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To spit on thee again, to spurn thee too.

If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not

As to thy friends;

But lend it rather to thine enemy;

Who if he break, thou may'st with better face,

Exact the penalty.

Shy. Why, look you, how you storm!
I would be friends with you, and have your love,
Forget the shames that you have stain'd me with,
Supply your present wants, and take no doit,
Of usance for my moneys,
And you 'll not hear me. This is kind I offer.

Ant. This were kindness.

Shy. This kindness will I show.
Go with me to a notary, seal me there
Your single bond; and, in a merry sport,
If you repay me not on such a day,
In such a place, such sum or sums as are
Express'd in the condition, let the forfeit
Be nominated for an equal pound
Of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken
In what part of your body pleaseth me.

Ant. Content, in faith; I 'll seal to such a bond,
And say there is much kindness in the Jew.

Bass. You shall not seal to such a bond for me.
I 'll rather dwell in my necessity.

Ant. Why, fear not, man; I will not forfeit it:
Within these two months, that's a month before
This bond expires, I do expect return
Of thrice three times the value of this bond.

Shy. O, father Abraham! what these christians are,
Whose own hard dealing teaches them suspect
The thoughts of others ! — Pray you, tell me this;
If he should break his day, what should I gain
By the exaction of the forfeiture?
A pound of man's flesh, taken from a man,

Is not so estimable, profitable neither,

As flesh of muttons, beefs, or goats. I say,

To buy his favor I extend this friendship:

If he will take it, so; if not, adieu;

And, for my love, I pray you, wrong me not.

Ant. Yes, Shylock, I will seal unto this bond.

Shy. Then meet me forthwith at the notary's,
Give him direction for this merry bond,
And I will go and purse the ducats straight;
See to my house, left in the fearful guard
Of an unthrifty knave, and presently
I will be with you.

Ant. Hie thee, gentle Jew.
The Hebrew will turn Christian: he grows kind.

Bass. I like not fair terms, and a villain's mind.

Ant. Come on: in this there can be no dismay, My ships come home a month before the day.

Shakspere.

MACBETH, DOCTOR, AND ATTENDANTS.

Macbeth. Bring me no more reports; let them fly all;
Till Birnam wood remove to Dunsinane,
I cannot taint with fear. What's the boy Malcolm!
Was he not born of woman? The spirits that know
All mortal consequences, have pronounced me thus :—
"Fear not, Macbeth; no man that's born of woman,
Shall e'er have power upon thee." Then fly, false thanes,
And mingle with the English epicures:
The mind I sway by, and the heart I bear,
Shall never sag with doubt, nor shake with fear.
[Enter a Servant._]

Where got'st thou that goose look?
Servant. There is ten thousand

Macb. Geese, villain?

Serv. Soldiers, sir.

Macb. Go, prick thy face, and over-red thy fear,
Thou lily-liver'd boy. What soldiers, patch?
Death of thy soul! those linen cheeks of thine
Are counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whey-face?

Serv. The English force, so please you.

Macb. Take thy face hence. — Seyton! — I am sick at heart, When I behold — Seyton, I say ! — This push Will cheer me ever, or disseat me now. I have lived long enough: my way of life Is fallen into the sear, the yellow leaf; And that which should accompany old age, As honor, love, obedience, troops of friends, I must not look to have; but, in their stead, Curses, not loud, but deep, mouth-honor, breath, Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not. Seyton! —

[Enter Seyton.]

Seyton. What is your gracious pleasure?

Macb. What news more?

Sey. All is confirm'd, my lord, which was reported.

Macb. I 'll fight, till from my bones my flesh be hack'd. Give me my armor.

Sey. 'Tis not needed yet.

Macb. I 'll put it on.
Send out more horses, skirr the country round;

Hang those that talk of fear. Give me mine armor.

How does you patient, doctor?

Doctor. 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 diseased,

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. .
Mach. Throw physic to the dogs; I ’ll none of it.-
Come put mine armor on ; give me my staff.-

Se"yton, send out. - Doctor, the thanes fly from me.-
If thou couldst, Doctor, cast
The water of my land, find her disease,
And purge it to a sound and pristine health,
I would applaud thee to the very echo,
That should applaud again.
What rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drug,
Would scour these English hence ? Hear’st thou of them ?
Doct. Ay, my good lord : your royal preparation
Makes us hear something.
Macb. I will not be afraid of death and bane,
Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane.

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Mach. Hang out our banners: on the outward walls
The cry is, still, “ They come ! ” Our castle’s strength
Will laugh a siege to scorn : here let them lie,
Till famine and the ague eat them up.
Were they not forced with those that should be ours,
We might have met them dareful, beard to beard,
And beat them backward home. What is that noise?
Sey. It is the cry of women, my good lord.
Mach. I have almost forgot the taste of fears.
The time has been, my senses would have cool’d
To hear a night-shriek ; and my fell of hair,
Would at a dismal treatise rouse, and stir,

As life were in't. I have supp'd full with horrors: Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts, Cannot once start me. Wherefore was that cry?

Sey. The queen, my lord, is dead.

Macb. She should have died hereafter:

There would have been a time for such a word.

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.

[Enter a Messenger.]

Thou com'st to use thy tongue; thy story, quickly.

Messenger. Gracious my lord,
I shall report that which I say I saw,
But know not how to do't.

Macb. Well, say, sir.

Mess. As I did stand my watch upon the hill, I look'd toward Birnam, and anon, mcthought, The wood began to move.

Macb. Liar and slave!

Mess. Let me endure your wrath, if't be not so.
Within this three miles may you see it coming;
I say, a moving grove.

Macb. If thou speak'st false,
Upon the next tree shall thou hang alive,
Till famine cling thee: if thy speech be sooth,
I care not if thou dost for me as much. —
I pull in resolution, and begin

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