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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!" When Macbeth announces, "Duncan comes here to-night," she asks sinisterly, "And when goes hence?" Macbeth: "To-morrow as he purposes."
"Hell to me sowl, then, didn't Li Choo pull things straight? I'm not much of a murd'ring man meself I haven't the stren'th with me fingers, but there's manny a time I'd like to do what Li Choo done.... Shure, I don't want to be sp'akin' ill of the dead, but look at it now.
Now, gentle readers, I have let you ken My very thoughts, from heart and pen, 'Tis needless for to conten' Or yet controule, For there's not a word o't I can men'; So ye must thole. For on both sides some were not good; I saw them murd'ring in cold blood, Not the gentlemen, but wild and rude, The baser sort, Who to the wounded had no mood But murd'ring sport!
Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie, O, what a panic's in thy breastie! Thou need na start awa sae hasty, Wi' bickering brattle! I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee, Wi' murd'ring prattle! The decayed hollows which we have mentioned as so often productive of little owls have their possibilities by no means exhausted by one visit.
Now, gentle readers, I have let you ken My very thoughts, from heart and pen, 'Tis needless for to conten' Or yet controule, For there's not a word o't I can men'; So ye must thole. For on both sides some were not good; I saw them murd'ring in cold blood, Not the gentlemen, but wild and rude, The baser sort, Who to the wounded had no mood But murd'ring sport!
Now, gentle readers, I have let you ken My very thoughts, from heart and pen, 'Tis needless for to conten' Or yet controule, For there's not a word o't I can men'; So ye must thole. For on both sides some were not good; I saw them murd'ring in cold blood, Not the gentlemen, but wild and rude, The baser sort, Who to the wounded had no mood But murd'ring sport!
By this means the poet observes that decency, which Horace afterwards established as a rule, of forbearing to commit parricides or unnatural murders before the audience. "Nec pueros coram populo Medea trucidet," ARS POET. ver. 185. "Let not Medea draw her murd'ring knife, And spill her children's blood upon the stage."
And through the Highlands they were so rude, As leave them neither clothes nor food, Then burnt their houses to conclude; 'T was tit for tat. How can her nainsell e'er be good, To think on that? And after all, O, shame and grief! To use some worse than murd'ring thief, Their very gentleman and chief, Unhumanly! Like Popish tortures, I believe, Such cruelty.
"Hell to me sowl, then, didn't Li Choo pull things straight? I'm not much of a murd'ring man meself I haven't the stren'th with me fingers, but there's manny a time I'd like to do what Li Choo done. . . . Shure, I don't want to be sp'akin' ill of the dead, but look at it now.
And through the Highlands they were so rude, As leave them neither clothes nor food, Then burnt their houses to conclude; 'T was tit for tat. How can her nainsell e'er be good, To think on that? And after all, O, shame and grief! To use some worse than murd'ring thief, Their very gentleman and chief, Unhumanly! Like Popish tortures, I believe, Such cruelty.
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