Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

I pray you, sit still.
What?
it's almost afraid to know itself.
The very firstlings of my heart shall be the firstlings of my hand.
Thou losest labour.
and with his former title greet Macbeth.
Art not without ambition but without the illness should attend it.
which must not yield to one of woman born.
but only vaulting ambition
Speak, I charge you.
Before my body I throw my warlike shield.
Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses.
then 'twere well it were done quickly.
Despair thy charm
which smoked with bloody execution,
bold, and resolute.
have plucked my nipple from his boneless gums
being of no woman born,
If much you note him, you shall offend him
Hie you to horse.
How now, my Lord? Why do you keep alone?
Upon my head
Sit, worthy friends.
Adieu, till you return at night.
The Queen, my Lord, is dead.
the yellow leaf.
But of that tomorrow.
and then is heard no more.
to kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet
And with him,
curses,
Prithee, peace.
Malcolm, the King's son, is stolen away and fled,
We will proceed no further in this business.
When in swinish sleep their drenched natures lie as in a death
Things without all remedy should be without regard.
Shake off your downy sleep, man.
Laugh to scorn the power of man,
Let the earth hide thee.
But now they rise again and push us from our stools.
When shall we nerds meet again?
Sons,
Why are you silent?
But from this instant
I would, while it was smiling in my face,
move only in command.
'Some say he's mad.
Valiant Macbeth.
that would be howled in the desert air