Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

Let them fly all.
Things bad begun make themselves strong by ill.
Why did you bring these daggers from the place?
My plenteous...
Thou hast no speculation in those eyes, which thou dost glare with.
full of sound and fury,
Does anybody know what this is?
I have no spur to prick the sides of my intent
cast the water of my land, find her disease
strong both against the deed.
I conjure you, by that which you profess, howe'er you come to know it,
Of all men else I have avoided thee.
why, chance may crown me without my stir.
Come, wrack.
What is that noise?
He's worth no more.
Till Birnam Wood remove to Dunsinane
'all as the weird women promised.
The spirits that know all mortal consequence
have pronounced me thus:
Those of his chamber,
Into the air,
Ay, my good Lord.
and make my seated heart knock at my ribs
You lack the season of all natures.
and I'll request your presence.
Our duties and the pledge.
Saw you the Weird Sisters?
'I will to the Weird Sisters.
Blunt not the heart, enrage it.
What man, hm?
But all's too weak, for brave Macbeth -
answer me.
Was he not born of woman?
All is but toys.
put rancours in the vessel of my peace
It is a tale told by an idiot,
My soul is too much charged with blood of thine already.
There's no such thing.
And now a wood comes toward Dunsinane.
Malcolm!
even to the disposition that I owe
Banquo!
'twere best not know myself.
O proper stuff!
Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood clean from my hand?
Come,
I am sick at heart when I behold.
till thou applaud the deed.
Where we lay, our temples were blown down
No, my Lord.
Come, thick night,
when none can call our power to account?
Come.
Here lies Duncan,
We love him highly and shall continue our graces towards him.
Did he not straight, in pious rage,
And wakes it now to look so green and pale
To bed.
and you whose places are the nearest,
and what seemed corporal melted as breath into the wind.
Be bright and jovial among your guests tonight.
Hail, Macbeth. Hail, Macbeth.
against the use of nature?
Speak, I charge you.
Where is she now?
'Our fears in Banquo stick deep.'
and pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell,
Were such things here as we do speak about?