamente los ojos de los niños tiemblan ante una estampa del diablo.
William ShakespeareMots clés shakespeare macbeth lady-macbeth
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