LADY MACBETH

A commander's wife who reads faster than he thinks. Alone for the first time with a plan she has already finished making.

1:18Dramatic30s–40sAdvanced

The speech139 words · 4 beats

0:00 / 1:18

Off-book

The raven himself is hoarse That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan Under my battlements.

Come, you spirits That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here, And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full Of direst cruelty! Make thick my blood; Stop up the access and passage to remorse, That no compunctious visitings of nature Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between The effect and it!

Come to my woman's breasts, And take my milk for gall, you murd'ring ministers, Wherever in your sightless substances You wait on nature's mischief!

Come, thick night, And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell, That my keen knife see not the wound it makes, Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark To cry 'Hold, hold!'turn

✦ AIStudy this passageplain English

Three ways in, all in plain English. Side by side pairs the original with a modern rendering, line by line. In contexttells you what’s happening and what the character wants. Glossary unpacks the tricky words. Pick a lens above.

AI-generated study aid — trust the original text first; treat this as a gloss.

Takes

No takes yet — be the first to log how you’d play it.

LADY MACBETH

Macbeth · William Shakespeare · 1:18 · 139 words

The raven himself is hoarse That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan Under my battlements. Come, you spirits That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here, And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full Of direst cruelty! Make thick my blood; Stop up the access and passage to remorse, That no compunctious visitings of nature Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between The effect and it! Come to my woman's breasts, And take my milk for gall, you murd'ring ministers, Wherever in your sightless substances You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick night, And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell, That my keen knife see not the wound it makes, Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark To cry 'Hold, hold!'

wrote