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Better be with the dead,
Whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace,
Than on the torture of the mind to lie
In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave;
After life's fitful fever he sleeps well:
Treason has done his worst; nor stee
— Macbeth, Act III Scene 2
KEYWORD: faults
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1 |
The jewels of our father, with wash'd eyes
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2 |
Time shall unfold what plighted cunning hides.
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3 |
Now all the plagues that in the pendulous air
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