Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

cannot be good.
Let grief convert to anger.
shall come against him.
My worthy Cawdor.
Those he commands
Hail, Macbeth.
To bed.
Out, I say!
'Twould have angered any heart alive to hear the men deny it.
Bear welcome in your eye, your hand, your tongue.
From Fife, great King,
...honour,
than pity for mischance.
Then, prophet-like, they hailed him father to a line of kings.
'That is a step on which I must fall down, or else o'erleap,
His Highness is not well.
My children too?
Seyton, I say!
My ever gentle cousin.
and fixed his head upon our battlements.
I am settled
but, in their stead,
and catch with his surcease success,
Dismiss me, enough.
No, indeed, my Lord.
who shall bear the guilt of our great quell?
"Here may you see the tyrant,
the Thane of Cawdor.
at our great bidding?
What soldiers, patch?
What need we fear who knows it
Be this the whetstone of your sword.
'More shall they speak.
that were the slaves of drink?
Ay, and a bold one that dare look on that which might appal the devil.
you spirits that tend on mortal thoughts,
"they made themselves air into which they vanished.
Dispute it like a man.
Speak, if you can. What are you?
He has no children!
and withered murder moves like a ghost.
I had else been perfect,
My voice is in my sword.
which puts upon him suspicion of the deed.
cannot once start me.
the seed of Banquo kings!