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John Bartlett (1820–1905). Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. 1919.

Page 125

William Shakespeare. (1564–1616) (continued)
    Doct. Not so sick, my lord,
As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies,
That keep her from her rest.
Macb. Cure her of that.
Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas’d,
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow,
Raze out the written troubles of the brain,
And with some sweet oblivious antidote
Cleanse the stuff’d bosom of that perilous stuff
Which weighs upon the heart?
Doct. Therein the patient
Must minister to himself.
Macb. Throw physic to the dogs: I ’ll none of it.
          Macbeth. Act v. Sc. 3.
    I would applaud thee to the very echo,
That should applaud again.
          Macbeth. Act v. Sc. 3.
    Hang out our banners on the outward walls;
The cry is still, “They come!” our castle’s strength
Will laugh a siege to scorn.
          Macbeth. Act v. Sc. 5.
    My fell of hair
Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir
As life were in ’t: I have supp’d full with horrors.
          Macbeth. Act v. Sc. 5.
    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.
          Macbeth. Act v. Sc. 5.
    I pull in resolution, and begin
To doubt the equivocation of the fiend
That lies like truth: “Fear not, till Birnam wood
Do come to Dunsinane.”
          Macbeth. Act v. Sc. 5.