Lady Macbeth
                                                
                                                
                                                    Was the hope drunk
 
Wherein you dressed yourself? Hath it slept since?
 
And wakes it now, to look so green, and pale,
 
At what it did so freely? From this time,
 
Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard
 
To be the same in thine own act and valour
 
As thou art in desire? Wouldst thou have that
 
Which thou esteem’st the ornament of life,
 
And live a coward in thine own esteem,
 
Letting ‘I dare not’ wait upon ‘I would,’
 
Like the poor cat i’th’ adage?
                                                
                                                
                                             
                                        
                                            
                                                
                                                    Macbeth
                                                
                                                
                                                    Prithee, peace:
 
I dare do all that may become a man,
 
Who dares do more is none.
                                                
                                                
                                             
                                        
                                            
                                                
                                                    Lady Macbeth
                                                
                                                
                                                    What beast was't, then,
 
That made you break this enterprise to me?
 
When you durst do it, then you were a man;
 
And, to be more than what you were, you would
 
Be so much more the man. Nor time nor place
 
Did then adhere, and yet you would make both:
 
They have made themselves, and that their fitness now
 
Does unmake you. I have given suck, and know
 
How tender ’tis to love the babe that milks me;
 
I would, while it was smiling in my face,
 
Have plucked my nipple from his boneless gums,
 
And dashed the brains out, had I so sworn
 
As you have done to this.
                                                
                                                
                                             
                                        
                                            
                                                
                                                    Macbeth
                                                
                                                
                                                    If we should fail? 
                                                
                                                
                                             
                                        
                                            
                                                
                                                    Lady Macbeth
                                                
                                                
                                                    We fail?
 
But screw your courage to the sticking-place,
 
And we'll not fail. When Duncan is asleep,
 
Whereto the rather shall his day’s hard journey
 
Soundly invite him, his two chamberlains
  
Will I with wine and wassail so convince
 
That memory, the warder of the brain,
 
Shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason
 
A limbeck only; when in swinish sleep
 
Their drenched natures lie as in a death,
 
What cannot you and I perform upon
 
Th’unguarded Duncan? What not put upon
 
His spongy officers who shall bear the guilt
 
Of our great quell?